Impulse Control

She hears it before she sees it.

A quiet hum from the bedroom--low, mechanical, rhythmic. When Ryan calls for her, voice soft but edged in command, her skin prickles before she even turns the corner. Then she sees it. Sleek, dark, and wrongly beautiful. A motorized thrusting arm gleaming with soft silicone, adjusted just so--angled toward the padded bench now set in the center of the room. A bottle of lube sits beside it, half-used. The air smells faintly of leather, heat, and whatever he's been planning for the past hour.

She stops in the doorway.

"What is that?"

He looks up from where he's crouched beside the base, finishing adjustments. That calm, slow smile curves his mouth. "Something I built for you."

Her breath catches. "You--what?"

"I had it made," he says, standing now, wiping his hands with a towel. "Then I rebuilt half of it. I wanted it perfect. Quiet. Precise. Exactly your size. Exactly your rhythm." He tilts his head. "I want to see what you look like when you come--again and again--and it's not even me touching you."

She doesn't know whether to laugh or drop to her knees.

He walks to her slowly, cups her jaw, leans in. "Do you trust me?"

Her voice is quiet. "Always."

"Then strip. All of it. Get on the bench. Chest down, arms forward. Ass up." His lips brush hers. "You're going to stay there until I say otherwise. Understood?"

She's already trembling. "Yes, sir."

He watches her undress--slowly, nervously. Her shirt slides off her shoulders, her panties left damp from anticipation. When she's finally bare, he steps behind her, warm hands on her hips, guiding her to the padded bench like she's a prize about to be unwrapped. She lays down. The bench is angled just slightly so her ass is raised, back arched, thighs already parting on instinct. He straps her in at the thighs and across her lower back--nothing tight, just firm enough to keep her still. To remind her she's his.

Then he brings the machine forward. The dildo gleams--thick, curved, with ridges that look wicked up close. Lube drips slowly from its tip as he adjusts its position until it hovers right at her entrance. The motor's already vibrating quietly--taunting her.

"You ready?" he murmurs, kneeling beside her, stroking her hair out of her face.

She nods, voice shaking. "Yes."

"Color?"

"Green."

He smirks. "Good fucking girl."

He presses a button. The machine jerks forward--slow, measured. Just the head slides inside her, thick and unyielding. She gasps, moaning before it's even halfway in.

"Fuck--Ryan--"

"I know, baby," he says, palm on her lower back, watching it stretch her open. "Breathe through it. Let it in."

Another thrust. Deeper. Her hands grip the edges of the bench, knuckles white. He turns the speed up just a touch--slow but relentless, pushing in, pulling out, coating her thighs with slick as her body adjusts around it. She whimpers, legs twitching.

"Already struggling?" he teases. "We just started."

He doesn't touch her--just sits back and watches, arms folded, remote in hand. The machine keeps going, wet sounds filling the room with every thrust. Her moans are climbing--soft at first, then desperate.

"Please--Ryan, I--fuck, I can't--"

"Yes, you can," he says calmly. "You're doing so fucking well."

He reaches between her thighs now, finally--slipping two fingers between her folds, circling her clit in slow, tight circles. Not enough to push her over--just enough to keep her sobbing. Her body jerks with every thrust. She's soaked. Breathless. Legs shaking against the restraints.

"God, look at you," he murmurs. "Taking it so deep. So messy. You're making such a fucking mess on it, baby."

She cries out as the machine slams in harder, deeper, hitting that spot over and over. Her thighs are soaked, inner muscles fluttering. He presses the remote again. Faster. Now she's screaming into the bench, hips rocking back against it like she can't help it.

"You want to come?" he asks.

"Yes! Please--fuck--please let me--"

"Then do it." His voice goes dark, rough. "Come on the machine. Like the filthy little thing you are."

She breaks. Her entire body clenches, thighs convulsing as her orgasm rips through her--loud, raw, helpless. But he doesn't stop it. He keeps the machine moving. She sobs through the overstimulation, squirming against the straps.

"Too much--fuck--please--"

"Uh-uh." He strokes her hair. "One more. Give me one more."

He adds a vibrator to her clit. Doesn't warn her--just slides it in place and holds it there. Now she's screaming, soaked and overstimulated, pushed into a second orgasm she's nowhere near ready for. Her legs tremble, whole body pinned between the machine behind her and his hand in front.

"You're going to remember this," he growls. "Every time you sit down tomorrow. Every time you think about coming again without me. You're going to remember this."

She cries out again--louder, longer, her second orgasm even more brutal than the first. Her arms collapse. She can't hold herself up anymore. Ryan finally slows the machine, strokes her back, leans down to kiss the side of her neck.

"Color?"

She chokes out, "Green."

He smiles. "Good. Because now I'm not going to go easy."

She's already come twice. Her thighs are shaking. Her voice is hoarse. Her hips won't stop twitching against the straps, even as the machine slows to a grind--still fucking her in deep, steady strokes, drawing out every last flicker of pleasure. Ryan strokes his hand down her spine, palm warm, voice low.

"Still green?"

She nods, weakly. "Green..."

"Good." His lips graze her shoulder. "Because you're not done."

She whimpers, hips instinctively bucking back against the thick, gleaming shaft still buried inside her. She can't stop. Her body's in control now, not her. The machine keeps going--thrusting deeper now, smoother, soaked with everything she's already given. Ryan steps around her, kneels between her legs.

Her pussy's glistening, stretched wide and dripping, every thrust squelching between her thighs. She's flushed red across her chest, sweat beading along her spine. Her eyes are glassy, half-lost. And he's not even touching her yet. He turns up the speed. Not to punishing--just relentless. Fast enough she has no time to breathe between thrusts. Her entire body jolts with each one, bouncing back from the restraint strap at her waist, her moans sharp and ragged.

"Look at this mess," Ryan murmurs, dragging his fingers through the slick pouring down her inner thighs. "You're soaked. And you haven't even given me all of it yet."

She shakes her head, panting, "Ryan--I can't--"

"Yes, you can."

He brings the wand back--presses it hard to her clit, right where it's swollen and sensitive and begging for anything. She screams, whole body jerking, trying to twist away from the sensation.

He doesn't let her. He pins her down with one hand between her shoulder blades, holding her in place, grinding the vibrator harder while the machine fucks her with deep, unforgiving strokes.

"That's it," he growls. "I want all of it. Every last drop. Don't hold back this time."

"I--I--fuck--!"

Her voice breaks on the next thrust. She's gasping now, fingers clawing into the bench, her legs trying to close but caught wide open by the restraints. The pressure is too much, too fast, too good--

And then she shatters. It's not a moan. It's a wail--raw, guttural, ripped from her throat as her body spasms and suddenly-- She squirts.

It hits the bench in hot, pulsing waves, splashing down her thighs, coating the base of the machine, her body convulsing with every release. Ryan goes still.

Then: "Oh, fuck yes, baby. That's it. That's what I wanted."

Her face burns. She's crying, gasping, twitching--but the machine doesn't stop. It keeps thrusting into her, pushing every last contraction out, every final spasm. She can't breathe. Can't think.

And still she comes again--squirting once more, this time messier, wetter, her whole body slick and trembling. Ryan finally turns everything off. Silence floods the room except for her panting breaths, the soft whimper as he unstraps her wrists, then her thighs, then gently lifts her into his arms--limp, boneless, soaked. He carries her to the bed like she's made of glass, lays her down, wraps a warm towel around her hips. Presses a kiss to her temple.

"You did so fucking good," he murmurs, wiping her gently, stroking her hair. "So proud of you. That was the most beautiful fucking thing I've ever seen."

She can't speak. Just curls into him, twitching, overwhelmed, absolutely undone. He holds her tighter.

"You're mine," he whispers. "Every part of you."

Her body's still twitching when he lifts her--slick thighs trembling, soft sobs leaving her lips even though the machine's long since stopped. She's flushed and limp, collapsed into the sheets, skin glowing from sweat and heat and everything she's just given. Ryan brushes the hair back from her face, kisses her temple, her cheekbone, the curve of her jaw.

"You still with me?"

She nods weakly, eyelids fluttering. "Mhm..."

"Color?"

"Green," she whispers. "So green."

He smiles, dark and slow.

"Good."

Because now he's not waiting another second. He strips off his shirt in one pull, pants gone just as fast, his cock already thick and hard, flushed dark from how long he's been holding back. The whole time she was squirting and sobbing and begging? He was watching--jaw clenched, fists tight, cock straining against denim while she gave him the single most obscene performance of her life.

And now? Now she's going to give it to him. He spreads her thighs wide again, gently but firm, crawling over her like he's coming to claim her. Her pussy's still soaked--slick dripping down to the sheets, thighs shining with it. He drags two fingers through her folds, watching her flinch from the sensitivity.

"You feel that?" he murmurs, voice thick. "You're dripping, baby. You made a fucking mess for me."

She whimpers, lips parted, already shaking. He doesn't tease. Doesn't wait. He pushes in with one deep, steady thrust--no hesitation, no easing in. She's soaked enough that he slides all the way to the hilt with a wet, obscene sound that makes them both groan.

Her head falls back. "Oh--fuck--"

Ryan curses, jaw clenching as her walls flutter around him.

"Jesus, Autumn. You're still pulsing. You're still coming for me."

He doesn't move yet. Just stays buried deep, feeling her twitch around him, hips locked against hers, one hand gripping her thigh, the other planted beside her head.

"You gave me everything," he growls. "Now I'm taking mine."

He pulls out slow. Lets her feel every inch drag along her oversensitive walls. Then slams back in. She screams. Not because it hurts--but because it's too much. He's so deep, so thick, the machine couldn't match this--his weight, his heat, the raw possession in every inch of skin-to-skin contact. He fucks her slow at first--long, heavy thrusts that punch the breath out of her. His hands grip her hips, guiding every roll of her body back onto him, like she was made to take it.

"Feel that?" he pants against her ear. "That's me. Not the machine. Not a toy. Me."

She's already crying again--pleasure blooming so sharp and sudden it borders on pain.

"Ryan--I can't--oh my god--"

"Yes, you fucking can."

He picks up speed--hips slapping against her ass now, filthy, wet sounds echoing off the walls. Her body trembles beneath him, muscles locking up every time he hits that sweet, tender spot the machine softened for him.

He's so deep. So unrelenting. And now his voice changes--lower, rougher, needier.

"I wanted to let the machine ruin you," he grits out, fingers tightening on her wrists. "But it didn't. It just opened you up for me. Look at you. Wrecked. Wet. Still fucking hungry."

She moans into his neck, overwhelmed. "It's too much--Ryan, I--fuck--"

He pulls back just far enough to grab her face, force her eyes open.

"Look at me. Take me. All of me."

Then he drives in deep and stays there--grinding, pulsing, dragging his cock in slow circles inside her while she sobs, whimpers, begs. And he watches her come again. Hard. Her pussy clamps down on him so tight he almost loses it--her whole body convulsing under his, fresh slick gushing around his cock, soaking them both. Her mouth drops open in a silent cry.

"That's it," he groans. "Fuck--yes, baby. Just like that. Squeeze me. Squeeze me while you come."

He doesn't pull out. Can't. Her body's too tight around him, too hot, too perfect. He grabs her wrists and pins them above her head, slams in twice more--fast, hard, brutal--before he breaks, groaning into her throat as he comes deep inside her. He stays there, every pulse of his release filling her while she clings to him, boneless and panting and shaking all over again. Then he finally--finally--softens. Wraps his arms around her. Kisses her forehead. Nuzzles into her shoulder, whispering s

oft praise against her skin.

"You're everything, you know that?"

She nods, weakly.

"Still green?"

"Barely," she breathes, smiling through the aftershocks.

He chuckles, pulls her in tighter. "We'll call that the last round."

******

She promised she wouldn't use it without him. He was very clear: "Not without me there, baby. I want to see every second. Want to watch you fall apart."

But it's been days. And she can't stop thinking about it. The way it felt. The way he looked watching her. The way she screamed when she squirted for the first time, soaked and trembling, his voice in her ear telling her she was perfect.

And now--he's out of town for the weekend. She tries to be good. She really does. But by the second night, she's aching. Restless. Sprawled out on the couch in one of his old shirts, wearing nothing underneath, legs curled up and brain stuck in every filthy replay of that night. And that's when she makes the decision. Not impulsive. Deliberate.

Her fingers trail up the inside of her thigh, slow and teasing, stopping just before the spot that's already slick and throbbing. Her breath shakes. She pictures the machine, currently tucked neatly in the drawer of the nightstand. She hasn't touched it since that night. Not even peeked. Ryan made her promise. But he's not here. And she wants it.

Wants everything--the fullness, the stretch, the helplessness, the surrender. She wants the pressure of it, the rhythm, the soaked sheets and shaking limbs. She wants to see if it was him that made her squirt like that... or if it'll happen again without him. Just once. Just to test it. Her thighs clench. She gets up.

*******

By the time she's strapped in, she's already flushed--heart pounding, breath uneven, hands shaking just a little from the anticipation. She kneels on the bench the way he had her before, the memory vivid in every position. She's already wet, already swollen. And the moment she presses the thick, gleaming shaft to her entrance--

She gasps.

God, it's big. Bigger than her fingers. Deeper than anything else she's ever used. And now she knows what it can do. She presses the switch. A slow, steady rhythm starts--gentle at first, inching into her, making her suck in a breath as it fills her. She lets it go deeper, deeper, until her hips are rocking in time with it.

"Oh... god..."

She braces herself, forehead to the cushion, back arching as the thrusts pick up. It's relentless. Heavy. Already pushing her closer than she thought this fast.

She turns it up. And moans. Her hips are jolting now--pushed forward with every stroke. The sound is filthy, echoing off the walls. She's alone, but she still glances toward the door, flushed with heat, arousal flooding between her thighs. Her hand flies to her clit. She circles fast, moaning louder as she gets closer. But then she remembers. Ryan used the wand. And he made her squirt.

She fumbles it out from the drawer, hand shaking, pressing it to her clit mid-thrust--exactly where he held it. The result is instant. Her thighs lock. Her breath breaks. And she screams. Her body jolts forward, pleasure exploding all at once--too much, too soon, her clit on fire and the machine still pounding her open. Her toes curl, her fingers claw at the cushion, and then--

She squirts. A gush. Hot and sudden, splashing the bench beneath her.

"Oh my god--" she chokes, shuddering.

It happens again--another wave, more pressure, the machine dragging it out of her. She's shaking, crying out, soaked and helpless.

And yet...

She doesn't stop the machine.

The machine thrusts into her with a slow, relentless rhythm--each thick stroke pushing her deeper into the bench, her thighs trembling from the pressure. Autumn is gone. Sweat clings to her skin. Her face is buried in the cushion, lips parted in soft, desperate moans. One hand grips the wand hard against her clit, the other claws weakly at the bedding. She's soaked. Slick dripping down her inner thighs. The wet slap of the machine fills the room, obscene and rhythmic.

She doesn't hear the front door open. Doesn't hear the footsteps. Doesn't see Ryan standing in the doorway to the bedroom, frozen. His jaw tightens. Because there she is. His girl. Strapped in, spread open, completely lost in it. And she's disobeying him. The sight punches the air out of his lungs. Her back arches as the machine thrusts deep. The wand vibrates mercilessly against her clit. Her body twitches, jolts. She's moaning now--loud--hips grinding into the toy like she can't take it anymore.

"F-Fuck--Ryan--" she whimpers into the mattress, voice cracked with need.

His name. She moans it again, wrecked and wanting. And that's what finally makes him move. He steps forward, slowly, like a predator. Quiet. Until his hand grips her hair, gently but firmly, and pulls her head up. She gasps, eyes flying open. Her whole body freezes--except for the relentless machine still thrusting into her.

"Ryan--!"

She tries to speak, to explain--but she's still strapped down, still trembling, and her clit's still being toyed with. He doesn't say a word. Just moves in closer, eyes dark and blazing, voice like a low growl against her ear.

"You couldn't wait for me?"

She whimpers, overwhelmed. "I--I was just--"

"I told you not to use this without me."

His hand glides down her back. Her skin is flushed and damp, goosebumps rising beneath his fingers. He palms her ass, spreads her open wider, watching the way the machine disappears inside her with each wet stroke.

"So desperate you couldn't help yourself?" His tone is soft, dangerous. "So needy you had to come without my permission?"

The vibrator is still buzzing against her clit. Her hips jerk with every thrust.

"I'm sorry," she breathes, eyes fluttering. "I needed it, I--"

"You want me to stop it?" he murmurs, brushing her ear with his lips. "Take it away?"

"No--please--don't," she begs, voice ragged. "Please, I'm so close--"

He smiles.

"Then you're going to come for me. Right here. Just like this. And you're going to look me in the eyes when you do."

He kneels behind her, one hand locking onto her hip, the other sliding beneath her to replace the wand. He presses the tip of it to her clit again--exactly the way he knows she likes. The reaction is instant. Her body jolts again. She lets out a strangled scream. Her hands shake against the bedding, the thrusts pounding faster now, pushing her closer, closer--

And he leans in, lips brushing her temple.

"Come for me, baby. I'm watching. Give it to me."

Her body breaks. She squirts, violently, uncontrollably--wetness splashing down the machine, the bench, her thighs shaking. She sobs his name, writhing in the restraints, and it hits again--a second wave, soaking everything as Ryan groans low, hand stroking her through it. He loves her like this. Wild. Messy. His.

He finally switches off the machine. The silence is staggering after the storm. She collapses forward, gasping, legs weak, hair clinging to her damp skin. Ryan kisses the back of her neck.

"You're in so much trouble," he whispers.

But his hands are gentle as he unbuckles her. Lifting her. Holding her to his chest.

"Next time," he murmurs, brushing the hair from her face, "you wait for me."

He carries her. Effortless, cradled against his chest, skin still flushed and trembling. Her legs are jelly. Her lips are parted, breath shallow, heartbeat fluttering against his collarbone like a bird trying to escape. But he holds her close. Protective. Possessive. Claiming.

He lays her down on the bed like something precious. She sinks into the cool sheets, hair damp against the pillows, body still raw and twitching from the overstimulation. Ryan stands at the foot of the bed, watching her. His voice is low. Calm. Too calm.

"Do you even know what you looked like when I walked in?"

Autumn's eyes flutter open, glassy and dazed. "No..."

"You were dripping," he murmurs, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. "Moaning my name. Making a goddamn mess of the bench... without my permission."

Her breath catches as he shrugs off the fabric, revealing the inked muscle of his torso--tense and carved, his eyes never leaving hers.

"I told you that machine was for us," he says, dropping the shirt to the floor. "Something I wanted to control. Watch. Use on you when I felt like being generous."

She swallows hard. "I couldn't help it..."

He smirks. "No, you couldn't. And now look at you."

His gaze drifts down her body--still spread out, thighs slick and open, nipples peaked from the cold and the rush and the way he's looking at her.

"Still twitching."

"Ryan..."

His belt comes off with a soft hiss. "That machine fucked you good. I'll give it that."

He crawls up onto the bed, slow and deliberate, climbing between her legs, hands sliding under her thighs to pull her closer.

"But I want to see you fall apart for me this time."

She gasps as he settles between her thighs, the thick weight of him pressing against her soaked entrance--but he doesn't push in. Not yet. Instead, he leans down, mouth brushing the shell of her ear.

"You didn't wait for me," he whispers. "So now you don't get to beg for it."

He starts slow. Grinds against her--teasing, heavy, dragging the head of his cock through her folds, spreading her wetness everywhere. Her hips jerk, desperate to take him in, but he holds her down with a firm grip on her thighs.

"Ryan--please--"

"No," he says softly. "You don't ask. Not tonight."

She whimpers, blinking up at him with wide, glassy eyes. He watches her squirm for another long second, then leans down and kisses her--slow and deep. Tongue claiming her mouth, one hand sliding to her throat, thumb resting gently under her jaw, just enough pressure to make her moan against his lips. And then--

He thrusts in. All at once. Deep. Hard.

She gasps, arching off the bed as he stretches her open, filling her completely.

He groans low in her ear. "That's it. Take it. Take every inch like a good girl."

She clings to his shoulders, barely holding on. He doesn't give her time to adjust. He sets a pace--relentless, punishing, hips slamming into her with deep, brutal strokes that echo through the bedframe. Her head falls back. Her mouth drops open.

"Too much--"

"No," he growls, thrusting deeper. "You took more from that machine than you ever should've. You can take me."

She sobs his name, nails digging into his back. And he loves it. Loves the way her legs shake around his waist. The way her moans catch in her throat. The wet, filthy sound of him driving into her over and over. He pulls out almost all the way... then slams back in.

"God--Ryan--fuck!"

"Yeah? Is this what you needed?" he pants. "Not some machine. Me. Say it."

Her voice breaks. "You--God, I needed you--"

"That's right."

He shifts, reaching between them, circling her clit with slow, cruel precision.

"Come on, baby," he whispers, breath ragged. "Give me one more. You're mine, remember? I get to watch every single time you come."

Her body tenses. Her legs jerk. And then--she shatters. Head thrown back. A scream ripped from her throat. She comes hard, eyes squeezed shut, nails raking down his arms. She's soaked, wrecked, utterly undone. And he keeps moving. Doesn't stop.

Slows, but doesn't stop--dragging her through every aftershock, kissing her throat, her cheek, her lips, until she's gasping under him again. Finally, he groans low--thrusting one last time, deep, spilling into her with a growl. He stays there, wrapped around her, breathing hard. Then he pulls back just enough to look down at her.

"You're going to ask permission next time," he murmurs, brushing sweat-damp hair from her face.

She nods, barely able to move. He smirks.

********

The apartment is quiet. Autumn's gone for the afternoon--long shift, texts saying she'll be home late, love you, can't wait to see you later. She'd left wearing that soft blue hoodie of his, her hair up, her perfume still clinging faintly to the air. He'd watched her go, a smile tugging at his lips. Now?

He stands at the edge of their shared bedroom, staring at the machine. The one he bought for her. Set up for her. Used on her, again and again, until she was shaking and soaked and entirely his. He's never tried it himself. Not once. But today... something's different.

Maybe it's the silence. Maybe it's the memory of her--the way she moaned, the way she came undone so violently, helpless and open and trusting beneath the rhythm of it. Maybe it's the fact that he's aching, and his usual methods just don't seem to scratch the itch anymore. He steps forward slowly. Draws the curtains. Locks the door. Strips. There's something strange about standing there completely bare in the middle of the room, alone. The light is soft, filtered. The machine hums low as he powers it on, his eyes fixed on it like it might bite.

He runs a hand down his chest, slow and thoughtful. Then he sets it up. Adjusts the position. Removes the dildo and replaces it with his fleshlight. Checks the speed. Licks his lips. And kneels. It's awkward at first--figuring out the angle, the pressure, the feel of it. He strokes himself slowly, coaxing himself fully hard, testing the tension in his thighs as he lines himself up with the warm, lubed sleeve. And then...

He presses forward. Jesus. His head drops back. A low groan escapes his throat, involuntary and guttural. The warmth. The suction. The pulse. It takes everything in him not to buck his hips forward right away. He braces one hand on the bed, the other digging into his thigh, body tense as the machine finds a rhythm. Slow, tight strokes. Over and over. Just enough pressure to drag every nerve in his cock to the surface. His breath grows ragged.

He lets his head hang. Lets the machine work. Lets himself feel. No teasing. No dominance. No one to impress or control. Just... release. Just him. His thighs twitch. His abs flex tight as the speed picks up. The lube squelches louder now, wet and obscene, and his body jerks with every deep thrust. He's shaking. He grits his teeth. Grabs the headboard with one hand like it'll anchor him. It's too good. Too relentless. Too perfect. Not like his hand. Not like anything.

The way it milks him--tight and rhythmic, over and over--

He loses it.

"Fuck--" he gasps, body bowing forward as he comes hard into the fleshlight. Groaning. Gripping the sheets. Cock twitching, spent and slick and utterly wrung out. The machine doesn't stop right away. Keeps going for a few strokes. Makes him flinch and grunt and curse under his breath as his oversensitive nerves spark under the pressure. His hand shoots out to switch it off, panting, sweating, laughing softly in disbelief.

He slumps onto the bed, breathing hard, chest rising and falling. No one saw. No one heard. But something's shifted. His curiosity is sated. And now he understands exactly how hard it is to stop once you start.

*******

It's late. Autumn's out again--art lab work this time, not due back until after midnight. Ryan had kissed her goodbye at the door, helped her gather her brushes, told her to call him if she wanted a ride home. She smiled, soft and glowing. He waited until she was down the stairs before locking up.

Now?

The apartment is silent. Still. But something in him isn't. The last time he'd used the machine... it haunted him. The pleasure. The helpless rhythm. The utter loss of control. It had left him raw and shaken--in a way he hadn't expected. He hasn't stopped thinking about it. So tonight, he doesn't hesitate. He moves with quiet intention. Locks the bedroom door. Draws the curtains. Pulls the box from the closet where they keep the extra attachments and accessories.

The dildo. Thicker than he'd use on her. Firm. Textured. Designed for pressure, for fullness. For surrender. He stares at it for a long moment. Then fits it into the mount. Powers on the machine. It hums, slow and steady--like it knows what's about to happen. Ryan breathes out hard. Strips off his shirt, his pants. Moves slowly, methodically. There's no rush. Just tension. Anticipation. A silent kind of vulnerability hanging in the air like static.

He grabs the lube. Coats the toy. His fingers. Himself. He lowers to the floor, facing the machine, knees wide, hands braced on the mat. And he breathes. Slows his mind. Tries to settle the war inside him--the control he's always clung to vs. the ache pulling him forward. Then, with one long, shaky exhale... he leans back into it.

The toy finds him. His whole body jolts. He gasps through his teeth, eyes squeezing shut as the dildo breaches him--inch by inch. Not slow. Not gentle. Intentional. The machine doesn't tease.

It fucks. He braces his hands on the floor as the rhythm starts. Steady. Deep. Unrelenting. The fullness is overwhelming. His jaw clenches. Sweat breaks across his brow as his body adjusts, flexes, stretches around it. But he doesn't stop. He moans low in his throat. Quiet. Controlled. But it's slipping--he's slipping--as the machine drives into him, over and over, dragging him open in ways he's never allowed.

His cock is hard--untouched, leaking onto the mat. Every thrust presses against something deep inside. Every stroke makes his thighs tremble. His face is flushed, eyes dark and desperate as he rocks with it, letting the pressure build. Letting the machine do exactly what it was designed to do. And when he wraps a slick hand around his cock?

It's over. His whole body tightens. The rhythm keeps pounding into him and his fist works fast and rough and needy until--

"F-fuck--"

He comes. Hard. Silent but wrecked--his orgasm crashing through him in waves. His hips jerk forward. His back arches. Cum spills across his stomach and wrist and the mat beneath him, his body straining, twitching, breaking. The machine doesn't stop. It keeps going--too deep, too much--and he has to reach blindly, half-whimpering as he shuts it off, muscles shaking, chest heaving.

Silence returns like a weight. Ryan collapses forward, resting his forehead on his arm, breathing hard. He doesn't know how long he lies there. He just knows when he finally moves--slow, careful, utterly spent--his hands shake, his thighs ache, and there's a strange peace in his chest. A line crossed. A secret kept. And a question now burned into the back of his mind:

Would he ever let her watch?

*********

It starts innocently. They're tangled on the couch after dinner, half-watching a movie, her legs across his lap, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his knee. He's quiet--thoughtful in that way she's learned to notice.

"What is it?" she asks softly, eyes flicking to his.

He hesitates.

Then says, voice low:

"I used the machine. A few days ago. With the dildo."

Her fingers still. She stares at him, lips parted slightly, heartbeat quickening.

"You did?" she asks, voice thinner than she means it to be.

He nods once. "Yeah."

There's no shame in his voice--just honesty. Vulnerability. A man who let go of control for just a moment, and is still reeling from what it gave him. And she's reeling now. Her mind spins. Imagining it. The way he must've looked. Sounded. The strength of him coming undone like that, alone, desperate, needy in a way he never lets himself be.

She shifts in his lap, eyes sharper now.

"You liked it?"

"Yeah," he admits, meeting her gaze. "More than I expected."

Her next breath is slow. Calculated. And her voice turns velvet-soft.

"Then you're going to show me."

********

The door clicks shut behind him. The apartment is dim, bathed in flickering gold from the candles she's set on the dresser, the windowsill, the nightstand. The air smells faintly of leather and vanilla. Ryan steps into their bedroom, his heart already hammering. He sees the setup instantly--the machine is out, already mounted with the thick black dildo he'd used just days ago. Only this time, she's in the room. Watching. Waiting.

Autumn stands beside the bed in a black latex bodysuit, high-cut at the hip, unzipped just enough to tease the swell of her breasts. The glossy material clings to every inch of her--shining with the flicker of candlelight. Her hair is pinned back, her lips painted a dark, bruised red. She doesn't smile. Doesn't speak. Just slowly crooks one finger.

"Strip."

Her voice is low and exacting. Ryan swallows hard. There's a twitch in his jaw, but his fingers are already moving, peeling off his shirt, his jeans, his briefs. He stands before her--bare, hard, breath uneven. Not even a minute in, and she already owns him. She circles him slowly. Gloved fingers ghost over his chest, down his abs, between his legs--barely touching. Then she steps behind him, mouth at his ear.

"You wanted it so bad you took it for yourself. You let it fuck you. Without asking. Without a word. Now you're going to show me how much you liked it. And you're going to say thank you this time."

Ryan's breath catches. His cock twitches, aching already.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good boy."

She takes her time setting him up. He kneels before the machine, just like he had alone. But now? His wrists are cuffed to leather straps bolted to the floor mat. His thighs are restrained wide, open, exposed. Autumn kneels behind him. Her hands are slow, methodical--coating the dildo in lube, slicking it with warm care. Then her fingers find him--preparing him, stretching him slowly, deliberately, until his shoulders tremble and his hips grind down for more.

"Needy already," she hums against the back of his neck. "You did like it."

He groans, nods, almost ashamed. But she doesn't let him hide. She leans in close.

"Say it."

"I liked it."

"Louder."

"I liked it," he growls, breath ragged.

"You're going to love what I do to you."

And then--she turns on the machine.

It starts slow. The dildo glides in--inch by slick, thick inch. Ryan groans low and long, muscles tensing as his body stretches open, takes it. He's breathing hard, eyes shut tight, arms straining against the cuffs. Autumn watches every second. Owns every second. She walks around to the front of him, crouching low, chin tilted, latex shining.

"Eyes on me."

His eyes snap open--raw, desperate.

The machine starts to thrust. Steady. Deep. Relentless. His body jerks with every stroke. The dildo drives into him, angled just right--his back arches, chest heaves, and he's already sweating. Autumn just watches. Calm. Commanding. Cruel in the most loving way. She slides a single gloved hand down his chest, across his stomach, not touching his cock--denying him.

"You don't get to come until I say."

He groans. "Fuck--please--"

"No. You're mine tonight. My toy. My good boy. You'll take every inch of what you begged for. And you'll thank me."

She adjusts the speed--faster. His hips jolt. The sound of it fills the room--wet, obscene, rhythmic. The slap of silicone. The whimpering gasps he can't contain. And still--she doesn't touch his cock.

"You want to come so bad, don't you?"

"Y-yes, ma'am--"

"Then earn it."

She leans in, biting at his lower lip, her eyes dark.

"Beg."

"Please," he gasps. "Let me come. Please, I need it--need you--fuck--"

"No."

She turns up the intensity again. His whole body shakes. His cock is leaking, untouched, so hard it's painful. The machine is fucking him relentlessly now, over and over--his moans ragged, desperate, wrecked.

"Look at you," she whispers. "Falling apart. From this."

She cups his face, pulls his gaze to hers.

"And you hid it from me?"

"I'm sorry," he chokes out.

"You will be."

She steps behind him again, turning the machine down just enough to keep the pressure there--taunting. She finally wraps a gloved hand around his cock, stroking him slow and cruelly light.

"I want to see you come," she purrs. "With it inside you. With your whole body mine."

Please--oh God--"

"Say thank you."

"Thank you--thank you, ma'am--fuck, thank you--"

She strokes him hard. Fast. Merciless. And he breaks. Ryan's orgasm rips through him like a storm. His whole body locks, back arched, thighs trembling violently as he comes hard, spilling across the mat, the floor, her gloves. His moan is long and helpless, torn from somewhere deep. The machine keeps thrusting, drawing every last shudder from him. He slumps forward, trembling, ruined. Autumn leans down and kisses the back of his neck--finally gentle.

"Mine."