Chapter 2: Seven Orgasms to Oblivion
The phone’s screen went dark, swallowed by the damp satin. The silence it left was a vacuum, and the vacuum was unbearable.It pressed on Tiffany’s eardrums, heavy and expectant.
She pushed herself off the bed, her feet landing in a cold, wet patch on the carpet. The world tilted for a second. She caught her balance on the groaning bed frame, her fingers leaving slick prints on the polished metal. The giant black dildo still lay where she’d dropped it, a sinister, glistening intruder on the pastel chaos.But one wasn’t enough. Not anymore. The hunger had taken a breath, and now it was roaring back, sharper, more insistent. The call from Marcus had wired her, a jolt of reality that she needed to burn out of her system.From under the bed, she dragged a dented pink toolbox. Inside, nestled in molded foam, was her other arsenal: a slightly smaller, veined purple dildo, a Hitachi wand with a cracked handle, and a bottle of ‘Toy Bliss’ lube that was more than half empty. She upended the bottle over both toys, the cold gel dripping onto her thighs.
The full-length mirror showed a staggered reflection as she positioned herself on the floor, her back against the footboard.She kicked aside a crumpled towel with her heel. The carpet fibers were stiff and scratchy under her ass. She lifted her legs, spreading them wide until her knees touched the sides of the bed frame, presenting everything to the cold glass of the mirror. In her left hand, the purple dildo.In her right, the black one. The wand lay buzzing softly on the floor beside her hip.“Okay,” she whispered, her voice raspy. “Let’s see.”
She guided the purple head to her pussy, already swollen and loose. It slid in with a wet, yielding sound, a full feeling that made her jaw go slack. She pushed it deeper, a low moan escaping her plumped lips. Then, without hesitation, she pressed the massive black tip against her other hole. The stretch was immediate, brutal, a white-hot tear that forced a sharp gasp from her throat. She leaned into it, letting her body weight sink down onto both invading lengths.“Fuck. Oh, fuck me,” she chanted, her head falling back against the wood.She rocked her hips, a clumsy, awkward motion at first. The sensations were too much, overwhelming separate tracks of fire and stretch. She fumbled for the Hitachi, her fingers clumsy, and pressed the buzzing head directly onto her clit.The effect was electric. A violent shudder racked her body.Her eyes flew open, locking onto the mirror. The sight was hypnotic: her huge, artificial tits bouncing in a chaotic rhythm with each thrust of her hips; her face, a mask of smeared makeup and open-mouthed rapture; the twin bases of the dildos slapping against her skin.
She started to fuck herself in earnest, driving herself down onto the toys, her arm muscles corded with the effort. The wand’s vibration blurred into a single, demanding hum that seemed to vibrate her very bones.
“That’s it,” she slurred to her reflection.“Take it, you dumb slut. Take all of it.”
The coil in her gut tightened faster than before, supercharged by the dual penetration and the relentless buzz. Her breath came in ragged pants. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna—”
Her back arched sharply, heels digging into the carpet.A guttural scream ripped through the room. “MY ASS IS CUMMING!”
A jet of squirt hit the opposite bedpost with a sharp slap, followed by a weaker trickle that ran down her thighs. The orgasm was less a wave and more a detonation, a flash of white noise behind her eyes. Her hands kept moving, the pistoning motion now jerky and uncoordinated.“One,” she gasped, tears already welling. The overstimulation was immediate, a sharp, painful buzzing in her nerves. But the emptiness, the quiet that would follow if she stopped, was worse.
She repositioned the wand, grinding it hard against her throbbing clit. She fucked herself through the sensitivity, the stretch now a dull, full ache.“C’mon, two,” she demanded, her voice breaking. “Good bimbos don’t stop.”
The second peak built quicker, a treacherous, slippery climb. She watched her own face contort in the mirror, the pleasure-pain a grotesque parody of ecstasy. “There!Fuck! MY ASS IS CUMMING AGAIN!” This time the squirt was weaker, a warm flood that pooled beneath her on the already-soaked carpet.Her arms were screaming. A deep, acidic burn settled into her shoulders. She swapped hands, the purple dildo now in her right, the black in her left, the shift sending new sparks through her overworked nerves.
“Three.” It was a sob. The orgasm was smaller, a tight clench and release that left her trembling. She was crying openly now, salty tears cutting through the sheen of sweat and lube. “Four!” This one was almost pure pain, a sharp, electric shock that made her toes curl and her stomach cramp. She squirted a pathetic trickle, just enough to wet her skin anew.Her vision swam.The neon lights bled into hazy stars. She was a machine, a fucked-out piston grinding against its own ruin. “Five,” she whimpered, the chant keeping her moving. “My ass is… oh god, it’s cumming…” The scream was mostly air now, a hoarse scrape.She lost count after six. Time dissolved into a slurry of thrusts, vibrations, and the salty taste of her own tears on her lips. Her body was no longer hers; it was a thing being operated from a great distance, jerking and convulsing on the floor. The chant in her head had melted into a single, looped command: don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop.
A final, seismic convulsion locked her spine.A soundless scream stretched her lips. She didn’t squirt this time; her body had nothing left to give. She simply seized, muscles rigid, as a last, hollow tremor of pleasure-pain echoed through the hollow vault of her.Then, collapse. Her hands fell away, numb.The dildos stayed buried inside her, lodged in place. The wand tumbled from her limp grip, its buzz now a distant, irrelevant murmur against the meat of her thigh. She slid down the footboard, coming to rest in a twisted heap on the floor, her cheek pressed into the cold, sticky carpet.Her breath sawed in and out of her lungs. Her hips gave a final, involuntary twitch.Then another.
In the mirror, she saw a ruined girl, a mess of silicone and slick flesh and running mascara. The hungry eyes were finally, blessedly blank.The noise was gone. She floated in a silent, numb haze, aware only of the slow, thick beat of her own heart and the distant, phantom ache between her legs.
Somewhere, in the back of the quiet, a thought bubbled up: Triple your usual.Her left hip twitched again, a weak spasm against the carpet.
The pink neon glow of the room seemed to pulse, slow and steady, like the inside of a dormant beast. Tiffany closed her eyes. For now, it was enough.