0 comments/ 11318 views/ 1 favorites Curiousity Ch. 01-04 By: TheThoth Part 1: Before it all Her fingers were numb. That was the first sensation that she felt as the handcuffs came off. That wretched, achy, pins and needles feeling that you get when you've been sitting too long in an awkward position. The officer's voice was a dull back beat to the raw enthusiasm she put into shaking her hands, wiggling her little digits alive, sucking and biting at the ends as if it would make it go faster. "Too fast," he'd said taking pause to watch the woman make over her hands as if they were on fire, then continue on after he was satisfied that she wasn't demonstrating some enigmatic sign of heavy drug use or binge drinking "and you really should slow down on those curves, you haven't lived here long enough to know how many people have died doing stupid shit ball stunts like that..." he finished. He was right; she'd been driving too fast home from too many drinks consumed in too short a period of time. It was all she could do to hide the fact that there were two of him scolding her at present. The nibbling of her fingers was a distraction; what came next would have to seal the deal. "Officer I'm sorry, my husband and I just moved up here last month – he has some new job and works 10,000 hours a week, so all this moving stuff is on me. I just had to run into town, probably..." she beat those pretty eyelashes and looked down shamefully, "...in too much of a rush to get home," she stopped short as if there was one too many admissions of guilt..."I won't do it again." "So you're up there all alone?" the officer said leering back at her. He stopped to tip the corner of his patrol hat up to reveal his arched brow, and receding hairline. This was it, this was her opportunity..."flirt, girl, like you've never flirted before," she mused to herself. The toolkit was all there, draw attention to the boobs, think of something sexy so the nipples wake up, then get your fingers near your mouth and bat those baby blues like there's no tomorrow. He didn't stand a chance, no lawman in the state had ever resisted her charms. The last moments of their interaction were of pure cadence; step one, ensure the young hot girl is thoroughly lectured about how lucky she is to not be dead, and she should be eternally graceful to the officer for letting her off with a warning. "Oh Mr, Officer, won't you let me suck your cock if I promise to be a good girl on the road, and a bad girl with your dick in my mouth if I promise, promise not to tell anyone." She'd long fantasized about saying that while curtsying in front of whatever John. Q Law was lusting after her oral confession. She wondered what her husband would think if he knew, just how many times, the fantasy of roadside blow jobs had worked to save him what was assuredly millions of dollars in traffic ticket fines. "Did you want me to follow you up to the house?" His words came out of no where; had she missed some crucial part of the conversation – was there ever any point where she told him that's what she wanted? Better to reinforce the fantasy than screw up that I just got out of a DUI because some hill billy cop got the better of me. "Oh that's so sweet...Officer Dooley" she said, her eyes darting from his to the name tag, and back again, "I'm so tired, I think I'm just going to go home, get in a big hot bath and then crawl into bed..." she finished. Surely, the Academy would have to acknowledge her raw skill and prowess. Officer Dooley sat dumbfounded, mentally undressing her, wondering what it'd be like to move with her from the hot bath to the cool sheets, all with his mouth hanging open for the better part of a minute before he grumbled something (not in English) and then abruptly left. She sat twirling her long red hair by the roadside as he pulled off. "Oh, be nice – he put up a good fight," she thought as he pulled off, it even convinced her to go the extra mile and do her best butt-stuck out cheerleader wave as he pulled past her. She giggled as she wondered what he'd have done if she had done a standing cheer – complete with pom pom's. It was a much slower go of the way back up the long windy road. The superfluous giggly, drunk joy of using her sex to avoid incarceration or deprivation of property, namely financial, had all but worn off. She had now entered, the angry drunk phase, brought on by too few Miller Lights, and too many whiskey sours. The truth was, she hadn't lied to Dooley about all that much, other than about the whiskey sours and Miller Light's, she was pretty much on her own – the moving had been all on her. She had no job, because she was supposed to be a SAHM, an acronym that denoted motherhood. She did have a child, she supposed, but he was in his late-thirties and required her help mostly only with things like laundry, cooking-and unpacking boxes. The errand, as it were, was to go into town and forget about the box farm steadily growing in her living room, and the furniture that rested peacefully six feet under that. Her husband was working ten thousand hours a week, and she was lonely. How lonely? "Honey, look how far you've stooped." She'd said that afternoon, opening a fresh box left by the front door (a tragic irony which didn't escape her as she threw the skeleton on the pile) as she delved deep in the bubble-wrap guts with the fever of a cheetah digging through an Antelope. "Clear glass, vibrating, temperature holding man replacement" - she said to herself as she tore open the box. One of the many annoyances that moving afforded her was the outright vanishing of "her little box of joy." Thousands, if not millions of memories, vibrating wonders, lubricants of ever type and flavor had been lost. "Probably some burly fucking Puerto Rican moving guy is showing my vibrators up his boyfriends ass with my lube right now," she'd exclaimed to her husband after hours of laborious and ultimately unfruitful search. "Aww baby," he'd start in his best Elvis, "why does it matter, you've still got me?" he had finished... stupidly. The shock and awe of his absurd mental vacancy confounded her. "I have you like 20 minutes a day and even then, it's like every other day – I'm like the kid in that Will Smith movie, except instead of love the kid wants...I want sex...pretty soon, we're going to have to have sex in a subway bathroom with your foot propped up against the door so the homeless guys don't come in and take a shit on the floor." She'd scoffed in retort Did he not understand, did he not get it? Coming was a ritual, more about event than audience. Sure it was nice to have him there, she appreciated his efforts to help even – but it certainly wasn't about him, or her for that matter, it was about that one tiny moment when the world gave way, and then her panties got a little messy. "And it's not like you even would have sex with me the number of times a day I masturbate – not because I don't want to – but it's just a lot of production for something that doesn't require it," She finished. "Suddenly, I find this conversation very hot." He'd leered while lurching for her – "plebeian," she thought. Sure she fucked his brains out that afternoon – but clearly, there would have to be more effort to make him understand, that would take time – and time she didn't have. Fingers did a fine job, but God blessed us with the ingenuity to harness electricity, invent the wheel, raise skyscrapers and land on the moon...and most importantly, invent a mulch-speed, vibrating, temperature retaining sexual pleasure device which could be delivered in a brown labeless receptacle by UPS in less than 48-hours. It was a shame that she had to resort to just one toy, and she certainly understood the financial drain the house, the move and new job had taken – but this wasn't a Tolkien book, there wasn't one to rule them all. She fawned over her new toy when she'd finally wrestled it from its wrapping. She'd just been thinking about some dreamy steamy romance scenario and found herself quite wet, so it was a surprise when the doorbell rang. The UPS man was nice looking indeed, and on any other day, she'd have spent five minutes sticking her chest out, making sure that she laughed at his jokes, even touched his arm just to build material for the next fevered masturbation session – but not this day. This day had already started, and she had plenty of source material in her twisted little orgasm starved mind. The wrappers and trappings discarded she marveled at the new toy. It was glass and mostly smooth, resembling a large diamond penis – only as you worked your way down from the head did it gain texture, an ornamental – but very useful, set of jutting ribs. The bottom of the device was flat, and she fancied that it could be sat upright and used for evil if a small nightstand or unassuming ottoman didn't mind a good afternoon pounding. "Oh, this is what the doctor ordered," she whispered as she turned the device over in her hands, at once enjoying the smoothness, the coolness of the glass, and then a little rough point at the base? "Oh, that's right – it's a vibrator after all" she screamed comically – giggling at her overzealous exclamation. But to little avail she was afforded victory, as alas, she'd received a model with just enough battery life to power on and demonstrate it's prowess as both a sex toy and auto-jack hammer...and within a microsecond...it was gone. "Well this won't do at all," she thought as she tucked the toy into her nightstand, grabbed her purse and headed out the door. The errand, it first seemed, was simple: grab batteries, preferably in mass quantity, return home, replace batteries, commence to self gratification that only such wonders of modern technology could afford. It was only in the check-out line at the grocery store, that a too friendly soccer mom (one with actual children as well as a bit of a social drinking problem), neighbor would brow beat her into "just one drink," and her plan would be derailed. "And I'm on the road again..." was the anthem she sang to herself, plopping back in her car seat, after way too many beers and whiskey drinks...when the blue lights had come on in the rear view. Stumbling to her front door, she marveled at her own success. It was quite a thing to have "fought the law, and the law not won" she mused as she sat down on her couch. It wasn't long before the epiphany of her misadventure dawned on her fully - "Oh that's right," she said peeling off her top as she walked toward the bedroom. The skimpy jeans were next, but the socks stayed on – little white ones, no balls on the ends – she wasn't in middle school anymore after all. She dove headlong into the bed, felt the silk of the sheets on her bare breasts, her nipples dragging across the cool fabric and growing taut, her breasts firm. She loved the feeling of cold sheets across her skin, the way it contrasted with the warmth of her thighs, especially between her legs. And it was probably the comfort (or the whiskey) that stifled her efforts to do so much as turn over. She reached into the drawer, sat up on her elbows and negotiated the hardware of her new device, the old batteries dropping to the floor, the new ones clicking into place firmly and the device came whirring to life. "Mmm...that's better," she said licking up and down the sides of the device. A word to the wise, ladies, in the absence of lube, giving your vibrator a little messy blow job can not only slick up said device, but also warm it. Her toy now ready to play, she slid it down beneath her belly. She liked the way it felt, the weight of her body on her arm replacing the weight of a lover on top of her. Her free hand moved over her left breast – nipples feeling each and every crease on her hand – the subtle callouses, the coolness of her wedding ring. She pinched and tugged at her nipples gently, then harder. It felt foreign, like someone else doing it, and she enjoyed the little pain that came with every squeeze that was just a little too hard. The vibrator tip was cool, and it felt good when it moved over her vaginal mound. It tickled the soft skin above her pubic bone and rattled a little against her hip on the way down. But nothing could compare to that first touch on her clitoris as it moved through her outer lips and nestled itself there in between. The first orgasm came within seconds, and it was as good in a way that a glass of water tastes good when you've been working in the sun, the first sip however made you no less thirsty – and she was thirsty. The ribs further down the shaft of the vibrator were deeper than she'd felt with her fingers and it almost hurt to move those across her clit too fast. She instead focused on a slower, harder movement, one where each little crevice and indentation mattered, felt good. It wasn't long until she plunged the head of the faux crystal penis inside of her, working the head hard against the tightness of the opening . Once satisfied, and aroused to orgasm, she used long strokes, moving deeper and deeper inside as she fucked herself with this great glass cock. The orgasms were plentiful, each stronger than the last, and by the time she was done, she was sweaty, weak and weary. It took all of her effort just to put the new wonder device in the drawer and close it firmly. She lay there in bed, ass-up, come dripping from her red and tender places for only seconds before she'd fallen off to sleep. The next morning came fast, in the form of a glaring white light where clearly curtains or drapes, or even mini-blinds should be. The house was east facing, and she'd never regretted anything more than not putting blinds up at that moment. The windows in the house were actually the nicest feature. Her own bedroom was saddled with three giant 10 foot panes of glass in Adirondack fashion, looking out across her bid red-oak porch and further into the woods. It was only in the noon hours that one could truly appreciate the view. In the wee hours of the early morning, it was less appealing. Still naked and lying on top of her sheets, she scrambled to shield her eyes, looking around curiously for her husband. The fact that she was laying in the same spot was indicative that she'd been the only one there all night, which might sound alarming if you didn't live with that particular bed mate. He was prone to late night "I have to works'" and even worse the "I know we had plans buts," so rather than be alarmed, it was easier to just check her cellphone for an unanswered message. "There it is, the 3am "I can't come home right now babe...," she uttered to herself on seeing the little blinking light. She didn't need to, but she did confirm the messaging by actually listening to it – she'd been a little off on the time and language – but that's just semantics. Surely he'd be home soon, looking like death, needing coffee and encouragement - "And little chance of actual sex," she groaned as she contemplated all the ways that she was more like his encouraging guidance counselor than a wife. She supposed that something had changed for the both of them over the last couple of months – the race to procreate and produce progeny proved fruitless, and somewhere in the months of trying – sex had gone past routine, and into the realm of "chore." It wasn't an absence of romance, it wasn't something they could fix – and she had all but convinced herself that it wasn't important, but still she couldn't help feeling like they'd lost something. She wasn't really mad, she was just frustrated...until she remembered what was lying in her drawer. "No use wasting free time," she thought as she reached for the drawer – but before she could wrestle it open, she saw, very plainly, that the device was sitting upright on her night stand. What was frighting wasn't that it was perched there like a statue of the Virgin Mary on some religious zealots bed stand, but that it was sitting on top of a small write-able DVD, which had written on it: "Very nice Won't you play me..." Part 2: Guest Voyeur Her mood changed from aroused to full on terrified. She jumped out of bed and away from the nightstand. What was it? Where it come from? She nervously scanned the room, standing in the middle stark naked as the day she was born. "Calm down," she sputtered, "it's just your stupid husband playing a stupid prank that's all". Still, she thought, it was best to check the doors and windows – after getting dressed of course. It took her no time to throw back on the skimpy jeans and shirt from the evening before, still saturated from whiskey and cigarettes. The smell almost made her nauseous. It was only the plan of action that kept her on her feet: Check the doors and windows, look in all the closets and under the bed; surely the boogeyman can't come out in the day light. She was half way around the house, a mighty three thousand expansive feet, in under two minutes, running through all of the bedrooms hopefully waiting for "the fruit of my womb", she snickered to herself, but she had other things on her mind at the moment. Every door was locked, every window was latched tight and each and every crevice, closet and dust-ruffle covered hiding place was accounted for and empty...it wasn't disappointing, in fact; it was more evidence that it had been her husband after all. She didn't remember locking the door, so whoever was in the house must have. "Why would a would be sex fiend and/or burglar stop to lock the door on his way out?" She hurried past her nightstand and noticed that her cellphone was blinking again. "There it is, there's his gloaty I scared you message..." She exclaimed, a wave of relief washing over her. But the cellphone message wasn't relieving, it wasn't at all what she'd expected to hear. It seemed her would-be-burglar sex fiend husband had been called to the country on a work-emergency (not uncommon for him) by way of red-eye. The message had been sent somewhere around 2am , well after the first, which came in as she was having her marathon "come fuck yourself" party around 11pm. The message came from an area code local with the inherent message that he didn't have cell service in the major metropolitan hub of Moose Balls, Wherever USA, and that he had called from the airport and would call to check in after he got to a hotel later that morning. "I love you and I'm really sorry for the short notice babe – I'll make it up to you when I get home – promise...dinner, dancing, a romant..." - she disconnected the call, the little red phone icon ending what was sure to be a proposal for makeup sex. The fear came back, and all her attention focused on the little blue disc with the pen-scratched words: "Very nice Won't you play me..." She approached the night stand tentatively, as if some giant menacing hand was going to come out from the dildo and say "BOO!" Realizing she was being silly, she picked up her new toy and carried it and the disc with her over to the living room. Her husband hadn't been around much, but he had ensured that the time he spent in the house was spent completing work on the man's sized TV and home entertainment setup. Moving here meant he wouldn't be relegated to a little dark room in the basement with all of his AV junk – he could proudly display it, that other men could come over and waggle their dicks around while talking about it. "Goddammit, why does this thing have to be like a rubix cube," she shouted fumbling with the 10 different types of remotes, the six different display inputs, trying to figure out how to eject the disc try on the stereo receiver until it was apparent that she should be playing it on the DVD player. Such things were beneath her typically, she was the girl with the easiest gadgets – the "I need an icon on my desktop that says email because "OUTLOOK" doesn't say "email," kind of girl. The frustration of remembering all but the necessary two fucking steps to turn on a DVD from the hour long sermons of technology from her (soon to be late) husband...was driving her mad. She needed to know, she needed to understand all of this, to be able to put it in a little box marked "safe" and put it up on the shelf. But as the screen turned from blue and burst into color, comfort and safe were the furthest two concepts from her mind. Curiousity Ch. 01-04 The first image was of her standing in the doorway of her home, talking to a UPS driver, anxiously taking a brown unmarked box hurriedly into the house. The camera snapped and it was moments later with an anxious woman tearing through packing materials to find a glass sex toy inside. Imagine the look of frustration on her face when it didn't seem to have the battery power to fulfill it's desired function. The next image is of the same woman standing next to her car, fancifully flaunting her tits, smiling and looking down while making "fuck me" eyes to a short, balding police officer. The final flick of the camera revealed a woman, sprawled out on her bed, the angle almost uncomfortably close, as if the camera was inches away. The woman stroked and fondled her breasts while using a massage toy to stimulate herself. Legs spread, back arched so her ass was pushed up in the air – the woman then takes the toy and starts fucking herself with it, vigorously. But unlike most sex tapes, this one doesn't have an anxious, horny viewer. Oh no, our viewer is in shock and terror. She's somehow drawn to the idea actually, and that she's watching herself on camera and the first thing she notices are how amazing that new workout reflects on her ass and how creamy her skin looks in the soft light of the bedroom. It surprises her how erotic the act of watching herself come over and over again. She watches in horror, not because she's appalled by the content, not because she's embarrassed about her body, or that she masturbates – she's terrified that she doesn't remember someone else being in the room with her while she was doing it. And then it ends, the video simply stops. No credit roll, no secret message just for her – it simply fades to black. Still watching a blank screen, she flinched, as if someone had just screamed at her while she was sleeping. She hurridy hit buttons to play the movie again and finally one works. The three scenes play out as they had before. No changes, no new revelation to explain any of what was happening to her. It stopped, and she started again....it stopped and she started again. The final play through was met with the same shocked expression, until she got to the bedroom scene; her tongue darts between her teeth and is caught like some wild exotic flower catching flies. She managed to pause the video of the bedroom masturbation session just as it started – and studied the image thoroughly. On the table was a clock that reads: 11:15:00: PM OCT 5, the image of her in still was mesmerizing only for a moment. "My tits look great," Another rousing flinch and she was nose pressed into the screen, studying each detail. She looked up and down the room, noticing nothing, no disturbed furniture, no giant monster with a camera and a hard on standing in the corner – nothing. It was only then that she realized, that unlike in the other two camera shots the camera isn't moving – it was sitting on something. She took on last look at the screen and hurried into her bedroom. "Is it the dresser? No – too far away." she said pacing about the room. "The other nightstand – No, wrong angle" she thought, kneeling in the corner. "What, what WHAT am I missing here?!" she screamed as she frantically framed the exact angle at which the scene played. She stood there for at least one full minute before looking down, only to find three little circular pattern indentations in the carpet, that plush stuff that everyone had in the 80's and 90's that everyone had removed early in the new millennium. Three little indentations, that looked exactly like the ones her husband had left in mud while doing interior and exterior shots of the house with his new camera. Exactly like the indentations left by his tripod...the tripod that she had put in the attic yesterday. "The attic. I didn't check the attic." She whispered to herself, the revelation horrifying her. Part 3: Identity? It took another 20 minutes of solid self motivation to work up the courage to open the attic door. Sure there had been internal struggle, some voices saying "open the attic – take a knife, but open the attic," while others said "Just call the police – there's a weirdo sex criminal in your attic, do you really want to take him on in those jeans." What the former – far more conservative voice, the one of logic and reason and the police-was saying made sense. What that voice didn't understand however, is that the last thing she wanted to do was have to show Officer Dooley and his desk jockeying buddies a video of her actually "going and fucking herself." It'd be too much to explain to the Police at this point, and certainly too much to explain to anyone that they might tell (including her husband at this point). Her husband was a terrific guy, but had been pretty clear that her drinking was a little out of control lately, and that money was tight - "So seeing me fuck myself silly with a brand new three hundred dollar dildo while piss drunk is probably not the right move," a third and far more realistic voice hypothesized. Even if he didn't think all of this was as bad as it had just sounded, I'd rather spare him the agony of having to deal with it – he's certainly bitten off more than he could chew she admitted to herself. The attic wasn't all that scary after all; she had forgotten that the uppermost space in the house was the go to spot for "shit we don't know what to do with right now" - and had about 13 square inches of open floor space after all the aforementioned shit was packed up there. "Hey, he wanted to be able to walk through the house...it's the price you have to pay," she said to him the last time they'd gone up with the tripod and three handfuls worth of other stuff that was, for the time being, seemingly unnecessary. She hadn't gone all the way to the top before she noticed the tripod...it was in a different spot than where she'd had have him leave it, that was for sure, but most interesting, was that her husbands brand new video and still image "whizzbang insert numbers and words that probably mean something to some photographer would understand," camera (she was oft quoted as saying since the thirteen hundred dollar wonder had been purchased a month or so back). "The thirteen hundred dollar camera that never leaves his side, the one he took with him to work yesterday..." It came out as both a question and an answer. "That little shit," she thought – well, now that's not all she thought. She went from full on horror to mild arousal at the thought that not only had he caught her masturbating, but he caught her masturbating, thought it was hot enough to tape it – "and then decided to play this little sex game with me," she finished out loud. She climbed down out of the hall attic access and walked into her bedroom as she pondered all the details, and slowly it started to make sense. He must have seen her out and about, having a drink, then decided to make some point by filming her. He invariably caught the whole thing with Deputy dipshit and then came home, which she admittedly might not have noticed in her drunken hurry to "Love Thyself." The more she thought about him actually, "beating me – being smarter, outwitting me," the more she got turned on. Hubby had gotten his groove back. Her overworked, under appreciated husband, who she had to admit she neglected right back, even with as little attention as he threw her way. No other answer would suffice, he definitely had the camera when he left yesterday, he definitely would have called her screaming like a 10 year old girl if it had been stolen, and he was definitely the only one with a set of keys. The concept of her man turning from brow beaten weenie, overworked, under paid, over tired and under laid to this sex fiend, powerful...she was aroused. Standing there in her bedroom she realized she was still holding the glass toy. She turned it around, "so that's the way you want to play," she said, swallowing the head of the device, the glass tip sliding down her throat. Not that she needed it, she was dripping wet from the turn at play. The idea that her husband was dominating her, teasing her, "playing with me..." she purred, was enough to drive her wild. She slid her hand down to unbutton her jeans, pushed them down to her knees. Fingers first dove between her thighs, she parted her soft and supple lips with ease, the wetness moving everything faster. Bending down she rested her shoulders on the dresser, ass stuck out in an inviting pose. She moved the glass toy around the side, teasing her ass and then deep inside of her , pumping and stroking the walls of her vagina as she fucked herself with her precious new toy. It wasn't long until the warm feeling started in her chest. Her nipple grew hard against the fabric of her shirt and she pulled it up so that they were exposed, pressed hard into the dresser as if some unseen assailant was holding her down by the shoulders and fucking her from behind. But it was her that was doing the fucking, the warm feeling was now at her waist and soon in her hips, she felt it all come together between her thighs and exploded into orgasmic moan. He legs shook, she hadn't come that hard in months. She knew whatever her husband had in store for her was something she wanted, and she'd play along to get it. It was an hour later that the phone rang, her husbands voice was jovial nearly excited."So we didn't end up having to stay after all," he explained "some jurisdictional thing..." he was saying something, but she wasn't listening. She just knew that whatever he said, she had to agree to – her panties had been soaked all afternoon every time she thought about it, now she was soaked just imagining all the things he had planned. "..so listen, I have a couple of things to finish up here, and I thought we could go to dinner, a real one...like a date," he said nervously. "Well played," she thought... "Sure babe, anything you want. Are you coming up to get me or am I coming to you?" she said with a smile, taking great care not to give to much away. "Very nice," he said...she just smiled more, her panties nearly overflowing, waves of pre orgasmic delight could be felt every time she shifted in her seat. "I'll be there to pick you up by six," he finished, he hung up the phone carefully stating that he loved her. He certainly knew how to play a part she thought. It was nearly three and she'd need to hurry if she was going to be ready for tonight. Part 4: Dinner and a Show The shower had been lovely: warm and hot, having nothing to do of course with her massaging shower head, the one she'd brought over from the old house and had insisted that the plumber install despite her husbands protest of financial irresponsibility. She smiled as she finished drying herself off and donning the thick blue terrycloth robe. She had managed a quickie on her own in the bath and had time to shave, wax, pluck and preen everything. Everything that she had imagined her husband was deserving of a little planning of her own. Her makeup and hair were half done, and an outfit picked out and laid out across the bed when the doorbell rang. "Oh, he's early," she nearly skipped to the door. Sadly, it was the long face of the UPS man again. Clearly the long windy road had become a bit of a nuisance and he said as much as she signed for the small package. She was distracted, she hadn't ordered anything else, yet the same brown, label-less packaging had arrived on her doorstop for a second day in a row "Yeah, we'll do something about the road....build a bridge.." her voice cut off by the slamming of the door. Surely the UPS man had more to worry about than her driveway. Strutting back toward the bedroom, she anxiously tore open the box. Inside, she found an odd soft of undergarment, one that looked like..rubber panties. The rest of the box was empty, save for the one little blue recordable disc with the words "Watch Me" inscribed in the same handwriting as the disc before it. "MMMmmmm...what could this be?" She said as she walked back over toward the TV. She'd previously mastered the inter workings of the technological marvel-she was a quick study-and within a second, the movie started to play. The video was a simple one: it was the panties sitting on a table with a little black keyring sitting next to it. Next to that was a glass of water, half full. She smiled curiously. Certainly this was all part of the intricate master planning born of her husbands torrid imagination. She picked up the panties, and noticed that a similar keyring was attached at the back. A non-descriptive, white gloved hand appeared against the back drop, waving like a magician pointing to the empty hat in which he's about to pull a bunny from. The hand carefully picked up the glass of water, and set it flat on top of the panties, the hand then picked up the keyring and pushed the top in. A little red light blinked on at it's base. The TV screen was still for a moment, save the sound of what sounded like buzzing – and all at once, the water in the glass started to ripple. As more time went on, the water rippled more and more, harder and harder and then stopped. "How interesting," she exclaimed while examining the panties. They were black and rubbery, not slick, but somewhat tacky to the touch. They were small, and would be tight on her broader hips, but she thought that might be the point: they'd be hard to get off. A smile dragged across her face, and she reached for the button. As advertised, the vibration started as a low burr, then harder and louder – never morose than a cellphone – but the sensation was pretty intense. Upon further inspection, the seat of the panties, toward the front, was a small rubber lip, one that looked to part vaginal lips just a touch when worn. She pressed the button again to confirm this little rubber bulge was the source of the vibration. She had all sorts of fun fussing over this new toy, playing with the button, and she found that the harder she pushed, the more intense the vibration. She was a little disappointed in the range,as a move more that two or three feet away rendered the button useless. Such was life. "So this is your plan, huh? You're on darling," She said sliding the panties up over her hips. As a test, she of course needed to test the unit in field conditions. She lay back on the couch, opening her robe, rubbing her breasts, her nipple firm she squeezed them softly. After only a moment, she pressed the button, and not having time to dilly dally, she pushed hard...and it was hard in return. She didn't know at first what she'd done but once the motor had started, it was on for a certain period of time, regardless how you felt about it. The first wave of orgasm came fast, come ran from underneath the black rubber, the pressure seemingly squirting it out on her thighs. The second wave of orgasm was imminent and unstoppable and the little vibrator raged harder and harder. "Oh God, oh stop, oh no oh fuck," she cried as the second and far more powerful orgasm ripped through her body. Thankfully, the vibration stopped nearly on cue, and after composing herself, she finished getting dressed. The day was turning to night as the headlights pulled into the driveway. She'd long since cleaned up her pink sensitive spots and was ready for a night out with her fiendish husband. Surely, there were more orgasms to come, and she was ready for them all. She'd managed to find the one outfit that never looked bad on her. A little black dress which showed too much back and probably too much tit, but her tits were nice and they needed a little air time too. The heels that accompanied it were also her favorite, black and satiny and expensive, and she'd cared for them through the move as if they were her children. Her husband got out of the car, and moved towards the door. She looked good, she knew it, and she deserved a compliment. He stopped short, "Wow...just wow babe, I really don't deserve you," he smiled and kissed her the way husbands do when the come home after working too late too many days in a row. "I'm all ready to go. Want to play with me?" She said, smile cutting across her face wickedly. "Sure thing, give me two minutes – I just want to hop in the shower real quick, want to smell pretty for my baby don't I?" "Oh, a shower, I like the sound of that. I wonder if I could wear my rubber panties in there with you?" "Sure, I guess you could," he said, he looked startled and a little shocked – surely just a ploy to throw off any idea that it was him. She'd play along. "Oh you know, if I had any." She returned vacantly, biting her bottom lip as she smiled and turned to walk away. She followed him to the bathroom, watching, waiting. "Are you...gonna watch?" He said as he took off his shirt, "I mean, it's okay...just like to know if there's an audience." She smiled back. "Oh, I like shows." The next three minutes were filled with an impromptu strip show by her husband, complete with flossing his pants between his legs before rounding them out and throwing them across the room. "Not his finest moment," She thought "but I guess he is kind of cute in a nerdy way." She'd always found him attractive, not because he was a model, or even one of those grungy good-looking musicians. He was a handsome man who didn't know it and this little dance was very "him," she thought as she followed her naked husband to the shower. She was aware that it had been awhile since she'd felt this attracted to him and she started to wonder why, but she shelved the thought in favor of feeling. He turned, "Okay, I was going to buy you dinner, but if you want dessert first..." he started. "Oh no, I want the whole show honey," she interrupted. "Though, I guess a little preview wouldn't hurt, and with that, she knelt down in front of him, his naked body just inches from her face. She took his cock in her mouth quickly; the pure raw sensation of the day had made her voracious. He groaned and leaned into her, almost immediately becoming completely erect. She sucked and stroked his dick in her mouth for several minutes and soon she could tell he was close. His muscles tensed as he grabbed her by the back of the head and moved his hips in a circular motion. It was hot, torrid, unadulterated sex, this husband and wife– he completely naked, she in evening wear in heels - "how post modern feminism," she though as she pulled her head away. "Uh, uh...no way, you don't get to come so early..." She smiled up at him, his hard cock in her hands. She kissed his wrists, still affixed to her head, and he smiled down at her "Okay I suppose I..." And just like that, her concentration was shattered as the vibration in her panties ramped up to full thrust. "Oh shit," she thought, "he doesn't have the keyring."