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I saved this illustration for last because it is so bizarre. Personally I like it, in a Ren & Stimpy sort of way, but I thought it best to establish a more conservative position and work up to it.
If you look past the many wacky elements you can see two things that are relevant to my ideas about MekSex, the use of bondage and the mechanical arm attached to the chair that ends with a turret covered with a fantastic assortment of dildos. Various methods for supplying intense skin stimulation, notably pain, are also in evidence, but I do not detect anything in this category which is mechanized except for a strange little wind-up doll.
As much as I love the dildo turret, its design is impractical in that the dildos surrounding the one in use would probably run aground on the woman's thighs. A wheel instead of the ball would work much better.
Adapted to my personal preferences, the illustration would show a beautiful young woman strapped to the chair, her body covered in a sensuous nylon or satin jumpsuit with an open crotch. The mechanical arm and dildo wheel would be massive and imposing, yet guided by hi-tech sensors that ensure excessive force is not used.
In one version the machine would be designed for solo play, controlled by a computer program and fully automatic. The woman would stick her wrists and ankles into mechanized restraints which are drawn tight my the machine, which would not release her for a pre-set amount of time. One after the other the machine would cycle through the series of dildos, each producing its own special sensation. In normal use a timer would determine how long a session lasts, allowing the woman to experience a reasonable level of being out of control. For safety reasons there would be a kill switch located next to each hand, a mechanical version of a safe-word.
A slightly different version would put the machine's operation under a partner's control. No kill switch, no timer. This requires a lot of trust. Begging for mercy can be a big part of the woman's enjoyment. One of the great things about a safe-word is that it frees her to howl and curse and complain about how unbearable her suffering is, but in order to really get into the role she must have complete trust in her partner that should she invoke the safe-word (I prefer "uncle") the action will stop immediately and without retribution. And don't forget that retribution includes ending the scene.
Still another version would integrate an unusual form of stimulation that I enjoy immensely. I would be strapped to a reclining chair, with my legs drawn wide apart. Over me would be placed a beam that slowly rises and falls, like an oil well pump, with the end of the beam positioned over my belly. The beam is powered by an electric motor and a series of belts and pulleys that drive a crankshaft at roughly thirty R.P.M. Hanging from the beam and positioned to spill down at an angle between my legs would be a women's long accordion pleated skirt made of cold, sensuous fabric. As the beam slowly rises and falls the skirt slithers up and down, tickling the inside of my thighs and my balls and flowing over the tip of my cock. This is most effective when the fabric is slick, smooth and supple, but with just enough texture in the weave to produce a little friction. The deal is that the woman's dildo machine will not be turned off until I come, and providing that the fabric is not too heavy and the speed is rather slow that will take a very long time. The sensation is absolutely excruciating and intensely pleasurable, while the difficulty in achieving orgasm makes it terribly frustrating, a quality I respond to very well. Knowing that the woman is suffering a similar fate would make the experience that much more satisfying.
While this particular fantasy is not part of my regular repertory it is similar to a couple of my favorites. In one I am strapped in the chair, but it is a beautiful woman who teases me with a selection of sensuous garments. I picture the woman as very loving and nurturing rather than cruel, despite the cruel aspect of her behavior, something like a very sweet nurse giving an injection. She is fascinated by my fetish and how much pleasure the clothing gives me, and by how much I enjoy suffering at her hands. The scene where this fantasy takes place is usually a women's dress shop, after closing. I always picture her changing into one of the dresses I adore and discovering for the first time in her life how good it feels. I like to imagine that the feel of the dress she is wearing combined with the excitement she derives from tormenting me causes her to become so aroused that she begins to masturbate by pressing the silky fabric of her dress between her thighs and rubbing her clit with it, again something she has never tried and that she finds unbelievably pleasurable. It is an ultimate manifestation of a fetishist's dream, the two of us experiencing extreme pleasure from sensuous women's clothing.
I once had a girlfriend who stumbled onto a marvelous version of this fantasy, which if nothing else demonstrates that women can be just as creative as we men. We had reached a point in our relationship where she had become very fond of some of my favorite forms of play. Specifically, she would accompany me to dinner dressed in a satin gown with nothing under it except a pair of knee-highs, then upon our return home she would allow me to tie her up, still in the dress, and tease her for a long time.
The dress I picked out to introduce her to my passion for sensuous clothing was a bridesmaids dress, made of rich, heavy bridal satin, the kind that is very shiny on the outside and still very cold and sensuous on the inside. It had a fitted bodice, big puff sleeves, and a very full skirt. The first few times she wore it out just to please me, but apparently the sex play that followed established a powerful association between the feel of satin and sexual pleasure. All I did was tie her arms behind her back, position her kneeling on my bed with her knees spread apart, reach under the skirt and finger her clit, slowly bringing her to the edge of orgasm and then stopping, over and over, until finally letting her come.
It turned out that she loved being played with that way. A big part of her enjoyment was the bondage, specifically the feeling of being unable to control what I was doing and the frustration of being made to wait so long and getting so close to orgasm. After three our four evenings like that she discovered that going out in the satin dress was an extremely erotic experience, because she could not stop thinking about what was to follow. What had begun as a typical adornment ritual had been transformed into something quite tactile, as she confessed that it was the feel of the satin that drove her crazy during dinner. I bought her several more dresses, all alike save for the color and some small details, and they became a mainstay in our sex play.
It was at this point that I revealed much of my passion for tickling, including my ideas about clothes that felt ticklish to wear. She found the whole thing peculiar, because to her the satin did not feel ticklish. That night she let me tickle her before playing with her clit. She howled and screamed, just like I hoped she would, but as it turned out she found the experience very frustrating and not in the least bit erotic. Even so, she could see how it could be a turn-on for the tickler and for even for the person being tickled if they were already so inclined.
The fantasy she created from all this was revealed to me one night which began with her offering to act out my fantasy of being bound and tormented with sensuous clothing. It was after one of our dinner dates. She remained in the dress she had worn out and used one that was ready to go to the cleaners on me. While she tortured me with it she began to tell a story, one that made my blood boil and went a long way towards allowing me to eventually spew huge gobs of cum all over her lovely gown. She even masturbated for me, exactly the way I had described it to her.
In the story she told we met lovely young woman at a party, and after a bit too much champagne she revealed her secret passion for being tickled. The next time we were going to dinner, who should happen to show up at our apartment but the woman from the party. My girlfriend had invited her, and apparently more than dinner was on the agenda. My girlfriend's plan was to let her wear one of the satin dresses, hoping that my theory was correct.
It turned out that this woman had lived a very sheltered life, and had never worn anything sensuous. She loved the satin dress we gave her to try on, exclaiming in wild, innocent joy that they felt so ticklish she could hardly stand it.
Dinner was fabulous, but nothing could prepare me for what followed. When we returned home I was surprised with a gift from my girlfriend. She had constructed a machine just like the one I had described to her. Her friend thought it was fantastic, and both of them could not wait to see it in action. After they had my strapped down and the motor humming they took turns trying every kind of skirt and dress I had given my girlfriend, everything from heavy satin evening gowns to light satin nightgowns and sheer pleated chiffon skirts.
After twenty or thirty minutes playing with me my girlfriend proposed that her friend try being tickled while wearing satin. Soon our guest was standing beside me, her arms tied up over her head, and I was treated to the sounds and sights of her shrieking hysterically a my girlfriend raked her long, smooth nails over the woman's satin dress. Then my girlfriend announced that the tickling would not stop until I came, and she was very careful to make my suffering last as long as possible.
After that I kept expecting a strange woman to turn up as we were getting dressed for an evening out, and I kept an eye out for signs that my girlfriend was building something, but neither happened. I hinted once that if she did know a woman who liked to be tickled I was open to the idea of a threesome, but all I got from that was a cold stare and a requirement to apologize a hundred times.
What I did learn from that episode was that my girlfriend had a latent cruel streak, aimed at beautiful women. The next time I had her bound and was diddling her clit I told her a similar story, only I dressed the other woman in a very tight nylon jumpsuit, a couple sizes too small so that the crotch dug deep into her cunt. I described in great detail how my girlfriend would strap the woman to a machine that tickled her all over, and in great detail a little wheel covered with stiff feathers that would tickle her clit. She really went crazy, thrashing and moaning even more than she usually did. Another time I made it a spanking machine, and she really got off when I described the way it flicked the crotch of her tight satin pants with soft leather whips.
The imagery I concocted for my girlfriend's pleasure, and she mine, was not as bizarre as this illustration, but it is only a matter of degree. From where most people view sex play the distinction is probably insignificant. One of the most valuable lessons to learn about sex is not to judge others too harshly, least they judge you with equally narrow standards.
Sandy Beach
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