My Girl

I had been resting in the first guest room and enjoyed it. Wearing the new suit of garments had given me a strange feeling and an image I guess I had not been prepared for.

While still wearing the full suit, I had climbed out of the bed and walked to the door and opened it. The door had opened just as easily as expected and I had closed it behind myself after I had exited the room. From there, I had walked up to the next room and opened the door. Once I had entered the room, I closed the door behind myself once more.

From outside, the door had looked as if it had merely been dark beech wood, while the actual door is made out of stainless steel. Most of the actual door had slipped into the wall to the right and left. The room is decorated just as the first guest room, covering the floor, walls and ceiling with inch thick rubber. Naturally, each of the walls has two double windows in the same style as the guest room as well.

There is a chair in the right and left corner of the room, with the two beds collectively pressed together in the middle of the room. The bed stands had been lifted up and placed on the opposite sides of the beds, in order to permit the beds to be pushed together.

Since I had just been resting on the bed in the first guest room, I chose to sit down in the chair to the right. I could as easily have chosen the chair to the left. The chairs are identical, both visually and physical. It is not a visual illusion as one may have hoped and expected.

The chair in which I sit is a delicately crafted frame of stainless steel, or it is what I thought from the shiny grey metallic sheen. I know little to nothing of all the pure metals and the alloys of them to say which it may have been. In this case, it is in fact Titanium. To the naked eye, the cushion on which I was to sit looks as if it had just been a single, solid mass of three inch thick silicon white rubber. It is silicon and a pure white. To the right and left, I could see and feel solid armrests. I leer at the tentatively molded form that hint towards anatomical comfort.

What doesn’t show, is the line between the backrest and the seat on which I sit. Of course you couldn’t see the spot where the chosen plug is hidden out of sight. The chosen plug is intended to hold the occupant in place; that occupant happens to be me, this time.

The plug slowly insert itself into my rear orifice as I sit down into the chair as my weight is descending onto the slippery smooth silicon on which I am siting down. I feel the inch thick tip enter me, before I feel the thicker lower edge of the head of the plug, just before I feel it plop. As I give my rump a tentative tug, the plug lodged in me is extending to secure its position in order to hold me in place; with that, I can no longer pull back and stand up.

“Should I place my hands on the edge of the armrests and hope for a companion to do the service of exploring me, or should I explore myself?” I thought; for but a moment, before I made up my mind.

Of course it would be fun to be pleasured by someone else, but it would be cheating myself out of the experience I had been looking forwards in the first place.

For a moment, I lick my lips in excitement from the image I had conjured up in my mind. Without an ace or even as much as a tube in my mouth, this is perfectly safe and carries no consequences. In the otherwise empty room, no one is seeing the gesture of excitement.

As I look down, I clearly see the bright cerise petals of the orchid on top of my mound. With the palm of my left hand comfortably resting in the thigh, I reach down with my right hand. Slowly touching the coarse, grabby rubber with the sensitive pads of my fingers as I tease myself in the effort to elicit the desired sensations.

I had refused to lick the pads of my fingers for what is obvious reasons to me, I don’t want to take a chance of undesired or unforeseen consequences. This is my first time in the room, just as it is the first time to try out the suit I am wearing. Why risk unforeseen effects, if you don’t know you actually do want them?

While my orchid may be coarse and grabby to the touch, I still feel the pad sliding over it easily enough. I imagine it is coated with enough lubrication for this to be fun and enjoyable. If a girl is growing wet in anticipation of sex, this effect is reliable to be pleasurable. There is a warm, tingling sensation from the very first touch; very much like the excitement I would have had, had I been nude.

My left hand moves up to my chest, as I reach for my breast. For a moment, I merely caress the soft and fleshy orb in order to get a feel for the tactile sensation and sensitivity. From there, I move on to pinching the nipple between the long nails of my thumb and index fingers.

“Oh!” I sigh, as I feel the nipple stretch.

“Interesting, I could get used to this!” I think, as I keep teasing myself.

Strangely enough, I don’t find myself actually growing any wetter than I had been as I started to touch myself. Maybe this had been part of the initial idea we had agreed upon from the start? What’s the point of growing wetter, or drying up mid game? That is beyond me. Now I can enjoy myself for as long as I can keep going. No fear of adverse reactions.

“Ooh! Ooooh!” I moan, as I have my first orgasm.

That certainly did feel good, if just slightly better than I had been expecting.

“Oooooh!” I moan as I come once more; mere minutes after the first time, just slightly harder and faster than the first.

“Oooooh!” I moan, as I come again.

My left hand slowly move down to the armrest. Once my hand is resting comfortably, I lift my right hand up and place it on the right armrest. I relax and enjoy the moment.

Careful not to press down the palms of my hands on the armrest, I slowly give my rump a tentative tug. No, I can’t pull free now, more than I could have before I started to tease myself.

I make a new tug, but the attempt fails again. Again, and again; each attempt failing just as miserably. Only thing I get for the effort is the feeling of the plug pulling further and further down and pressing out slightly more with each time. I feel it pulling my rump down, holding me securely in place. I am entirely helpless and left to the mercy of the plug, at least as far as I try to pull free.

There is no release from this, I have to pull myself out. Unless I have someone assisting me with the escape, that is. Since I am alone, I have to reach down under my rump with my hands and slip my fingers in along the rip of the plug. I feel the slippery surface of the plug’s shaft as I slip my fingers inside and spread the muscles wide enough to prevent the head of the plug to hold on to me and finally manage to pull my rump free.

Now I raise to my feet, standing up with the chair behind me and take a step forwards before I turn to the bed and lie down for a moment.