This story contains sexual themes and is meant for mature, consenting audiences only. Please respect my artistic freedom as much as I value your freedom of ideology. I put hours and hours into my work and am as serious about it as any artist. This story is properly tagged as mature. 

Sue quickly questioned her career choice. Archaeology was a lot more Joe Accountant than Indiana Jones. After finishing her degree, she went straight to field assignments figuring that was where to find the action. When some of her finds appeared in archaeology journals credited to the dig leader she knew it would be a long hard road establishing a reputation of her own. The glass ceiling could even be found in remote locations, and a whole culture of entitlement and "putting your dues in" existed. No matter what her contribution, she was always told that she didn't see the big picture and needed more experience. There was little respect for new people, new ideas and women in general on field expeditions.

Practical matters were even worse. She found herself the only female in remote locations with lots of leering men, far from home, girlfriends and wives. She didn't consider herself good looking and took regular inventory of her faults in the mirror: could stand to lose a few pounds; was barely B cup; flat ass; narrow hips; bad nose and even worse vision. Contact lenses gave her problems, so she was forced to wear extra thick dorky glasses for her astigmatism and was very self conscious about them. On location in the field, she felt nothing but all the men's eyes roaming over her and tallying up her faults while still thinking, "I'd do her anyway." The boredom of remote sites brought out the worst in people. She was soon on a plane home.

Out of work and struggling without the requisite recommendations for the best jobs, she figured out how to work the system as a matter of survival nonetheless. Government grants could open doors, and finding a neglected area of study that could justify funding created jobs. The big machine would turn its wheels if you pushed the right buttons.

A large cache of artifacts was discovered almost 80 years ago. They were associated with a forgotten people called the Nuymeans (she never found the origin of the name). The artifacts ended up in several museums, but most of them went to the gigantic National Museum where they were promptly filed away and largely forgotten despite the efforts of one extraordinary woman.

Dr. Maggie Barnes studied them for most of her life and arranged the current collection, but little else was ever found. The area of rainforest where they came from was burnt and bulldozed less than a decade after the discovery without a second thought of the archaeological value. They grow sugar cane and marijuana there now. For the over 20 years since Dr. Barnes death, little funding or interest was devoted to Nuymean research in academia. To Sue, it was like someone decided Gobekli Tepe or Leptis Magna was a waste of time and stuck an oil well in the middle.

Paperwork approved, a door opened for her. The National Museum was soon paying peanuts for an Assistant Junior Curator. It was a job regardless, and she got to keep her apartment. Hopefully she could turn it into a stepping stone to something better. She had a modest basement office with an old hand-me-down computer. Career choices aside, the Nuymeans seriously intrigued her, and she felt a bit of an obsessive compulsion to find out more about them. They had completely different notions of sex and culture. More importantly, they had strangely advanced technology for an ancient people in the rain forest. As near as she could tell they had complete mastery over the problems associated with uninhibited sexuality including over-developed morality, pregnancy and disease. Sexuality permeated everything Nuymean.

The craftsmanship of the artifacts was very out of place in the timeframe for which they were dated--well before the renaissance. In fact, some of their abilities with materials such as stone, metal and rubber were arguably ahead of modern technology. Several alien hunter groups were convinced the Nuymean were, or had contact with, extra-terrestrials. She easily could see how some of the conspiracies would not take much exaggeration.

Sue quickly found why academia avoided the Nuymeans for two decades. Much like any reputable scientist would not be caught dead on a Bigfoot expedition, association with Nuymeans was considered pure career suicide if not sexually deviant. She may have ruined her career chances and would probably be considered some kind of pervert by some of her conservative colleagues.

The other problem with the Nuymeans was the science itself. They largely left behind artifacts of metal and stone. These types of items did not provide a lot of information. To most archaeologists the worst thing to find was gold. It could not be dated and interested thieves in their work while yielding few facts.

All of the Nuymean metal artifacts in the museum's collection were made of a metal alloy Dr. Barnes christened 'lusterite.' It looks like gold but is nearly indestructible and never tarnishes. When first publicized, the military had even confiscated some of the artifacts trying to uncover how they were made. She had the complete classified report from 3 years of testing courtesy of Dr. Barnes skills in acquisition. Lusterite was immune to grinding, acid, denting and almost all forms of damage attempted. Even a diamond blade could not cut through it. Analysis showed it had an austenitic face-centered cubic crystalline structure like an aerospace superalloy, but it still had an unusually high atomic packing factor so was exceedingly dense. Lusterite could be melted at a lower temperature than should be possible, conducted electricity and was a lot heavier than it looked--even if it had been real gold. They believed the Nuymeans were able to use the low melting point to construct the items, but they were unsuccessful in creating their own and equally unable to admit the Nuymeans had a superior technology.

At first she was just relieved to have a job and happy to put the National Museum on her resume, but now Sue had second thoughts. Most of her work involved answering a stream of the same suggestive questions from wide-eyed patrons and conducting tours of the museum "Nuymean Room." The exhibit was somewhat popular, and the museum just wanted a pretense of science for their ticket buying tourists. She feared she would jump out a window the next time she had to show a drooling busload of high school age adolescent boys the case full of golden phalluses and dildos or see the giggling smirks of a foreign tourist while they took endless pictures of her holding up one of the items. The internet was probably full of cleverly captioned pictures of her smiling while holding a golden dick. The teasing and snide comments were even more annoying when it came to the golden bras and panties...no, the bra was not her size; yes, the panties were all thongs. The girls would seem embarrassed and intrigued at the same time while blushing and secretly juicing in their panties.

The artifacts were incredible works of art regardless. She totally appreciated the detail involved in making them. The phalluses came in all shapes and sizes complete with skin texture and veins. Each one was unique, yet they all had exactly the same base which could be mounted into other artifacts.

The bras and panties were made of a combination of solid metal pieces mixed with woven metal fabric. The fabric was made with nearly invisible links interwoven like microscopic chainmail. The woven metal was so minutely fine that it still looked like solid metal to the casual eye. Aside from the basic construction, each set of panties and bras were engraved with detailed artwork. Most were of large cats, tropical birds and other similar exotic creatures found in the rain forest. Lusterite construction aside, no one had the slightest idea how the Nuymeans formed the weave or did the engraving, and no modern technology could duplicate it. Alien hunters were fond of citing the metal artifacts as proof of extraterrestrial origins.

As if just to add to her stress, the museum director was pressuring Sue to produce some kind of publication. They had to justify her position and maintain scientific appearances. It was also a condition of the government funding: a formal publication of findings in a recognized journal. She was hired on probation and knew her job was in the balance. Other gullible young academics could be found if she were fired. Other people could use the door she had opened. She suspected that the popularity of the Nuymean room, with its corresponding ticket sales, was the only reason they hired her to begin with. It was unseemly to have a popular exhibit without an in-house expert.

She still had no idea what she was going to write about. There were some written Nuymean works, but the language was cracked by Dr. Barnes long ago and would not be a suitable "discovery." The publication needed to reveal something new and revealing. Almost all written Nuymean works were instructions and recipe-like lists of things to do and how to do them. The detail was complex and meticulous. In many cases, there were also detailed diagrams. Intriguingly, most of them were about sexual practices. There were works showing how to size a dildo to a woman, the best sequence to whip a woman for escalating arousal, hundreds of bondage guides, guides on how to overcome a gag reflex, a guide to piercings over 500 pages alone and many more. Strangely, though, none of the works were ever about men. Why? It has to be an important clue about their culture. Truth be told, the artifacts intrigued her as much as they did the high school kids, but she could never let anyone know; she had to show a sense of academic detachment.

Little known to the public, only a small number or representative, carefully selected, items were on display in the Nuymean Room of the museum. In the basement, she had several more large rooms overflowing with tightly packed movable shelving, large crates and sturdy racks. A private side room was devoted to Dr. Barnes research records and items she had set aside for specific research, while yet another room was filled with jars full of liquids and solutions that she had carefully labeled with painstaking detail. So far, Sue had not found any records describing why Dr. Barnes had been so focused on them.

With the museum dust and climate control, everything was in place as if Dr. Barnes just left yesterday. Sue felt a little odd looking through the items. They were more like Dr. Barnes personal effects than museum property. Of course she had already studied all of the typed and filed research which made up the official record, but there were hundreds of additional notes, articles and academic papers--few of which were ever published. In addition, there were still a dozen untouched chests, file cabinets and drawers containing more research from a lifetime of study. Having never been published and predating the internet, it was all essentially unknown to the scientific community. Seldom had any publication been allowed with such sexual content, and little could be discussed about the Nuymeans without sexual content. The whole Nuymean topic was effectively blacklisted--even with a properly objective academic detachment. All of the attention from alien hunters made the situation even worse.

The side room had a stout steel door and as far as Sue knew, she had the only key. It gave her a place to conduct her own private "research." Her favorite artifact was similar to a chair, perhaps even a throne, carved into a huge block of smooth dark stone. It arrived as part of a recent acquisition about a year ago. A smaller museum that she had never heard of fell on tough times and donated their whole Nuymean collection to the National Museum. In fact, several other smaller museums had quietly donated their collections over the decades like they were trying to stash their embarrassment away. Artifacts were quietly shipped and quietly moved to the basement for years with no curator to even open the packing slips. Two storage rooms and part of another were waiting to be cataloged.

Sue had the chair uncrated and moved to this room for closer study. It appeared to be one of the most interesting of the new objects. The seat back was tilted like a recliner and specially angled in relation to the phallus mount point. Any of the phallic artifacts could be placed in the standardized squared hole, and it would hold fast. Large solid chair arms, perfect to hang onto, were placed closely on each side. With the huge stone base, there was no danger the chair would tip over. If a woman mounted the chair, her feet would hang off the ground by a least a foot even if she was over 7 feet tall. The seat angle was cleverly arranged to push her towards the phallus using her body weight as pressure. Any movement would cause her to slip further downwards, impaled deeper. The sides were contoured to guide and hold her hips in position.

The seating surfaces themselves were highly polished and smooth as glass. She could only guess what the original significance of the chair might have been and had always wondered if they strapped women onto chairs such as these for some test or ritual. Once she mounted the chair, she found it difficult to raise herself back off the phallus and was never willing to go all the way and put her full weight on it. The angle of her body versus the position of the arms of the chair did not allow for much leverage.

She tried the chair the same day it was moved. How could she not? Little did she suspect she would soon crave to use it. Her vibrator alone could not equal the intense sensations or powerful climaxes of the chair. The locked side room became a sanctuary for her guilty pleasures.

At home, one of her neighbors had found a hidden camera in her apartment. Rumor was her creepy landlord was a voyeur. After that, Sue never could feel comfortable in her own apartment thinking he might be watching. He had a key so it would be easy enough for him to secretly wire her place as well. As soon as her lease was up, she was moving. Masturbating at home was pretty much off-limits to her mentally. Eventually her desires would be strong enough to outweigh the guilt and fear of getting caught, so self-pleasure was a regular ritual at work now.

Her routine was to place a stout wooden storage crate at the foot of the chair when using it so that she did not need to hang on the phallus with her full body weight. She wasn't about to drive it inside with that kind of force. The crate was just high enough for her to use tip toes for support. Sue was convinced this was close to how the women who used the chair felt, but it still seemed safe. She felt fully penetrated despite being able use her legs to move and climb off when done.

She had followed the Nuymean guide to dildo sizing to the letter and knew immediately which phalluses would be uncomfortably large or too small to have the desired effect. The tiny symbols on each were one of her recent discoveries. Three separate symbols indicated length, girth and a rating for texture. She had tried a dozen or so different ones with a selection of about 6 favorites she kept separately, "highly polished," in a cabinet near the chair. No one would question a few more Nuymean artifacts in storage.

One phallus in particular had become her favorite by far. Something just felt completely right about it. It was just large enough that she could never quite get used to it, but it was not painful. Tiny nubs created the perfect amount of friction and sensation of texture. The Nuymean sizing guide rated it as "challenging." She always got a shiver up her spine inserting it. Her only complaint was that the heavy lusterite was cold and took a long time to warm up. It weighed in at 9.1 pounds. Doing the math, the lusterite was denser than gold and less dense than platinum, fairly close to the density of tungsten.

Sue also kept a sizeable variable speed vibrator and a long extension cord locked in her desk drawer. With the added vibration, she felt like the chair was thrusting up to meet her, but she knew that was impossible. She thought that somehow the chair had just the right combination of angles and positioning that she could feel her own heartbeat against the pressure of the phallus and vibrator. It was easy for her mind to run wild with fantasies when she was about ready to have the big O.

She made a huge breakthrough by convincing the museum board of trustees to let her do research at night. In the end, they would rather have her handling the erotic artifacts, especially when working in the Nuymean Room public display, well out of the public eye and understood her need to get away from the daily crowds to concentrate on her work. They approved an intern she found at a local college to do the daily tours. It wasn't long until she took advantage of the privacy and spent more and more time in the side room. She would give Charlie the night guard a smile and a wave and then disappear into her own basement world. Charlie seemed like he was 80 plus years old, moved slowly and didn't seem to hear too well, so she wasn't concerned about him being a problem.

Many nights, Charlie and Sue were the only people in the museum. She kept a large bottle of lubricant with a pump dispenser in the drawer next to the vibrator. Exciting though they were, her nighttime adventures were starting to become too routine. She thought she might eventually get caught, but she still felt an unexplainable compulsion to continue. She always felt better after using the chair. It was deeply satisfying while it cleared her mind and reduced stress so that she could focus on her work the rest of the night. She had a comforted feeling like she had actually accomplished something beyond the pleasure alone.

She thought about trying some of the other artifacts for variety. The golden lusterite bras and panties were of little interest. She found that they all were for large breasted women so would definitely not fit her. They all had the same D or double DD sized cups, depending on how she did the measurement. In fact, that was another of her discoveries. All the bras, both straps and cups, were the same size. She was never able to find any kind of clasp to close one. They had a T-shaped back like an athletic bra. They could be dropped down over the shoulders and closed at the sides, but the strap ends had no kind of hook, catch or attachment. They had perfectly smooth matching flat ends. The panties used the same kind of closures, if you could call them that, on the sides above the hip bone.

Unknown to the public there were also high-heeled shoes. They looked so much like modern high heels that the alien hunters would have a field day if they knew of them. They would have been completely impractical in the rain forest, so had some other unknown purpose. Every pair also had the same design with ankle straps that ended with the same bare ends that did not connect. Again, they were all the same size, about modern women's 8 with 5" inch heels. She was an 8 and a half and could squeeze into them, but they were so uncomfortable that she could only stand them for a short while. The material was another thicker style of the fine mesh metal fabric while the pointed toes were smooth and rounded solid metal. The soles were solid lusterite and heavy with some cross hatching for traction.

The shoes gave her an idea. She remembered reading an article about a new technique which was all the rage with young academics called "participant archaeology." Advocates insisted that you could only discover the truth about some artifacts by using them. They would have mock battles with ancient weapons. They would re-create ancient garments and wear them while performing tasks thought to be realistic. They even used ancient torture devices to judge their effectiveness. They were constantly discovering new ways to re-enact the past in context.

Sue would change her routine up a little tonight and dabble in her own form of participant archaeology--not that she wasn't already participating rather well with the chair already. She might be able to come up with a publication from it all with some careful self-censorship. She grabbed a pair of the shoes, the big bottle of lube and carefully selected a phallus that was a full size larger than her usual favorite. The closest translation of its Nuymean guide rating was "difficult." She'd be more realistic and leave the vibrator in the drawer. Today, she wanted the added challenge of working for her orgasm. The previous times she used the chair seemed to reduce her inhibitions a little. Now she seemed to be craving to be in it constantly. She was feeling uncharacteristically impulsive today, and it was time to be less cautious. The new phallus was one she had never tried. It had a rougher texture, and she knew it would be a bit of a wild ride. This should help break her somewhat humdrum routine. She would also learn if the back thrusting was imagined or real. She could edit out the more intimate details of her experiment from her scientific account.

A large collection of gags was also among the artifacts. Again, they were kept out of the public eye. They were also kept secret from the military examiners as most were ball gags with a special rubber-like material. The rubber was still perfectly black and pliable with no signs of age, teeth marks or other wear despite being in the rainforest for centuries most likely. No doubt there was some military application. She always marveled at how modern people were so arrogant about how much more they knew than the ancients. Here was another example of something that the Nuymeans could do centuries earlier that defied modern understanding.

She had never used the gags and wasn't particularly excited by the idea. The isolated basement and the room's steel door seemed to be plenty of sound insulation. Besides, she also wasn't one of those women who made a lot of uncontrollable noise when she had the big O, but in keeping with changing things up, she grabbed a gag anyways. It would be something completely different. Perhaps they gagged the women when they used the chair? Most had the same plain-ended straps that didn't close, but there were a few that had buckles and clasps. She picked one that had a full head harness with a series of clasps. They were sort of like the clasps on a toolbox or steamer trunk and could be flipped closed over a lockable loop hasp. There was a large black ball for inside the mouth that was held in place by a mouth cover of the lusterite metal fabric. Several clasps along the side could lever the cover down tight over the ball. Looking at the gag more closely and thinking about it was unexpectedly getting her juices flowing even more, and she started to wonder why she hadn't tried it before this.

Sue locked the door from the inside and put her keys on a small table near the door. Her inhibitions were screaming at her to stop while her heart raced with the excitement ahead, and the thrill of doing something few would approve of even if it could technically be considered science. Those inhibitions were fading with record speed.

Stripping off everything, she carefully laid her panties out so that they would dry some by the time she was done. As always, the room felt cold in the climate control and she could feel her nipples hardening quickly. She pushed the phallus into the mount and heard the expected click as it locked in position. Now the only way to release it would be to press the catch on the front face of the chair underneath the mounting point. The catch was quite firm and it usually took her both thumbs to release. Clearly the Nuymeans didn't want it coming loose unexpectedly.

Next, she bent over and put on the shoes. She couldn't close the plain-ended straps, but knew that just the tight fit would keep them on. How some women could walk in these all day was a mystery. She had always avoided heels and was already having trouble just keeping her balance on the smooth stone tile.

She coated the phallus with a good two pumps of lube. It was dripping down the front of the chair some, but she knew from experience that it would clean off easily. Even though she was thoroughly wet already, she hated the feel of anything dry inside her so much that she wasn't willing to take any chances.

Next came the gag, she took a good look at the clasps and put the straps over her head. She had a large full length mirror in her office, but it was heavy and she didn't want to move it to the side room. She could close the clasps by feel and decided to go the extra mile so grabbed a set of small padlocks normally used on record cabinets and dropped the keys on the small table. Eventually she got the large rubber ball in place and worked the covering down tight. As each clasp closed, the ball was forced tighter into her mouth pinning her tongue down completely. The lusterite front panel had no give whatsoever. This would have to be a quick session or her jaw would be aching for days.

Working quickly in order not to lose her nerve, she clipped one of the small file cabinet locks in each of the clasps and clicked them all closed. She had all the keys on her ring. Her whole head felt like it was lightly but firmly fastened into a vice. The straps weren't going anywhere. She tried to talk to find that her pinned tongue and plugged mouth didn't block all sound, but intelligent speech was not possible.  The ball was just too big. She wouldn't have guessed how much the density of the lusterite blocked sound.

Now was the moment of truth, turning off the suspended electric heater she placed over the chair--strange how no one questioned it among the other items in the basement. The conservation department didn't seem to notice it was missing. She climbed up on her wooden crate and turned around face-up to slowly lower her body into place. The warm stone felt almost therapeutic and would stay warm for a long time.

She leaned back to get the proper angle and felt the head of the phallus press against her nether lips. The lube, both from her body and the dispenser bottle, was doing its job and the lusterite was slipping in smoothly. At first the colder metal was a shock, but it finally started to warm a little as she took her time. Continuing to slowly lower herself, she realized that the Nuymean guide was right on target about how difficult this phallus would be. Perhaps she was overly optimistic.  After a slight twinge of pain from the stretching, she pushed back up with her legs suddenly in an almost involuntary jerk so that she could dismount and get a smaller one.

During the abrupt movement, her right heel caught in the crack between two boards of the wooden crate. She desperately wretched the shoe back and forth trying to free it while balancing over the metal cock. It wasn't working. The shoe wasn't slipping off either. Slipping down and being penetrated deeper, she pushed with a surge of strength to rise up and pull free. In a fraction of second, her world changed; the crate flipped over and rolled out from under her feet. With the sudden loss of support, her left hand slid off the supporting arm. Her weight came down slightly crooked, with full force, and rammed the phallus deep as it would go all at once, her groin crushed to a stop against the narrow mount. The size of the cock and the freezing cold metal took her breath away, a breath that would have been a massive reactionary scream were it not for the effectiveness of the gag.

She hung suspended and dangling there, stuffed with metal, for several moments in throbbing pain and shock, suddenly out of breath. Whenever she tried to move, every twist or push translated five fold into her impaled sex. As the pain started to subside slightly and the phallus finally started to warm up, she gingerly tried to get her arms back under her to push up off the chair, but could find no support. To her horror, the arms were no longer there. It seemed like they folded down into the chair somehow. She had nothing to use to push up off the phallus.

As she gave up looking for a way to lift up, she could feel the pulsing start. She was getting more and more aroused while the pain faded. She was trapped and helpless; her legs dangling uselessly. To her surprise, that feeling of really being stuck was arousing her with a wave-like rush through her body. Before long, she was more caught up in the pleasure, and the pain she did feel was just more fuel for the overall sensation running through her body. Soon, she was frantically thrusting, twisting and turning against the fixed phallus uncontrollably.

The gag made it difficult to breathe and kept her from being as active in her own pleasure as she would have liked. She regretted the locks tremendously, but there was nothing she could change now. She tried pulling the head harness loose, but it was too well designed, and she couldn't slip a strap loose anywhere. Each time she paused to catch her breath, she could clearly feel the metal cock continuing to thrust slowly and steadily on its own.

She couldn't understand how the chair functioned. Suddenly she was one of those scientists that underestimated ancient technology as well, and was getting fucked quite nicely for it. There was no doubt at all that it was animated and knew where to thrust. It was actually responding to her like it had come alive. Her theories seemed so clueless now as her whole body rose and fell slightly while the phallus and chair worked its rhythms.

As she paused her own counter-exertions to catch her breath, yet again, Sue also noticed that her feet were not aching in the shoes. Somehow they were much more comfortable. The same with the gag; her jaw no longer ached. In fact, it seemed like her tongue and mouth were numb somehow. The taste was noticeable and really wasn't like rubber at all, more herbal like some kind of medicine. She tried to say something, and now nothing happened at all. The gag was clearly doing something to her vocal cords. She was completely silenced.

Sue was starting to get worried, but was also hornier than she could ever remember. She tried to get control of herself, but her body had its own ideas. She was in a new world of pleasure and could, for a little while at least, forget about the real world. As she resumed thrusting back against the phallus, she started to notice the sculpted texture of its surface creating more and more friction. She could feel the warmth of total arousal spreading over her body like the phallus was a heating element. Her directed weight driving it up into her made it feel like the center of her whole body was wrapped around it.

She could feel the warm flush extend down over her belly and up across her chest. It steadily continued to expand making it feel as if her breasts were swelling. Her hard nipples felt like they were contracting on themselves and ached with tightness. She squeezed her breasts as if checking fruit for ripeness--more like apples in her case. Yes, definitely a bit swollen. The rush of sensation pushed her arousal level so high she thought she would cum, but somehow her body held back and wasn't ready. Instead, she could feel the arousal just continuing to grow. When she felt her cheeks flush, it was as if the thrusting and lust was taking over her whole body.

She felt like a sheath tightened over the cock of a giant. Even in her frenzied state of arousal, the phallus still stretched her out uncomfortably with its size, like it might split her right open. Keeping her breath paced, she worked her hips back and forth with a twisting and rolling motion; the best she could do within the tightness of the chair. When the orgasm hit, it was as if she was contracting her whole body in order to squeeze the metal cock within her. The gag completely suppressed what would otherwise have been her first uncontrollable scream during climax. When the first huge series of contractions released, she gasped for breath. Her whole body seemed to twitch endlessly as the phallus slowed and then stopped its own thrusting too. As the orgasm ebbed, she felt pain return with each further contraction reminding her how she was stretched to her limit. Finally the contractions ended, and the pain subsided to a dull ache, and she wondered if she had ripped any tissue.

Sue hung from the phallus already wondering if she had just imagined it moving. What she felt defied her understanding of what was possible. Even her memory wanted to reject it. Dripping in sweat despite the cold room, she slowly recovered and fought to calm her breathing. She couldn't help feeling like she was still held in a cocoon around the hips and that she could actually just hang there for a long time feeling content, but her reverie was interrupted by involuntary contractions in her vaginal walls accompanied by sharp aching tension.

The phallus was definitely too large and her body had had enough. She tried once again, more urgently than ever this time, to find something to push off of with her arms, but found nothing but smooth slippery stone. She was still hanging suspended and intimately impaled. Good thing the length of the phallus was short enough to prevent it from ramming her cervix. She was starting to feel panic setting in, and wanted to rip the gag off so that she could breathe normally, but the keys were on the other side of the room. Desperation was building in her like a rising tide. She felt her vagina tighten involuntarily around the phallus again, trying to reject the intruder. Faintly, she could feel the thrusting start again. She hung there helplessly as it started to get stronger and stronger.

She felt a new surge of panic urging escape, but it was useless. She didn't know how she would be able to handle any more since she was completely out of strength and breath after only seconds of struggling. The warmth and arousal were returning. It seemed to spread rapidly across her body this time as she felt something like an electrical tingling. She tried to just hang there in enjoyment, recovering, but it didn't work. The phallus was moving around, driving her to react in different directions.

The last threads of doubt that it was somehow controlled and directed were instantly erased from her mind. It was not even a simple machine, it was like an intelligent being that knew it was fucking her senseless and was determined to do so. She was too sensitive not to react to its administrations, but there was no escape. Soon she was trying to stay one step ahead of the phallus by attempting to keep it from her most sensitive spots.

It wasn't long before she was struggling for breath again as the core of her being was mercilessly lifted, turned and ravaged up and down from her womanhood. She could see the room moving up and down with the rhythm of the chair's thrusting. Clearly it was creating a specific rhythm to drive her wild. Oh how she loved the feeling!

Once again, the surge of contractions took hold. She clenched down on the ball in her mouth and the rod in her pussy with all her might as a wave of pain/pleasure swept through her. The room swam as she attempted to ride the magic cock surging underneath her like a galloping horse. She knew that it was beyond her ability, but had no choice but to continue. The gag suppressed all her efforts to scream for help.

The thrusting stopped abruptly as she felt a huge final contraction that tensed her whole body. Her toes rolled tight within the heels. Her back arched in a spasm that registered like a distant sound of thunder to her overloaded brain. She could feel the orgasmic surge run up and down from her feet to her head and back. A dizzy sensation swam through her brain and a slow enveloping blackness closed in on her vision as she collapsed and fainted on the phallus.