Chapter Four

The last vestiges of light creeping past the rubber eye cups of the Fat Sharks disappear as I hear the cover being lowered into place and then Sue’s voice, distant and muted.

 

“Enjoy.”

 

It’s followed by the muffled cop cop of the Arollos, fading away, and then silence. I am alone inside The Machine. My mood changes rather abruptly. It goes from a heady and cheerful state of arousal caused by the light hearted game of mistress-and-slave I just played with Sue while she fixed me in here, to a much darker sense of tense, but erotic foreboding. Shit Helena, what have you got yourself into this time? Half of me is terrified and wants to shout and scream to be released, if only that were possible, but the other half is exhilarated and buzzing at the thought of what is to come. In my time I’ve sampled most of the menu of sexual delights, other than Sue of course, so the thought of something completely new is very exciting. I try to think about how Sue has done this many times and seems to love it, but image of her unable to sit down in Costa last Sunday morning keeps coming back to me. I wriggle and pull at the restraints, but they don’t give. I’ve heard it said that in bondage, the waiting can be the worst part. I hope that’s right.

 

I can feel some of the various “tools” of the machine in and around my body. The rather trivial looking little ball on top of the stalk in my mouth has inflated to fill my oral cavity completely and forced my jaw as far down as it will go. I think my lips must be forming a pretty good seal, stretched as they are around the rubber balloon, as I can’t breathe through my mouth at all. Along with the pillory around my neck, the gag holds my head almost totally immobile. Further down me there are more “delights”. My boobs are dangling, well squeezed a little actually, through the hoops below me, and I know there’s other stuff waiting down there too. I doubt my nipples are going to make it through the next ninety minutes unassailed. But the things I find the most troubling, or exciting, I’m not sure which, are down in my nether region. There’s that little dagger like thing that is now inside my puss. At least the lozenge bit is. The curved metal “hilt” is resting on my crotch. The lozenge is so small I can hardly feel it. It doesn’t stretch me at all in my current state of arousal, which is pretty high. Sue said I was like one of her water vole sanctuaries when she placed the thing in me. They said it gets bigger when inside. Well I hope so because I can’t see the prospect of much fun as it is. Nearby is the thing I hope doesn’t get any bigger. A certain amount of lube was needed to get it in and now that it’s there, well it’s not too uncomfortable at the moment, but I don’t really want to think about it too much. I wriggle around, but it’s obvious I can’t move enough to expel either of these intruders. And if I could, would I want to? I really don’t know. And while I can’t really feel them at the moment, there are also various electrodes that are taped to me in a number places. Richard said most are just sensors to monitor my vital signs and keep me safe, but the word “most” leaves some uncertainty about the rest of them. I’m sure I’ve no vital signs to be monitored in some of the places he’s put them.

 

Suddenly the blackness is blown away and my eyes smart as the Fat Sharks spring to life. Images of a stadium, crowd cheering, and players jogging out onto the pitch. Two teams, one in red shirts, the other in yellow. And there’s sound too. The loud stadium atmosphere fills the box from some speakers somewhere in here. These goggle things are actually really good. It’s much more than just watching a telly, and the match is about to begin.

 

Kick off. The game gets underway and my initiation into the world on fandom with it. My team, Liverpool, are in the red shirts and they get things started. As the first kick is taken, the lozenge thingy in my vagina takes me by surprise as it suddenly expands to what feels like the size of very respectable cock. Bigger when inside eh? Now I get it. Before I have time to come to terms with this, I get an electric shock from the pads on my thighs. It’s not a strong shock, just a tingle, but it makes all the muscles in the vicinity twitch. As the Reds pass the ball around, I get the shock again, and then again. And then I get the connection: each time they kick the ball, I get my little shock. The feeling is, well let’s just say it’s interesting. A Red guy makes a run forward, dribbling the ball, and I get a whole series of little pings. Ooh, that’s rather nice really. But there’s more. As the Reds surge forward, the inflated lozenge dildo thing starts to slide slowly in and out of me. I’m being gently fucked by the machine! And it’s certainly not unpleasant. Suddenly I’m not quite so offended that Sue prefers a Saturday afternoon of this to shopping with me.

 

But then it changes. A loose pass, and the ball is intercepted by a Yellow defender. He boots the ball high in the air and as quick as it expanded, the dildo thingy shrinks back to its original diminutive size and ceases its agreeable movement. I get another shock, but this time it’s on my tongue, which is squashed under the inflated balloon in my mouth. Again, the shock is not strong, but on my tongue, it’s distinctly unpleasant. The ball falls to another Yellow and he passes it forward. Again, my tongue gets zapped. Yuk. The pass finds its man and the Yellows are on the offensive, each kick punctuated by a minor assault on my mouth. As they pass the centreline I feel the hard edge of the dildo’s curved, hilt start to press into my crotch, uncomfortably at first, but then painfully as the Yellows push deeper into the Reds’ half and the pressure on my most sensitive area increases. Ouww, that hurts. Bloody hell Richard, could you not have mounted that thing on something softer? But then it dawns on me. It’s a deliberately hard and sharp edge. This is how I’m being punished for the enemy team’s attack, which is continuing and looking dangerous. They’re in the box, and it’s really hurting. There’s a shot and I think I’m going to be cut in two! Fuck! Fuck! FUCK! But the ball runs wide and suddenly the pressure releases. Shit, my poor crotch! Pleasure and pain? Well now I know one of them.

 

There’s a pause as the goalie sets up the ball for the goal kick and the players position themselves. I take a deep breath, and the kick is taken. Ooh, the nice tingle again and it’s especially nice after the ambush on my crotch. The ball flies up the pitch and falls to two opposing players. It’s a fifty-fifty ball. They both jump for a header. I get zapped on both my tongue and thighs! The ball is loose, then a Red is on it. Nice zap. Oh thank fuck for that! He passes and they surge forward. C’mon My Dildo, do your stuff. But instead of expanding and fucking me, the little thing just starts to vibrate. Oh, that’s different, he’s a vibrator now is he? Well that’s OK. I’ll settle for that. The Reds pass the ball around, but the Yellow defence seems solid. The passing drops the ball back nearly to the halfway line. The vibration almost stops. Ah come on you wimps, get forward! Shit I’m thinking like a fan! But then a long pass forward into the box. Ooh yes that’s better. My little friend is buzzing away strongly now, and for every kick the ball gets, I get a delightful little one too. Keep it there boys, don’t lose it. I tilt my pelvis to get my clit against the little vibrator just as there’s a shot at goal. The vibrator goes berserk. It’s almost like it’s spanking my clit. Oh God! But it’s only for an instant. The goalie saves with a punch, but the ball falls to another Red. One touch, Ooo. Second touch, Ahh. And he shoots, OMG! But the ball deflects off a defender and goes wide of the goal. Shit! The whole attack has lasted maybe ten seconds, but the sensations are so powerful I’d be on a tour of the galaxy if it had lasted much longer. Fuck, this machine is good!

 

It’s a corner kick. There’s a pause in the action as the teams prepare for the set piece. I feel like I’m on pause too: frustrated to be shown just a glimpse of what’s possible, but then kept on the launch pad by the vibrator which is just ticking over, waiting for the action to resume. The kick is taken. The vibe bursts back into maniac mode as the ball floats into the crowd of players clustered in front of the goal. It’s so strong that I wince and screw my eyes tightly shut. But a groan from the crowd, and from my clit, along with a zap on my tongue tell me that the attack has failed. I open my eyes to see the ball bouncing loose and way back near the centre circle. A Red and a Yellow race to the ball and the Yellow gets it. Zap. My tongue. Urgh. I brace myself for that horrible thing cutting into my crotch again as the Yellows run from defence into attack.

 

Youch! A spike digs into the sole of each of my heels. What the fuck? It really hurts. I push myself up onto my toes to get away from the pain. It’s easier said than done as I can’t bend my knees with my legs imprisoned in those metal hoops, and my waist is securely clamped and immovable. In order to escape the heel spikes, my feet have to push my bottom up high and my spine has to bend backwards to compensate. What a devious contraption I’m in. Zap. Zap. The ball is passed out wide to a man making a run down the wing. Zap. He knocks it cheekily over a defender’s head and runs round him. Aargh. The heel spikes rise and I am forced to push up higher, my feet really straining. Zap. The attack draws level with the penalty area. The spikes are there again! I can’t get any higher! Somebody tackle him for fuck’s sake! This is awful. A moment ago I was enjoying a lovely bit of mechanised magic and mayhem. But now this. This is just torture. Zap. He passes over the penalty area to a man who’s running forward and unmarked. Oh no, this looks dangerous. I hear a hiss of compressed air. Oh God, is that the spanker being made ready? But the Ref’s whistle goes and everything stops. There’s no shot at goal. The spikes withdraw. There’s no spanking. Nothing.

 

What happened? The players are jogging back: the attack apparently over. I can’t understand what’s saved me until a caption comes up on the screen. ‘Offside’. I’ve no idea what it means but I don’t care. The torment is over for now. But for how long? And how long has the game been going? There’s no clock on the screen. It feels like just a few minutes. A few out of ninety and I’m already soaking with sweat and panting through my nose.

 

For a while the game continues at a gentler pace. The ball see-saws to and fro between the teams and there are some attacks, but neither side looks like doing any significant damage to the scoreboard, or to me really. It’s pleasant enough when Liverpool have the ball and the machine has a number of ways to titillate me, mainly using the expanding dildo inside my puss which slides and wriggles and vibrates in the most pleasing of ways. There’s also an external vibrator that moves in to play with my clit and mound. My nipples also get some welcome attention from something that feels like a spongy wheel that gently rubs back and forth across them sending little waves of pleasure through me. And of course there’s the delightful little tingles from the TENS pads on my inner thighs that as Sue said, “the electricity seems to flow right through all my juicy bits.” These devices, acting alone or in concert with each other can do very naughty things to a girl’s hormones if only the bloody players on the pitch would get on with it and make some decent attacking play. But the way the game is going, it’s rather like a timid lover who’s scared to move beyond gentle foreplay. I just want to give him a slap and tell him to get on with it.

 

The punitive side of the machine seems to have a more varied and devious toolbox from which to draw its weapons. I suppose there are lot more ways to hurt someone than there are to give pleasure, but I am aware that the methods Richard has chosen, while certainly painful at times, also have a certain erotic quality to them. There are the heel spikes and that sharp edge that attacks my groin, but I also find out the purpose of the rings that my breasts are dangling through. They can inflate, and when they do, my boobs get very squeezed inside them. And when they’ve got a really good hold they start to pull downwards, adding some stretching to the squeezing. It’s rather like wearing some sort of animated torture bra. And then of course there’s the thing in my bottom. I don’t even want to talk about that hook shaped thing that really can “get bigger when inside” after all. Suffice to say that I’ve never felt so full back there, and when it pulls upwards I go up my toes faster than those heels spikes can push me. These mechanical monstrosities are in cahoots with various electrical allies and there’s always the knowledge that that pair of springy, wooden spankers are lurking, presumably being kept for a special occasion.

 

There’s a particularly annoying few minutes with the ball bouncing, seemingly randomly between players of both teams around the centre of the pitch. I seem to alternate between ‘ooh, nice tingle’ and ‘ugh, zapped tongue’ and nothing much else, but then suddenly the game hots up. Liverpool make a break down the edge of the pitch. I get my tingle, tingle, tingle, and then the nipple caressers join in as an attack begins to form. The ball is crossed to the opposite side of the pitch and taken forward. There’s a mass of Red shirts running up and the Yellow defenders seem outnumbered. C’mon you guys! Make it count this time. The machine decides that nipple rubbing is no longer sufficient for this attack and the clit vibrator joins in, and strongly too. Ooh yes. This is better. I’m ready for this. There’s some passing about, all up close to the Yellow goal. The defenders seem to have gathered themselves, but the Red passing is accurate and the pressure is sustained. I’m lifting up through the clouds now and the sun is coming out on me. Yes, yes, yes. Keep it going. Don’t give it away for fuck’s sake. This is the first time an attack has lasted long enough for the machine to get some sustained action on me. And it’s working. I’m heading through the tropopause now and on into the stratosphere as the vibrator and the nipple rubbers go into overdrive. Not only is it desperately lovely, the knowledge that it could vanish in an instant makes it even more precious. More passing. A cross. A header. The ball hits the crossbar! My clit wants to explode! I’m above the atmosphere now. Just a little more and I’ll make escape velocity. The ball bounces back to another Red player. He dribbles it round a defender and then through the legs of another! Tingle, tingle, tingle and… That’s it. Orbit achieved! This is no calm, serene, floating in space type thing though. The orgasm shudders through me like a sexual version of a small supernova, blasting away the frustration of earlier, aborted highs. It’s magnificent. I buck at the restraints securing me; not trying to get free, but just to feel their hold on me; to confirm there’s no escape from this heaven. I think I’m screaming into the gag so hard that I hardly notice the zap as the ball is somehow cleared by a defender and booted down the field. Suddenly the vibe stops and the nipple rubbers are gone. No! You can’t do this to me. Turn off everything just as I’m about to see the stars? I shake in frustration, desperately trying to find some stimulation to keep my orgasm going.  Somewhere in my exploding mind I register a Yellow player running with the ball. The horrible edge is starting to push into my crotch again and I start trying to hump the horrible thing; to make it hurt more; anything to keep me up on high. I see the Yellow player almost at the box. There’s only the goalie between him and the goal. Surely he’s going to score. But no. He’s tackled from behind by a Red defender who’s come from nowhere and sent him sprawling on the ground. I hear the ref’s whistle. I desperately push myself onto that edge harder. I want pain. Lots of it. But it’s not enough. My wonderful orgasm has been cut off in its prime. The camera cuts to the referee. He’s holding up a red card. What does that mean? Suddenly there’s a loud slap and my left buttock explodes into fiery pain. Aargh, what the? Another slap, and this time it’s my right side that’s on fire. Oh Christ that hurts. But it’s just what I need. A booster ignites in my dying climax. Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! The spanking is hard and fast. Something pretty momentous must have happened, but I’ve lost track of the game now. Slap! Slap! Timing randomiser? It seems like there’s no bloody time between them at all. The flaming impulse of my bottom drives me up and up and up. I didn’t know I could get this high. I’m passing the Clarke belt now and heading for The Moon. The ultimate out of body experience. Earth is a truly beautiful place from up here.

 

As I re-enter the atmosphere it feels like I used my bottom as a heat shield. It’s burning, and I wonder how much of it has been ablated off. As I parachute down into that post-orgasmic pit, I look to see what has happened in the game while I was away. It seems that the Red defender has been sent off for the tackle, which would explain the spanking I just endured, and totally got off on. There is much arguing going on between the players and the referee. Endless replays are being shown and it seems to me that the Yellow guy just threw himself on the floor, but I don’t understand what the rules are, and I don’t really care as long as I get more what I’ve just had. I think again of Sue, unable to sit down in Costa and how she said it was absolutely worth it. Now I can see what she meant. It occurs to me that with one of the players on my team gone, we are now at something of a disadvantage and I might be in for a lot of punitive action. And to be honest, I’m not that unhappy about the prospect. I reckon I can handle the pain and even enjoy it as long as I’m turned on like I just was. It’s just that poxy tongue zapping that might wear me down.

 

The arguing on the pitch has given me some time to calm down and get myself together, but it’s over now and it looks like a free kick to the Yellows. There’s a whole line of Red players in front of the goal and they all stand with their hands over their balls. It makes me giggle and I wonder what they would think if they knew the effect their antics on the pitch were having on a curvy redhead, locked in a box, many miles from the stadium. The kick is taken, but it’s something of an anti-climax as the ball passes the edge of the wall of players, but runs wide of the goal. I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed. The score on the pitch remains at nil, nil, but here in the box it’s score one to Helena Dex and The Machine.

 

I remember that Richard and Sue are watching the game in the living room just across the hall, and as Richard has all my heart rate, breathing and stuff coming up on his laptop, they probably know I just had a little Astrid Meander-like trip into hyperspace. I wonder if I should be feeling embarrassed that they know exactly what’s going on in here, but then I’ve had plenty of orgasms at the hands of men I hardly know, so I don’t see why this should be any different. And there’s no point in lusting after a love life with Sue if I can’t cum in her presence. The thought of Sue watching me reminds me of my little fantasy that has now come true and it lifts me out of my post-orgasm hollow. I’m feeling confident and looking forward to the rest of the game. It seems like I have experienced the worst that The Machine can do to me and I have weathered the storm with some degree of style. My bottom feels hot and sore and the feeling is starting to build my lust for more. Am I a closet pain slut just like Sue? No time to think about it now. The game is going again.

 

The Liverpool players seem to have been energised by the apparent injustice handed out to their departed colleague and are playing with considerable gusto and even violence. They swarm forward, brushing the opposition aside; well elbowing them actually. The dildo is pumped up really big and is doing its stuff to me, pistoning in and out but shuddering slightly as it goes. Somewhere inside me, a ball of fissile sex is being compressed towards critical mass. The Yellows seem totally outclassed and it almost seems like the Reds are taunting them with pass after pass that finds its man. I stop thinking about how it could all turn nasty in an instant and let myself go, riding the dildo and its strangely arousing staccato motion, that nothing loosely attached to the bulk of a man could achieve. My core of badness is starting to implode. I can feel the flux building. Come on now boys, don’t get cocky and give it away. Get on and worry the goalkeeper. Don’t do it too quick though. The ball is run forward towards the corner. Ooh, tingle, tingle, tingle. As it is floated in towards the goal, my chain reaction starts. Not a sudden bang like the last one. This is more of a hot burn. I’ve a nuclear reactor in there that’s powering up my hunger. The ball is headed clear by a defender, but it goes back to another Red guy who dribbles it round two Yellows like they are statues. Oh yes! More, more, more. Tingles and dildo! My control rods are out and I’m on full burn. That shuddering pumping of my puss is too much. I go prompt critical and my loins explode! I’m writhing and wrenching about in the frame. I can hardly see the action in the match as I’m sweating so much the goggles have fogged up, but I can tell when the goal is scored. Everything fires in on me. The nipple rubbers, the clit vibe, the TENS pads and of course that wonderful dildo. Even the horrible butt hook seems to jiggle about and add to the fun. The nuclear explosion in my sex irradiates and compresses my entire body. Somewhere a spark plug fires and it all starts to burn. My God, if this box I’m in is made of anything fissionable, the whole town’s gonna go up!  Score a massive number two to the, not just atomic, but thermo-nuclear sex bomb in the box and her trigger charge, The Machine.

 

My second orgasm of the match is perhaps the most intense I’ve ever experienced in my life. It seems like there wasn’t a single atom of my body that didn’t join in. From my toes to my fingertips, to the top of my head and everywhere in between; all of me was there, riding a wave that burst forth from that dildo and its strange, irresistible motion. Now that it’s passed, I feel totally spent. I lie in the frame and pillory, completely limp except for my laboured panting. I just can’t get enough air to satisfy my lungs and to make things worse, my nose is running like a river and I have to keep blowing the snot out of it. I hope all the electric stuff in here is waterproof. The game doesn’t allow me time to recover though. Through the smudgy misting in the Fat Sharks I can see that play is under way and the familiar tingle, zap cycle is starting again. Oh, fucking please. It’s all right for you; you’re just a bloody machine. I’m a human being and I need a rest. How can a machine that is so clever and seemingly knows everything about how to get a girl off, be so stupid as to not know she needs a break after a climax? Especially one like I just had. Fortunately there is a quieter passage of play and the Reds have the upper hand through most of it. I close my eyes and try to zone out from the gentle stimulation for a while. I’m sort of successful at this. It’s only the occasional attack of the heel spikes or pull of the butt hook that interrupt me as they require me to react and push up on my toes. Most of the rest of it just washes over me. I’m just too knackered to respond.

 

I’m brought back to the world by a particularly nice and sustained session of nipple caressing. I open my eyes and the fog has almost gone from the Fat Sharks. My team has the ball and there’s a bit of dribbling going on around the centre. The same could probably be said of me. I’m enjoying the pleasant feeling in my breasts and the familiar tingle, tingle from my thighs. And I can feel the warmth of my bum, still glowing from its earlier spanking. I don’t think I realise just how long I have been zoned out, or that maybe I wasn’t as switched off as I thought because I suddenly find that my body is climaxing again. I’m taken completely by surprise as the next orgasm slides in through the front door without me even inviting it in. It’s not like the previous ones. There are no fireworks, either on the pitch or within me. It’s a very genteel, strawberries and cream sort of thing, that flows through me in refined little bursts, in time with the tingly, tingly pads. I’m pretty sure it’s an orgasm, but I’ve never had one like this before. It’s a refined and delicate feeling. Maybe this is how The Queen used to have them. If my mouth wasn’t stuffed full I might be just making little ’ooo’ sounds. Just as it passes through, the referee’s whistle goes and it’s half time. One nil to Liverpool and three to the redhead and her dubious ally, The Machine.

 

At last I have a chance to cool down and properly catch my breath. I wonder if the lid is going to be lifted and maybe Sue could bring me a drink. My jaw would certainly thank her for the rest, having been stretched wide for what seems like eternity, although the rest of me is quite comfy, resting on the padded supports. But it’s soon apparent that my lovely siren is not coming to pamper me in a half time treat. I’m in here till the end. And if I had the choice, would I want to bail out now? Not bloody likely. It’s a bit knackering, but I haven’t had so much fun for, well ever maybe. I think about the last time I was windsurfing in the Caribbean. Skimming over the turquoise Antiguan waters. No wetsuit, just a bikini, and a force six trade wind filling a five meter sail and a tiny, sinky board that skips effortlessly from crest to crest, with me feeling totally at one with the elements. And I could still sit down in the bar at the end of the day without wincing, which I’m not sure I’ll be able to manage after today’s fun is through. But then again, I’ve still got a three foot scar spiralling down my left leg from the jellyfish tentacle that got wrapped round it, so yes, maybe this is the most fun ever. But what about the other night at James’s place? That was good fun and probably about forty five minutes each way as well, but we didn’t get a brass band at half time.

 

All too soon the band is gone and the players are returning to the pitch. Phew, I’m hardly rested yet. Maybe it would be better to connect this machine to a polo match and we could have four shorter chukkas, each with decent break in between. The thought of polo reminds me of another high point in my life; the time I took part in an impromptu Buzkashi match in Kyrgystan. I did actually score a goal, but I think it was just because the local men were either being polite, or were completely bamboozled by the sight of a very young and very mad, flame-haired western woman who thought she could ride a horse as well as they could. That was one of the most exciting things I’ve done, but I think this is more fun, and despite the considerable danger to my bottom, generally a lot safer. Buzkashi, for those who haven’t heard of it, is a rather violent game involving two teams on horseback, a dead goat and no rules, just a dubious oath to play fair. Football on the other hand seems to have lots of rules and I think I’m going to have to learn some of them if I’m going to make this a regular feature of my life. The ball is out at the centre and it’s the Yellows’ turn to kick off. I try to prepare myself for the second half. I had three orgasms in the first and Sue says she often gets ten or twelve in a match, so I’ve got a bit of catching up to do.

 

oOo

 

The first sign of my impending release from the machine is a waft of cool air that passes over my sweat soaked body. I rather think some other fluids may also be involved in places. A chink of light finds its way into the Fat Sharks and I hear Sue’s voice.

 

“Here she is. Our newest football fan. Can you hear me Hels?”

 

“Mmmmmm”

 

There’s a hiss and the ball in my mouth deflates, releasing the pressure on my jaw, but my mouth stays wide open.

 

“uckin… antathtic” is all I can manage.

 

There’s a click and the top of the pillory is lifted away and the strap around my waist is released. The Fat Sharks are removed and my eyes yelp as the light floods into them. I feel the shrunken vestiges of the dildo and butt plug withdraw from me. I think I’m free but I don’t have the energy to stand up. I just lie there feeling like a beached whale. I do succeed in managing to lift my head off the deflated gag and close my mouth though. I might even be able to speak now.

 

“I don’t care ‘ow much it cothts. I want one. Fuckinell Richard. You’re a ffffuckin’ geniuth.”

 

“I think she liked it,” says Sue.

 

“Yeah, seems like it,” replies Richard

 

“You’re fffuckin’ right. Err… can you help me up. I don’t think I can manage.” I start to laugh.

 

“I think we’ve worn her out. Yay, Helena Dex has met her match. Never thought I’d see that.”

 

They take a shoulder each and help me stand up, but my legs are too stiff and tired to climb out of the machine and Richard has to unbolt the hoops so I can step out. I’m completely exhausted and can hardly stand as Sue wraps a dressing gown round me. I look back into the machine and see the bits that have wrought such havoc in me for the last hour and a half. The dildo particularly catches my eye and seeing it now, disconnected from my body and hardly bigger than a cigarette I am amazed at what it has done to me.

 

“I can’t believe it’s so small. That little fucking thing has done all this to me. Fuck.”

 

“Such is the power of football, compressed air and stepper motors,” replies Richard with a grin.

 

“Your bottom’s not looking too bad Hels. A couple of days standing up should see that fixed,” she says mockingly

 

“Yeah well fuck. My style of panties shouldn’t cause me any fucking trouble at all then.”

 

“We reckon you scored nine. And Richard thinks you must have passed out after one of them. He nearly had to come and rescue you.”

 

“Richard, you are an incredible fucking genius and that machine is just fucking amazing and I had the most fun since…. well fuck it, the most fun ever. Fuck. And I’m sorry for fucking swearing but… well fuck!”

 

“Come on Hels, I think we need to get you cleaned up a bit. I’ve got a bath all ready for you,” says Sue as she ushers me towards the door. I have to lean on her as my legs are still not really working.

 

“Thank you Richard. Fucking thank you,” I say as we negotiate the door and continue into the hall.