The Chinese Egg

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
erotica: 18+ only, please
the aim is, simply, to arouse the reader

Submitted: February 28, 2017

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Submitted: February 28, 2017

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The Chinese Egg

Chin in hand, one knee flexed slightly over the other, she lay on the large bed, watching him untangling the wires.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“A surprise. Something to make you feel good.”

She laughed. “I already feel good,” she said and in a sudden, lithe movement raised her uppermost leg straight into the air and held it in a dancer's pose, toes pointed, stretching. He looked up from his work, eyes narrowed, gazed at the dark delta between her legs, the black hairs damp and curling, the lips still a flushed pink. His fingers paused.

She caught him staring. “Excuse me,” she said primly. She brought her leg down, pulled her knees toward her and placed an elbow around them. “Please go on with what you were doing.”

“This can wait. I have a better idea.” He groped for her ankle and she pulled it away, drawing her heels tightly against her buttocks.

“Oh, no, you don’t. No seconds. I have to be at the auditorium in 45 minutes. Now, be a good boy and tell me what that thing you’re working on is.”

She was in town to address a convention of the Illinois state Democratic party. He had come along because she didn’t like staying alone in strange hotels and because, as she put it, he helped to maintain a sense of perspective.

He sighed a bitter martyr’s sigh.

“It’s something to remind you of me when I’m not with you.” He thought for a moment, then snickered. “No, it’s more a like a bookmark. Here, look.”

He held out his hand, palm up. On it was a small flesh-colored egg, perhaps an inch and a quarter in diameter. From one end coiling wires led to a box, also flesh-colored. On it was a small red switch. His finger moved the switch and the egg began a jittery dance on his palm. There was a very slight humming noise. She leaned forward, fascinated by its movements. Their eyes met.

“What is it?” she asked.

“My surrogate,” he said, smirking. “When, for whatever reason, from pressing engagement to simple exhaustion, I can’t be inside you, this will keep my place for me.”

Still uncomprehending, she searched his face, looked down at the egg, then understood. “Why, you egotistical bastard!” she said, and began to hit him with a pillow. “You’re God’s gift, all right. What the hell makes you think I want to be reminded of you, anyway?”

“Hey, careful!” he said, laughing, alarmed. “This thing cost me thirty bucks. And the wires are fragile.”

The egg jittered off his hand and disappeared among the disordered sheets of the bed. She joined him in searching for it. A moment later he held it triumphantly aloft.

“I don’t want to be remembered. I just want my interests protected. It’s sort of an updated chastity belt. It’s to keep you so exhausted you won’t have the strength to go out looking for it when I’m not here to give it to you.”

He shut the egg off. She looked at him coolly.

“Oh, come on, Katie. I’m joking, for God’s sake. I have here in my hand the secret of the inscrutable smile worn by uncounted generations of Oriental women, and all you can do is give me that look of yours.”

“And what look is that, pray?”

“The one like I’m some sort of exotic bug, and you can’t decide whether to be fascinated or disgusted.”

“You might have asked me first, David.”

“Asked you? Asked you what? It was supposed to be a surprise. I thought you’d be pleased.”

She turned away, crossing her arms under her breasts, hugging herself. “I think we make love rather well together.”

“So do I. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Then we shouldn’t need one of those sex aid things for people who are bored with each other, should we?”

He put a hand on her shoulder, shook it gently. “Hey, this isn’t like you. I just figured you might get a kick out of it, that’s all. If it bothers you that much, I’ll get rid of it.”

“Why do I have the feeling that you’re the one getting the kick out of it, I wonder?” She looked at him appraisingly. “Oh, go ahead, tell me the secret of the unscrewable Orient. I’m dying of curiosity.” She brushed a straying bit of hair out of her eyes and poked a cautious finger at the egg.

“No.” He pretended to sulk. “Plenty of frustrated women out there would love to know the secret of the egg. And why Asian ladies take those little teeny steps. It’s not the tight silk skirts.” He laughed. “Only this egg is even better. Theirs weren’t motorized.”

She looked at him coyly.

“Do you do what I think you do with that?”

“Uh huh. Just exactly what you think.”

“What do you do? I want you to tell me.”

“You know. You put it up there and then-“

“No, say it. I want you to say it. Tell me exactly what you do with it.”

He looked at her, beginning to be exasperated, then saw the smile she was trying to hide.

“Okay, you put it in your cunt. Just push it right up your cunt and then turn it on whenever you want a good time,“ he said, very slowly, as if explaining something to a child.

She frowned.  “You know I don’t like that word.”

“What word? Cunt? Okay, pussy. Quiff, quim, twat."

She laughed. “Twat. I never heard that one before. Sounds like how I feel about it some days. Twat.”

"Okay, so you put it in your twat, then.”

“Don’t you have to lubricate it, or something?” She put her hand to her mouth, giggled, her eyes sparkling.

“I suppose that depends on how interested the woman is in what’s going on. Maybe, maybe not. We’ll just have to try it.”

“Gee, that’s fascinating. Too bad we don’t have somebody we can try it on.” She began to edge away from him.

“Oh, but we do, my dear. You. Here, I’ll show you.”

He lunged for her, caught her by the ankle, then pinned her leg with his chest. Holding the egg aloft in his left hand, he groped his way up her leg with his right, handhold by handhold. She gave a little shriek of laughter, began to kick at him. His fingers left red marks on the even white satin of her thigh.

“Whoa, Katie! Slow down! Jesus, you’re gonna break it yet. Do you want to try it or don’t you?”

“I don’t know.” She hesitated. “I guess so. It’s not going to hurt, is it?”

“No, it’s not going to hurt. Look at it. It’s not even as big around as I am.”

“Oh. Safe enough for young girls who don’t want to compromise their amateur status, then?”

“Excuse me, am I being insulted?”

“What about getting electrocuted? You said it had a motor.”

“Katie, it’s got a goddam battery. You couldn’t even get a shock from it. They have to test these things practically forever before they let people use them. You know, lab mice, rabbits. Monkeys, maybe. Very happy monkeys. The whole nine yards.”

“The consumer product safety people test sex appliances? Don’t bullshit me, David.”

“Yeah, they do. Or the FDA does. Or somebody does. Look, do you want to try it or not? Yes? Okay, then. Lie back and spread your legs. No, more. And raise your knees a bit. And relax. We’re never going to get it in you if you lie there like you’re made out of wood. Jesus, even your toes are rigid. C’mon, loosen up.”

Fractionally, she unbent.

And, concentrating avidly, he parted the lips of her pussy with a thumb and forefinger. Delicately, he placed the small end of the egg against the opening. It stuck for a moment, then started in, pulling the labia and some of the silky black pubic hair into the interior with it. He frowned, pulled the egg back out. He brushed the hairs away from the orifice as well as he could, then traced the delicate palisade of the labia with a finger, making sure of the lubrication. This time, he stretched them wider. But again the egg pulled the damp hairs into her vagina.

“Katie, you’re going to have to help with this. I need more hands. It’s pulling your pussy hairs into your pussy with it.”

“I thought you were the expert. Secrets of the Orient and all that.”

“It didn’t come with any installation instructions. You don’t want a bunch of hair in your snatch, do you?”

“What do you think happens when you fuck me, idiot? Are you worrying about hair when you’re pushing your thing up there?”

“Don’t be crude. Come on, Katie. It looks unsanitary, or something. Just hold it open until I get this thing started. No, use two hands. One on either side. Yeah, like that.”

Using just the index fingers of both hands, she pulled the labia apart as far as she could, enlarging the opening for the egg. The pale coral flesh, thin as a bird’s, stretched nearly to translucence, revealing her urethra and vaginal opening.

“Good. Open wide and say ‘ah'. Hold it just like that.” He pushed the egg slowly into the opening. “God, you’re still soaking wet. Shame to waste this on a lousy egg.”

“Most of the wet’s your fault, my man.”

He applied steady pressure. A third of the egg disappeared. He pushed harder, felt her flinch. Carefully, he inserted a finger into the opening below the egg, pulling the floor of the vagina downward to make it larger.

“Ouch!” she said. “You’re hurting.”

“Katie, you have to relax. I can feel you tensing up around my finger. You’ve had bigger things than this up there. And no smartass comments.”

She laid her head on the pillows, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m trying. Is that better?”

The widest part of the egg was slowly consumed by the pink opening and then, quite suddenly, it was in, the vagina closing around the wires. Her toes gripped the sheets.

“Is it in now?” She raised herself awkwardly on her elbows, trying to see. Suddenly fearful, she drew her knees up as far as she could, fingers fumbling for the wires.

“Hey, don’t do that!”

Their hands met. He gripped her fingers, hard.

“After all the work to get it up there, don’t you at least want to see how it feels?”

She laughed, shakily.

“Sorry. It reminded of something that happened to me when I was about twelve, the way it just suddenly disappeared that way."

“Yeah? What happened?”

“Oh, I was playing with myself, using a plastic lipstick case, and it slipped out of my fingers. Same sort of oops-it’s-gone feeling.”

“I didn’t know little girls played with themselves.”

“Don’t play dumb. They just don’t make a career out of it, like little boys do.”

“Did you come?” he asked, interested in that morbid way lovers are about the unformed time before they met.

“No, I didn’t. I got scared when I lost the lipstick. I was terrified that my mother would find out, that I’d have to go to the hospital or something to get it out. That sort of spoiled it.”

“So, did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Have to go to the hospital to get it out?”

“No. I couldn’t reach it with my fingers. I didn’t know you could put your whole hand up there if you relaxed- your gynecologist has a hard time talking you into that the first time. I didn’t know what else to do so I just tried to squeeze it out. That was the beginning of the fabulous muscle fuck you’re always raving about, by the way.”

“And telling all my friends about.”

“Pig. You’d better not be telling.”

“Nobody believes me anyway. Well, with this you can relax and just concentrate on how it feels. You probably won’t want to take it out. But if you do, all you have to do is pull on the wires and out it comes.

“You said the wires would break. Liar.”

“Shhh. Here goes.” He pushed the red switch, looked at her face expectantly.

She frowned slightly, brought her knees together. “Mmmm,” she said. She folded her hands across her stomach, closed her eyes and let her breath out.

“Hey,” he said after nearly a minute had passed. He tugged gently at the wires. “Are you still there?”

“It’s still buzzing,” she said in a rather faraway voice. “But you can’t hear it. You can just feel it.”

“Does it feel good?”

“Yeah.” She was quiet for a long moment, until he was about to tug the wires again. “It isn’t quite like having sex, you know, with all of it going on between my legs. This is more all over. I think it might be touching my cervix.

“Look!” he crowed, pointing. “I’d say it felt good! Your nipples are standing up like posts!”

She opened her eyes, passed her hands slowly, caressingly, over her breasts. The nipples were hard little buds under her palms, deliciously sensitive. “My God,“ she breathed wonderingly. “So they are. So they are.”

She stirred languidly in the rumpled sheets, turned on her side, curled up and hugged a pillow to her belly. The wires trailed from her exposed sex.

He watched her hungrily. “Hey, remember me? I want to play, too,” he said. He switched off the box and prepared to pull the egg out.

“No-o-o,,” she protested, curling up still tighter and trying to slap his hand away. “Leave us alone. Go away. I don’t need you anymore.” She regarded him through half-closed eyes. “I could get used to this, you know. No more men sweating all over me and getting wet spots on the bed. Just me and my egg. Turn out the lights when you go, will you please, darling?”

“Like hell. Who bought the damned thing? Anyway, it’s just a labor-saving device. Cuts out all that tedious foreplay, but when it’s time to finish the job, you want a real man.”

She sat bolt upright in bed, hand to mouth, eyes wide.

“Time? Oh, my God! What time is it?”

“Jesus, 12:10. We better hurry. You’re on in twenty minutes.”

She knelt on the bed, tugging frantically at the wires.

“No, wait a minute. Leave it in. It won’t hurt anything.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Help me get it out. Oh, shit, it won’t come! Just like when I was twelve. David, this is all your fault. I’ll never forgive you if I’m late because of this thing!”

“Take it easy, take it easy! It probably created some kind of vacuum up there, if it fits tight enough. If you pull the wires out of the egg, you’re really going to be sunk. You have to do it slow and easy.”

“I don’t have time to do it slow and easy, goddammit!”

“Then just leave it in. That’s what they’re for. The Orient, remember?”

She stopped, looked at him, considering. “What if I have to pee?” she asked.

“No problem. We can run the wires the other way, up the crack of your ass, like this. The battery box clips onto the back of your skirt, or somewhere. Do you have to go to the bathroom?”

“No. Not right now.”

“Okay. And if you have to do the other, you have to take your pants down anyway, right? And the box can come down with them.”

He helped her dress, to save time. He stood behind her, holding the box up and pulling the wires between her legs, tucking them into the cleft of her buttocks as she leaned over and stepped into her panties. He kept the wires out of the way while she gathered and tugged her pantyhose up first her right leg, then her left, and finally wriggled them over her slender hips. He watched the nylon stretch and pale at the backs of her thighs as she bent to straighten the ankle of her right stocking. He put his hand between her legs, firmly tracing the line of the wires between the lips of her sex, now separated from his fingers by two layers of cool cloth, then up the cleft of her buttocks. She grabbed his hand, pushed it away.

“Don’t, David. I mean it.”

“Just making sure everything is staying put. How come the crotch of pantyhose never fits right up into your crotch? There’s always about an inch gap.”

“It fits close enough. It doesn’t need any help from you. Ish,” she said, as she pulled her slip and then her skirt up. “I didn’t even have time to wash myself. I’m going to have a bad case of sticky panties. I don’t stink, do I?”

He clipped the battery box to the waistband of the grey flannel skirt, making sure it wasn’t going to fall down.

“Just like a pager. Very vintage,” he said, stepping back to survey his handiwork. “Every busy young career woman should have one. No, you smell wonderful. Like sex. Let’s see, you don’t need a bra. With those little tits, I don’t know why you ever wear one. Where’s your blouse?”

She glared at him, grabbed the cream-colored heavy silk blouse off the chair back and drew it over her bare arms. Glimpsed below her armpit, her taut, perfect breasts barely swayed when she straightened her back. He helped button, reaching around her and watching their two sets of fingers in the full-length mirror on the closet door. He tucked in the back of the blouse while she tucked in the front, being careful not to dislodge the box from its perch. She stepped to the other bed in the room, where the open suitcase rested atop the tightly tucked-in spread and began to hunt through the pile of jeans and casual tops. With a small exclamation of satisfaction, she found the matching grey flannel jacket under a violet tank top with a downward-pointing arrow and the legend ‘This End Up’ in yellow and threw it over her shoulders.

“Hey, be careful!” he warned, knotting his tie in front of the mirror “You’ll knock the box off.”

“Oh, fuck the box!” she exclaimed savagely. “Why did I let you talk me into this? Where are my shoes?”

Half hopping toward the door, stepping into the black calfskin low-heeled shoes as she went, she motioned at the attaché case lying on the table. He grabbed it and his suit coat, and followed her out the door. An instant later, he reached back in and shut off the light.

In the cab, he watched the traffic on Michigan Avenue while she went over her notes, a look of furious, penitent concentration on her face. His only attempt at conversation had been met with a pointed silence. She had very nearly slapped him when, to get her attention, he had slipped a hand behind her back and turned on the egg. Her startled jump and the cabbie’s knowing smile in the rearview mirror gave him considerable satisfaction. There was much fumbling and angry whispering before they got it shut off again, muffled as the switch box was by several layers of clothing. Now he smiled at his reflection in the glass as she crossed first her left knee over her right, then right knee over her left, and finally sat rather awkwardly with her knees about six inches apart while she read. In a matter of minutes, they were at the hotel where the convention was being held.

At first, walking at the state chairwoman’s side with David trailing them at a neutral distance, she took little mincing steps, as it seemed to minimize the egg’s motion. But this required an awkward scamper to keep up with the woman. Consciously, she lengthened her stride. The movement of the egg increased. It was a sort of squirming and sliding deep inside her, surging with the swift tidal sweep of her legs past each other again and again, mildly irritating and exciting at the same time, a bit like clumsy foreplay and a bit like having to go to the bathroom. And no one knew. That was the beauty of it, just as he’d predicted. It was a sort of wicked masquerade that made her different from what she seemed. Rather wicked and dangerous and free, like wearing a short skirt and no panties. She felt like laughing aloud. It was crazy, she thought, but this small plastic egg at her center somehow made her more sensuously aware of her whole body. She felt the nyloned swish of her knees passing each other, the shock of her heel hitting pavement and being transmitted up the back of her leg to her buttocks; felt the soft wind stirring the loose hairs at the back of her neck and the slight bounce of her breasts with each step. As they hurried into the auditorium, she found it hard to follow the nonstop chatter of the chairwoman and made an effort to concentrate.

“And is there anything you would particularly like me to mention in my introduction of you, Katharine?” she was asking. Kate couldn’t decide at that moment whether she particularly wanted it mentioned or would die rather than have it revealed that she was wearing a Chinese sex appliance while she spoke. Get a grip, kid, she thought. Nearly showtime.

They seated David next to Kate on the dais and introduced him as her husband, which annoyed her greatly. They had both assumed that he would be sitting somewhere in the audience; obviously, the idiot hadn’t objected. In a show of supreme self confidence or simple oblivion, he was smiling and nodding benignly at everyone on the dais. Turning slightly away from him in her chair, she made a show of studying her notes while the chairwoman read her introduction. Before the polite applause had fairly begun, while the chairwoman was still turning, holding out an arm in her direction, Kate was already on her feet. But David, prompted by some dim chivalric memory, rose with her, placing his right hand in the small of her back to propel her lightly forward. And accidentally turned on the egg.

Her first impulse, barely controlled, was to turn around and slap him, hard, across the face. It was instantly plain to her that this was his childish way of getting even for her not paying attention to him during the cab ride. But one look over her shoulder at his stricken face told her that it had indeed been an accident. She swiped at the switch box with her free hand. No good. She hesitated the barest fraction of a second before deciding that excusing herself to deal with the problem would destroy the expectant spell of the audience and focus a sympathetic attention on her that she would not like at all. Deal with it later, she thought.

She found the vibration of her footsteps intensified the squirming of the egg tenfold as she walked. No longer a giggly deception, this was real, insistent stimulation. She felt a light bead of sweat break out on her upper lip, mostly fear of being found out, but partly, God help her, a rising, desperate and very sexual excitement.

She took a long time to deposit her notes and arrange the lectern to her satisfaction, shuffling pages for nearly a minute with her left hand. With her right, she fumbled at the battery box. But, muffled as it was by two layers of wool flannel, she was unable to feel the outline of the switch. Moving very slowly and carefully, she wedged the box tightly against the small of her back and then began to work her fingers along it, keeping it pressed firmly against her back as she went, hoping to press the switch at some point simply by process of elimination. She had got a bit more than halfway along it when it suddenly overbalanced and fell down between her skirt and her slip. She froze. Very carefully, she felt for it farther down. She managed to get the tips of two fingers on it when it began to slide on the nylon of the slip again, finally coming to rest at the end of its tether, bumping gently against her tailbone. She could feel the increased tension in the wire where it ran up between her buttocks.

She swore softly but fervently under her breath. It was too far down to reach now without bending awkwardly far backwards, which would be a very noticeable distraction. She’d have everybody watching her instead of listening to what she had to say. She was stuck.

In its present location, the battery box might as well have been on the moon.

Her audience had grown restless during all the paper shuffling and groping. She felt their curious stares fixed on her. She raised her face, turned slowly, her eyes sweeping over the crowded auditorium. Confidence, girl, she thought. No one out there has any idea what’s going on, and no one ever has to find out. Tough it out. You can stand anything for twenty minutes.

“All worthwhile things begin in passion,” she began in a slow, measured tone that she hoped revealed nothing of the nervous terror she felt. “Life itself is created in a moment of passion. Ideas that change the course of history are formed in the passionate conviction of a single human heart.”

She drew a deep breath. There, this isn’t so bad, she thought. Standing in front of an audience, willing them to believe, began a familiar magic. Against this larger-than-life backdrop of herself, the egg’s maddening tickle was no more than a distraction to be brushed aside. After all, it wasn’t as if she was about to fall on the floor, writing in heat. It might be messy, and she might have to be careful when she sat down later that she didn’t get a wet spot on the back of her unfortunately dark skirt. All that was manageable. Let her body do whatever the hell it wanted to. She had business to attend to.

She was barely two minutes into her speech when a bit of furtive experimentation showed her that the trick of dealing with this particular distraction was to squeeze it out of existence. It was like shutting your eyes as tightly as you could, turning daylight from orange to bloodred to black, or making sounds dim and murmury when you press your fingers tightly into your ears. Gripping the lectern hard with her hands, she brought her thighs together as tightly as she could, the muscles standing out in sudden relief. The dome of her stomach hardened and her buttocks dimpled under the clinging flannel as she clenched down hard. And the buzzing faded, blurred, finally receding behind and merging with her own too-rapid heartbeat.

Her triumphant smile embraced the entire auditorium. “But a lonely passion is passion wasted,” she said. “It is perverse. To be creative, passion must be shared. Today, I see our party splintered into single-issue groups. Passion that once brought us together now divides us. Too often it is the passion of hatred rather than love.”

To her own extreme annoyance, she found she had to go to the bathroom. She hadn’t had anything to drink since the cup of coffee in the hotel room at breakfast, but the egg, lodged near the top of her vagina, was sending its queer, fluttery pulse though her bladder and making it feel dangerously full. And tensing all her muscles apparently just made it worse by putting the egg in closer contact with her insides.

She stopped squeezing. Immediately, she felt urine starting to flow. Panic-stricken, she clamped down again, barely suppressing an impulse to put a hand to her groin to see if she really had wet herself. Jesus, that was close, she thought. This could be a lot worse than just having a little pussy juice trickling down the insides of your legs. She lost her place in her notes and sought to cover it by reaching for the glass of water on the lectern. Her hand stopped in midair as she realized that water was the last thing she needed right now. Damn and double damn! Awkwardly, she straddled her legs as far as the knee length skirt would allow and pushed her bottom out, hoping that doing so would move the egg farther away from her bladder. She took a deep breath then gingerly, a fraction at a time, relaxed as much as she dared.

This eased the pressure on her bladder somewhat, but it brought the vibrating buzz of the egg back into her consciousness. Frowning, she brushed a stray bit of hair back from her temple and ran her finger down the page until she found her place. Glancing at the clock, she noted with dismay that she had been speaking for only ten minutes and was less than halfway through her remarks. God, what a terrible day! This was going to be the longest speech she had ever given, by several centuries.

She pulled irritatedly at the collar of her blouse. All of her clothes felt wrong and tight. Still, she was starting to wish that she had worn a bra. The warm feeling that was spreading out from her belly, the egg’s epicenter, had reached her breasts, once again erecting her nipples. The friction of the raw silk of her blouse whenever her breasts swayed forward as she leaned to turn a page was sending shivers down her back. She hunched her back to keep them away from the fabric and tried to hold her upper body as still as she already was holding everything from her hips down. Great! Not only was she incoherent, she was going to be as stiff as a mannequin. Her whole career was going down the toilet, and she was probably going to make the papers as some sort of pervert when they found out what she was wearing.

She could feel a trickle of sweat beginning at her temples. Her palms were slippery on the lectern. And, the result of too much sex and too little bathing, her deodorant had quit spectacularly. The effect, as she leaned her forearms on the lectern to steady herself and the sharp, animal smell of her armpits enveloped her, was very nearly stunning. She felt the warm flush, well remembered from really good sessions with David, creeping up from her chest to her neck. Her hips had begun to twitch involuntarily. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, reading woodenly from her prepared text. Her glance stole back to the clock again in an agony of wanting it to be over. She was afraid to make eye contact with any of the audience anymore, certain they must know what was happening. Her cheeks flamed, as much in shame as heat. While half of her mind continued doggedly to read the words in front of her, the other half began to wonder crazily if this plastic egg and its maddening buzz was going to bring her career down in flames by reason of the sexual heat of the speaker. This was rapidly turning into something more than just a nuisance. With a growing sense of alarm, she began to doubt her ability to ignore what was happening to her body.

Fear was the greatest enemy of arousal she knew of. In the days of furtive sex on fraternity couches, fear of being discovered had made it impossible to enjoy sex with her partners. But fear wasn’t dampening in the least the surging sexual heat she felt now. If anything, it was putting a crazy, brittle edge on it. She stifled an impulse to laugh hysterically. This really was too funny. Wait ‘til Masters and Johnson heard. No woman needed to be frigid ever again. Just put a Chinese egg in her pussy and stand her up in front of a few thousand people. Stage fright? No problem. It adds that last little kinky thrill to reinforce the therapy.

It was at this point that she decided the only way to avoid a very public humiliation was to expel the egg from her body. Careful not to lose her place in her text, she edged her legs as far apart as the flannel skirt would allow. The skirt stretched the least bit and rode up perhaps an inch above her knees, but would go no further. She hoped it would be enough. Then, she began to push. The muscles of her behind clenched, clenched again. She was beyond caring what she must look like to the people behind her on the dais. It was about all she could do to keep from pulling up her skirt and tearing the goddam thing out by the roots.

At first there was no movement at all. She had never tried to use the muscles that close to the top of her vagina before. During sex, all you needed was a good healthy grip. But now, if she squeezed with any of the muscles lower in her vagina, she was actually forcing the egg harder against her cervix. This was a hell of a time to have to learn the finer points, she thought. The egg seemed immovably lodged. Oh, God, please let it move, she prayed. Then, a tiny fraction of an inch at a time, it loosened.

The instant it was no longer touching her cervix, the buzzing was halved. A clean, chill wave of relief washed over her. Gotcha, she thought. All she had to do now was to concentrate carefully, using the muscles of her vagina in just the way that drove David wild, and move the damnable egg down the birth canal and out into her panties. As David had noted, there was enough room in the crotch of the pantyhose for her to expel the egg. Easy does it. And oh, by the way, just continue to put on that front for the good people out there listening. With any luck at all, she was going to get away with this with no one the wiser. And there was going to be a real knockdown, dragout with David as soon as they got somewhere private. She promised herself that. Just keep reading. She glanced up, permitted herself a rather savage smile at a glassyeyed little man in the front row. He looked embalmed. Perfect. She was heading into the homestretch of her talk now. Just a few more minutes.

Behind her, David watched the rhythmic rippling of her buttocks beneath the tightly stretched grey skirt and wondered what the hell she was up to. He glanced nervously to his right, where the chairwoman sat frowning. To his left, a youngish man stared at Katie’s undulating bottom, grinning broadly. David massaged the bridge of his nose and speculated unhappily about the likely aftermath of all this.

She nearly had it, now. She could feel the end of the egg spreading her labia apart once more. Must be like giving birth, she thought. The buzzing sensation intensified alarmingly as the egg came in contact with the sensitive lips and clitoris. But in another moment, she thought, the egg will be out, and I can finish my talk and get the hell to somewhere I can take it out of my pants and stomp the goddamned thing into a million pieces. And then do the same to David.

With agonizing slowness, she could feel the big end of the egg bulging out into her panties, stretching her wide. Another squeeze, and the egg emerged to its widest diameter- and stuck there. It was vibrating the lips of her pussy mercilessly now, a much more urgent stimulation than she had yet felt. If she didn’t get the egg out right now, it was going to be too late. She could feel her legs beginning to tremble, a sure sign of the coming storm. She squeezed hard, harder, her cheeks reddening with the effort. And all at once, just the reverse of the way it had gone in, the egg popped out into her panties.

And lodged directly against her clitoris. There wasn’t enough of a gap at the crotch of the pantyhose to get the egg away from her body after all.

She had only a startled, horrified instant in which to realize that she was about to come in front of four thousand people and there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop it.

And come she did, more violently than ever before in her life, with the egg held tightly in place against her clitoris and vibrating madly. The twenty minutes of foreplay she had just gone through trying first to ignore the egg, then to get rid of it, had primed her body for an explosion. Her knuckles went white on the lectern. Every muscle in her body went rigid as her back arched and her legs bent. Her hips thrust helplessly forward, and again, and again, fucking the lectern. She hung her head and tried to ride it out. A miserable moan escaped her, which she turned into a sort of cough halfway through. She raised her hand to her mouth to muffle it, but the hand became a clenched fist. It was difficult to counterfeit a cough when what she really wanted to do was to throw her head back and scream. The speech was forgotten as she rode the waves of her orgasm, each cresting higher than the last, washing over her, claiming her, as she simply tried to survive, tried not to collapse, tried not to cry out.

And it did end, though slowly, the reverse of how it began, with ebbing waves now. She shook her head dazedly, slowly coming to herself. She tasted blood where she had bitten her lower lip. Her entire body was covered in a light sheen of sweat. She heard the murmurs, saw the looks of concern in the audience. Jesus, how long had she been clinging silently to the lectern, anyway? With a shock of adrenaline, she saw two members of the party on the dais getting up from their seats, coming to see if she was all right. Or maybe to give me the hook, she thought. The fright was just what she needed. Smiling a rather ghastly smile, she shook her head, waved them back. She’d be fine. Just a passing indisposition. David, she noted, was simply sitting there openmouthed. Probably felt it reflected badly on him, the asshole. She traced the lines of her text with a trembling forefinger, willing them to come back into focus. There. She cleared her throat, took a tiny sip of water, and went on, a bit hoarsely.

But the egg vibrated on, never missing a beat. Orgasm meant nothing to it; it was up to the wearer to turn it off when she had had enough. And Kate couldn’t. She had perhaps a half minute’s warning that it was going to happen again. Oh, no, no, no, no, please no, she thought. Not again. I can’t. But it was no use. The muscles in her forearms locked. Cords in her neck stood out, straining. And again her hips pumped helplessly, locked in a rhythm beyond her conscious ability to affect. She looked about her wildly, then closed her eyes. Her eyelashes fluttered. She bit back the guttural, animal noises trying to escape from her throat.

And then, opening her eyes as widely as she could, she stared at the pages in front of her as if the key to her salvation were to be read there, and continued her speech. It was a heroic effort. All she could manage was a sort of hoarse growl, but she kept gamely on. At the very peak of her orgasm, she paused for a minute, passed a shaky hand in front of her face and reached for the water glass. She spilled most of it on her notes but managed to get a little in her mouth. And then she went on, dully, determined to finish.

By the end of her speech, she was in nearly continuous orgasm. She had quit counting at fifteen. Her legs were trembling so violently that she had to lock her knees to keep from collapsing. Her hair clung in failed ringlets to her forehead. Her mascara ran black where tears of helpless anger and pleasure both had leaked when she shut her eyes during the worst moments. The armpits of her jacket were dark with sweat and the insides of her thighs were slippery with pussy juice. Her pantyhose clung to her like wet leaves. The sphincter muscles of her bladder were cramping with the effort of holding back her urine, but this ultimate humiliation couldn’t be far away. And she was nearly past caring. She could hardly remember why it was so important to get to the end of this anymore, but by God she was going to make it!

And then, finally, she was thanking her listeners, turning to walk back to her chair, and collapsing in David’s arms. Her legs weren’t capable of holding her up any more. He threw both arms around her in a clumsy bearhug. She looked around her dully, wordlessly, waiting for the outrage that would certainly fall on her as soon the chairwoman recovered the power of speech. David’s questing hand found the battery box and yanked it roughly upward, exposing enough of the battery box so he could reach the red switch. The buzzing stopped and a sudden quiet fell over her body, now moved only by residual tremors, like those involuntary hitchings of breath that follow a long crying spell. As her head slumped onto his shoulder, David put an arm around her waist to support her and guided her back to her chair.

But there were no shouts of condemnation; the entire party on the dais had risen to their feet and were applauding wildly. She looked around her in amazement; now the audience was standing. Never, the people on the dais were saying, had such a moving speech been delivered to the party. The passion of the speaker had been awe-inspiring.

She closed her eyes, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. They had no idea, no idea at all.

***

Not caring how rude she looked, Kate got through the congratulatory gauntlet on the dais in moments, cutting off the chairwoman in midsentence.  She barely made it to the restroom, seating herself on the toilet just as the pee started to flow.  Savagely, she yanked the egg out of her panties and held it up. She wondered briefly if flushing it down the toilet would cause the toilet to clog.  Better to just push it down in the trash, cover it with a few paper towels and walk away.  She put herself back together as well as she could and left the stall, first peeking out to make sure no one else was in the restroom.  She walked to the trash receptacle and hurriedly stuffed the egg in.  At the sink, she washed her hands and splashed cold water on her face.  She looked at herself in the mirror.  Not too bad, considering.  She turned to go, then hesitated and went back to the trash receptacle.  She stood for a moment, thinking, then gingerly reached in and found the egg.  She wiped it hurriedly and, again looking around to be sure no one was watching, and slipped it into her purse.

David was waiting for her when she came out, looking miserable.  Good, she thought.  She brushed past him without speaking.  He began to apologize, but she turned and glared at him.

"Now now, David. I'm extremely pissed at you."

"Jesus, Katie. You know I wouldn't do that on purpose."

“Don’t make it worse than it already is. Just shut up.”

They were silent in the cab back to the hotel, spoke only the bare minimum necessary to navigate the airport, silent on the way back to their shared apartment, silent as they went to bed that night.  Kate slept with her back to him and he did not attempt to touch her.

***

“So what’s it going to be, David?  The egg?  Or me?”

The Chinese egg dangled at the end of its cord, held in Kate’s outstretched right hand.  Her left hand on her hip, she calmly watched David unhappily shaking his head.

“C’mon, Katie.  You can’t be serious.  That’s just crazy.”

“I’m completely serious. You publicly humiliated me, David. Yes, you did. I'm not about to forget that.  Either you do this for me, or we are through.  It’s that simple. This is not negotiable.”

“They loved you, Katie.  For God’s sake.  You heard the applause.  I heard people saying it was the best speech they ever heard anyone give.”

“Complete luck.  It could just as easily have been a total disaster and cost me my reputation.  Which I have worked very hard to cultivate.  As you know.”

“But this is ridiculous.  What do you get out of this?”

“I don’t know.  Some of my self respect back, maybe.”

“How’s this going to help?  Katie, believe me, I was agonizing right along with you up there.  I know what you were going through.”

She laughed out loud.  “No, I don’t think you do.  I want you to find out what it feels like to have a whole roomful of people staring at you like you’re some kind of pervert, wondering what in the world is wrong with you.”

“That sounds more like plain revenge.”

“Call it what you like.”  She held up the Chinese egg, swinging it slightly back and forth in his face.  “Which is it, David?  Me or the egg?  Will you do this for me, or do I walk out the door?  You need to choose.”

There was a long silence.  David refused to meet her gaze.

“All right,” he said at last, sullenly.  “This is totally stupid, but I’ll do it.  For you.  Happy now?  But it can’t be today.  I have to be in the office in half an hour.  I’ll do it, but it’ll have to wait ’til the weekend.”

“Oh, no.  No, I’m afraid not.  You’re missing the point, David.  I want this to be in front of people you know, whose good opinion you could lose.  Like I was.  Otherwise it’s meaningless.  Your office is exactly the right place for this.”

David groaned.  “Give me a break, Katie.  I can’t go to work wearing that thing.”

“Nonsense.  Why, you might even enjoy it.  Those Oriental women, remember?  You’ll just have this wonderful secret nobody else in the whole world knows about.  Except me, of course.  Now, how do you want to do this?  Lying on the bed like I was, or just bend over?  Wait a sec.”  She went into the bathroom, returned with the K-Y jelly.  Squeezing a generous amount on her finger, she carefully spread a slippery coat over the egg’s surface, nearly dropping it twice in the process.  She wiped her fingers on a tissue and looked at him expectantly.

He sighed deeply, undid his belt and dropped his pants, then hesitated.

“C’mon, boxers, too.  We don’t have all day.  I thought you had to be at work in half an hour.”

David hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his underwear, slowly pulled them down to his knees, then turned around.  He bent over awkwardly.  “Just get it over with.  But be careful, will you?”

“Right.  You’ve never had anything this big up there, have you?  Or have you?”

“Not funny, Katie.  You know I haven’t.”

“Don’t be such a baby.  You watched me lube it.  Spread your cheeks.  No, wider.”

He spread his cheeks.

It required a bit of coaxing, but the egg was eventually persuaded to go into David’s ass.  He stood up slowly, his back bent in an awkward bow, stomach pushed out.  Katie giggled.

“You look like- well, you look like you have a stick up your ass.  You’ll have to be more natural than that or people will definitely know something’s up.  Sorry, bad pun.”

David glared at her.  She moved closer, studying the red switch on the box.  She looked up, smiled at him, and deliberately pressed the button.

David immediately stood straighter.  As did something else.

“Oh, look!” Kate said delightedly.  “It stands right up!  This is great!  Instant lover.  Why didn’t we think of this before?  No more I’m-not-in-the-mood or I’m-too-tired.  I can have you any time I want you.”

She pressed the button again.  David drooped.  She pressed it again.  David stood.

“On.  Off.  Up.  Down.  This is so cool.  I’ve got a remote control dick to play with.”

“Stop it, Katie!  This isn’t funny.”

“Oh, but it is.  You just need the right perspective on things.  Anyway, you’d better get dressed.  You’re going to be late.”

David took small, awkward steps over to the closet, Katie and the box following.  He sorted through the pants, finally selecting a pleated pair that was the loosest-fitting he owned.  Kate took the hanger from him and put it back on the rod.

“What are you doing?” said David.

“Not that one.”  She selected the most closely tailored pair of pants David owned, eyed them critically.  “You haven’t worn these in a while.  You have such a cute butt.  And front.  They’re perfect.  Don’t you think?”

“I can’t wear those.  Not while I have this thing up my ass.”

“Oh, yes you can.  I want everybody to see just what’s going on.”

“Katie, this is going too far.  Show some mercy.  This could get me fired.”

“All the more fun when the stakes are high.  I’m making the rules, David.  Fear just adds a extra little spice to the proceedings- you’ll see.  Or maybe it’ll help you.  Fear is a real boner killer for some men, I’ve heard. But I doubt it is for you.  Shall we see?”  She pressed the red button.

David grabbed the box and shut if off again.  “Stop it, Katie!  I’ll wear the pants!”

He stepped into the pants gingerly, pulled them up.  Katie stood behind and arranged the box at the top of the belt.

David found a shirt and tie, quickly donned both.  He walked to the closet and started to take a sport coat off its hanger.  “Ah, ah!” Kate said.  “No coat.  I don’t want you to be buttoning it up over your pants.”

David fumed.  “Okay, fine.  Great.  No coat.  Anything else or are you satisfied now?”

Kate nodded.

“Good.  Then if you’ll excuse me, I have to go.  It’s going to cost me an extra thirty bucks for a cab this morning because it’s too late to take the train, thanks to you.”

“Just let me grab a coat and my purse and we can be on our way.”

“We?  What do you mean, we?”

“I’m coming with you.”

“What are you talking about?  You can’t come to the office with me, Katie.  How do I explain that to my boss?  It’s a place of business, not a cafe.”

“Let’s pretend it’s National Take Your Girlfriend to Work Day. I want to make sure you don’t cheat.”

David looked at his watch, threw up his hands and swore.  Kate linked her arm through his as they left the apartment.

***

One minute before 9:30 found them outside the glass wall that fronted David’s company’s elite space on the fourteenth floor of the office building.  The receptionist glanced up as they came out of the elevator, smiled.

“Oh, God.  I was hoping to get in without anyone noticing.”  David groaned. 

Kate waved at the woman, who waved back, looking a bit puzzled.  “I imagine the ladies in the office will find this pretty amusing,” she said. “Your boss is married, isn’t she? She’ll think it’s really funny. Or maybe not.  Okay, David.  Showtime.  Twenty minutes.  Not a second less.  The same as I had.  And no hiding behind your desk in your cubicle.  You have to be up and around, talking to people, or it doesn’t count.”

She gave him a helpful push in the middle of his back to encourage him.  Which pressed the switch.  Which set the Chinese egg vibrating, deeply, secretly.  David straightened up as if he had been kicked.  He took a few short, hesitating steps forward, turned and looked agonizedly back at Kate.

“What if I come?” David asked, horrified.

“My, that would be awful, wouldn’t it?  Poor David.  Now you see what it was like for me, don’t you?”  She smiled at him sweetly.  “Ready for the longest twenty minutes of your life?  Go get ‘em, tiger!  I’ll be waiting.”


© Copyright 2017 Norman Donald Bloom. All rights reserved.

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