Claire Sinclair vs the orgasmatron

Claire Sinclair vs the orgasmatron

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Claire Sinclair, Miss October 2010 and Playmate of the Year 2011, conquers the infamous orgasmatron.


Claire Sinclair, Miss October 2010 and Playmate of the Year 2011, conquers the infamous orgasmatron.


Submitted: April 17, 2013

A A A | A A A


Submitted: April 17, 2013



Coconut vodka smelled a little weird and Claire Sinclair was glad that she was under the legal drinking age and therefore didn’t have to sample it. Her cute little nose twitched like a bunny’s every time another tray of shots went by her, which was appropriate since she was dressed in a cute little bunny outfit.

She was excited because this event was the debut finally of her official Playmate of the Year bunny costume. She’d been waiting for a long time but it took so long to be debuted because the company wouldn’t pay for it. They waited until the coconut vodka company sponsored "Fight Night Rock the Mansion" so the promoters would pay for the costume. This event was apparently a big deal because its signs were posted all over the estate and Claire had the urge to go around to all those signs to add an ‘s’ to the word ‘rock’ so title would make sense but she didn’t, mostly because the bunny outfit was too tight to hide a Sharpie pen.

She did look cute in the costume though: the standard bunny ears and fluffy tale, the bow tie and the cuffs, the high cut exposure of her thighs and the low cut exposure of her creamy bosom. But unlike most playmate bunny costumes hers had a black satin trim over a bronze leopard skin pattern that looked really exotic. And Playmate of the Year Claire Sinclair looked absolutely fetching in the costume, even when another tray of coconut vodka went by and made her nose twitch like a bunny’s.

Claire looked at one of the big cardboard signs distributed around the Mansion and read the words once more ‘VuQo Premium Vodka, the world's finest coconut distilled vodka, sponsors Playboy Mansion's Fight Night Rock the Mansion,’ it was a mouthful alright and then another guest who had been willing to part with a thousand bucks to join the party walked by and she had to go into her act. She smiled her million megawatt smile and chirped, “Welcome to VuQo Premium Vodka, the world's finest coconut distilled vodka, sponsors Playboy Mansion's Fight Night Rock the Mansion; may I offer you a drink?” Because she wasn’t allowed to serve drinks because of her age all she did was gesture to the waiter holding the tray of shots and her nose twitched again. She glanced at her white cuff where she had written out ‘VuQo Premium Vodka, the world's finest coconut distilled vodka, sponsors Playboy Mansion's Fight Night Rock the Mansion’ with a Sharpie so she wouldn’t forget her line; she had noticed all the other playmate bunnies doing the same for when it was their turns to play greeters.  
Claire, because of her age, was left to do the longest shift as the greeter. She didn’t mind. Inside the tent the smell of coconut distilled vodka was almost like a fog floating over the crowd. Beside Bridget Marquardt was the official hostess inside and she could be a real, well, Claire wanted to say to herself ‘bitch’ but she said ‘pain’ instead. And it was nicer at the greeting gate because the noise of Rock Legend Steel Panther, a glamrock band from back in the day, was not as loud. She had to giggle whenever she thought about the band; the poster actually said ‘Rock Legend’ and they dressed like an amateur production of Spinal Tap. Her greeting duties also kept her away from B-list celebrities like Sean Young and Cory Feldman too which was fine with her. But it was boring to be constantly reading “Welcome to VuQo Premium Vodka, the world's finest coconut distilled vodka, sponsors Playboy Mansion's Fight Night Rock the Mansion; may I offer you a drink?”

“I do not think it would be appropriate for you to offer us a drink at all,” said a voice that sounded like the owl in that old Disney Sword in the Stone movie.

“Not appropriate at all, oh no,” said another voice who sounded like Lumiere from Beauty in the Best.

Claire hadn’t realized that she was mumbling the line out loud and she was surprised by the two rotund men in front of her. One was tall and fat and the other was short and fat. The tall fat man had tufts of hair growing out of his ears and rimless wireframe glasses perched precariously on his nose.  He was bald except for some grey curls around his ears that competed with the enormous crop of hair growing out of those same ears. His eyebrows were bushy and gave his face a distinctly owlish look.

The shorter fat man had thick black hair greased back over his neck almost like a slick helmet. His glasses were thick black frames and they made his eyes seem enormous. They were both tapping their fingers tips together in a Hollywood stereotypical mad scientist gesture. They were still tsking over how inappropriate Claire’s offer of drinks was. She noticed that the owlish looking man spoke like Lumiere and the other man spoke like the Disney owl.
They were not dressed like they had spent a thousand bucks to be here. The short one wore beat up Keds circa 1973 and the other one wore what looked like vinyl loafers. They wore suits, cheap polyester suits that clearly had no working relationship with hangers or closets. The owlish one completed the mad scientist look with a bow tie and the other one wore a tie featuring Einstein sticking out his tongue.
They looked like high school science teachers as they tsked her and suddenly Claire realized. Holy shit! They were high school science teachers from her alma mater Woodrow Allen High! Holy crap.
“Well Miss…er, Claire,” the one with thick black frames bent down and peered at the name on the little badge riding on her hip. “It is most inappropriate for a student to offer a teacher a drink.”
“Most inappropriate,” the other agreed.
“But I graduated,” Claire whined, instantly slipping into high school senior mode and feeling a bit defensive as though detention was the next step in this encounter.
“Still, still, not quite…according to Hoyle.” The owlish one was still tapping his fingers together.

“Quite right, Hoyle would not approve,” the other chimed in happily. Who the fuck is Hoyle, Claire wondered, really sinking deeply into high school bad girl mode now. She was trying to recall their names of these pseudo mad scientists or mad pseudo-scientist or whatever they were but the scene suddenly got worse.

Stepping up behind the two fat men was the hostess of Welcome to VuQo Premium Vodka, the world's finest coconut distilled vodka, sponsors Playboy Mansion's Fight Night Rock the Mansion herself, Bridget Marquardt. She was dressed like a dominatrix who preferred pink to black. She slipped between the two fat men, sliding her arms in theirs in a gesture of familiarity.  “Claire,” she said smugly, “I’m sure you remember Mr. O’Shea and Mr. Duran.” She nodded her head first left, then right.
“Hello,” Mr. O’Shea said, or was it Mr. Duran?
“Hello,” said Duran or maybe O’Shea.
“Hello,” said Claire, waiting for whatever disaster was coming next. She felt oddly conspicuous in front of this trio, not because she was half naked in the bunny suit with her breasts being offered up to the two men; she felt conspicuous instead because of the collision of her high school life with her playmate life.
An awkward silence continued as Bridget drank in Claire’s discomfort.
One of the fat men spoke up finally, “Actually, she never had a class with either of us, isn’t that right Mr. O’Shea?”
“Quite right, Mr. Duran,” the other piped in. Claire was certain now that she would never remember which was which.
The two fat men nodded fervently, looking at Claire, not as though she looked sexy, and she was sure she looked sexy in her bunny outfit, but they were looking at as though they were looking at a lab specimen. “Yes, quite right,” one of them repeated, “Although…”
“…Although the name does not seem right. Claire? Oh no, not correct.”
“No, not correct at all,” the other agreed.
“It’s a stage name,” Claire mumbled like a school girl in the principal’s office. She was about to give her real name when another voice interrupted.
“Yes, our little Claire Sinclair,” Kassie Lyn Logsdon spit out the name, “Has delusions of stardom.” Kassie Lyn, also in a bunny outfit, had been Miss May and she had fully expected to be Playmate of the Year herself and never forgave Claire for usurping the crown; at least in Kassie’s vain view of things Claire had usurped the title. Claire gulped; things had definitely gone from bad to worse, and things had been very bad to start with.
The two fat men tsked and Bridget and Kassie tsked right along with them. “Stardom, what a pity,” Mr. Duran complained.
“Yes, such a pity,” Mr. O’Shea added. “Too many students forgo the sciences for the lure of Hollywood. A pity.” He peered at Claire through his glasses. “You should have taken science classes young lady.”
Now four pairs of eyes all brimming with reproach glared at Claire. Bridget and Kassie shook their heads slowly as if ashamed of the short comings of the dear Playmate of the Year. Suddenly Bridget’s face brightened. “That’s why we were so glad when Mr. O’Shea and Mr. Duran came to us with their invention.
“Yes, the invention, yes, of course, the invention.” Both fat men nodded excitedly, their eyes roaming over Claire as if they were wondering where to put the probes.
“Yes, the invention,” Kassie sang out. She took Claire’s bare arm and all five began to move away from the tent and towards the Mansion. “We’re so lucky to have the invention.”
“Yes, the invention,” one of the fat men parroted.
“But…I have to greet the guests,” Claire sputtered, looking over her shoulder and back to the tent.
Kassie tugged her along. “No worries, all the guests have arrived anyway. Besides this is science.”
“Yes, science,” O’Shea, Duran, and Bridget agreed and along with Kassie the word was bounced back and forth among all four. Fuck science, Claire thought to herself as they entered the Mansion.
Claire’s four escorts prattled on and on about science until they entered the Mansion living room and there it was, the invention. Suddenly everybody was silent. Four were in awe of the majesty of the machine in the middle of the room and one was wondering what the heck that monstrosity could have to do with her.

It resembled a clamshell. The lid was made of long, rigid rod-like paddles that lay in a row, side by side with what looked like shimmering steel mesh between them. The paddles themselves each had one end at the bottom of the lid, near the joint of the machine's "clamshell", and the other end moved freely. Because the paddles were not glued or welded together but instead moved together, and because the paddles pivoted around the "clamshell" joint and moved parallel to the sagittal plane, they had a wave-like motion. It was operated from a keyboard resembling that used to control a large organ.

Mr. Duran clapped his hands together once, as if signaling the start of a show and he immediately began fussing around the machine, checking connections between wires and making sure every little light was tightly in its socket. It had a lot of wires and little lights.

Mr. O’Shea stood in front of Claire, his lips pursed and one finger tapping over them as he regarded her like a fashion designer taking on a new challenge. Finally, he jiggled the finger at Bridget and Kassie, as if commanding them. “We should get her inside right away and check energy levels.”

Inside? Inside what? Claire’s brain was working furiously but her body was still in obedient school girl mode so she let the other two girls stand on either side of her and lead her up some little steps at the back of the machine. At the top of the stepladder they hoisted her up and that’s when she realized that she should object.

“Hey, wait a minute,” she protested; too late, they were already sliding her into the machine, feet first with shoes and bunny outfit and all, depositing her as though she were a slice of bread going into a toaster. The machine released a low growl, sounding for all the world like a very satisfied Cookie Monster.

Claire struggled at first but once she was in the slot as far as her knees she realized that the machine was giving off a very pleasant sensation. She couldn’t see inside the black maw of the machine’s insides but she felt her body engulfed by some sort of amorphous goo, or maybe it as warm moist sand? No, it was like viscous ball bearings in a million different sizes, no it was like a really thick and kind of tasty smelling soup. She couldn’t decide but whatever was inside the machine was very very pleasant and very gently engulfing her entire body, molding its strange vitality and warmth, its near magnetism around her. Her thighs dipped in, then her hips; she got a real buzz when her pussy, still covered by panty hose and the satin of the bunny outfit, touched the viscous gelatinous goo. When her belly sank in it felt like the machine took a moment to tickle her navel and she giggled. Her breasts appreciated the way the glutinous stuff engulfed them. Bridget and Kassie were letting her go now and her arms dipped in and sank down; she felt a warm energy from her toes to her fingertips. She kept sinking down languidly until her chin rested at the top of the slot. All that was visible of dear little Claire was her cute little head crowned with cute bunny ears. The machine gave off another low growl of contentment.

If Claire had been able to examine the innards of the device she would have seen that one of her guesses was close to correct. She was floating in, or in the grip of perhaps, an incomprehensible number of tiny balls infused with plastic and rare metals; without getting into particle physics I can tell you that these balls, worked together at the sub-atomic level. They seemed liquid because they could behave like liquid and they seemed solid because they could move in concert to form a mass that replicated any tangible state from steel to human flesh. They arrayed over Claire’s body in a solid mass of loving caresses but they could have easily grouped themselves into hands to clutch her tightly or appendages to explore every bit of her luscious body. Right now they were working together to create the effect of a thousand kittens licking the ecstatic playmate’s skin. The machine purred in pleasure as the girl writhed like a giddy sex-kitten.

“What is this thing?” Claire asked breathlessly, her voice filled with the wonder of a schoolgirl gazing into Macy’s window at Christmas.

“This is the orgasmatron,” Mr. O’Shea said proudly.

Of course Mr. Duran provided the chorus, the Pips to O’Shea’s Gladys Knight. “Yes, the orgasmatron.”

“The Orgasmatron,” O’Shea said again, his voice taking a majuscule tone now. Duran still played the Pips but he was joined now by Kassie and Bridget. “The Orgasmatron,” they boasted in unision.

“Orgasmatron?” Claire repeated doubtfully. “You mean like in orgasm? This machine is going to give me an orgasm?” She started to giggle. “You guys invented the world’s biggest dildo?” The machine felt really good, but still...

“Oh much more than an orgasm,” Duran insisted.

Now O’Shea was the Pips, “More, much, much more,” he tsked and Bridget and Kassie agreed. “Absolutely. Much more,” they said, almost cackling like witches.

Claire, still enjoying the machine’s embrace, was feeling a little sassy and a lot annoyed by these clowns. “Oh, I doubt it,” she challenged.

O’Shea and Duran scowled then dismissed her. “Oh it will work,” they insisted as they fussed over controls.  “It is a work of genius,” they said in unison.

“Yes, genius,” Bridget nodded.

“Ha,” said Claire in defiance.

“Just look at it,” shouted Duran in frustration.  All four began to circle in, their eyes popping in admiration.

Mr. O’Shea was explaining it to Bridgett and Kassie Lyn who both nodded sagaciously at each syllable spit out by the eager mad scientist. “It should be looked on as a vessel taking its, er, victim on a journey. As our lovely captive demonstrates,” he explained sweeping an arm towards Claire who defiantly stuck out her tongue. “Yes, well, as I was saying, once grasping the passenger's entire body below the neck, the Orgasmatron gently, well gently at first, and pleasurably, most pleasurably indeed, the device massages the passenger by flexing its upper half with a wave-like motion from right to left. And the magnetized pellets move in perfect synchronization, forming, well, shall we call it the perfect lover, an all-engulfing lover.” Here he paused to gaze at Claire’s lovely face and she pulled another Little Rascal’s smirk of defiance. But she was also noticing that her body was feeling real nice. Really really nice. Ohhhh, did it feel nice!

Mr. Duran took up the lecture. “By properly manipulating the keys the operator may induce great sexual pleasure in the victim, sufficient to cause death by orgasm.” He licked his lips and Claire stuck out her tongue yet again. Bridgett and Cassie Lyn were getting anxious for the demonstration to begin.

Claire looked askance at the two men and at the machine itself. She was trying to look stern, but her face was so impossibly cute and the bunny outfit was completely hidden by the paddles and fabric of the Orgasmatron her throat and shoulders were bare; so instead of stern she looked sexy.

Mr. O’Shea sat on a bench and his hands poised themselves over a keyboard complicated enough for a church organ and when he pressed a few keys a kind of organ music poured out. A magnificent cord gushed forth in a roar and then a sensuous melody followed.

The organ music was kind of goofy. The two inventors looked over the score, nodding to each other while Mr. O’Shea’s fingers tickled nimbly over the keyboard. Suddenly Claire felt an overwhelming flood of tickles like every funny bone in her body was being worked; even more wicked, every bone in her luscious body had become a funny bone.

“Ohhh, what is thing thing?” she squealed, her eyes darting over the paddles now dancing in more frenzied patterns.

“You’ll soon see my dear,” Mr. Duran chuckled, “Sonata for Orgasmatron and a Helpless Young Woman.”

“Oh,” Claire gasped; the title was surprising, but the machine was doing things to her body too, pleasant things. “It’s…it’s sort of nice, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is nice,” Mr. O’Shea agreed as he played, “In the beginning, at least, it’s very nice.”

The organ took on the tones of a clarion call and Claire felt things: first her shoes slid out a shoot and hit the floor next to the machine. The cuffs of the bunny costume came next, followed by the badge that said ‘Claire, PMOY.’ Invisible digits seemed to stroke her lovely throat and the collar and bow tie slipped away and down the shoot. Mr. Duran nodded with approval and excitement. Claire giggled; when the machine removed her bunny tale it was like her delightful bottom was being pinched by an appreciative Frenchman. Then the machine unzipped the bodice of the bunny costume and Claire swooned, her mouth forming a perfect O; an erotic pulse raced through her veins as the tight satin released and slid from her body, then tumbled out of the machine and to the floor. “Ooooo,” she squealed.

“Wait until the tune changes,” O’Shea snickered, his fingers dancing over the keys. “You may change your tune as well.”

“Oh goodness,” Claire gasped as the machine fondled her body, “What do you mean?”

No man had every stripped off a girl’s panty hose as lovingly as the Orgasmatron peeled off Claire’s silk leggings. They were spit out of the machine and something seemed to pull Claire deeper into the Orgasmatron’s workings and she struggled to stay up, like a girl bobbing in a wave on the ocean. “Oh dear,” she shrieked as she giggled with ecstasy. Then she let out a real howl of surprise; the machine was sucking on her bare breasts and sucking really greedily.

Claire began to writhe now, her head twisting back and forth. Her face was flush with a rosy glow and glistening beads of sweat on her brow suggested that her body was being worked into a serious state of arousal. The music began with an ardent hymn to Venus, but it was Claire now who was the goddess of love, whose coming in the spring has scattered the clouds, flooded the sky with light, and filled the entire world with frenzied sexual desire.

“When we reach the crescendo you will explode with pleasure,” Mr. Duran boasted. “It will be swift and sweet, very sweet.”

The helpless beauty inhaled fast as the contraption connected to her, completely connected. The microscopic beads had slipped into her most tender depths as though they were a breeze softly blowing. Every surface, every nerve ending of her delicate sex was lovingly caressed; then they began to form a more solid mass, forming a shaft too deep inside her to be real and too unyielding against her tenderness to be bearable.

First, the sweet goddess, like a delicate bird of the air pierced to the heart with powerful shafts, cried out at the roar of power, the massive thrust deep inside her that signaled the entry of the orgasmatron. But the machine, like a wild creature bounding over rich pastures and swimming rushing rivers drove in deeper: so surely were the machine’s circuits all captivated by the delicious girl’s charm, and eagerly Claire followed the machine’s lead. Then she injected seductive love into the heart of every circuit that fucked her; like a wind on the seas and mountains and river torrents and thickets of trees drew up waves and swaying boughs, so her seductive love was implanting in the circuits the passionate urge to fuck this girl and fuck her hard.
Startled by the intensity of this opening, Claire continued on, vanquished by the never-healing wound of lust, throwing back her slender throat and gazing up at the ceiling; her moans were a prayer for peace but to her surprise, she continued to find the machine thrilling.

The machine was all cock now and fucking her hard. She was getting high, learning to fly, her brain dazzled with rainbow colors; she was electrified with starry light above the stratosphere. She couldn’t make a sound except the sounds of bliss.

The music’s pace was now quick and rhythmic. The machine was really drilling her hard, the paddles dancing in time with each thrust inside her but her breasts and her bottom were being loved too, and her belly and her arms, and her fingers. And her toes, nobody had ever fucked between her toes and it was heavenly. Claire sighed and moaned as if singing with the music. “Ooooo ah!  A a A a A a aaa aa AH!!” Pleasures drift through her mind. She felt tongues on her body, feathers brushing her flesh, whips flailing her, men ravaging her, women ravaging her. Her body shook as orgasm wracked her. She was a wonder; she was Wonder Woman. She was wild and wonderful and as she became more aroused it was like the planets all stood still.

The music seemed to taunt her, “You are dying a thousand little deaths, Claire, why resist? Your perversions will devour you.” As she writhed slowly her body experienced another orgasm. The mad scientists were captivated by the sight of this beautiful creature and the machine was driving her to insanity. But more was happening; Claire’s sensuality was focused on the heart of the machine and she was reversing the polarity of her own sexual gratification. The electronic brain imagined itself in love with Claire; it was an electronic thing and Claire was exciting it, kissing it, making love to it; fireworks went off in its circuitry. The machine fizzled and groaned, Claire getting the better of it. A moist and mist steam rose from the machine bringing an odor redolent with sex.

Bridget and Kassie looked horrified. Unlike them, Claire embodied a purity
and sexuality that turned the most nefarious lust into to gentle loving and as she writhed she was truly loving the machine. In fact, even with Claire’s deliciously naked body in the fetal position, slowly revolving in the depths of the machine, even with her nudity completely hidden she looked so sexy and lovely that in their minds the two other girls could see her perfectly formed breasts with nipples tight and red, they could see her flat belly tremble with each thrust into her sweetness, they could see her plump derriere as it too was fucked by the machine, fucked deep and hard, and in the illusion created by the raw sensuality of the innocent girl they could see her sex lovingly receiving the most brutal and penetrating thrusts of the machine and they could see her glowing face turning everything into love. Claire’s soft face glowed with the pleasures drifting through her mind as tongues slurped greedily over her body.

And through the steam - a sweat-drenched Claire, she was beginning to come and her eyes rolled in her head and her checks flushed; her hair was all tangled and sweaty as her head twisted back and forth as if denying the ecstasy in one last futile stab at resistance.
Her hands appeared at the edge of the machine and she seemed to want to pull herself off the magnificent cock drilling into her every orifice but the machine pulled her down and she swooned into bliss. Her head jerked and the music went wild. Sweat dripped from her brow. “Oh,” she panted, looking around in disbelieve, “Oh, oh, oh.” Staccato breaths of ecstasy. She looked up to Heaven to beg for mercy while erotic demons seemed to devour her.

Her face was in constant struggle, sometimes eyes closed and lips parted in surrender, then a wild goggled eyes gaze at the two mad scientists as she howled a new wave of bliss in harmony with the music. Sweat glistened over her face. Her head began to jerk back and forth as the thrusts came faster and deeper. Mr. O’Shea was pouring himself eagerly into the music. Suddenly, even as the tempo got more frenzied, Claire’s erotic writhing slowed into a timelessness as she savored every second of the extreme ecstasy filling her.

She let out a helpless wail; she was coming now and coming hard. Her head snapped back, extending her lovely throat. The Orgasmatron groaned too as a look of supreme bliss and satisfaction eased onto the girl’s lovely face, a mix of exhilaration and relaxation. Her head rocked back and forth slowly and her lips parted as if she was kissing the universe in gratitude. Her half-lidded eyes sparkled with lust and love. Smoke began to pour out of the machine as it tried to fuck her to death but all it could do was raise her to greater heights of ecstasy. Her body twisted back and forth as if she were belly dancing. Every cell in her body was being fucked, fucked to kingdom come.

As she spun slowly her body experienced another orgasm, the machine was driving her to insanity... The witnesses were captivated by the sight of this gorgeous
creature. But then something started happening...Claire was concentrating her mind on the machine.

“Something’s wrong.” O’Shea’s fingers danced frantically over the keyboard as he watched the girl in her bliss.

Duran rushed over; they were playing a four-handed piece now and they played with agitated desperation. “She’s reversing the polarity of her own sexual gratification. The machine is being over-stimulated.”

“What the fuck!” Bridget shrieked, jealous of the look of ecstasy on Claire’s face.

The electronic brain of the machine imagined itself falling in love with Claire even as its parts drilled into her mercilessly. It was an electronic thing and she was exciting it, kissing it, making love to it…Fireworks went off in it circuitry.  The machine fizzled, Claire getting the better of it. She sobbed in ecstasy as it sparked and exploded.  She came in another rush and she came with the machine in a gloriously perverse act of celestial coition

Bridget and Kassie fell back in shock and horror.

“I don’t believe it,” Mr. Duran exclaimed. “She’s ruining the machine. She’s fucking it to death. Wretched, wretched girl! What have you done with our Orgasmatron?”

“You’ve blown all its fuses,” Mr. O’Shea screamed as the machine let out a final groan.

“My goodness,” Claire breathed, looking at the wreckage around her.

“You exhausted its power,” Duran whined. “It couldn’t keep up with you.”

“What kind of girl are you?” O’Shea cried. “Have you no shame?”

“Oh,” Claire said gently, more to sooth the agonies of the Orgasmatron as it died. She closed her eyes as another wave of bliss rushed over her.

“Shame,” Duran moaned.

Claire’s delicate fingers appeared over the lip of the opening around her throat and she softly stroked the machine. “Poor thing,” she purred.

“Shame, shame,” the scientists were shrieking now as they ran over and tried to put out the bursts of flame snapping out of the machine’s circuitry.  Bridget and Kassie were snarling at each other and they were about to burst in a frenzy of scratching and hair pulling as they blamed each other for the disaster.

Claire gently hoisted herself out of the machine, her body glowing a rosy glow of satisfaction, warm and pink in its after-sex nakedness. She glowed with the innocent aura of a bride who had just been ravished by her groom. As she daintily stepped down the ladder her breasts wiggled and her ass jiggled.
The mad scientists though were ignoring her; they were too busy fending off blows from the infuriated Bridgett and Kassie Lyn.

Claire ran her slender fingers through her disheveled hair and gave the orgasmatron one more loving pat. “Poor, poor thing,” she breathed again. With dainty gestures she retrieved the parts of her bunny outfit, gathering them in her arms.

She gave a bemused glance to what now looked like a quartet version of the Three Stooges and she gave another loving look to the machine; mentally she blew it a kiss and then she sashayed out of the chaos in the room.

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