This is way too much, but I’m not a quitter, and instead of yanking it out of me and taking my time, I rise to the challenge and try to breathe through the insane vibrations.
My fingers slow on my clit, trying to fool my body into thinking that I have any kind of control over the insanity that’s happening inside me. But shit, once this joyride is done and dusted, I’ll be sending a very strongly worded email to the company that dared to release Little Red, because how dare they bring out a product for everyday use but give it industrial strength. Like fuck. I think my whole body is about to start buzzing along with it, buzzing me right off the edge of the couch. I can’t even begin to imagine the number of injury insurance claims women all over the country will be submitting.
But like I said, I’m no quitter.
Tossing my head back against the armrest, I close my eyes and breathe, focusing on every single breath as though my life depends on it.
In. Out. In. Out. Fuck. Vibration. Vibration. VIBRATION!
Oh God. No! It’s too much. Is it possible to die via overstimulation?
My legs shake as my hips violently jerk, and if I were on any other surface, my whole body would be bruised by now.
I’ve made a colossal mistake.
Not being able to handle it, I try to sit up and fish this thing out of me, but the shift in my hips has the vibrations reaching me at an all-new high, and without even a shred of warning, an orgasm tears right through my body. “OH FUCK!” I cry out, needing to grip the backrest of the couch as my whole body relentlessly jerks and spasms.
“FUCK. FUCK. FUUUUCK!”
Tears spring from my eyes, having no idea how to handle the intensity, and as the high pulses through my body like live wires, every inch of me becomes overwhelmed.
It lasts for what feels like a lifetime, and I become paralyzed, unable to move or even attempt to remove this devil vibrator from within my cooch, and I cry out again and again, groans of pure misery rumbling from deep within my chest.
I start praying to the Hemsworth gods, begging them to help ease the intensity rocking through my body as my walls violently convulse around the slick vibrator. Hell, it’s so intense that I’m positive I’m gonna strip every inch of color off this thing. The deep red will evaporate into my body and become one with my bloodstream, leaving the vibrator completely colorless.
Ha. At least it makes sense why they chose the color red. Only a red vibrator could inflict this much misery.
I finally begin coming down from the world’s most intense orgasm and start mentally preparing for the verbal beating Izzy is going to receive for bringing this torture device into my home, when my body relaxes enough to start moving.
My fingers release their death grip on the couch, and I’m finally able to sit up enough to try to fish this bad boy out of me and put an end to the industrial-strength vibrations, but as my fingers plunge deep inside to feel around, I come up empty.
“Shit,” I mutter, adjusting my position to get a better angle, but as my fingers skim along the bottom of it, I realize there’s nothing to grasp onto. Nothing to help me get this thing out of me.
My eyes widen in fear, and I find myself squatting down, trying to give birth to this devil vibrator, my fingers deeper than they’ve ever been as it continues buzzing away, but nothing is working. “No. No, no, no, no.”
This can’t be happening. I adjust my hips. I try getting down on all fours. I even get to my feet and start jumping, hoping likefuck that it might just fall out, but the wicked vibration coming from within me is like a taunt, and the longer it’s there, the more my body responds.
A second orgasm creeps up on me, and I groan, needing to grip the edge of the couch as my knees give out. My eyelids flutter until I have no choice but to clench them and do what little I can to breathe through the intensity.
“Oh God.”
My hips jolt, and my knees shake and tremble, and just as I finally come down from the wild high, frantically gasping, the vibrator shifts inside me, turning at an awkward angle and feeling as though it’s about to tear straight through my walls.
“Oh no,” I gasp, pausing every tiny movement, not wanting it to move any more and put me in the hospital for the fourth time. Because fuck, I thought presenting at the hospital in front of my colleagues with an imaginary stalker was bad, but if I show up with an industrial-strength vibrator lodged sideways in my coochie, I’ll never live it down.
I’m stuck in an awkward bent position, my knees facing opposite directions as I lean against the couch, the buzz of the vibrator the only sound in the room.
This is fucking humiliating. But more than that, it kinda really hurts.
Seeing the empty box left on the floor beside the couch, I carefully try to reach for it. There’s got to be some kind of trick on how to birth this thing out of me, or in the very least, a step-by-step guide explaining what to do if the devil vibrator takes on a mind of its own and lodges sideways inside your cooch.
I do what I can to ignore the constant vibration, but it’s almost impossible, and my body is far too sensitive after coming twice already. I focus on the box, tearing into it and yanking out the papers inside as my hands tremble, and I hastily start unfoldingit, my gaze sweeping over the text until I find a warning in big, bold letters—WARNING. NOT FOR INTERNAL USE.
“What? WHAT! NOT FOR INTERNAL USE? Noooooo. Fuck.”
Who the hell crafts a vibrator and shapes it like every other fucking internal device on the market? Is this some kind of sick game? Are the creators keeping a tally of how many women they hospitalize? Shit! Though come to think of it, had it been meant for internal use, there would have been some kind of handle or gripping point, right?
Maybe this one is on me.
