Part 1

Professor Victor Ashworth was an inventor. A purveyor of all things alchemical and mechanical. Natural science was his playground. His workshop, however, was little more than a hovel. It was a dark basement cluttered with half-completed projects and the faint smell of grease. But it was his to outfit as he pleased, and the professor felt at home around his copper paraphernalia.

He had absolute faith in his genius to produce revolutionary devices for domestic chores and industrial production alike, but a man of his eccentricities tended to ward away more clients than those who had an interest in the finer machinations of science in the first place. In other words, he was broke. What fickle business he did have was limited to mixing up basic salves and remedies for the local townsfolk. No one wanted to see his shoeing machine, nail clamper, or clothes presser, much less the more exciting devices like his electrostatic amplifier or prototype perpetual motion device.

So he'd decided to construct a machine anyone would be begging to try out. Well, any woman anyway. Many a housewife was unsatisfied with her husband's bedroom performance, so he'd designed a machine that would not only put any man to shame but also allow the wife to remain faithful to her other half. Normally Victor didn't concern himself with the carnal affairs of others, but in a town where infidelity could get a woman ravished by an angry mob, he would be foolish to pass up the opportunity for his work to receive some attention.

Building the machine was one of the easiest projects he'd ever undertaken. A little rumble and romp with some attachments to hold the girl steady, and he was marketing a metal pleasure machine before he knew it. Of course, his market was exclusively women, and the less their men knew the better. Fortunately, women were well-practised at spreading gossip without a word reaching their husbands' ears, so the news of his new machine had spread like wildfire. In no time he'd received more stacks of telegrams than he could build machines for, including several from some prominent noblewomen. Even the aristocrats had rough times in bed, it seemed.

His first client was such a noblewoman. Miss Amanda Phoenix, only daughter of the revered baron Richard Phoenix. A young woman with many eager suitors, by all accounts. He found it odd that a girl who yet retained her innocence would opt to lose it to a machine, but he'd never much understood the insanity of females. Business was business, and at present she was the most affluent client he had.

Now, not a minute late, the steam release at the front door hissed to announce her arrival. Making no attempt to make his habitat more presentable to such nobility, Victor climbed the stepladder to his store and ushered the girl inside.

She was a pretty enough thing, he supposed. Beneath the extravagant embroidery and frills, Amanda cut a slender figure in her whale-boned corset and hosiery. She removed her hat as she entered - a ridiculous pincushion of feathers - which gave him a clear view of her demure countenance. She had a soft, glowing visage - maybe she used his salve? - a cute button nose, and wide blue eyes that poured up into his. Her rich chestnut hair was pulled back into a swirling chignon resting against the nape of her neck. As Victor surveyed her she smiled, lifting a slim hand towards him. Realising she was expecting him to kiss it, he did so hastily, all the while thinking how bizarre social customs are among nobles.

"Victor Ashworth," she acknowledged in a smooth voice. Victor mumbled a greeting, then got straight to business. "Miss Amanda. I trust you're here to inspect your investment?" Once he found his voice, he spoke in a deep, sophisticated drawl that made it clear who was the true authority under this roof.

"Inspect, and I hope a little more," she confirmed, still smiling sweetly.

"My lady, I do not operate a house of carnal services. You may inspect and retrieve your purchase below," he said, pointing to the stairs.

A flash of annoyance crossed her features. "I desire a demonstration before any disbursement is given," she said haughtily. Victor regarded her with bemusement for a moment before replying.

"Very well. If you would follow me yonder..."

He led the spoilt girl down to the machine, where her eyes widened in astonishment. It was a rude sight for innocent eyes, he had to admit. The seat of the machine resembled a leather saddle, albeit with the addition of a polished copper shaft where the lady's parted legs would rest. A number of other components surrounded the saddle, and miss Amanda would learn their purpose soon enough.

"Forgive me, my lady, but in your present state you are too encumbered to use the machine."

"What- Oh!" she exclaimed, blushing as she realised what she had to do. Victor turned his back as the girl began the fiddly process of undressing. After a minute she asked, "Will this suffice?"

He turned to see her wearing nothing from the hips down. The short skirt of her dress only barely concealed her modesty, but wouldn't interfere with the function of the machine. Victor nodded, his eyes sliding up her waxed legs. He was reaching middle age, and it had been a while since he'd laid eyes upon a young woman of her desirability. His eyes reached hers, and he was embarrassed to see her coy smile back in place. Mentally shaking himself to his senses, he took her hand and helped her onto the machine before he got any other ideas.

She slid onto the saddle with surprising ease. The vertical shaft slipped inside her without resistance, making Victor wonder just how innocent young Amanda actually was. Either way, she was in for a shock. He placed her ankles in padded groves on either side, closing metal shackles over them to ensure their stability. Then he began to calibrate the machine.

Steam hissed through metal pistons and extended the ankle holders slowly outwards. Amanda drew a quick breath, alarmed at her body moving of its own accord. But the machine stopped once it detected too much strain, which left the girl balanced on her crotch with her slender legs stretched out horizontally, her toes pointing in opposite directions. Now the next component was applied: thigh guards. Metal plates slid over her thighs on either side, just below the hips, preventing her from lifting off the saddle.

Now perversely splayed and filled, Amanda's heart was beginning to race inside her chest. The uncomfortably tight corset was restricting her breathing - this attire was never designed to facilitate any sort of exertion. She grabbed Victor's arm, pulling at her girdle to indicate she wanted it off. He nodded, nimbly unlacing the back of her dress to gain access to the hazardous garment. Once it fell loose she breathed deeply in relief, aware that her only remaining clothing was her bra but far preferring this to choking to death.

"Thank you," she breathed, regaining her composure. It would be embarrassing to fall apart before the machine really got going!

Victor's response was to slap a collar around her neck. Amanda shouted in protest. "Hey! What did you put that on me for?"

"Calm yourself, miss. This is simply another part of the machine. I call it an arousal reader," he said. He placed his hand on her chest, where her heart was thumping within. "It reads how fast your heart is pumping - the faster it pumps, the more aroused you are, you see. The neck is simply a convenient place to detect that pulse."

"Oh," she said quietly, embarrassed to have made such a fuss about it. She flexed her neck, trying to get the new accessory comfortable. A thought suddenly struck her. "But... Why do you need to know how aroused I am?" She couldn't help blushing as she spoke those words aloud.

Victor laughed. "I don't. It does." He caressed the copper machinery in question. The way he said "it" almost with a sense of reverence sent a chill down Amanda's spine. And she wasn't easily spooked.

"Is it ready yet?" she asked, a hint of impatience creeping into her voice.

"Almost. Could you reach behind the machine, please?" She put her hands on the back of the saddle, feeling around for some switch or knob she imagined was there.

"Thank you," he said as he bound her forearms snugly together behind her back with several belts.

"Hey, now I'm sure that was unnecessary..." She wriggled her fused arms around in frustration, her chest bouncing around in the bra.

Victor shrugged, indifferent to her struggles. "It's all part of the experience."

"Urgh!" she suddenly exclaimed, attempting to jerk away from the saddle.

"What is it now?" he asked patiently.

"This thing just leaked something inside me!"

"It's probably just grease," he said soothingly. "Never hurts to have a bit of extra lubricant." She calmed down slightly, but still looked wildly perturbed at the idea of her womanly orifices being rubbed with actual grease. He decided not to tell her it was just a harmless lubricant.

There was just one thing left to do, now, and it was a good thing Amanda couldn't resist him any more because she wasn't going to like this part. He pulled a lever, and a large glass globe lowered from the above, encasing the girl's entire head and clicking shut around her collar. The helmet was ventilated, of course, but only in such a way that allowed fine control over the air supply and noise level. She shot him a glare through the curved glass, mouthing something only she could hear.

"Excellent," he said. "I believe you're finally ready. Commencing steam cycle in 5... 4... Well, you look ready to me." He activated the main power, and the saddle beneath the young noblewoman rumbled to life as steam gushed through its innards. Amanda doubled over, her heavy breathing reverberating around the glass prison as she gasped at the sensations below.

The entire saddle was shaking now, and the copper shaft inside her was warming up with the steam pressure powering its vibrations. But another part of the machine had yet to begin its torment. A small propeller-like wheel began spinning in front of the saddle, each blade tipped with a soft velvet cushion. Now it moved against her crotch, licking at her sensitive lips a dozen times every second. Animalistic moans echoed from the glass helmet as the girl rocked from side to side in ecstasy.

It was all a bit much for the middle-aged bachelor to handle. With uncharacteristically fumbling hands, he unclasped his client's bra and let it fall to the ground. He was now staring at the fully exposed and heaving body of an aristocrat's daughter as she moaned away in her personal world of bliss. Her shapely breasts danced to her tuneless melody, and her navel clenched and relaxed as she rolled in the throes of another climax.

Well, she seemed content with the machine. He might as well collect the payment. Ruffling through her discarded dress, he found the bundle of money owed to him along with an elegantly penned note. It read:

My dearest Amanda,

I eagerly await the hour at which we may again join in the delightful embrace of lovers. You are the cherry of my eye, my love. Your father has no right over your sweet nubile body, my dove, and he need not know of every indiscretion you impart. Shall I see you behind the wine merchant's store under the new moon this evening?

Yours in love,

David.

Sickening coquetry aside, it was a revelatory note. He'd suspected the little nymph wasn't as virtuous as she made out to be, but here was hard evidence of her "indiscretion". Continuing his search, he found no less than eight similar notes, all written in different hands, all implicating an ongoing physical relationship between the tactless writer and Victor's oblivious strumpet. A few of them even called her "Mandy". Her wealthy father would undoubtedly reward his diligence tenfold more than what he was asking for the machine, but there was another option even more enticing than money and an extremely dissatisfied client...

Shoving the letters back where he found them, Victor released a valve to let steam rush out of the system, bringing the machine to a grinding halt. He lifted the glass helmet from Amanda's head, smiling as he saw what a mess the prim-and-proper noblewoman had become. Her face was flushed red and shining with perspiration, and her formerly-neat hair hung in matted clumps all around her.

"Satisfied with your purchase, then?" he asked the exhausted girl. She beamed and nodded happily. Then she frowned, realising her breasts were no longer covered and tried to pout in protest. With the rest of her heaving form still locked down, a disapproving expression was as far as she got before giving in and laughing at the whole absurd affair. After all, in contrast to her mundane experiences with men, he'd just blown her libido a mile up the pleasure scale, so she must have decided to let it slide.

"You've been a busy girl," Victor began accusingly, retrieving one of the incriminating letters. He read it aloud slowly, pausing at every cringe-worthy metaphor. "This one has a promising career as a poet, I can tell." Amanda just hung her head in shame, her face reddening with every word.

"Now, there's no reason to be ashamed of these," he told her, softening his tone as he lifting her chin. "A pretty girl like you always has admirers, and how much you choose to indulge them is up to you. In fact, it would be unhealthy to deny your nubile young body the promiscuity it craves." He had her full attention now. His next words could make or break a relationship that would be mutually beneficial in the long term.

"But I think you would agree that there are certain ears that should never hear of these liaisons. Ears belonging to your father, for example." Her eyes widened. Victor could tell she expected extortion. "What I propose is something you might call a payment plan. You return here every week with a portion of these bills," he said, holding up the currency in question, "in return for another session on that machine. Once the whole sum is paid, you get to keep the machine as agreed."

Amanda was underwhelmed. She'd been expecting far worse or humiliating requests, but a payment plan? That was something some people did normally anyway. Never her, of course. She'd always had the means to pay upfront and in full.

"I don't understand. What's the catch?"

"No catch," Victor assured her. "Just come by with your weekly payment until the machine is rightfully yours to take. Oh, and let's say you have to stretch it out over a few months at least," he added, eyes twinkling.

"Well... Alright, I guess I can do that," said Amanda, still mildly bewildered. She started to look around, examining the machine's restraints and her outstretched legs, wondering how she was actually going to get out of this thing. She was still too embarrassed to ask for help.

"Excellent! I tell you what, since I interrupted your session just now I'll let you have a bit more time with it. How does that sound?"

Amanda looked unsure of this idea. She'd begun to sober up again after losing herself in that lustful frenzy. She should really get home and put her father's suspicions to rest. If he had any suspicions, that is, which she always assumed he did in order to play it safe. On the other hand, she could definitely take more of this...

"Oh, please," she said, grinning her deceptively innocent smile. "Do I look that delicate to you? I've slept with more men in one night than most proper ladies have in their life, and made love long into early hours of dawn."

Victor grinned back. Now that was a challenge his machine could handle. She didn't even know about half of its features yet. He wondered if she'd ever been taken from behind. "Well, missy, love has nothing to do with what this machine will do to you. As for the sleep part... I don't think that's going to happen either."

Before she could say another word, he slipped the glass hood back over her head with a satisfying click and fired up the engines. Amanda Phoenix's body was once more a faceless voluptuous figure squirming helplessly at the fire in her loins, her moans only vaguely audible as if at the other end of a long tunnel.

Victor Ashworth laid back and watched his client's struggles intensify as her endurance and stamina were tested beyond all reasonable expectations. If only he'd finished building that picture box already. Ah well, he'd plenty of time for that over the coming months. The poetic irony of their respective surnames wasn't lost on him, either.

He wondered what delights the next client held. It might even become difficult finding time to work on his inventions at this rate. But for now, he was content to watch the entrancing contest between minx and machine unfold before him. He knew which one he'd be placing bets on.


Part 2 (added: 2014/04/02)

Young Amanda, true to her word, returned each week with another portion of the payment due. Victor continued to personally demonstrate each of the machine's features on her and even added new ones in the intervening days. By the end of her next session there wasn't a shred of confusion as to why she'd been asked to return. As she straddled the machine for the second time, Victor's smile was almost disconcerting as the glass dome lowered around her head. She'd always attracted plenty of interest from men, but Victor with his unflappable manner and inadvertently condescending tone had seemed more indifferent to her than most. How wrong she had been...

Victor had other clients in the meantime, of course, but none so delightfully naughty as the little peeress. There were others more voluptuous, but those girls tended to have little tolerance for the more extreme experiences his machinery provided. Then there was the rare girl who took everything he threw at her with uncanny stoicism - but the real fun for him were the ones that gasped and squirmed like fish out of water and still demanded more. And in this category, Amanda Phoenix was queen.

Over the following weeks the coquettish noblewoman was subjected to greater pleasure than she'd ever known or imagined. Each time, she left the run-down store looking as though she'd run a marathon, attracting even more attention than a sultry young lady like her normally did. But she loved it. She loved how her endurance was challenged and pushed beyond its former limits; loved the naughty idea of walking through the streets bathed in the scent of her own arousal; loved the opportunity to nonchalantly shrug off her parents' inquiries when she arrived home smiling ear-to-ear.

But she became careless. One innocent evening she set out for Victor's humble store as she had countless times before, but unbeknownst to her, this time she had another woman in tow. Her mother saw her leave and decided to follow. She was careful to hang back a good distance, as her dazzling finery was turning more heads than she was comfortable with. But a woman of her stature had a responsibility to represent her station with grandeur, and she wasn't about to forego an opportunity to remind the common folk of their place just to investigate her daughter's mysterious activities.

At the other end of the cobbled street, she spied her girl entering a neglected tinkerer's store. The place looked filthy enough from the outside - she shuddered to think what stench would permeate the air within. Nevertheless, she waited a moment before following the girl in, quietly closing the front door behind her. This proved to be a bad idea - a steam lock hissed loudly into place as the door clicked shut. A second later she heard footsteps climbing the stairs from the basement, and a greasy-faced man appeared with a quizzical expression.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" he asked he in a posh drawl.

"You have my daughter," she accused him coldly. "I saw her enter this hovel."

She could have sworn the man smirked slightly.

"Your daughter's name is Amanda, I gather?" he asked politely.

She didn't reply, but merely raised her eyebrows in expectation of a passable explanation for this shady liaison.

"Very well. Amanda is currently trialling a product she purchased from my store," he said smoothly. "I daresay she would object to being interrupted at this time, however."

"Her objections are meaningless! I am her mother - I demand to see her!" Her deep-rooted dislike of the grimy man boiled over into anger as he stood between her and her goal. She all but spat in his face with the words.

Now it was Victor's turn to raise his eyebrows. He had no doubt that this woman was who she claimed to be - she shared the same bright blue eyes, the same round face, the same button nose, and strutted about with the same arrogance Amanda had displayed the first time she'd walked through his door. But it probably wouldn't be a good idea to let them see each other. Unless...

For a moment he said nothing, then he replied quietly, "I will permit you to see her if you so wish, then." He led the impatient woman over to the corner of the room above the stairs, where a large gap allowed one to peer down into the basement.

"You may look," he said.

She placed her hands into some groves on the railing and peered over the edge, craning her neck to see down the stairs. What she saw made her convulse with rage. There was her daughter, alright, stripped of all but her brassiere and pinned down on some hellish contraption by all manner of straps and shackles. Her face was wrought with fear as she stared back at her mother.

"You!" she shouted, pulling back to confront the disgusting man. At least, that's what she tried to do. She discovered her hands and neck were trapped, however, by a set of stocks that had lowered around her as she'd peered down the stairs.

"Get me out of this!" she screamed, her face reddening with fury.

"Now why should I do that?" he asked calmly. "I don't much fancy being yelled at by a judgemental simpleton."

"I- The nerve!" she exclaimed, mouthing other words that she perhaps had the good sense to withhold. Victor took this opportunity to start afresh with some introductions.

"Now, I don't believe I caught your name, Mrs Phoenix," he prompted.

"I am Victoria Phoenix, and I will see you clapped in irons for this!" she snarled.

"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Victoria. And I am honoured to share part of your name - for my own is Victor Ashworth, and it is my store into which you have most rudely burst and interrupted a private-"

"You were defiling my daughter!" Victoria proclaimed shrilly.

"Oh, au contraire, Mrs Phoenix. Your daughter has been defiled many times over by many individuals, but I assure you I am not among them."

Victoria gazed into her daughter's eyes and saw the truth within. For it was no longer fear that stared back, but defiance. This was the last she saw of Amanda's paralysed form, however, as at that moment a large metal box was placed over her head and tightened shut around her neck. Victoria Phoenix was thrown into darkness, her voice echoing around her as she tried to appeal to her daughter's misplaced pride. Her only identifying features now were the opulent garments on her back. But not for much longer.

Victor completed his new victim's restraints by binding her legs together before she thought to kick back. It was unfortunate that she'd chosen to come here, but now that he had the woman detained, a special plan for her was taking shape in his mind. Amanda would thank him profusely by the time he was through with her mother.

His plan was simple, but cunning: he would tease and titillate her until her screams of pleasure could be heard even through the box, and then release a newly-developed relaxant of his into her system to induce a state of oblivion and wipe the last few hours from her conscious memory. The aerosol was yet untested, but he was confident enough of its potency that he had no fear of being "clapped in irons", as the lady so bluntly put it.

The first part of the plan commenced surprisingly smoothly - for all her previous arrogance, Victoria put up a pathetic struggle as he stripped her of her finery. Perhaps she was still reeling from the revelation that her daughter was not the innocent princess she'd believed. In any case, soon she joined her philandering daughter in nakedness, with not even a bra concealing her modesty. No sense in being prudish when the lady wouldn't remember a thing anyway.

But with the woman's nude body bent over and trapped in wooden stocks before him, Victor paused. All across Victoria's milky-white back were fresh bruise marks. He felt one, and she flinched under his touch. So maybe the baron wasn't the paragon the papers made him out to be. If these marks were his doing, then Richard Phoenix was a very poor husband indeed. Victor almost wished that he could help out the abused lady, but the best he could do at the moment was to give her a sexual experience that would make all her present concerns drown in bliss.

Fortunately he had just the thing. Building pleasure machines for the masses had left him a lot of spare parts with very specific purposes. There wasn't much else you could use a copper phallus for, after all, so he had cobbled together a few hand-held variants of the machine to which the lovely Amanda was strapped below. Speaking of which, he should probably check that she was still conscious down there... But she could wait.

The hand-held device was basically a vibrating pole, but it was a pole perfectly designed to fill a woman's orifice. Any of them, really, but in this position it would slide most easily into the lips of her soft pink privates. So that was where it went, and after wriggling it around to ensure it found a snug home, Victor activated the rumble mechanism with a pneumatic hiss.

Victoria's response was immediate. Her back arched and her legs bucked like a wild colt - he had to sit on them to keep her from hurting herself. As was always the case with his clients by this point, he couldn't tell if she was struggling with desperation or ecstasy, but it didn't really matter either way. Her body knew what it wanted, and soon enough the tell-tale sheen of arousal sprung forth on the lady's blushing pudendum. Her wild, undirected struggles gradually became deliberate oscillations around the shaft buried within her.

He reached out for her unsupported breasts, tweaking her nipples as she wriggled her hips in a rhythmic motion. For a woman with a mature daughter, her body was still in remarkably good shape. He'd imagined her bust would have been greatly exaggerated by the brutal corset aristocrats felt compelled to wear, but instead he was pleasantly surprised. It might have been due to her bent-over position in the wooden stocks, but her chest put Amanda's slender figure to shame.

As he waited patiently for the woman's inevitable climax, Victor ran his fingers through her trembling crotch. He nudged the small nub at the parting of the lips, and immediately Victoria bucked beneath him as though electrocuted. He rubbed the nub again and incited the same behaviour. Finding this most intriguing, he made a mental note to investigate the same phenomenon with some other clients. He may have discovered a more effective sexual stimulant than simple penetration - exactly what his fledgling business needed to make an impression in his clients' minds.

Not much was going through Victoria's mind at that moment, however. Her mind had shut down the moment Victor had touched her sensitive nub, and now only waves of pleasure flowed through her boxed head as her love canal contracted around the warm copper shaft inside her. In the back of her mind something broke - an antiquated understanding of sexuality, perhaps, or some invisible barrier she'd erected long ago to prevent herself revelling in forbidden lusts. It was a sentiment that only the shameful pleasure from being non-consensually debased and sexually humiliated by a stranger could have dispelled. But whatever it was, Victoria was too absorbed in her fleeting moment of pure bliss to notice or lament its departure.

Unfortunately, this marked the end of Victor's need for the noblewoman's sexual gratification. There was no mistaking her moans now - they wafted from the box like steam from a pressurised cylinder. He'd only begun to break her in, but henceforth her sensuality would likely snowball of its own accord. Still, as he withdrew the steaming shaft from its sheath and beheld the sad opening left behind, he had the sympathy to fill it once more with his own fingers and stimulate the lascivious woman to a final orgasm.

Now her bare form hung loose in the stocks, heavy breathing barely audible from the other side of the anonymising wooden block. Victor walked around to her front and turned a ratchet on the side of the box, releasing a small dose of his special aerosol into her air supply.

Leaning close, he said in a clear voice that would echo around her metal prison, "I hope you've enjoyed yourself here, Victoria. When you wake up, you will be at home with no memory of this evening's events. Your subconscious mind will remember what your conscious one does not, however - you may find yourself with an insatiable desire to feel fire in your loins such as your husband has never provided. You may think this desire unnatural or perverse and even rebuke yourself for entertaining such thoughts, but at the same time you will crave it like an itch that can never be scratched to satisfaction. But perhaps your daughter will permit you use of her new machine if you ask politely."

She didn't take this news well - the thrashing began again. But soon her movements slowed until finally she fell lifeless in the stocks' embrace. Victor waited a few minutes more to be sure she was gone, then unlocked the metal box and stocks and pulled her limp form down onto the floor. Her eyes were closed; her elegantly-arranged hair a mess; her lipstick smeared on her nose, of all places. Her lips were slightly parted, moving to some meaningless chant as she murmured in her induced sleep.

Over the next few minutes Victor bathed the woman and clothed her and left her propped up in a chair. He was becoming quite efficient at this after-care duty - so many of his clients needed it after a session with his machines. He then descended into the basement, where the young Amanda was held in a state nearing delirium. Smiling, he turned off the monstrous machine on which she sat and brushed away a few stray strands of hair from her perspiration-lined face.

"That was... my mother?" she asked breathlessly, her features plagued with worry.

He nodded. "I took care of it. If you walk her home and never mention this evening again, then neither will she."

"Thank you," she said, beaming. Then she thought about his words for a moment and queried, "And if I mention it to her?"

"Well, let's just say her reaction might not be quite what you expect," replied Victor, smiling mischievously.

He looked longingly at the immobilised girl. He'd have liked to watch her struggle some more, but she should really get going before her mother started regaining her faculties. With a sigh, he unlocked all the restraints and helped her off the upright phallus that had anchored her in place for so long. She collapsed into his arms, grasping his shoulder for support. It was a few minutes before she was able to wash off and retrieve her garments, then she joined her mother in the tiresome trek home.

Victor was left reclining at his workbench alone, reflecting on what a peculiar evening it had been. It was the first time he'd had two girls under his control at once, let alone both mother and daughter. Although calling Victoria a girl was a bit generous, all females younger than he were juvenile in his eyes. His machines certainly didn't care about age, and in his experience they all squirmed the same way.

Next week would be the last time Amanda was obliged to visit, but he was currently working on a design that would lure her and many others to his front door. A machine that so attractively splays and displays the fairer sex was hard to top, but he had an idea that would double his market size by appealing to every husband in the area. Like the pleasure machine Amanda so enjoyed, it would immobilise its user completely, but with a crucial difference.

His new design was for a full suit of mechanised plating. A mech suit. The lucky lady inside would be perfectly comfortable, if a little warm, but otherwise entirely unable to move. The suit, however, would be fully controlled by a hand-held instrument in the hands of the woman's partner. He would have access to internal and external functions alike - whether he thought his wife was deserving of pain or pleasure, he could grant it. But he'd also be able to manipulate the mech suit to walk anywhere or lift anything, doubling as an invaluable home appliance. A tool for the men, a pleasure device for the ladies. It was a perfect fit.

And the best part of this design? The plating concealing the girl's face, chest, legs, and just about every other part could be removed at will. Watching her expressions would be the best part, after all.

So Victor Ashworth had a good chance yet of becoming the distinguished inventor he'd always dreamed of being. It was going to take a lot of work to realise his next design, but the final product would bring all the more pleasure for his efforts. It was going to be a good year.