Wireheading… of a sort!

At the earnest request of a friend I returned to a sex shop here in San Francisco — to buy her a bigger vibrator. She’s too shy to do it (she’s an ex-nun, so that’s perhaps a bit surprising) but heck, I don’t mind.

So I found this absurd machine — $40 worth, dammit! — which will at least amuse her. It’s at least six inches longer than the internal dimensions of any woman I’ve met, and lumpy, and it writhes. And it has a vibrating unit in the base. Frankly, it’ll never do much for her, but it should give her a laugh.

And while I was in that absurd mood, I bought something that looked like a real laugh [left] effectively, an electric hand. Actually an electric pair of fingers. It’s a tube with a little electric motor in the side. Turn it on, and a small circle of wire moves up and down the tube. The wire is strung through a series of rolling beads, and these grip a soft plastic tube, just about big enough to contain a normal erect penis (I have one of those).

Well, the idea was to show it to my friend, but of course I had to try it out!

So I came back to the hotel, and I paid for a dirty movie, to get myself into the mood; and then fitted the device according to instructions:

“ROBO SUCK — The First Robotic Blowjob!”


  1. Wash inner sleeve & collar before use.
  2. Insert four C-cell batteries (not included) into remote battery pack.
  3. Slide the assembly to the top and test the up and down action at all speeds. Note: stop the motor at the top of the stroke.
  4. Coat the inner sleeve & collar generously with a water washable lube, like Joy Jelly.
  5. Insert erect or semi-erect lubricated penis.
  6. Slide the motor and self-adjusting ring assembly down to a comfortable position.
  7. Start slowly… bring up to a pleasant speed.


I switched on the power.

At first, I thought it was a simple con. The movement of the motorised assembly was hardly an intense sensation, and it seemed only mildly pleasant. Then again, it was pleasant, and I saw no reason to turn it off. I settled back to watch the movie; and like most American erotica, that did little for me either. It was, vaguely, erotic. And amusing.

But about a minute into the experience, I started to lose track of the movie, and became more aware of the sensations generated by the device. I mean, I became more “focused” on them. The movie faded away into background music.

I can honestly say I’ve never experienced anything like the next three hours. I was totally passive, relaxed, unmoving. There was no involvement, no effort, no striving for climax; just an increasing focus on a tiny area of my body, where the sensations gradually became the only thing I was really conscious of. There was no remarkable intensity, though; just a gentle, unrelenting, small but continuous movement.

The sensations did not lead to climax (it turns out, because my batteries were flat!) But that doesn’t mean they remained only vaguely pleasant. They became a LOT more intense – more intense even than climax. And that intensity just stayed there, rising for a while, fading for a while; no peak, no release. Gradually, I lost all sense of any part of my body except the bit being manipulated, insistently, tirelessly. Sometimes I became aware that I was drawn up tighter than a crossbow; sometimes that I was utterly, bonelessly relaxed. But it didn’t stop; gently, steadily, quietly buzzing, the machine chuffed on, whatever I did. I lay on my back, eyes shut, utterly aware of just one, tiny area of skin.

I suspect that if I had been capable of sustaining an erection longer than three hours, I’d have stayed attached longer. But the blood pressure eventually relaxed, and the sensitive area retracted away from the moving parts. Gradually, I returned to normal consciousness.

I found it almost frightening, when I looked at the clock. If you’d asked me how long I was attached, I’d have said ten minutes.

Did you ever read any Larry Niven, on his “tasp” invention — a device feeding electric current direct to the pleasure centres of the brain? He has “wireheads” who, once plugged in, simply didn’t care to do anything else — eat, sleep, drink, or whatever. They wasted away and died in pure pleasure, and would do anything at all to prevent being interrupted.

I got a glimpse of what that might be like. It was 11.30 when I started, and it was 3.30 when I collapsed (shit, that makes it four hours). During that time, there was no thought of needing lunch, no sense of importance in the thought: “what should I really be doing?” and no sensation of guilt or fatigue or interest in the world. I was aware of all these things — conscious — but only in the sense that I’ve had hypnotic trances described. It was there, but it didn’t matter. Nothing existed, except that tiny area of sensation and movement.

Nothing else at all.

©Munich Ratforth

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