Lovey came with me
- 2 years ago
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Love Button free porn video
Love Button
Emily Banner lies upon her bed. Naked, she swipes right, viewing a
sequence of naked men on her favorite erotica-for-women website. She
likes what she sees: handsome, buff men with broad shoulders, deep
chests, narrow hips, and sinewy thighs.
She also likes their thick, long cocks, some of which are flaccid (but
still massive), but most of which are erect (and huge). To be featured
on this site, a guy had to have at least eight inches.
After she clicks the last photo of the series, she selects another of
her favorite categories, "Lesbians," and studies the poses of
beautiful, naked women caught in the act of making love to one another.
She enjoys the look of ecstasy on their lovely faces; their hair in
disarray; their full breasts, round and high, presenting erect nipples;
their dripping pussies. She loves their lips on their partner's mouths,
labia, and clits. In a few pictures, one woman spanks another woman. In
others, a dominant chick dons a strap-on dildo and fucks a submissive
bitch, sometimes in the cunt, other times in the ass. It is all very
exciting, very erotic.
The site also features couples, mostly heterosexual, but also gay
males, lesbians, bisexuals, and transsexuals. There's something for
everyone, all classy and romantic (but erotic), selected exclusively,
the website declares, "for women's tastes and sensibilities."
Emily starts out with straight couples. When she tires of pictures and
videos of men fucking women, vaginally and anally; men eating pussy;
men sucking tits; men fucking breasts; women sucking cock, and men
spanking women or women spanking men, she views some femdom images and
clips, mostly of women fucking men in their asses with strap-on dildos.
She especially likes such fare when the women smiles or grins, pleased
with their ability to turn macho studs into their sissy bitches.
Next, she usually turns her attention to gay stuff, lesbian, then male.
She likes seeing women face down in other ladies' cunts, but she also
likes to see them strap on a dildo and fuck chicks vaginally or anally.
It's fun, too, to see them kiss and caress, squeezing boobs and
strumming clits.
Gay men are also very sexy, she thinks. She never grows tired of
watching a man on his elbows and knees taking eight or nine inches up
his ass, especially if he sucks a third man's prick while he's being
hammered. And watching a man swallow another guy's cum is fantastic,
too.
Emily also enjoys images of transwomen, especially those who retain
their male genitals.
The sight of them, so womanly yet sporting cocks and pairs of balls, is
heavenly. She loves the incongruity of their femininity combined with
their male sex organs. It's very sexy to "watch" them, one pounding the
other's ass with the very same cock the submissive participant had just
sucked. "Shemales," as the website calls them, seem to be especially
naughty girls!
Often, Emily spends entire days viewing porn, partly because she can't
bear to peruse photos or to watch videos for more than a few minutes at
a time. She's deathly afraid of being touched.
The few times someone has touched her, including her mom or dad, in
offering a hug or a reassuring or congratulatory pat on the shoulder or
back, she'd frozen. Sometimes, she'd sobbed, shook, or sweated. On rare
occasions, such as when her pesky little brother had shoved her or
smacked her, she'd run away and hidden.
As a teen, she'd refused to shake hands; avoided hugs; refused
invitations to sleepovers; turned down offers to accompany friends to
amusement or theme parks; and, of course, refused to attend dances,
including her prom.
After a while, she had no friends; everyone considered her a freak.
Later, she'd been diagnosed as a haphephobe, someone with an irrational
fear of being touched.
Although she is "in therapy" and is "receiving counseling," she's far
from overcoming her phobia.
"Over time, with patient, persistent effort, you can learn to manage
your reactions," Dr. Fenway assured her. That was eight years ago; at
eighteen--tomorrow is her birthday--she's still waiting. It's occurred to
her that she might never allow herself to touch or to be touched.
Consequently, her "sex life" has been reduced to watching porn.
Even now, she has to peruse pictures and watch videos in small doses
because, although erotica excites her, she can't bear to view people
touching, even in photos and videos, for long, before she feels
panicked by all the touching between them--kisses, caresses, collisions
of pubes against pubes or buttocks, tongues lapping nipples, cunts, or
cocks. It's all just too much, a kind of sensory overload that causes
her to experience fear that's far more powerful than lust.
Saliva. Mucus. Semen. Vaginal secretions. Skin oil. It's disgusting!
The human body, although undeniably beautiful (if one is fit and
attractive, that is) is a cesspool of germs, bacteria, viruses, and
God-only-knows-what-else.
Her haphephobia is so bad she can barely stand to scratch an itch,
cross her legs, or take a bath. There's no way she could ever
masturbate.
The very thought is revolting. She's cursed. She enjoys watching people
have sex (for brief intervals of time), but she can't have sex herself,
of any kind, including sex with herself--if masturbation can be
considered sex at all.
Consequently, since puberty, she's frequently been horny, so horny, at
times, that arousal feels like torture. Worst of all, there's no way
she can obtain relief. The desire to have sex becomes stronger and more
intense.
She feels compelled to view porn, but doing so only males matters
worse--and, yet, she can't resist the temptation, the compulsion, the
irresistible urge to look at pictures of men and women making love, of
videos of woman-to-woman sex, of clips of transsexuals sucking and
fucking, of couples of all kinds coupling.
For her, sex, which should be a source of immense pleasure, is,
instead, a fountain of terrible pain and ceaseless suffering--torture,
torment, hell, a type of damnation.
She closes the website, annihilating the images of cocks and cunts,
pussies, breasts, and balls, intercourse and fellatio and cunnilingus,
spanking, and femdom, lesbians, gay men, bisexuals, trannies, sissies,
hunks, punks, twinks, and dominatrices.
She opens a video-sharing website, not porn this time, but one that let
users upload, view, rate, share, add to playlists, report, comment on
videos, and subscribe to other users' feeds.
She's bookmarked the scene in the 2000 film, X-Men, showcasing Marie
D'Ancanto's first kiss.
Played by Anna Paquin, the mutant has a look of innocence and goodness
that's heart-wrenchingly poignant. At home in her parent's house in
Meridian, Mississippi, Marie kneels on her bed, tracing a string of
beads pinned to postcards showing photos of Washington, D. C., New York
City, Niagara Falls, and Seattle, as her boyfriend, reclining on the
bed, watches her.
Still on her knees, she playfully wriggles her hips as pretends to
dance, before lying next to him. They make eye contact, holding each
other's gazes. Moving her head toward his, she invites a kiss.
When he obliges, the skin of his face cracks, deep fissures appearing
in his forehead and cheeks. Frightened, she breaks off the kiss, and he
falls back on the bed, looking dazed and breathless.
As he fights for breath, she screams. Downstairs, her parents hear her
and race upstairs. Marie continues to scream, terrified and
inconsolable, as her boyfriend becomes comatose.
The clip, having run its course, goes blank.
This scene, only a little over half a minute long, summarizes Emily's
own life. She has no mutant powers. She can't draw the life out of
someone else by her touch alone. But, like Marie, she can never touch
another person, or even herself--not even that way.
"Come in," Emily says.
It's her mother who knocked, and she has a gift-wrapped box in her
hand. It's small and flat and wrapped in gold foil tied with a silver
silk ribbon. Emily smiles. Maybe it's the credit card she's been asking
for.
Her mom smiles at her, as Emily closes the lid on her laptop and sits
up, on the edge of her bed. Does her mom's smile mean she's guessed
what her daughter's been up to alone, here in her room?
Crossing the bedroom, her mom hands her the gift. "This is your real
present from me, Em," she explains. "I'll give you another gift
tomorrow, your 'official' birthday gift. This one's just between you
and me; your father needn't know of it."
Accepting the present, Emily frowns. "You've never kept anything from
Dad before, have you, Mom?"
"No."
"Why now, then, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Open your gift; then, I'll explain."
Emily unties the bow, removes the wrapping, and opens the lid to the
box. Inside, a business card is nestled among pink tissue paper. On the
card, a date and time has been handprinted. Emily looks puzzled.
"What's this, Mom?"
"A miracle," she says. "Dr. Stuart Meloy invented a device,
subsequently called the Orgasmatron, which, as its name suggests,
induces orgasms. It was based on an accidental discovery that occurred
while he threaded an electrode into a woman's spinal nerves while she
was locally anesthetized. He was treating her for severe, long-term
back and leg pain. In the process, he induced a powerful orgasm."
"What's that have to do with me?"
"Dr. Meloy's Orgasmatron, a small generator, is implanted near the
spine. An external remote sends signals to the generator. Connected
electrodes, running into the spine's nerves and stimulate the brain--"
"Sounds painful."
"Actually, it's quite the opposite. The brain's stimulation produces
orgasms--quite powerful ones, often in succession."
"Sounds exciting, but, again, what's that have to do with me?"
"An orgasm is a flood of energy and chemicals into the brain; the
Orgasmatron induces orgasms without the need for touch."
Emily's eyes widen. She stares at her mom. "You mean I can come hands
free, without being touched, without touching myself?"
"Exactly. In fact, you don't even have to undress. But, first, of
course the Orgasmatron has to be implanted; that's why I've scheduled
an appointment for you."
"But how much does it cost, Mom?"
"A lot, but it's my pleasure to pay for it, Em."
"Is the procedure dangerous?"
"There's a risk, of course, but the doctor tells me it's slight. The
rewards outweigh the small chance that anything would go wrong. Of
course, the decision is yours. If you don't want to undergo the
procedure, I can cancel the appointment."
"Don't!"
"I thought you'd say that.' She leans over, and hugs her daughter.
"Happy birthday, Em."
Emily hugs her back, fiercely. "It'll be the happiest ever, thanks to
you, Mom. I'm finally going to know what an orgasm feels like!"
"Speaking from experience: you're going to love it, dear."
#
The operation succeeds beyond Emily's dreams. It's a perfect success,
the doctor assures her. Her recovery is much faster than he'd
anticipated and, after the first few days, virtually painless.
"Youth helps," the doctor tells Emily's mom.
"So does having a good surgeon, and, according to my research, you are
definitely the world's best."
Home now, Emily can't wait to try out her new toy.
Although, as her mom told her, she doesn't even have to take off her
clothes to experience an orgasm, she wants to be nude, so she strips.
She doesn't need porn anymore, either. The stimulus comes from the
implanted generator. All she has to do to initiate an orgasm is to
simply press the button on the remote control.
First, though, she wants to put herself in the mood. It may not be
necessary technically speaking, but she'll enjoy prepping for her first
orgasm and, probably, for the endless others to come.
She turns on her big-screen Smart TV, which gives her access not only
to the usual mix of streaming services, but also to Internet porn.
Lying on her bed, her legs apart, she uses the TV remote to activate
the set mounted to the wall beyond the foot of her bed. She navigates
to her favorite website. She selects the "Categories" tab, and a
variety of fare appears on a drop-down menu: 10+ inch Cock, 18 Year
Old, 3some, 4some, 69, 9 Months Pregnant. . . .
Below these initial choices is a huge list of other options. Skipping
those which appear redundant in some way or another, she skims the
offerings: Adultery, All Holes, Anal, Amputee, Ass, Ass-to-Mouth, Ball
Busting, BDSM, Bisexual, Blowjob, Bottom, Bukkake, Buttfucking,
Cameltoe, Catheter, Caught, Clothed Female/Nude Male, Clit, Cock, Cock
Cage, Costume, Creampie, Crossdressing, Cuckold, Cum, Cunt.
She skims other items: Deepthroat, Denial, Dick, Dildo, Doggystyle,
Domintrix, Double Penetration, Dyke, Effeminate, Enema, Emo,
Exhibitionist, Face Fuck, Facial, Female Orgasm, Femdom, Feminization,
Fisting, Flashing, Fucking, Futanari, Gangbang, Gay, Girl Next Door,
Girl Fucks Guy, Glory Hole, Gokkun, Golden Shower, Group Sex . . . .
Her clit throbs!
She continues to scan the seemingly limitless list: Handjob, Hands
Free, Humiliation, Lactating, Ladyboy, Lesbian, Muscle, Mutual
masturbation, Nudist, Oral Sex, Prostate, Self-Suck, Sissy, Shemale,
Sounding, Spanking, Strap-on, Sucking, Swallow, Titty Fuck, Top,
Tranny, Trap, Twink, Urethra Play, Voyeur, Wet Pussy, Wife Swap . . . .
Her pussy is wet just from reading the options! The thought of giving
herself an orgasm--make that a series of orgasms--already has her on the
edge.
Finally, it dawns on her, truly and completely: it doesn't matter what
she chooses. She can come to anything. Looking at pictures or viewing
videos is only an enhancement, a sweetening; her pleasure is
guaranteed, independently of any visual, auditory, olfactory,
gustatory, or tactile sensations or perceptions. The Orgasmatron is all
that counts, all that matters. She has her the source of her sexual
passion literally in her own hands!
She decides to orgasm to a gay guy banging a transgender woman's ass.
The transsexual chick is gorgeous, every inch a woman--except for those
long, thick, hard inches standing upright before his tummy. As the
video starts, the tranny's lying on her back in bed, her red hair
fanned out beneath her on the pillow, her legs spread wide apart. She
masturbates, pumping her dainty hand up and down on her straining cock.
She looks desperate, as if she needs to erupt or explode.
The gay guy steps into view. Tall, with black, curly hair, he's a
typical porn stud: broad shoulders, deep chest, six-pack abs, muscular
thighs, a compact ass, and a huge, cut cock jutting outward and upward
from his groin, his big, heavy balls jiggling with his every movement.
He tells the transgender woman, "Turn over; I want to fuck you from
behind."
The tranny dutifully rolls over, submissive bitch that she is,
revealing a feminine bottom that just begs to be fucked.
The camera stays on her ass, showing off the firm, but soft, twin
slopes of her perfect, creamy derriere.
If I were a guy, I'd sure want to fuck that ass! Emily thinks.
The gay guy moves forward, obscuring the tranny's fanny as he takes up
his position, straddling her, his knees on either side of her lower
thighs. Leaning forward, he drops his spread palms to the bed, resting
the weight of his upper body on them.
A moment later, having made sure of his balance, he brings his right
hand back, grasps his huge cock, and guides his prick into the deep
furrow between his transgender partner's ass. He presses forward, his
own magnificent, manly buttocks tightening, and drives his dick into
the transgender woman's asshole. She gasps, feeling his thick, hard
organ force its way through the tight opening.
His right hand returns to the mattress. He pauses, perhaps to let the
tranny adjust emotionally to his having invaded her bowels. Then, he
humps her, slowly at first.
A switch between cameras shows another perspective, and Emily watches
the gay dude's rigid member slide through the stretched circle of the
transsexual's asshole, disappearing between her cheeks, inch by inch.
Another camera shows the stud from behind, his big balls resting on the
impaled transgender woman's perineum. After a moment, he pulls back,
his hips rising, ass cheeks flexing, holds his position with only the
purple glands of his cock still inside the tranny's ass, and then,
wham!, slams his meat home again, hard, all the way into her rectum.
Emily's finger pokes the love button, and her Orgasmatron's generator
sends a signal, along her spinal nerves, to her brain. Electricity
seems to surge through her cunt, every fiber of her being thrilling to
the current. Exhilaration makes her arch her back and grit her teeth.
Tears of passion fill her eyes; she feels the wet wash of them course
down her cheeks. It feels to her that she'd been full of stress for
years without realizing it and, all of a sudden, the pressure has been
released, all at once, in a tremendous waterfall of cascading pleasure
almost too violent and intense to bear.
Of its own accord, without any manual stimulation, her cunt floods. The
sopping wetness mildly disgusts her, despite the intensity of the
orgasm that sweeps through her, even yet, but the deluge isn't
revolting enough to affect her. She concentrates upon the waves and
bursts of ecstasy that wash through her, and the feeling of revulsion
her pussy juices caused subsides quickly. There can be little upset
when such an abundance of joy suffuses her being.
She imagines her emotions and sensations are waves upon which she
floats, and she is content to be carried by them, to rise and fall and
twist and turn upon them, as they take her deeper out, away from
herself. She becomes the electricity within her excited body; she
surrenders to the ceaseless currents flowing and splashing, rising and
shattering and spilling inside her; she is one with the pure, longed-
for relief that frees her; she is water; she is energy; she is passion
personified.
She glances at the TV screen. The gay guy an his transgender woman
lover are gone now, having been replaced with two lesbians--the
website's videos run into one another, in a continuous, seemingly
endless loop. One is blonde, the other dark. The latter lies upon her
back, in bed, knees bent over the edge of the side of the mattress, her
legs wide; the former kneels on the carpet, between the brunette's
splayed thighs, bows, and begins to nuzzle and kiss and lick the dark-
haired woman's clitoris, labia, and cunt. The brunette's pussy, shaved
bald, is wet; the blonde's face shines with her lover's juices. The
nipples of both women are hard and swollen, like their clits.
Emily presses the love button, and she felt an explosion deep inside
her, the shock waves of which radiated throughout her lower abdomen,
igniting her clitoris. Her hips bucked, her thighs scissored, and her
toes curled. She thrashed from side to side, more of her juices
flooding her pussy. She felt less disgusted. Indeed, the wetness seemed
almost glorious. The conflicting emotions, mild disgust and joy, made
her orgasm more intense. Her passion seized her, shook her.
On the TV screen, a big Black man with a foot-long cock as thick as his
wrist was now fucking a skinny white dude in his ass. The Black man
pounds the white punk mercilessly, driving his thick, hard prick full-
length through the scraggy guy's milk-white buttocks and through his
expanded anus, before, just as quickly and fluidly, withdrawing his
huge dick to plunge home again, fast and hard. The white dude's ass
cheeks flatten before the hunk's pubes as the Black guy repeatedly rams
his groin into the other man's ass.
The African-American man's hips are almost a blur, so quickly does he
fuck his hapless victim. Victim? Emily wonders. Yes, somehow, the word
fits; although the sex between them is consensual, it appears that the
hulking Black man rapes the smaller male, so hard, fast, and relentless
is the bigger man's assault upon his impaled backside. Such scenes
always excite Emily; she love the implicit theme of reverse slavery,
with the big, powerful Black man the Master of the white slave he
fucks.
She pushes the love button again; the orgasm is immediate and more
intense than the others, rocking her to her very core. She's not sure
she can survive the explosions of pure ecstasy that burst inside her
again and again, inside her twat, her clit, her breasts, her heart, and
her mid. Her body feels afire, then freezing, as waves of hot and cold
wash over her; she shakes, pleasure merging with pain and becoming
pleasure again, then pain, then pleasure.
She wants more, but dreads it; loves it, craves it, and half-fears it,
so powerful and intense are her sensations and her emotions. Her head
spins, and she fears she will lose consciousness or her sanity or both.
Her muscles tighten; she feels convulsive, but doesn't convulse. She
thrashes, writhes, twists, as if trying to escape her own passion. She
floods herself again, a river runs through her, out of her. She is a
force of nature.
Now, on the TV screen, a woman sucks a cock. Just the cock and balls
show, and her upper body, as she bows, kisses the crown of the rearing
prick, licks the underside of its long, rigid shaft, tongues his balls,
tight inside his taut scrotum. His straining shaft looks, Emily
suspects, like the food of the gods, ambrosia, filled with the nectar
of semen, creamy, thick, warm, and salty. Her lips part, her mouth
plunging down, around his manhood. When she lifts her head again, his
vanished cock reappearing within the circle of her retreating lips, it
shines with her saliva.
Emily jabs the love button. Her breathing quickens. She cannot focus.
She loses herself. She is overwhelmed by the sensations exploding and
exploding within her like fireworks in her brain and dynamite in her
loins. She goes limp, as wave upon wave, each a tsunami, roll through
her, crashing against the delicate tissues of her cunt, against the
hard bud of her swollen clit, rage through her tummy, crash inside her
breasts, an assault by herself against herself, frenzied,
uncontrollable. She melts; she explodes; she empties. Gasps. Moans.
Sobs. Floats away, away, away . . . .
She is soaked in her own juices, but she doesn't mind, not anymore,
never again.
She is not disgusted by her sexuality or her body or her feelings. She
is not revolted by her own touch or by anything else.
The love button is the best birthday present, the best gift she--or any
other woman--could ever hope to have.
Hortense
- 11.06.2020
- 7
- 0
