I worked alone in my laboratory, surrounded by gears, brass fittings, and hissing steam pipes. The workshop smelt of hot metal, oil, and sweat. As a female inventor in a world that doubted women's capacity for science, I had something to prove, to them and to myself.
The ticking of the wall clock matched my heartbeat as I made the final adjustments to my latest creation. This wasn't just any machine. I had designed it specifically for pleasure, meticulously crafting each component to stimulate with precision.
The device featured copper wiring wrapped around a cylindrical core mechanism with a soft leather strap for secure positioning against my body. Its primary component was a precisely machined phallus-shaped brass rod that could both vibrate and rotate.
At its base, I'd installed a secondary component with a smaller oscillating nub designed to press against the most sensitive external part of a woman's anatomy. I had spent months studying female anatomy, testing various configurations, and mapping the exact points of stimulation that male engineers pretended didn't exist or deemed inappropriate for "proper" scientific inquiry.
My fingers moved with practiced precision across the control panel. I turned brass dials and adjusted copper switches. The dim workshop light came only from a few electric bulbs that cast long shadows across my workbench.
I thought about all my failed attempts, the burnt-out motors, the broken gears, the nights of frustration when nothing worked. The bruises on my fingers from slipped wrenches and pinched skin. The mockery from male colleagues who couldn't imagine what I was building.
But tonight was different. Tonight, I succeeded.
I undressed from the waist down and positioned myself on the specially designed leather chair I'd constructed for this purpose. After applying a generous amount of lubricating oil to both the device and myself, I pressed the warm metal apparatus against my most intimate parts. I inserted the main shaft inside me, adjusting the leather straps to hold the external component firmly against my clitoris.
With a turn of the brass key, the machine came to life.
The internal rod vibrated with a powerful, steady rhythm while simultaneously rotating in small circles. The external nub oscillated at a different frequency, creating a dual sensation that no human partner could replicate with such precision. Steam hissed through the valves as small pistons drove the mechanisms with meticulous accuracy. The machine responded perfectly to my adjustments, increasing or decreasing intensity exactly when I wanted by simply turning different dials on the control panel I held in my hand.
My breathing quickened as the dual stimulation sent electric waves of pleasure radiating through my body. My nipples hardened beneath my corset as the first shockwaves of sensation spread from my core. The workshop around me blurred into a haze of brass and steam. I spread my legs wider, gripping the leather armrests of my chair as my hips began to rock involuntarily against the machine.
The sounds of hissing steam faded away, replaced by the mechanical hum against and inside my flesh and my own increasingly vocal responses, first soft moans, then urgent gasps, and finally, desperate cries that echoed off the laboratory walls. My thighs trembled as I felt the warm slickness increasing between them, lubricating the brass shaft as it rotated inside me.
I controlled every aspect with the control panel: speed, pressure, pattern, depth, and rotation, guiding myself toward release with scientific precision while surrendering to animal instinct. I turned the primary dial three notches higher, feeling the vibrations intensify deep within my vagina, pressing against a spot that made my vision blur. The machine's pistons worked faster, its gears spinning with increasing urgency.
The small pressure gauge on the device swung toward the red zone, indicating the increasing temperature of both the machine and my body as we worked in perfect harmony toward a shared climax. My pulse raced, my skin flushed pink from my chest to my face, sweat beading between my breasts and along my thighs. I could feel the tension building, coiling tighter and tighter deep in my pelvis, a delicious pressure demanding release.
The gears turned faster. Steam vented from the pressure valves. Heat built inside me, a mounting tension demanding release.
Then it happened: my vaginal walls clenched violently around the brass phallus, gripping it in rhythmic pulses as my clitoris throbbed and swelled against the oscillating nub. My back arched off the chair as the first massive wave of orgasm crashed through me.
"Oh God, yes!" I shouted, past caring who might hear.
The dual points of stimulation triggered an explosion of sensation, unlike anything I'd experienced before. My entire pelvis contracted in spasms, muscles I didn't know I had, clutching and releasing in primal rhythm. My inner walls squeezed the machine's shaft in greedy pulses, trying to draw it deeper.
The raw, unfiltered sensation flooded every nerve ending from my core to my extremities. Waves of heat and electricity surged from my centre, making my toes curl and my fingers grip the armrests until my knuckles turned white. My thighs shook uncontrollably, slick with sweat and my own arousal. I felt the rush of wetness flowing from me, coating the brass apparatus and dripping onto the leather chair below.
I cried out again and again, each wave of pleasure triggering another vocal response, raw, animalistic sounds I'd never made before, explicit declarations of pleasure that would have scandalised proper society.
"Yes! Don't stop! Right there!" I commanded the machine, though it needed no instruction to maintain its perfect rhythm.
The orgasm kept building rather than subsiding, layers of pleasure stacking upon each other. Just when I thought I couldn't take any more, another surge would ripple through me, stronger than the last. My clit pulsed with each touch of the oscillating nub, sending fresh shockwaves radiating outward.
The machine continued its relentless rhythm as I trembled against it, extending my climax far longer than any human lover had ever managed.
The pressure valves released excess steam in perfect time with my own release, hissing white clouds into the air as my body convulsed in ecstasy. Our mechanical and biological systems achieved perfect synchronicity, the machine's gauges swinging wildly as my body's responses triggered its pressure release mechanisms. I could feel my inner muscles clenching and releasing, milking every sensation from the brass shaft as it continued to rotate and vibrate inside me.
I collapsed back onto my workshop chair, sweat-soaked and satisfied, with the device still inside me but now powering down automatically as programmed. Its internal temperature sensors had detected my orgasm through the contractions of my muscles and the change in my body heat, triggering the shutdown sequence. As the mechanisms slowed, I gently removed the apparatus from my body, admiring how the brass gleamed with the evidence of my arousal.
In this private laboratory, I had created my own sexual liberation. My invention, which I had named "The Mechanical Paramour," gave me complete control over my pleasure, something Victorian society insisted women shouldn't seek or understand.
The air smelt of steam, hot metal, lubricating oil, and the musky scent of female arousal. I made notes in my journal about the performance of the device, and I am already planning improvements for the next model: perhaps a warming element or variable-shaped attachments for different types of internal stimulation.
Let the world outside judge me. Male doctors still claimed that female hysteria required their "medical treatments," never acknowledging women's capacity for sexual pleasure. But I knew better. Tonight, in this workshop filled with my creations, I ruled absolutely, inventor, woman, and master of my own sexual satisfaction.
Perhaps someday I would patent my device, disguised as a medical instrument for "nervous disorders," and give other women the chance to experience what I had. For now, though, The Mechanical Paramour would remain my delicious secret, my most ingenious invention yet.
