“Stephen, what’s in this big wooden trunk,” Sarah my soon to be ex-wife asked as we cleared out the loft of my soon to be ex family home.

“I don’t know, junk probably,” I suggested.

“It might be bone China, we agreed I had the China.” she said greedily as she stood there and if I half closed my eyes I could pretend she looked sexy with her in her dungarees and checkered shirt, with her blonde hair tied back severely.

It was amazing the way Sarah had changed, was it only three years since we met, got drunk, had twins and married, and eight months since she found she preferred a black footballer and instigated divorce proceedings which meant I was having to sell the riverside house my great great grandfather had designed and built back in the eighteen nineties with a huge water wheel to harness the river’s power and drive a generator to provide electricity.

Four generations of Stephensons, general engineers, once Stephensons workshops had stretched the whole length of Manston street and folklore was that we were related to the Stephensons who designed the “Rocket” but we were not the family that built the ‘Rocket’ or the lighthouses or wrote Treasure Island but honest hard working engineers who came from Ramsgate originally not Northumberland, and now just the old B shop remained as my empire, and that only because I managed to do a deal with my sisters when dad died, which saw most of the factory sold for housing land.

Even with a much smaller workforce the order book was pretty thin, we kept making things for stock or at cost to keep ticking over but I couldn’t really see how we could stay in business much beyond the year’s end.

“Stephen, what is it?” she demanded.

“You have a look,” I suggested, “I’m having a coffee.”

I descended the ladder to the second floor and the stairs to the Kitchen and then with some difficulty climbed back up with two coffees.

“It’s a machine,” she said disappointedly as she stood with the lid of the huge trunk raised. “It looks unused.”

“Drink your coffee,” I insisted.

“It says Stephenson WEC 1909.” on the Instruction book.” she said.

“It’s got instructions?” I asked.

“Yes, and all sorts of stuff, what is it Steve?” she demanded.

“No idea,” I said, “There’s a label on it somewhere, there look,”

“October 1914,” she read.

“Well it may be old stock from when Stephensons went over to Munitions in the first world war.” I suggested as I peered into the box.

The parts were all packed and secured with wood and fabric packing, smaller polished wood boxes contained attachments as I found when I opened one to reveal a set of slightly ribbed plungers around a foot long from one waisted in from two inches at the threaded end to an inch to one expanding from two inches at the thread to almost four and a half inches in diameter.

Some were parallel some noticably belled out, “It’s a bit odd.” I suggested, “There a motor and bars and all sorts, pulleys and a crankshaft, I wonder if its a pump.” I suggested naively.

Sarah took hold of the leather bound instruction book, “WEC 1909,” she said, absent mindedly as she examined the cover before opening the booklet.

“Widdows Electric Comforter,” she read out, “For the discerning bereaved gentlewoman, the new Electrically operated Comforter provides all the comfort and relief from anxiety of the Steam powered machines with the cleanliness and comfort of electricity.”

“I don’t understand, It’s not a heated bed is it?” she asked stupidly and then gasped “Oh my god!”

“What now?” I asked.

“It say’s, by appointment to his Germanic Majesty the Kaiser and his excellence Czar Niclaus of Russia.”

“Really?” I answered uninterestedly as I tried to work out what fitted where.

“There’s some diagrams,” Sarah said excitedly, “it say it will fit a Watt and Furlough number seven or Nine or any of the Grantley Axis metal bed range, but they recommend the Blackstaff Slumberknight number four.”

“There’s an old bed in aunt Bessie’s room, I think that’s a Slumberknight,” I suggested, “Where’s the diagrams?”

She showed me the page of drawings, “The Anular shaft?” I queried, “What Anulus?”

“For heavens sake Steve, do I have to do a drawing?” she asked.

“But I don’t understand.” I protested, “Anulus shaft Worm Shaft.”

“Steve, thats Womb not Worm,” she said, “And Anular refers to Anus not Annulus, do you see?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Womb shaft, Anus shaft?” she said, “Oh for christs sake!” she said, “Its a Victorian Fucking machine you imbecile.”

“Edwardian surely nineteen oh nine.” I surmised.

“For gods sake its a fucking machine,” she said excitedly, “Don’t you understand, it might be valuable.”

“Great, we’ll sell it through Southerbies,” I suggested, “Or actually I will because as I recall we said I get the junk, you get the China and paintings.”

“There must be collectors,” she suggested, “I wonder if its all there,”

“Oh I don’t know, it’s a bit dark in here.” I complained.

“Then lets take the parts down stairs and see shall we?” she suggested.

“You just want me to break my neck,” I replied but it seemed the sensible thing to do so I started to remove the parts from the case.

I had them laid out checking the numbers when she said we should build it up so we could be sue nothing was missing, and so I went down the ladder while she handed to components down to me, it wasn’t easy because some parts were iron castings and very heavy but we managed somehow.

Sarah came down and set about making the bed in Aunt Bessies old room, it was as it said on the brass plate on the headboard loop a Blackstaff Slumberknight 4, and she worked out that it needed a mattress and undersheet as the curved supports were designed for the mechanism to sit over the top of the mattress.

“The Motor clamps round the footboard loop,” Sarah said needlessly.

“That’s obvious,” I agreed,

“And that whirly thingy,” she said.

“Crankshaft,” I suggested, “Fits between the trunnions which bold to the motor baseplate.”

“Yes you should have fitted the baseplate first,” Sarah explained.

“You’ve got the damned book,” I pointed out.

“Baseplate, motor, Crankshaft, trunnions,” she said, “then lift it onto the bed.”

“It’s too heavy, we’ll do it in situ,” I told her, “I’ll get some tools.” I wandered down to the garage, to get my toolbox. The MGB’s batteries were on the workbench being charged pair of 6 volt batteries, and beside them a spare 12 volt battery and suddenly I had a brainwave, 12 plus 6 is eighteen, nearly the 20 volts I needed to test the motor, and there were two complete sets of Jumper leads.

I took my tools and the batteries to the bedroom, wearing jumper leads around my shoulder like a Mexican bandit wears ammunition belts but it still needed two trips.

Sarah was busy there was something about Sarah, when she was interested in something, or wanted something, her blue eyes sparkled, she stood up straight thrust her shoulders back and, well you know, thrust her chest out.

Sarah, who generally kept at least a yard away from anything even remotely oily, and never knowingly touched a spanner, was busy puzzling over the instructions, “It doesn’t show the girl,” she complained.

“That my dear would have had you locked up in nineteen oh nine,” I explained.

“Ugh, it suggests beef fat as lubricant.” she announced as she set the book down.

“No I’ll use medium grease.” I suggested.

“I think I’d prefer KY jelly.” she laughed, “look.”

She picked up the book to show me an illustration of someone applying beef fat to a plunger with a paint brush.

“Oh yes,” I laughed, and then as I looked down I observed “Damn we missed a part,”

“What?” she asked,

“This bracket, between Motor and footboard rail,” I explained “it takes the “shoes,” what ever they are.” she looked puzzled, “Shoes, it says.” I repeated.

“Yes, there is a set of boots,” Sarah agreed, “I didn’t think, I’ll get them.”

I tightened the bolts when she was gone, they were all odd sizes, Whitworth sizes but I found sockets and spanners to fit, and I added the shoe bracket and then it was complete.

It really did look menacing, the two transverse supports arching around the mattress supporting the trunnions which held the crankshaft with the sprockets and drive chain up to the motor which towered over it, all polished brass and copper, the green paint did little for it and it looked more like an updated medieval rack than anything else.

“I’ve got the shoes,” Sarah said as I admired my handiwork, “I got grease on my trousers so I had to change,” she said by way of explanation, as I looked admiringly at her long shapely legs now revealed by her change into shorts, still with the check shirt, but then as she bent over with a sudden flash of white knickers I realised it was a short blue skirt she had put on not shorts.

“Look how odd the shoes are!” she said, and as she showed me one I had to agree, it was a soft leather knee boot in tan, but with a heavy half inch thick metal sole and a false wooden sole maybe two and a half inches deep which just clipped on, and could be removed to reveal a big one inch diameter threaded stud on the bottom.

“I think you either wear the shoes with the wood soles and someone else bolts them to the frame or you bolt the shoes to the frame and lace yourself in.” I explained.

“Well of course you do, these are sevens,” she said.

“Which holes do they go in?” I asked.

“I don’t know, read the book,” she snapped.

I picked it up, “Ah, I see,” I explained, “there’s packing pieces and you should ensure the equipment allows for the normal position of the head upon the pillow, always ensuring sufficient clearance to the headboard.

Sarah hopped up on the bed and lay back, her legs spread, one foot each side of the crankshaft, “Hows that?” she asked.

“Lie back,” I suggested, “head on Pillow,”

“How’s that?” she asked again.

“Is your head against the headboard,” I asked.

“No, get on with it,” she said, as she kicked her shoes off.

I put the right boot on her right foot, screwed a three inch spacer to the boot fed the spacers portruding bolt through the shoe bracket and asked, “How’s that?”

“Right a bit,” she said and as I tried a different screw hole in the shoe bracket and she said, “Try that.”

I tightened the bolt, “Any good?” I asked.

“And the other,” she commanded, I used the other three inch spacer hole 13 L as the other was in 13R and I wasn’t the lest surprised when she wanted a shorter spacer and her foot moved in a bit.

I made a note of the settings! “Its probably different with them laced up,” I warned.

“Undo it then,” she said, and pulled her nylon clad feet from the boots, “Back in a minute.”

I busied myself with conecting the ancient double pole switch with its various massive resistance banks and then she returned wearing my long wooly socks, “Lets try that!” she suggested. Her tights were gone and she had changed to the skimpiest panties imaginable, so I wasn’t easy to concentrate as I did up the laces firmly.

“Yes that’s how it works.” I said, “Shall we put it away?”

“No, we ought to, well make sure it would work.” she suggested.

I pulled down the master switch and for the first time in ninety years the motor sparked and whirred and began to pick up speed. “Satisfied?” I asked.

“That’s only half of it,” she said, “what about the rest.”

“The rest is dildos, basically.” in suggested, “Maybe as we are near as dammit divorced Drain or whatever his name is should do the rest for you.”

“Duane Churchill,” she reminded me, “He’s a lion in bed but not a patch in you as an engineer,” she said crushingly, “So get on with it”

“Ok, what size and what stroke,” I asked, and I showed her the box of plungers, her eyes went to the four and a half inch monster but she settled for a two and a quarter inch parallel plunger, “This one!” she said greedily and handed it to me for me to screw the extension rod onto it.

“And stroke?” I enquired, she looked blank.

“In and out?” I tried.

“Oh, can you measure, I’ve got some KY somewhere.” she said and she took the plunger and grabbed the KY jelly from a small pocket in her skirt and smeared it over the plunger.

“Sarah,” I cautioned.

“You’ve seen it all before,” she said and she pulled her skimpy and now very damp panties aside and pushed the cold brass inside her, “Ohhh,” she wailed, “It’s bloody cold.”

“Try blowing it,” I suggested.

“Oi,” she said, “Don’t start getting funny ideas.”

“Or put it in warm water,” I suggested, “Warm it up a bit.”

“Oh, she said, “No, it’ll be all right.”

I looked away, “Ohhhh gosh,” she exclaimed, “Ohhh its c’cold.”

“Told you!” I exclaimed, now push it right up and.”

“That’s my line!” she joked, but I was measuring from the front edge of the trunnion to the end of the extension oblivious to the almost obscene sight of the bronze plunger firmly planted between her puffy pink vagina lips, a now hairless vagina I noticed, she had never done that for me.

“Now pull it out as much as feels right.” I watched intently as she pulled the plunger back with her left hand.

“There,” she said, “Did you measure?”

“Yes, Ok,” I turned away and looked at the machine, something was wrong,”Damn.” I exclaimed, “Something’s missing!”

“Mmmmm,” she said, “What?”

“Oh for gods sake!” I exclaimed, as I saw the plunger working rhythmically in and out.

“Sorry,” she said, “Carried away, what?”

“There’s something missing,” I said.

“What!” she wailed. I looked around, there was a transverse hole in the end of the conecting rod and an in line thread on the plunger shaft.

“Did you bring everything down?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, “Except some old rags.”

Typical Sarah, I checked the instruction book and there it was “Crosshead assembly”

“There must be some bits left I’ll fetch them.” I said as I went to climb the ladder.

The rag in the trunk hid a heavily greased up finely machined casting, a slide bar, and with it a matching bronze slipper

“Problem solved” I announced as I brought the parts down and then spent twenty minutes trying to figure out how to fit it.

It turned out there were two more transverse bars that went across under her legs to form a bracket for the crosshead assembly which went up between knees and made sure the plunger shaft slid horizontally and not up and down, there was also an eccentric on the crankshaft that I assumed was part of some valve gear and I ignored it.

It was easy enough to fix everything up when I worked it out but the fine tuning was a nightmare.

I got the rods attached and turned the crank by hand and the first time she squealed like a stuck pig, “yeeeaggghhhhh,” she wailed, I didn’t know if it was her last gasp or an orgasm, it turned out to be a orgasm as I tried to push the plunger further into her than it would go!
I gave her ten minutes, I went and made a cup of coffee, made her one too, took it back and realised the plunger should and crank should both be at full extension when you couple up, ok its obvious when you know.

So I shortened the plunger by two holes on the clevis pin and a few turns on the vernier and turned the crank again,”Clang,” the plunger dropped out of her vagina with a clatter and slid up past her anus before I could react.

“Look, I don’t take it up the bum!” she announced.

“Sorry,” I said and wound it back and gently pried her lower lips apart to insert the plunger again.

“You always were good with your hands.” she said.

I read the instruction book again, well there is a famous saying in engineering, “If all else fails read the instructions.”

So this time I did as the handbook said, there was an adjustment on the Crankshaft, except it had to come out of the bearings to alter it, A row of twenty holes around the pin and nineteen holes in the crankpin flange gave, well a lot of available strokes between one and eight inches, I think she ended up with around four inches.

It took the best part of twenty minutes to take the right hand trunnion down and reset everything,the chain had to come off for one thing, and then I had to try it by putting the trunnion loosely in place and all the while Sarah watched in as she lounged on the bed, I didn’t see her loosen her bra or undo her shirt but she said her nipples hurt and that’s whey she did it, and then suddenly everything was ready.

“Shall I give it a whirl?” I asked.

“Oh what?” she said her eyes slightly glazed, “Yes go on then.”

I clicked the switch, and the ninety year old machine fizzed and did absolutely nothing.

“Noooo!” Sarah wailed, and I waggled a clamp on the small battery and suddenly there was a whirring and the plunger began to move.

“Ooooher, that feels funny!” Sarah exclaimed, as the shining steel and bronze piston started to piston in and out of her, “Steve, Steve,” she said, “Ohhhhh, Steve.”

“What is it you daft cow,” I asked.

“I’m fucked Steve” she said, “Oh my god,”

The action seemed nice and brisk, I had a can of oil and I squirted some on the crosshead and then I spotted an oil filler on the top I had missed so I cut the power.

“No,” she protested, “You can’t” she said “Stop.”

I flipped the oil filler cap open and trickled a tiny amount of oil in.

“Shall I let you out,” I asked.

“No way, you get it going right now.”

“It’s time to fetch the twins from Mums place.” I suggested.

“Sod the kids get it going!” she intoned. “I’ll get them tomorrow, or next week.”

I restarted the motor, it was really great to watch as the crankshaft flashed around and the conecting rod pushed the crosshead slipper which pushed the plunger shaft and plunger into her soaking twat,

“Oh my god oh my god.” she kept wailing and sweat poured off her and she scrabbled at her nipples with her slender long nailed fingers until her poor breasts were all red and raw.

My coffee was cold so I went to Microwave it, and when I came back she was gurgling and her eyes were glazed.

“Sarah!” I screamed.

“Fuck!” she said, “Best Fuck,” she said almost incoherently, “Best Fuck ever, Ohhhhh.

I guessed she was having an orgasm but there was blue smoke rising from the big end so I switched off and the machine stopped almost instantly.

There was an oil reservoir in the con rod that I missed, guiltily I topped it up and the oil hissed against the overheated metal.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Lubrication,” I said, “Drain will be worried.”

“Fuck Duane this is fucking magic,” she said eloquently.

“Well leave your tits alone, they’re red raw,” I suggested.

“Yes sir!” she said and I clicked the switch again.

It was nine when she finally decided enough was enough, you know the jokes about whore’s being so sore they walk bandy legged, well that was Sarah, I had to feed her all my ham and all my orange juice before she summoned the energy to crawl to her car and even then she still wore the stupid short dress and shirt and couldn’t be bothered to change.

Drain was on the phone half an hour after she left, “Hey man you been fucking my woman?”

I gathered he meant Sarah, “No, we’ve been clearing up, why.”

“Cos she fucked man, really fucked you know?” he said.

“Took a lot out of her, poor love.” I said “But no, I haven’t fucked her.”

“Then keep it that way.” he said and slammed the phone down.

I decided there and then to keep the machine assembled instead of taking it to pieces, and went to check we had got all the bits.

There was a box containing a suction pump and hoses but they had perished severely and another box of plungers in the bottom of the trunk and it wasn’t at all obvious how they fitted.

The pump fitted over the top of the motor, there was a pulley on the left side of the motor and chain on the right so I just needed a belt and some hose, it turned out the leathers were perished as well but I had it all working by bed time which just left the other plungers.

Sarah rang next morning, “We never did finish the clearing, I’ll come over about eleven.” she suggested.

“Well actually,” I said, “I,” the words have a Luncheon date with Angela my secretary were swept away by Sarah’s insistence that she had to come over.

“That’s settled then,” Sarah said leaving me to cancel lunch, Angela didn’t seem particularly upset that the date was off, and so at quarter to eleven on the dot I got up and made my breakfast.

Sarah arrived as I finished my second coffee and I offered her a cup, “Steve,” she said, “Our agreement,” she wavered, “How about you have the China and I have that machine?”

“No,” I said, “Nope, no way!”

“Steve!” she protested, “What use is it to you?”

“I don’t know,” I confessed, “but its beautifully made, oh and I found some more bits.”

“What bits?” she asked.

“Suction cups,” I explained, “and a vacuum pump.”

“Really!” she said, “Show me.”

I took her up to the bedroom and showed her the vacuum pump, she seemed interested and then she fished in her bag and extracted a bright red dildo, “Could you put a thread in this instead of that heavy Brass thing?”

“I guess, I’ll do it after work tomorrow.” I offered.

“Why not now, you have that quick setting resin and stuff in the Garage.” she suggested.

“Hell, I wanted a quiet afternoon, If I have a suitable nut I’ll do it.” I offered.

“It looks like a standard gas thread,” she said showing a hitherto unsuspected eye for engineering detail.”

“I’ll look!” I offered.

“There were some spare collars,” she suggested and like always with Sarah I gave in and found there was indeed a bag of spare collars and it was fairly simple to fill the dildo with rigid foam and bond the threaded collar in with high strength quick setting epoxy, it barely took twenty minutes to do and within the hour it was ready to use.
Sarah was sorting out pictures and things with painstaking and agonising care, “Is it ready yet?” she asked.

“Needs ten minutes to harden fully,” I assured her, “Why.”

“Get me a coffee love, and some custard creams,” she said avoiding the question and I dutifully obeyed.

“Drain threatened me last night,” I explained , “Seemed to think I had slept with you,”

“Ha,” she said, “Three sugars, live dangerously.” she suggested avoiding the question.

She drank the coffee and said,”surely its set now?”

“Yes,” I agreed.

“Then lets try it!” she suggested, “come on!” and she stood up and strode towards the bedroom.

I was a bit startled when she just kicked off her shoes took her denim jeans, tights and panties off and swung onto the bed, “Come on Steve, I want to test it,”

“Ok,” I agreed, “what ever.”

“Well screw my new thing on,” she insisted, so I pulled the clevis pin out, slid the plunger clear and unscrewed the plunger from the shaft and fitted the red dildo in its place.

It was only then I realised just how much bigger the red dildo was than the plunger.

“Sarah,” I asked, “Are you sure about this?”

“Oh yes, it’s my favourite,” she assured me.

“Then, you know,” I said, “You better, ah, first.”

“Oh you idiot, I use it all the time look” she insisted.

I looked, she just fingered herself briefly and as the moisture glistened she began to ease the huge dildo into herself, I could hardly believe that such a monstrous thing could fit in such a sweet little thing as Sarah’s vagina but bit by bit she worked it within herself.

“It’s much nicer,” she said, “Warm, and light,” and then she asked, “Strap my feet in would you? please?”

I revolved the Crankshaft a few times just to be sure and then I checked she was ready and switched the machine on, I let it get going and for Sarah to start getting excited, and when I saw she was pawing at her blouse trying to get at her breasts I decided to try the suction cups, I didn’t know how she would react, I didn’t care to be honest, but it was just a case of screwing the belt tensioner in to start the vacuum pump and placing a suction cup on her nipple.

The vacuum pump slapped and hissed and the suction cup fell straight back off again, it took a second to register.

“W’what are you doing?” she asked.

“It’s a suction pump, but it’s not working.” I explained, “Oops I know,” it was obvious I needed to put both cups on simultaneously to get a seal, and I don’t suppose you’ve tried but it’s a bit awkward doing the right one, with your left hand if you’re right handed like me.

Suddenly the suction pump ‘s sound changed, “You bastard,” Sarah cried, “I can’t stand it,” I looked at the Vacuum gauge on the top of the pump and it was calibrated in some odd units and was almost off the scale but there was an adjustable pressure relief valve so I gave it half a turn and the needle dropped to half scale.

“That’s good, Steve, that’s sooo fucking good, can you alter the speed?” she said.

“I can go slower, but I don’t know about faster.” I said.

“It want’s to start slow and speed up.” she said, “You know when I.”

“I suppose if we put a modern motor on with remote control you could choose.” I said,
“Its not rocket science.” but she wasn’t listening, she was in a world of her own.

“I get some coffee.” I suggested, well what else could I do. and anyway the way she was leaking fluids she would need a drink, I checked my emails as I waited for the percolator to do it’s stuff and then as you do, I googled ‘Fucking Machines.’

There were thousands, but every one seemed contrived, were they real, direct acting shafts spearing into the girl. what if she slipped? or else they looked like they were so light they would slip away from the girl after just a few strokes, and the videos, it was obvious that the scenes were cut every few seconds and the equipment repositioned none had the physical link between girl and machine like ours, it needed a lashing, either corset or ankle, maybe both or thigh or knee, maybe all four.

I got my note pad out and started making notes.

“Steve, where are you.” Sarah cried.

“Here what is it?” I answered as I realised an hour had gone by.

“I’m sore.” she said

“Ok.” I agreed, coming, well I wasn’t coming but I sure as had one hell of a hard on.

“I’m sore” she said as I joined her, “Turn it off,” she said, “I need some more KY.”

I killed the power, I thought the speed was down as the batteries ran down but I let it stop and pulled the clevis pin to let her extract the bright red plunger dildo from her now red raw cunt.

“Where’s the KY,” I asked as I saw the empty tube on the side.

“There.” she said in irritation.

“It’s empty!” I told her, she stared, she looked really evil at times when she didn’t get her way and today she would easily have passed auditions for the Witch in Wizard of Oz.

“No!” she squealed.

“There’s gun oil.” I said.

“You bastard,” she said, “You sadistic bastard,” she said in her charming manner, you’re loving this.”

“It has a certain irony.” I agreed.

“You’re turned on look at that bulge in your pants.” she said.

“I’ve been looking at Fucking Machines on Google what do you expect?” I asked reasonably.

“So get em off,” she said, “Pants, spunk’s slippery isn’t it?” she sort of asked rhetorically.

“What?” I said incredulously.

“You get a hand job, I get the lube deal?” she suggested, “Use the empty Coffee cup.” and with that she dragged down my zipper extracted my hugely swollen tool and with about a dozen strokes and a little kiss on the end she brought me to shuddering draining climax in just a few seconds and collected the cum in the coffee cup.

“Lube!” she said triumphantly, “Come along smear it on the plunger, I’ve got to get the kids at two.” It was half past three already.

I did as she bid, usually she insisted I wore a condom so there was some irony in her using my spunk as lube especially as she professed to hate “The Pill” as it made her fat.

I lubed the plunger, slid it in her, with surprisingly little resistance I must admit, fixed up the clevis pin, gave the machine a revolution to check it was ok, “Get on with it!” Sarah commanded, and applied power.

“Oh that good, Ooohhh yes.” she said and the phone rang.

It was Deborah, Sarah’s mum. “Steve, where’s Sarah, only it’s nearly Chapel time.”

“She’s being fucked in aunt Bessies room, shall I get her?” I suggested.

“Don’t take that tone of voice with me!” Deborah insisted, “Now where is she?”

“Strapped to Aunt Bessies Iron bed with a mechanical.” was as far as I got before she slammed the phone down.

“Your Mum rang.” I told Sarah.

“MMmmmmm, whatever.” she said, “This is sooooo good.”

Dorothy thought the sun shone out of Drain’s arse, Footballer, big Mercedes, loads of cash, he could get them into the directors box, complimentary tickets at the County ground, the fact he only got two first team games all season and one of those was when he came on for extra time took a penalty and missed, and had been offered a transfer to Forest Green Rovers who nobody had even heard down in the Forest of Dean somewhere, none of that dimmed the idea that their precious Sarah was engaged to a Footballer.

I thought about the Twins, Dorothy never offered to look after them when Sarah and I needed a break, I always was a stepping stone, married at nineteen divorced at twenty two some half a million richer yes Sarah and Dorothy’s plans were well on track.

I went back to checking Fucking machines on Google, I didn’t like them, especially the direct acting electric ones and then in a Eureka moment I realised what spare plungers and the eccentric on the crank were for.

The girl in the video was strapped to a bed, bondaged, her arms secured, gagged with a perforated ball, and this machine with two direct acting pistons with two long arms was on the floor about three feet away and one piston worked a dildo in the girls Vagina and the other seemed to go up her arse, and they worked in opposition, one went in as the other came out. That was what the eccentric did it operated the.secondary, oh what’s the word for it, well lets call it the arse fucker dildo.

“Sarah,” I said as I returned to see her, “How do you fancy being fucked up the arse as well?” I asked.

“Take a dirty book in the loo and don’t be so disgusting,” she said.

“There’s an attachment for fucking your arse as well.” I said.

“Stephen,” she said, “I love you very very much but fuck off all right.”

“Charming,” I suggested, “Are you ok.”

“Just leave me alone, I’ve got to be at Mums for half past Two.” she insisted.

I didn’t hear the car coming or Dorothy come into the house, or even climb the stairs, I was making notes and watching the machine smoothly and efficiently doing the job it was built for all those years ago when.

“Sarah Jane Burris what in gods name are you doing, are you filming her you pervert.” she rounded on me.

“Why? do you want a go?” I asked, and Dorthy’s expression betrayed her before she could answer, “Don’t be so crude, “Sarah Jane stop that now!”

“Another ten minutes,” Sarah said, “Have a Coffee ok.”

“OHhhh!” Dorothy squealed and I think she stamped her foot but she swept from the room.

Fortunately Frank, her husband who wasn’t a bad bloke except he drove a Ford, had taken our two year old twins Robert and Clara into the front room, so only Dorothy saw the graphic image of a woman being double fucked when she moved my Laptop and nudged it out of standby mode.

“Ahhhhiieee.” she squealed as she dropped and smashed my Coffee percolator.

I rushed downstairs but Frank was already there, staring transfixed at the computer screen.
“Pervert!” she squealed, “No wonder Sarah wanted to divorce you!” she squealed, “I taking Sarah home right now, At least that was what she planned, as she swept out leaving me to clear up the mess.

Frank pulled up a chair and sat back to enjoy the video, it was a twenty second loop and Frank soon got tired of watching it, he only sat there for about twenty minutes before he got bored.

I heard raised voices.

“No,I want to play.” Sarah was saying, “Switch it back on.”

“Sarah, he’s a dangerous pervert.” Dorothy was saying.

“Just turn the bloody machine back on mother, please!” Sarah cried, “I need to cum don’t you understand?” It was another Eureka moment, sod the motor, I thought and I fetched the other MGB battery and the short linking cable, they were still arguing when I strode in, clipped the cable between the 6 volt batteries shifted the Jump lead to the other terminal and switched the Machine back on.

The beast seemed to come alive, with the best part of 24 volts coursing through it’s circuits, the conecting rod almost a blur, “Oh,” Sarah squealed, “Oh Steve I love you, you’re the best,” she said, although she later denied it, but I was worried about the bearings so I fiddled with the resistor controls and slowed the machine down.

“Oh that’s nice, yes” Sarah said, “Now a bit faster, bit more,” she said, “Yes. Oh, Yes yes, now go for it!” I took the last resistance out of circuit and she screamed “Ohhh Steve I love you!” and all her cares and troubles melted away for a few seconds and I brought the resistances into circuit and slowed the machine to a gentle easy idle.

“That was the best ever, ever.” Sarah said.

“Time to get the Twins.” I said.

“Just one more.” Sarah pleaded.

“No.” I said “Kids”

“I haven’t tried the bum one.” she said.

“No, get the kids.” I insisted, “Undo her laces Dorothy, I better check on Frank.” I suggested and I killed the power completely.

Frank was looking at my notes, “When did you make that?” he asked.

“Found it in the loft,” I said.

“But you’re planning on doing another?” he asked.

“Just doodling, why?” I asked.

“I thought you made it specially for Sarah.” he said.

“No, she wants a footballer.” I said.

“Dorothy does.” he said, “Big disappointment I was,” he said, “She dreams of a big black cock up her.”

“Right,” I said “Yes black dilos,” I said absent mindedly.

“Don’t suppose I’ll see you much when it’s all settled.” he said.

“Sorry,” I said, as I wondered about a carbon fibre con rod.

“Divorce,” he said.

“Yes,” I agreed, “Do you think I should supply just the machine or the bed frame as well?”

“You ain’t listening to a word I’ve said.” he accused.

“Sorry, but you just suggested we make a batch of machines.” I explained.

“No I didn’t!” he snapped back, “I do not want my daughter mixed up with a somebody who makes Fucking Machines.

“I reckon about fifteen hundred,” I said.

“What retail?” he said.

“No, cost, no this is a premium product, say twenty five grand retail twelve and a half wholesale.” I suggested.

“You’re bloody mad, I’m not surprised Sarah got fed up with you,” he said and went to check the twins.

Sarah was dressed and ready to go she put her head round the kitchen door, “I’ll get on to my solicitor in the morning, I’m having that machine!” she insisted and with her most haughtly expression she strode down the corridor, the fact she had to walk slightly bow legged rather spoiled the illusion, and went to collect the Twins.

Hanocks solicitors rang Monday morning, “Can we rejig the split of assets.” he suggested.

“Right,” I agreed.

“There is a contraption Miss Burris feels is morally hers which by an oversight is included in your allocation.” Jeremy, Glies Hancock’s most slimy partner smarmed.

“A Cunt raption,” I said, “what are you on about.”

“A machine, it fits over a bed?” he said.

“Ah the WEC 1909, yes certainly, no problem.” I agreed, “Three hundred and seventy five thousand,” he dropped the phone, I’m pretty sure he fell off his chair. I waited for him to recover, “Maybe you could run it by Miss Burris?” I said, “And by the way she’s still Mrs Stephenson, or have you forgotten.”

I didn’t tell him I had the machine in bits already, I didn’t like the crosshead, it was expensive and ugly, but basically it was so simple except for the crankshaft, that I had most of the drawings for the parts ready by mid day.

I put the office phone down, and looked across the workshop, from my office perched high above the workshop floor the works a pale shadow of Great Grandfathers empire, just a general engineering works, metal fabrication, some machining, down to ten employees now, my sisters Joyce and Jane wanted to sell up when we inherited it when dad died but I held out, which is why they live like Millionaires and I do sixty hour weeks.

I had given George our Foreman some drawings already, and on an impulse googled Blackstaff Slumberknight and found that a firm in Hebden bridge still made them.

“Special order only mate,” the bored voice on the phone said.

“Can you do one off’s?” I asked.

“There all ‘king one offs, what colour do you want?” he asked

“Extra brackets and that.” I said.

“Kinky eh, yeah rack fittings we do all that.”

“How much,” I asked

“Three Hundred.” he replied.

“With extras,” I asked

“That’s with, One fifty bare,” he explained, and then I said I’d send some plans and have a chat again.

The embarrassing bit was buying the Dildos, yes, but I had this figure of ten thousand quid clear profit per unit etched in my mind, so I scoured every sex shop I could find and collected quite a variety.

The collars and shafts were just stock items, the filler and epoxy came from the merchants and by home time I had three full sets of new dildo attachments made, three sets of base plates, a modified guide to replace the crosshead, and I headed off to McDonalds for dinner.

I really shouldn’t have got my working drawings out, they asked me to leave when the waitress correctly guessed what the machine was for!

It was while watching TV that the second Eureka moment came, the Crankshaft was horizontal on the WEC 1909, a leftover from steam days, but why not turn it on its side?

A double throw crank, no two singles, and adjustable, adjustable throw, adjustable phasing, wow. and there it was in my mind, the WEC 2010, Fucking Machine par excellence, I couldn’t wait to tell Sarah, except she was gone, and it was two a.m.

I was in work by six fifteen, the plans just poured from my brain, twelve volt motor Variable transformer, I didn’t need that much power, for 110 volt US or 230 volt European. systems, baseplates, chain drives, double eccentric crankpins, sods to draw so I made the first pair before George arrived,

Sarah rang around nine, “What’s this about three hundred thousand pounds?”

“Three seven fifty,” I said, “Are you busy?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Well dump the twins on your Mum and come round for two.” I put the phone down confident she would come.

I had the good old WEC 1909 reassembled when she arrived, I took her straight to the bedroom, “Sarah” I said, “Did you want to test the bum thing?”

She looked at me accusingly. “Why?” she said.

“I only asked.” I said.

“Perhaps.” she said coyly.

“No time like the present,” I suggested, “Before I take it apart.”

“You sod,” she said, “A hundred thousand.” she said as she slipped out of her long grey skirt and stylish knee length boots so I could strap her in, revealing her tie side panties.

It was easy to lace up the boots secured to the shoe board, to hold her in place, a new freshly lubricated red dildo eased smoothly into her vagina and then there was the problem of getting the smaller one up her anus, I had to unlace her again, and she actually sat on the extension rod to get the KY lubricated plunger up her anus, and then she was actually shaking with anticipation, as I conected up the rods.

“I’ll try the Anal in phase with the other,” I suggested.

“Yes!” she said, “Oh that feels so good.” she said even before I started the motor.

“Oh my God!” she wailed, “Steve you’re a genius!” an evil genius as the new Dildo was two sizes bigger than the previous one!

I let her enjoy herself for a while, she didn’t notice I was using a variable Transformer on the mains power instead of the batteries, until I increased the speed, “Oh no, Steve!” she wailed, you’ll make me,” she protested, “No not yet, Steve.” so I slowed it down and that was wrong as well!

She didn’t want me to stop and change the phasing but when I swung the eccentric so it worked in opposition, plunger up the bum as the vaginal plunger came out and vice versa, she went absolutely wild.

“Oh god,its tearing me apart, I love it stop it!” she said among other less intelligible squawks.

“Steve,” she said, “I’m sore.”

“There’s plenty of KY,” I said as I slowed the machine.

“Steve, that other ah stuff was better,” she said innocently, “Get an empty Coffee cup would you?”

“No,” I refused, but she grabbed my fly and janked the zipper down.

“Get a Coffee cup!” she repeated.

Well what could I do?, reach for a plastic beaker that’s what, as my tool sprang to life, she reached over and kissed it and then quickly and ruthlessly milked the cum out of me, “There,” she said, “That wasn’t so bad was it?” as she gave me the beaker of cum to lubricate her dildo with.

I took the opportunity to change the eccentric phasing to ninety degrees with the Vagina leading and powered the machine up again.

“Oh yes,” she said, “Oh thats so good,” she said “Put the suction on would you please?” she said slipping her cardigan, blouse and bra off, until she was quite naked except her watch which hardly counts.

I had forgotten the suction cups for her nipples, I tensioned the drive belt for the vacuum pump and slipped the cups over her straining nipples, “Ooh thats nice.” she agreed. ” Just a bit slower.”

“I’m building a new one.” I said.

“Mmmm, nice,” she said, “Bit faster,”

“A new machine,” I replied.

“Good,” she said, “Then we can have one each.”

“Ah no!” I explained, “For sale.”

“Shut up ok,” she said, “Bit faster, could you try a longer stroke next time please?” and she said it so sweetly.

The phone rang, it was George, “Shall I lock up or are you coming back Mr Stephenson,” it was six o’clock already.

I rushed to Sarah, “Its six o’clock!” I gasped.

“So,” she exclaimed, “Who cares?”

“Drain, Dwain whatever his name is?” I suggested.

“Ok, Ok,” she insisted,”Damn!” and I turned off the power.

“Another half inch?” she said as I uncoupled the Vaginal plunger, look it will go another what?”

I had a tape measure so we pulled the plunger out as far as was comfortable and pushed it back between her now puffy and bruised cunt lip as far as possible and I measured it,

“Another inch if you like?” I suggested.

“Same time tomorrow?” she suggested, “For data for your new machine?” she added.

“I don’t know,” I said, “What about the twins?”

“Mother loves having them,” she said, “See you.”

I went back to work, George had the parts finished, we had the bearings and bearing housings I needed in stock and I just set to and assembled it, of course it didn’t work, never does in real life does it?

But on the plus side my modified bed had arrived, it was rubbish, half the weight of the old one and flimsy as hell, I got on the phone.

“The bed’s crap.” I said.

“Yes,” he agreed.

“Needs thicker Tubing,” I said.

“Should have said,” he said, “What you want?”

“Oh double the wall thickness at least,” I said.

“Easier to weld that, deliver it Thursday,” he said, “Same price? Cash?”

I agreed, “How about a refund?” he laughed and put the phone down.

The new machine didn’t look right, It looked like it was lying on its side, and better still it didn’t turn freely, but the crank adjustment worked brilliantly, just turn it till you had the stroke right and find a hole that lined up and stick an Allen bolt in, sorted.

It was around three a.m. before I got it to turn properly, I didn’t like it, the con rod was from stock and was designed for a diesel engine originally and it looked wrong on its side.

I realised there was more to fucking machine design than I had realised, but I resolved to get Sarah’s opinion before I did any more.

I took the machine home in my van and collected the bed on my car carrier trailer next morning and bolted the new machine to the bed so all was all ready when Sarah arrived.

“It’s gross,” she said, “I’m not having that inside me.” she insisted.

“But the plungers work much better this way,” I said, “Vagina over Anus, the other is offset slightly.”

“No, it’s no good.” she said.

“Wont you even test it?” I asked.

“No!” she snapped, “Damn, Duane’s not due home till ten tonight.”

“Poor Sarah, all horny again.” I suggested.

“Very funny, what did you take the old machine apart for.”

“I didn’t,” I said, “I adjusted the stroke,” I said.

“So what are we waiting for?” she asked as she headed for Aunt Bessies’s old room. “Strap me on she said as she undressed, throwing her jeans and high heels one way and her top another before lying back and letting me strap her feet into the boots..

She winced as I eased the red dildo inside her still puffy vagina lips unaware that I had sneakily substituted a larger size again, she groaned as I eased the smaller unit up her anus and as I started the motor she sighed as I attached the suction cups to her nipples, “Look I’ve got a remote control for the voltage and speed, Enjoy yourself.” I said and literally went back to the drawing board.

I heard the motor seed varying for around an hour then it stopped and she shouted, “I need some Stevie Lube, bring a beaker.”

“Look, you didn’t want it before,” I said, “You wanted Drain, so you want it you get it draft,”

She didn’t waste a second, “Unstrap me then.” she said, “Is your bed made,” it did;t matter as it happened we only got as far as the landing before she had my trousers and shorts down and I just took her standing against the door post.

She was like an animal, a real bitch on heat, and I guess I was pretty over excited too and I pounded into her like it meant something.

“That’s good, was it good for you?” she asked.

Better than nothing, “Yes good,” I lied.

“Strap me in then!” she suggested, and she headed back to the machine.

“Why couldn’t you fuck like that when we were married?” she asked.

“Why couldn’t you?” I asked, she had no answer, but soon she was back on her back and having a great time.

Dorothy rang,”Is Sarah there?” she asked

“In body if not mind why?” I replied.

“Twins!” Dorothy replied.

“Thanks so much for looking after them!” I replied and put the phone down and then left it off the hook, I picked up my drawing book and started doodling.

It was another Eureka moment, I could use a fixed throw crankshaft and vary the stroke with an intermediate lever, ok it looked like something off a 1930’s steam locomotive but if the ass eccentric drove from the middle of the crankshaft with a journal ….

It looked right, crikey, it looked very good indeed and the ass rod could be truly on the same centre-line as the other just slightly lower, driving through a slot in the compensating rod, hell I could even put a compensator in Horizontally to vary the stroke of the ass rod.

I rushed to show Sarah, “Sarah, I’ve cracked it,” I said urgently.

“Ten more minutes OK,” she said.

“Look,” I insisted, She looked at me, “Fuck, you spoiled the moment,” she said, “What is it?” and she let the machine glide to a halt.

“Look,” I showed her the drawing.

“Looks like a steam engine, I like this one,” she said, “Go away.”

“But the stroke is adjustable with a screw and it’s fail safe and,” I explained.

“What part of ‘Fuck off’ don’t you understand?” she said.

“How the hell did I ever fall for you?” I asked.

“I’m gorgeous and you were desperate,” she suggested now go,” she realised I was unplugging the machine from the mains, “hey no!” she protested.

“Time to pick up the kids and be mummy again.” I said, “Don’t you work anymore?”

“Women’s problems,” she laughed. “Same time tomorrow?” she asked.

“No,” I insisted, “You’ll get the sack,” and I insisted “Friday maybe.”

I stood outside the factory gate looking, once Stephensons workshops had stretched the whole length of the street and folklore was that we were related to the Stephensons who designed the “Rocket” but we came from Ramsgate originally not Northumberland, now it was fancy housing along our street and just the old B shop remained as my empire, and that only because I managed to do a deal with my sisters.

The order book was pretty thin, as always, we kept making things for stock or at cost to keep ticking over but I couldn’t get the idea of fucking machines out of my mind, I called a meeting at half past nine, when Andy finally wandered in, I stood on the office steps and said, “I expect you’re wondering.”

“No mate we know you’re fucking finished, divorcing that fucking bitch wife cleaned you out,” Andy announced, with all the swagger owning a 900 cc Kawasaki endows.

“Yeah,” Charlie announced, “Hardings are hiring so if they take us you can stuff the job,”

“Yeah,” Stan said “Forty years I been working for Stephensons and.”

“Who wants a reference, then,” I asked, eight hands shot up.

“Fine, see me after dinner,” I suggested, but I had references for them all by ten, except Stan, and George.

“Get off down Hardings and good luck,” I said and then there was George and Charlie and Phil our apprentice and Georgio who was Ukranian and shouldn’t have been in the country.

I had a meeting when the others were gone.

“Look we got an order for specialist machinery,” I said, “Fucking machines.”

“Yeah, my Gramp said Stephensons made Fucking machines, steam ones mainly,” Charlie said, “They tried electric ones but the accumulators weren’t up to it.”

“What!” I asked.

“Yeah, Stephensons Widdows Comforters, all the rage before the first war, course when they found French letters in the war the demand weren’t there so the the old man went over to subcontracting for Fodens steam lorries.”

“I found an WEC 1909 in the old house.” I suggested.

“Yeah, that was the electric one, it didn’t work,” he said his wizened line face crinkling as he laughed “they reckoned the accumulators boiled,” Charlie said as he lit up a Cigarette despite the no smoking signs hung everywhere

“Well it goes bloody well on MGB batteries.” I said.

“It’s all very well making them but who the hell would buy one.” George asked.

“Look Steve, if you can sell them we’ll make them.” George added.

“Who wants a Widdows comforter,” Young Phil piped up, “it’s a Fucking Machine so why not call it fucking machine.”

“Yeah,” I said, “So when someone asks what you make you can say Fucking Machines.”

“He does already,” Giorgio insisted, “But Steve, how d’you sell them?”

“Leave that to me,” I suggested, “We’ll start on Monday.”

I worked on those drawings, the Laser CAD program did the WEC 1909 drawings almost for me but the new 2009 Fucking Machine, was different, I had to actually design the damn thing.

Sarah rang up on Friday, “My Solicitor says you laid off most of the staff?”

“Yes,” I agreed.

“He says you’re doing it to reduce my settlement.” she said.

“No,” I told her, “I’m going to manufacture Fucking Machines.”

“Oh,” she said, “Can I have one?”

“Minimum order is ten,” I informed her, “that’s two hundred thousand pounds.”

“I’ll test them then.” she said.

“What about your job?” I asked.

“They sacked me weeks ago,” she said, “Don’t tell mum.”

“I should have the first ready for Saturday.” I offered.

“I’ll be over,” she said.

“Any ideas who would want one?” I asked.

“Yes, tell you what you make them I’ll sell them.” she offered, “We make a great team.”

The first was ready for Saturday, it wasn’t exactly perfect, and although Sarah came over just after ten in the morning and it was nearly midnight before we gave up, the adjustable stroke mechanism kept creeping towards a shorter stroke, it was very frustrating especially for Sarah, and so Sit was around six in the evening when she grabbed my by the ear and marched me to “our” old bedroom.

“If your machine can’t satisfy me you’ll have to do it manually,” she suggested, which was hardly the most romantic method of seduction but it worked.

“Do you like that,” she asked, as she squeezed me with her cunt muscles, “Duane likes me to do that,”

“Great!” I agreed, “You never did that to me,”

“No!” she said, “Do something then,” I thought I was, as I pounded into Sarah energetically, at least I thought I was, maybe by third rate black footballer standards I was pathetic, but.

“You haven’t kissed me,” Sarah complained, “You always kiss me, I miss you kissing me,” she complained, it was easily solved, I kissed her on the mouth,

“Mmmm,” she said, “That’s nice!” and she wrapped her legs around me, “That machine is all right but it’s a lousy kisser,”

“So I have my uses?” I said.

“Duane is six feet three,” she muttered, “He’s too tall to kiss when he fucks me,” she said, “And he likes to squash against my boobies,”

“Not a gentleman then?” I asked.

“No,” Sarah said, “Pure animal!”

I suppose we made love for half an hour all told and then it was back to work for Sarah.

We needed a lock on the lead screw for the stroke adjuster, it was no big deal but Sarah didn’t like the vacuum pump which was a rotary and produced a constant suction instead of the pulsing of the positive displacement type on the old machine, but with Vise grips locking the screw and an extra Tee piece so I could rhythmically release and recreate the Vacuum she gradually agreed the new machine had potential especially as the offset of the Anal penetrator from the Vaginal one was removed.

Duane rang to say they were celebrating and he would be home on Sunday so Sarah quite reasonably said it was a waste of fuel to go home and she stayed with me, in our old bed.

“Good night,” I said.

“Night,” she replied, “Love you,” I thought it was an automatic response, but then I never really realised how devious she was.

She was up before me.

“That frame is no good,” she said, “It should just sit on the floor and sort of fit over the end of a Divan,”

“Right,” I agreed,

“I made you some toast,” she said, “Aluminium finish, and light grey, maybe pink.” she said.

“Who put you in charge?” I said.

“Only of the colours, I’m only making suggestions, if you don’t want to sell any don’t listen.” she said in her usual bossy manner, “It’s nice here.”

“You’re not having it, it has to be sold remember,” I reminded her, “when you agree the division of assets.”

“Can you put the old machine in the summerhouse?” she asked.

“On the Island?” I asked as we had a little summerhouse in our little lake in the garden.
she nodded, “How the hell do I do that?”

“It’s not deep,” she said, so that’s why I was wading through shoulder deep water carrying the bed and machine components through Sunday lunchtime and then I had to clean our little row boat out.

Sarah meanwhile had invited some of her Wag friends over, she told them I was a mechanic, and after Pimms took them to the summerhouse.

Obviously I wasn’t allowed over but as I listened from the Lawn it was clear from the squeals and laughs that she was demonstrating the machine and that they thought it was great.

She showed them the new machine later, and I had done a computer generated image of the finished item, all brushed aluminium and polished stainless steel with anodised and stove enamelled pink detailing.

“Claire wants one,” she said, “Can we deliver by Friday?”

“Crikey, we’ve lots of testing to do.” I exclaimed.

“If I stop over?” she said.

“It would help.” I agreed, “How much?”

“Twenty Two thousand,” she said, “Ginny wanted the old one so I said they were fifty thousand, to put her off.”

I had a massive shock when I checked my emails on Monday morning, Ginny wanted an old machine, a genuine 1909 WEC 2009, and she was happy to pay £50K, Claire coinfirmed her order for a new machine and twenty other people wanted brochures, what brochures?

Sarah had the answer, she wore a mask and I photographed her riding the machines and then she digitally altered the pictures, to show the bodywork and new plinth arrangement I devised, I’m not sure using Labour politicians faces on her head was a good idea, but they certainly illustrated the machines in action.

“What shall we call the new machine?” I asked as we climbed into bed Monday evening.

“How about 2012 Fucking machine,” she said. It was alright as a working title.

“How about FM 2012?” I asked.

“Mmmm, Night, love you,” she said, “You won’t tell anyone I’ve broken up with Duane will you?” she queried, “Only your mum will want us to have the kids now the divorce is off.”

“It’s off is it?” I asked.

“Oh yes,” she agreed, “Until you make a FM 2012 that cums like you do.”

“Hey you might just have something there!” I exclaimed as I sat bolt upright and looked around for a pencil.

“That reminds me why I wanted a divorce,” she said and yawned, “Night night.”

To be continued?

Probably not.

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