Ninth, Tenth, Eleventh, and Twelfth

Despite the power of the orgasm, and the **** desire I feel for an armistice of the shocks in my ass, the machine shows no sign of slowing down. The waves just keep pounding me right through the aftermath of cumming. And again, the mystery happens. Right from the sharp discomfort of oversensitivity, ignored by the machine, there is a sharp turn in my desire. I’m still desperately overstimulated, but somehow it capsizes into something else, and that “something else” can squeeze more arousal out of me. I don’t even have to rehornify; I’m simply staying at the same arousal level right after my eighth, and within seconds, I’m at the edge of number nine; and when I plunge into that one, driving me even higher into my intensity tree. There is a similar straight line to number ten after it.

In the end I climax five times before my cumming power fails me. I’m still bouncing on the pole of the hitachi, and even though I keep drifting on that edge, right before orgasm, my body no longer has the power to push me off the cliff. I crash down from the pole, and fall down on the hard floor like a neglected rag. My captor is merciful, and the pulsating torment of my ass is turned off. I must concentrate on my breathing, or I would hyperventilate. It takes minutes before my racing heart slows down to a reasonable speed, and the moaning turns into mere panting. I feel completely empty, as if every little grain of energy has been sucked out of me. The cold tiles are hard and merciless to my knackered limbs, yet there can be no question about moving, vital resources are simply missing.

About all I can still see is the LCD on the wall. The timer is down to 43:51, and the number next to it is 18 now. Just before I pass out, an overwhelming feeling of pride soaks into me. Eight for the day, and it isn’t even halfway. I totally got this.