"Arghhhh…nyess~!"
A female's sweet moaning voice kept up with the sound of flesh nesting flesh.
Tatatatatatta
The moans from his phone buzzed through the cheap speakers as Ethan Parker pressed himself against the bed, one hand on his cock, the other swiping through porn like a man possessed. He was close, teeth gritted, hips jerking like he could hit the ceiling. 'Shit…shit…come on…almost…'
Slap. Slap. Slap.
He cursed under his breath, grip tightening, every nerve screaming. This was routine. Nothing fancy, nothing fancy at all, just him, his phone, and a hand that had seen more action than any of his failed attempts at actual dating.
The room he was in smelled like a mix of old pizza, sweat, and shame. Dirty laundry spilled from the corner, energy drink cans teetered on the desk, half-empty wrappers scattered like casualties of a war he had lost months ago. He blinked at it, hating it. 'God, what a mess…how am I even living like this?'
Ding-dong!
Ethan froze, cock still in hand, one leg curled under him. Fuck. 'No…not now…' He groaned, snatching a towel to try to cover himself, but the bell didn't stop.
He staggered to the door, one hand pressed to his crotch, eyes squinting at the peephole. A delivery guy stood there, clipboard in hand, uniform rumpled like he had been working a double shift, expression flat but judgmental. 'Of course he's judging me…he always does.'
"Package for Ethan Parker," the guy said, voice sharp, eyes flicking like he could see straight through the door.
"Yeah…thanks," Ethan muttered, snatching the box. His fingers shook, partly from anticipation, partly from the ridiculous embarrassment of being caught mid-masturbation. 'He totally caught on, didn't he? I know he did. God, why am I like this?'
The guy gave a polite nod and stepped back, lingering just a second too long, leaving Ethan to slam the door. He pressed his back to it, chest heaving, staring at the box like it was the second coming of…well, whatever fucked-up thing he had been waiting for all week.
He dragged it to the bed, ignoring the mountain of trash, the towels, the sticky desk. 'God, I am living like a hoarder. Like a literal mess.'
Ethan tore the cardboard flaps apart, tossing aside bubble wrap with a muttered curse. The box inside was smaller, sleek, black, with silver lettering glinting under his desk lamp: VoltPulse X1.
Ethan's fingers trembled as he rifled through the manuals, paper rustling under his grip. He muttered aloud, reading each warning like a foreign language. "Do not immerse in water…Warning: Only one user at a time…Keep away from children…" He scoffed, tossing them aside with a flick of his wrist. "What the hell kind of warnings are these? Children? Really?"
He finally lifted the device from the box. The first thing he noticed was the weight. Not heavy, not cheap, but solid. The brand name was embossed along the shaft in tiny metallic letters: VoltPulse X1. Sleek black silicone, matte finish with a subtle grip texture running in ribbed lines along its length. It felt cool to the touch, almost silky.
"Length…seven and a half inches," he muttered, turning it in his hand, "girth…thick enough…heh…probably too much for my tiny hand, but whatever." The device had an ergonomic curve designed to hug the shaft. There were two dials at the base, one for speed, one for intensity, a small LED screen glowing faintly green. The cord was thick, rubberized, ending in a plug that looked like it belonged to some industrial appliance rather than a sex toy.
Sliding it into his hand, Ethan marveled at the sleeve. The interior was lined with soft, undulating ridges and folds, wet-looking and supple. 'It…moves like a real mouth…like a cunt…almost breathing…' The canal contracted in places, widened in others, subtle swellings mimicking lips, a clenching that made him gasp. Each pulse hit like someone gripping him with purpose, coaxing him in, teasing him like a woman might—tightening, releasing, sliding, wrapping, sucking him in a rhythm impossible to predict.
He remembered how he'd discovered it, deep in the comment section of a late-night porn site. Someone had posted a link: "Best. Thing. Ever. Hands won't even get near it." He'd laughed at the reviews, laughed at himself. 'Hands won't even get near it…like I've ever had anything to compare it to.' Months of pathetic wanking alone, rubbing raw and miserable, nothing ever close to…whatever this was promising. He'd scraped together cash over weeks of skipped lunches and late-night shifts, paying $219.99 with express shipping.
It finally arrived today and he was staring at the box in reverent disbelief.
"Alright, let's see if you live up to the hype," he whispered, rubbing his thumb over the control dial, the rubber warm under his touch.
He slumped back onto his bed, legs spread, cock flushed red from the previous edging. "Slow…slow," he muttered, slipping it carefully into his hand, coaxing it along the shaft. The first pulse startled him, a sharp, electric tingle that made his knees jerk. "Ohhh…shit…okay…that's something."
The device was intelligent, adaptive. It pulsed rhythmically, but not in a simple vibration pattern—each pulse felt calibrated, almost like it knew where to hit, how hard. The grooves along its shaft created friction without his hand, gliding perfectly, lips of the sleeve curling and stretching, mimicking the wet, pliant folds of a woman. He gasped, lips parting, eyes rolling back. "Yeah…oh god…this…this is…holy shit."
He muttered nonsense to himself. "I've…never…felt this…never…fuck." His other hand reached for his phone, thumb brushing through more porn while the device did the work, every inch of him trembling under the pressure. Sweat slicked his back, his chest heaving, his toes curling into the sheets.
Minutes passed. He kept the setting low at first, savoring the teasing pulses. The sleeve's inner walls squeezed and released, soft but firm, edges gripping him in a way that felt human. The lights on the base flickered through green to yellow as he increased speed. "Alright…let's…push it…just a bit more." Each twist of the dial brought him closer to the edge, his mouth dry with moans, voice ragged. "Oh…fuuuuck…yes…harder…"
He was consumed. Months of failure, of nothing, of disappointment in his own life and body, all funneled into the pleasure, the device, the impossible promise of perfection. 'I've never had this…never even close…'
Ethan's hand paused mid-stroke, marveling at the way the sleeve seemed to mold itself around him. The inner walls pulsed gently, slick folds adjusting as if anticipating his every movement. 'Holy shit…this…this is like it's alive…' He whispered to himself, thumb brushing along the ridges.
He eased the dial a notch higher. The sleeve tightened subtly, gripping him with a soft, wet pressure that made his knees tremble. "Oh…oh fuck…that's…ohhh…" His voice cracked, a mixture of disbelief and craving. Each pulse now felt targeted, sliding along the shaft, curling in and out, mimicking lips and walls that squeezed, pulled, and teased with precise timing.
Ethan's other hand dug into the sheets, curling the fabric into fists as the sleeve reacted instantly to his grip. A rhythm emerged, alternating between gentle suction and firm pressure, like a mouth that knew how to drive him insane. "Yes…yes…right there…ohhh…" The folds shifted, clenching around him at the perfect moments, teasing him toward the edge in a maddening dance.
He groaned, teeth biting his lower lip, eyes rolling back as sweat slicked his chest. 'I've…never…felt…anything…move like this…like…someone's…inside me…' Every pulse seemed to speak to him, a responsive, hungry rhythm that drew him further into obsession. He wasn't in control anymore. The sleeve was taking over, and he loved it.
Finally, curiosity overcame caution. He cranked the intensity to the highest setting. The LED turned red, humming like a transformer. The pulses became violent, chaotic, overloading his senses. The sleeve clenched and released faster than ever, walls contracting as if a real cunt were squeezing him with desperate need. "Oh god—ohhh—fuck—yes—ohhh!" He gritted his teeth, fingers clawing at the sheets.
Then—
Kpaaaa
A spark.
The fuse in the cheap, shitty socket he'd been using blew. Blue-white arcs of electricity jumped from the plug. He screamed, muscles locking as the current ripped through his body, chest seizing, eyes wide in terror. "Oh shit—no—fuck!"
The device fell from his grip, bouncing against the mattress, still pulsing. His fingers twitched involuntarily, mouth agape, a wet, ragged gasp escaping. The world went white around him, smell of burnt rubber and ozone filling the room.
Ethan's vision blurred, chest seizing, pulse hammering. Amid the white-hot pain, a glowing panel hovered before his eyes:
[SYSTEM ACTIVATION]
[Host Found: Ethan Parker]
[Status: PERFECT HOST]
[Detected Taboos: ALL UNLOCKED]
[Parasite Hunger: CRITICAL]
Then everything went black.