This machine is just right....

Sophia Lynn walks in, that girl-next-door blonde with trouble on her mind. She drifts past the racks, past the chains, the whips, the cold spray towers. None of it clicks. Then the sci-fi corner catches her eye. She stops. The Black Magic starts slow, a slick hum under her. Fingers deep, she works herself open, testing the stretch. Still not enough. She swaps to The Dragon. The head pushes, thick and mean, and she sinks down. Inch by inch it owns her ass until the rhythm picks up and the room fills with wet, mechanical thrust. Her breath breaks. She rides hard, blonde hair shaking, until the pressure breaks through and she leaps off, legs shaking, still open.