If you haven't already read The Headmaster's Office and Fantasy Night, now might be a good time to do so. It provides the back story for Belinda, Mr Gallows and Rupali; much of which is assumed in this story.
Last week was the final hot week of an Indian summer that stretched all the way into April. The still, humid air made the school week hell, especially in the un-air-conditioned classrooms of the old wing. You go to a posh private boarding school and you'd think the expensive fees would stretch at least as far as air conditioning, but Mr Gallows (headmaster and ... secret boyfriend?) has been trying to get the Trustees to fund a refurbishment of the old wing for years.
By the time the weekend came, Rupali (roommate and ... secret girlfriend?) and I had had enough. We got day passes from the Boarding House Mistress for Saturday and planned to head to Bondi to cool down and let off some steam. But first we needed to go shopping; I hadn't been to the beach all summer and my only bikini pre-dates the miraculous and belated maturing of my breasts over the Christmas break. The old 6AA bikini top would now barely cover my nipples and my generous new 8C rack would spill out the sides. I suppose it would probably fit right in at Bondi, but it's just not my look.
The shopping trip was a perfect opportunity to test-drive Ike and Mike: an invention of Mr Gallows. Before I can describe Ike and Mike, I need to rewind and explain Earnest and my discovery of Mr Gallows ingenious mad-inventor streak.
If you read my earlier stories, you will remember that I masterminded the fulfilment of Mr Gallows' and Rupali's sexual fantasies. Rupali still doesn't know the owner of the nine inch cock that brought her to her first orgasm with a man ... and I'm going to keep it that way! Those two are way too compatible and I want to keep them both to myself.
On the same occasion I discovered – and fulfilled - my own desire for Rupali and we have been lovers and roommates ever since. Strangely, I don't think of our relationship as lesbian or bi-sexual. We use tongues and strap-on dildos to do to each other the same things men would do, only better in many ways because we know what girls like. In almost every way it seems to me that sex with Rupali is completely hetero-sexual.
The night after that adventure I was alone in our room with a vibrator that I had liberated from the dorm toy box and was disgusted to find that the batteries had died and hadn't been replaced. There's a code of honour covering batteries: 'She who dries em, buys em'. I didn't have spares and was about to march back out to the toy box to pilfer replacements when a text came through from Mr Gallows:
"Owe you a gift for last night. Any requests? In teachers' lounge if you are free."
Super! Who needs a vibrator when there's nine inches of real cock downstairs? Not missing an opportunity for a gift, I rifled through the toy box and pulled out 3 more dead vibrators; Mr Grateful could buy me batteries! Not even bothering to put panties on, I ran downstairs in my nightie and burst into the teachers' lounge. He was standing, so I vaulted from the coffee table into his arms, my own arms and legs locking around his slim, powerful body and planted a long, hungry kiss on his lips while I ground my naked pussy into his six-pack stomach. He was a bit surprised to see me so ready; if his text had come 10 minutes earlier or later then I might have been a little less desperate. He returned my kiss and then prised me loose, lowering my feet gently to the floor.
"What's in your hand?" he asked, looking at the vibes. "Mine not enough for you anymore?"
"Yours is plenty ... when it's around," I pouted. "When it's not I have these, but I need batteries. That can be your payment for fantasies fulfilled."
"Well, I was kind of hoping to pay in services rendered. But if you want batteries more than this," he said with a touch of sarcasm, rubbing a growing bulge in his trousers, "then I am your humble servant."
"Don't be a dick. I want your dick and I want your batteries," I shot back, smiling. "Unless you think a balls-deep sex-with-a-stranger fantasy three-way isn't worth it?"
"Touché," he conceded. "What do we have there?"
I handed over the four dead vibes. Three of them took normal AAA batteries so no problem there. The last one was Earnest, which I grabbed on a whim. Earnest is an ancient gold vibrator that we give to new girls – mostly virgins – who have never used a toy. He is only as thick as a lipstick and takes three little watch batteries. Mr Gallows put the others aside, seemingly uninterested, but was studying Earnest with a curious expression.
"Where did you get this one?" he asked.
"Who knows? It's been in the boarding house longer than I've been alive. It was probably bequeathed by one of those tight old bitches on your Board of Trustees when she was a boarder," I joked.
He smiled briefly and then shuddered at a mental image that I'm glad is in his head and not mine.
"It's just ... very strange... ," he trailed off. He rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a small screw-driver. Removing the screw at the base of the battery compartment, he slid the innards out of the barrel and started mentally cataloguing the parts. "There's no motor in here," he said – hopefully to himself because I have no idea about mechanical gizmos. "But this thing looks like a tiny ... Van de Graaff generator? Are you sure this is a vibrator?"
"Search me. It's a dildo as far as I'm concerned. It's never worked because we've never had batteries. That's where you come in," I hinted.
"May I take it for a few days?" he asked. "I want to do some more research."
"Sure, knock yourself out." I was getting impatient and sat on the coffee table to unbuckle his trousers. He was still staring at it and turning it over in his hands when I took him into my mouth; but I got his attention soon enough.
We met again after lights-out the following week and he presented me with Earnest 2.0. Now there was a thin black wire plugged into the base with a little vinyl and velcro loop at the other end, and Mr Gallows was wearing a big goofy grin as he held it out to me.
"You've given it a ... carry-handle?" I asked, feeling and sounding a bit underwhelmed.
"It's not a carry-handle," he sounded hurt. "It's a pressure-sensitive remote control."
"Huh? Translation?" I asked, one eyebrow raised.
"It's the cuff from an infant sphygmomanometer and... ," he started. My eyebrow hadn't moved. He got the message and started dumbing it down. "It's the cuff from a blood-pressure machine for babies. It's sensitive to pressure and it can be used to send signals down the wire ... like a remote control."
"Soooo," I began slowly, thinking it through, "if I had a baby I could get it to remotely control my vibrator?"
"The cuff doesn't go on a baby's arm, it goes on me."
"But it's too little for you ... Ohhhhh!" I brightened, suddenly catching up. "It doesn't go on your arm!"
"Very astute," he mocked gently.
"But I still don't get it. If the cuff goes on you ... and you go in me ... where does Earnest go?"
He didn't answer, but looked at me waiting to see if I would work it out. Then the light-bulb went on in my head and I turned on him with feral light in my eyes. "Not on your life! My puckered little back door is strictly one way, buddy." I sounded angry, but there was that little tingle of curiosity as well. A cock deep in my pussy and a vibrator buzzing in my asshole ... what would that feel like? I didn't think I could feel fuller than when his long, hard shaft was buried deep in my vagina, but with a vibrator next door ... it had possibilities. He kept silent, probably watching a bunch of different emotions wash across my face.
"But why a remote control," I said finally. "Wouldn't you just leave it running to vibrate while you fuck?"
"It's not a vibrator," he said cryptically.
"Then what the fuck is it? A stick-blender?"
"Do you want to keep asking questions, or do you want to try it out?" he asked. He reckoned he had me hooked and the big goofy grin was back.
"Will I like it?" I asked.
"Yes," he said unequivocally. I was a bit worried; but now I was lot interested.
I was in. I came over to him and started running my hands over the muscles of his chest. "OK Edison, so what do we do?"
"Well, I need to be hard first... ," he offered.
I slid my hands down over his pecs, his hard stomach, and then on to the growing bulge in his pants. I followed its length through his trousers back to the root and massaged it there with my fingertips. It pulsed and throbbed under my touch; already wood and forging quickly towards iron.
I was wearing my short satin nightie without panties or bra and he put Earnest on the coffee table so that he could explore my body through the slippery, sheer fabric. He stroked the undersides of my breasts, gently applying pressure and feeling their weight; his fingertips moving in circles and working their way up to my nipples.
.... There is more of this story ...