My name is Michelle. When I was 22, I humiliated myself totally. I'm 23 now, and still living the effects of that humiliation every day.

The date was November 18, 2011. It was a Friday night, and I was alone in the apartment. At the time I lived at ... in... , MD. The time was just after 11 PM and I was on my bed, in my sexiest nightie, making love to myself. I was on my hands and knees, or more correctly, on my knees and my chest, face turned away from the window, arms limp at my sides. I had a dildo in my vagina and a vibrator up my bottom. I was so happy and content. The doorbell ruined all that.

I jerked awake and bolt upright on my hands and knees. I looked at the clock, saw that it was 11:07 PM, and then stared at my bedroom door, open-mouthed. Then I looked at my bedroom window, making sure the blinds were securely closed—they were—and waited with choked breath to see if whoever would ring again. They didn't.

Who was it, at 11 PM at night?

Rattled, but recovering slightly, I slipped my hand around and removed both the dildo and vibrator. Quickly I slipped both under the mattress, and then padded across to the chair and snatched up my terry-clothe robe. I put it on and belted myself in on the way out the bedroom door. I crept down the hallway on my tip-toes anyway, hesitated at the kitchen door, flicked on the light, flicked it off again, and then proceeded through the dining room to the foyer (not really, just a walkway divided from the living room by an iron railing) and put my eye to the peephole. I saw only the empty landing and my neighbor's red doors on the landing. I stepped back and bit my lower lip. Then I retreated to the end of the railing, stepped down into the living room and hurried to the balcony curtains, where I peeked out. I saw no one on the sidewalk scurrying away, nor in the parking lot. I went to my left and up one step into the den and peeked out the den's window, which afforded a look up the parking lot I couldn't get from the balcony doors. I still saw on one, which didn't surprise me as it was pouring cat's and dog's outside. Still biting my lip, I stood back and crossed my arms over my chest.

Kids? I hadn't experienced it yet, but Ken told me kids sometimes play bell-tag, ringing everyone's doorbell in the building and then tearing outside to hide. Plausible, though kinda far-fetched in the rain. One of the neighbors maybe? A drunk? The wrong door? Possible, I guessed. I had taken a few moments to make it to the peephole. I was about to drop my arms and head back to the bedroom when a thought stopped me cold.

Could someone know? Could the doorbell be a wake-up call, someone saying Hi there, I know what you did? What if he had slipped a note or something under my door? I hurried back to the foyer but discovered no note. What if he taped a note to the outside of my door? Alarmed and breathless, I stuck my eye back to the peephole, made sure the landing was empty, and then twisted open the deadlock and unlocked the door and opened it an inch. There was no note, but there was a box.

Oh, no, I groaned. What is that?

Trembling now, I twisted my head back and forth to make sure the landing was truly empty, listened carefully for breathing, or any sound that might signal a lurker outside, and then closed the door and clumsily slid the chain to the side. Then I opened the door wide enough to see the entire package on the floor. "Fuck," I muttered to myself.

The package was a plain brown cardboard shipping box, sealed across the top with transparent shipping tape. There was no label, and no markings of any kind that I could see. Still trembling, I nudged the box with my left big toe and slid it 6" back. It was not empty, weighing, I guessed, in the neighborhood of five pounds. I couldn't stop trembling and I couldn't stop biting my lower lip. I hated this box.

You can't leave it out there, I told myself.

What if it's a bomb?

Oh, please ... Really? A bomb?

Feeling stupid as well as embarrassed, I stooped down and picked up the box. Something shifted inside, something heavy enough to unbalance the box, making me almost drop it. Quickly I brought it inside and closed the door. I didn't lock it yet, in case I need to throw the box back out. I put it on the mail desk and stood back, arms crossed again and worrying my thumbnail. This was bad. No matter what it was, this was bad.

I looked at the door, and then back at the box. I looked at the balcony curtains and then back at the box. I looked at the kitchen and through it with my x-ray eyes at my bedroom window, the probably cause of this trouble, whatever it was, and then back at the box.

Bullshit, I told myself, you're the cause of this trouble, not the bedroom window. I sighed, and then shuffled forward to the box.

Whoever had sealed it doubled over one end of the tape as a pull. Dutifully, I pulled the tape up the side of the box, across the top and let it fall down the other side. I then crossed my arms again and stared at the lid.

Don't be such a wuss.

I'm afraid to open the lid.

Of course you are. Open it anyway.

I did, lifting one side and then the other, and then the two end flaps.

Inside, still in their sealed blister packs were three huge dildos: one white, and the other two black. I gasped and skipped back, releasing the lids, which fell back into place. I continued backing until I hit the rail, and then twisted my head to look at the balcony curtains.

I was panic-stricken. Someone knew my secret. Apparently, someone knew all my secrets. Mewling pitifully, I backed from the box and covered my mouth with my right hand. My left arm remained over my chest, clutching me. I stumbled on the edge of the step-down and wind-milled a moment, before stepping down into the living room and stumbling four steps into the coffee table.

"Ow!" I complained shrilly, grabbing both my shin and my toes, three of which I'd stubbed on the unforgiving wood. Tearing, I looked up at the box, accused it unfairly, This is your fault, massaged my sore toes and sat down in the chair to consider.

Was this Ken? No kids had left that box in the damned hallway. Ken seemed the best bet: he knew what I liked and was not above a practical joke. But I had talked to Ken two hours ago, and unless he'd lied to me about being in Buffalo, it couldn't be him.

Then who?

I began to tremble all over and clutched myself across the chest. My teeth started to chatter and I made mewling noises again. I hunched over to control my shivering. And then, some defiant part of me asked, So what?

What do you mean, So what?"

It's not like you didn't ask for this, Michelle.

I sat up, indignant. What are you talking about?

My defiant side laughed. I blushed, acknowledging the point.

"Oh, shut up," I muttered reproachfully and stood up.

The dildos were all Doc Johnson's. The same brand as my own, though all considerably larger. I laughed at the understatement. The one Ken bought me and which had been in my vagina only a short time ago was 7" long, with imitation testicles and scrotum forming a flat base. It could stand vertically. The next size up, the 9" older brother of my dildo was the smallest of the three in the box. Ballsy Super Cock it said on the package. It was an order of magnitude larger than my own, at least to my inexperienced eyes. It alone would challenge my vagina. The other two dildos were monsters.

I emitted a sudden, embarrassing giggle and mortified, looked at the apartment door, and then guiltily at the balcony drapes. I knew without any conscious decision that these were not from a neighbor. Someone had seen me. Someone with binoculars, obviously, though how I still didn't know. I never did anything with a light on.

The answer was obvious, of course: Infrared. Someone had watched me using infrared binoculars. I had never even considered it--idiotic, considering this was 2011 and everyone and his brother had night-vision binoculars ... I had even seen reports on the nightly news: No privacy, even in your home!

Chagrined, I unconsciously tightened the robe at my throat and felt totally violated.

The two remaining dildos, both black were a joke. Neither could be used on a normal 22 year old female. Certainly not on me. The smaller was 12" long—just the shaft was 12" long!—with a suction cup at the base. The shaft was roughly circular at the base, a poor representation of balls. I shivered, imagining me lowering myself onto that. It was twice the thickness of my 7" dildo.

The larger dildo was just ridiculous. Ludicrous. I picked it up and gazed at it in awe. 18" long, the package said. I believed it, without doubt. It too was all shaft with a slightly rounded base and a suction cup at the end. It must weight 3 or 4 lbs.

I laughed, imagining Ken brandishing it at me, grinning like a pirate. Ahoy, me Lassie. Prepare to be skewered. It was big around as a Coke can, probably larger, with a head the size of a Rhinoceros's. What it would do to my ... I shoved that thought away roughly. And then I noticed the note.

Oh, my God ... there was a note. Horrified, I backed away again.

It was short and impersonal. No greeting, no explanation, no threats of blackmail, no taunts. Just a man's semi-neat handwriting noting two website addresses; one each, corresponding to one of the monstrous dildos. Both were to the website xHamster. I'd never heard of it.

Going to the bedroom, I grabbed my laptop off the desk and took it anxiously into the dining room and sat down. One news report I'd seen claimed some infrared devices peer right through your blinds and drapes and into your bedroom to see you--or the infrared image of you--and whatever you were doing. Considering my proclivities, I should have paid more attention, I realized. I typed in the first address and sat back.

It was my 12" long dildo. It was suction-cupped to a kitchen floor—I assumed it was a kitchen as the floor was linoleum and I could see the bottom of what looked like the dishwasher on one side, and the stove on the other. Some cabinets, and a discarded black t-shirt? Anyway, the camera was on the floor and the video was titled "Ramming my gay ass on a huge anal dildo." I winced, guessing what came next.

A naked pair of legs strode past the camera and a man positioned himself and without hesitation lowered himself onto the dildo. He'd obviously been doing this for a while because he immediately began to fuck himself, rushing up and down the shaft like he did this every day instead of running. My eyes practically burst out of my head when he rammed down and took the entire dildo up his ass.

No way! I shouted mentally. I stared open mouthed as the guy again and again impaled himself, taking the entire shaft up his ass. It was impossible. The human rectum was not that long. I knew this for a fact because I could barely take the length of my 7" dildo, and the shaft of that is only 5" long. The white dildo in the box would bottom me out, I was sure of it. And yet, this man was slamming up and down on this dildo's impossible length like it was 4:" long. Either men were different than women, or rectums stretched a whole lot farther than I had imagined

I finished the video, and then watched it again, equally mesmerized. Did my secret admirer think I was a guy? Was he suggesting a use? Was this just the most demonstrable video he'd found for the 12" dildo's use? I hunched my shoulders and blushed in embarrassment. He'd obviously watched me take the dildo up my ass. I did this often, when the need for a cock overwhelmed my satisfaction with the vibrator. He must have seen this. And imagined I would like something more adventurous, something bigger for my ass? I looked at the kitchen wall, happy in the certainty that no infrared device could see me through brick and mortar, drywall and stud construction. But I hated that my nipples were hard and my groin buzzing expectantly.

Frustrated, I typed in the second address and was confronted by another gay guy, this one on his hands and knees with my 18" dildo up his ass. Again my eyes popped out at the aggressive use of this dildo. I snapped my mouth closed at the same time I unconsciously drew my feet up and propped them on the edge of the seat cushion.

This was impossible. No human anus could stretch to that size. No human rectum, even a male's, could take that kind of pounding. He wasn't even taking it all, either. The video was entitled: "Anal dildo gay huge toy fucking." I watched it through to the end, amazed and aghast.

Below the video were two rows of related videos, represented by 1" square photos. Hovering the pointer above a photo showed a series of stills. One video made me blink in consternation. I didn't understand what I was seeing. Was that ... that couldn't be ... no way. I clicked the photo without viewing the stills and waited for the page to load. It just wasn't possible. I had to be seeing wrong. This was trick photography.

It took forever for the video to load and I fidgeted, waiting, worrying my thumbnail. I realized my toes were curled under and looked down at my feet, propped on the chair. I reminded myself of some neurotic teenager awaiting her boyfriends phone call. I put my feet down and my hands in my lap. Finally the video started and I wasn't seeing things. She was a slender blond in black thigh highs. She knelt on a flowered blue couch with the most monstrous dildo up her ass. Incongruously, a large stuffed bunny rabbit sat on the couch to her right, and a long black dildo on the cushion to her left. What she had up her ass was...

"Impossible," I said aloud. I swept hair behind my ears and leaned in close to the screen, almost nose to plastic. The dildo was a reddish gel, flared widely at the base, almost as big around as a dinner plate. The head was easily the size of a 2-litre bottle of Coke, maybe even larger. Half the shaft was in her and she was wagging her tail like a dog, slowly pushing it out. The head caught in her anus and she literally had to force it past the overextended ring. My mouth was almost as round as her stretched anus and my eyes the size of the dildo's base. I could not believe what I was seeing.

"Not possible," I kept repeating. The video, entitled "Huge anal dildo for my tiny cam girl" was only a minute and 57 seconds long. I watched it time and time again, no less flabbergasted each time. It seemed almost acceptable that she fisted herself with ease half a dozen times at the end.

How had she gotten the thing up her? The dildo was larger than every dildo in my apartment put together. I closed the lid of the laptop and crossed my arms. This guy, whoever he was, knew me better than I knew myself. He must have guessed I'd see the girl on the couch with the reddish dildo and become ferociously aroused, which I was. Why else show me the dildos being used anally? He knew I'd want to.

Standing up, I returned to the foyer and picked up the box and carried it to my bedroom.

No way was I opening the blinds. I was petrified, skittish as a 13 year old with a pair of hands groping her body the first time. I wanted privacy and closed blinds were not enough. Chewing my thumbnail, I wondered what to do. There was a heavy, rubber-backed insulated blanket in the bedroom closet. Ken had bought it as protection against power failures like we'd had two winters ago. I shook it out and eyed the vertical blinds. Just big enough, I thought. Grabbing the kitchen step stool, I draped the blanket over the top of the valance, then waited to see if it stayed. It didn't, so I grabbed a couple pair of Ken's sock and jammed them between the valance and the wall. The blanket now stayed, even when tugged on.

See through that, Mr. Smarty-pants, I thought. Of course, that sounded ludicrous, considering what I'd down in this apartment and what I planned to do.

My apartment. Imagine a rectangle 9" wide by 7" tall. Now divide the rectangle vertically into three equal quadrants, 3" wide. This is roughly the layout of my apartment.

In the top corner of the left quadrant is my apartment door. Running left to right from the door is my little foyer, including the hall closest. The rest of the quadrant is my living room and the balcony. The balcony is perhaps 1" tall at the bottom.

The middle quadrant consists of my dining room, kitchen and den, top to bottom. The kitchen has a door into the dining room and one into the den. A door in the den lets you step down into the living room.

On your imaginary rectangle, take a ¾" tall notch out of bottom of the right quadrant. This accounts for a step back in the face of the building; the den sticks out farther than the bedroom.

The right-hand quadrant consists of the bathroom, bedroom and walk-in closet. A short hallway gives access to the bathroom and bedroom. The hallway is about 4' long and runs left to right in the floor plan. If you walk down the hallway, the door on your left is the bathroom, and the one on the right is the bedroom. Straight ahead is the linen closet. The tub is on the right-hand side of the bathroom, and backs against the walk-in closet, which runs vertically in the right hand corner of the rectangle, the length of the bathroom and linen closet. The rest of the right-hand quadrant is my bedroom. The door to the walk-in closet is in the upper right corner, the bedroom door in the left.

My bedroom window faces the parking lot. My bed is parallel to the window and the headboard is against the end wall, meaning that I look out the window laying in bed. I have the right side of the bed, closet the window; Ken has the left-side, closest the closet and bedroom doors. I explain this in order for you to understand what I do. Earlier tonight, when I was so blissfully enjoying my dildo and vibrator, well sometimes I do that in front of the open bedroom window.

OK, I've said it. I'm a depraved exhibitionist. Well, maybe not depraved; men are depraved. Shameless, then. Anyway, I've done some really stupid things.

Tonight, for a reason I can't really explain, I had not been exhibiting myself. Ken works shifts, and on the nights he works, I sometimes enjoy myself. Tonight was unusual in respects that I'll explain later on.

Despite the insulated blanket over the window, I remained skittish. What if his binoculars could see my heat image right through the rubber mat. I was the only thing giving off heat in the bedroom besides the light, and I didn't like that idea. After a long moment's consideration, I carried the box back into the dining room and sat it on the table. Looking at your sketch fo my floor plan (assuming you made one), you'll see that I was quite protected there, invisible from any prying eyes, human or electronic. But what did I intend to do?

"What are you going to do?" I asked aloud. What I wanted to do, of course, was try out the proffered dildos. I had dashed into the bedroom in a state of overwhelming arousal; sitting at the dining room table now, considering things with relative dispassion, I looked at things rationally. I wanted the two smaller dildos in my ass, and the larger one for my vagina. (I doubted I had the courage, despite the evidence of the videos, to attempt anything that big anally.) I opened the box and peered inside. First, were they safe?

I lifted out the 9" Super Ballsy-Cock and inspected the package. It was not up to that of say, electronic items, but I detected nothing to indicate the package had been opened before. Neither the package for the 12" long cock. The 18" ogre was in a box, but both ends were sealed with those round plastic circles, and they both looked un-tampered with. So I assumed all three dildo's were new and unused. And then I noticed something else. Hidden in the bottom inside crumpled paper was a jar of KY Jelly. I removed it, ogling the jumbo container, the size of a Vaseline jar, which it was meant to replace, I guess. I searched through the remaining paper and discovered two cartons of KY Personal Lubricant, the size and kind Ken and I use. Now I really was embarrassed. I looked again through the kitchen and den with my x-ray eyes at the parking lot.

I should explain my apartment development. It's laid out like a stylized, mirror-image letter K. Actually, the parking lot is, with the buildings grouped in clusters along it. If you Google the place, the shape is readily apparent. It could also be construed as the stylized image of a man, facing left, in profile, like what you might see in Egyptian hieroglyphics or in the Andean desert. His arms are raised in homage or offering, his right leg forward, his left leg back, in line with his body. My apartment complex is located at the tip of his right foot, running vertically out of the ground. It's comprised of three separate buildings, my building being the first out of the ground. Each floor contains six apartments; two bedroom apartments on the left side of the building; one-bedroom apartments, like mine, on the right side. Each building is three stories tall. I am (or was) in the front, 2^nd floor apartment.

In front of the man's right leg, starting about mid-shin and extending to about his waist is a two-building complex, and directly across from me at twice the distance is another two-building complex, in front of his left leg. It's tilted away from my building at about a 15 degree angle. The end of those two buildings and mine are roughly aligned at the man's ground level. It's that two-building set of apartments I had to worry about. The other two buildings were too far to my left to offer a view into my bedroom window.

Of the six apartments with a view of my bedroom window (all are one-bedroom's I later discovered), the apartments on the far left offered the best chance. This would actually be three apartments, one on each level. I figured the 2^nd and 3^rd floor apartments offered the best chance; the ones on the ground floor, not so likely, due to elevation differences, but still possible, I guess.

The apartments to the right of that 3-story stack offered a more restricted view of my bedroom, but still plainly saw my bed. My best guess was the top left or the apartment just below it. Sitting there at the dining room table, I could envision it in my mind's eye. And felt depressed. How could I be so stupid? At least, I wasn't being stupid now.

I wanted the black, 12" long cock. I'd reserve the 9" Super Ballsy-Cock for when I went to bed later on, after some of the anxiety passed. The truth was, I wanted to see if I could handle something so big. The thought had me trembling.

Refusing to stand the thing upright off the kitchen floor, I looked around for an alternate place to stick it. The dining room wall immediately came to mind; but I saw a problem there too. I wanted the dildo all the way in me; planting it against the wall could keep me from doing that. My toes might hit the baseboard, and I had no experience fucking a dildo suctioned to the wall. A second option presented itself: The kitchen doorway? I could straddle the wall either side and press back against the jamb. Excited, I dropped to my knees and gave the position a try. It worked perfectly, except my head hit the doorway on the other side when I mimed drawing myself off the dildo, making me laugh. It felt good to laugh.

I trembled, opening the blister pack. I reminded myself—unnecessarily—that I had been given this by party unknown, for the express purpose of humiliating myself further, a purpose I seemed bent on fulfilling. And didn't care. Freeing it, I took it to the kitchen sink and scrubbed the dildo thoroughly with dishwashing detergent, a task I would have performed regardless. Then I dried and weighed it in my hand.

The guy in the video had put this whole thing us his ass, all 12" of it. It seemed impossible to me. For me, at least. The 9" dildo would be a sufficient test of my capabilities, but I didn't really even consider it. I wanted this dildo up my ass.

I had never stuck a dildo on a wall before. I repeated my earlier test and placed my thumb where the dildo should go, then ground my thumb against the paint to leave a mark. Barely distinguishable, but there. I centered the suction cup over the mark and pressed it on. It hung there, drooping naturally, looking horribly real. I giggled and covered my mouth. I shouldn't do this, I thought. I shed the robe, dropped to my knees and hiked up my nightie. Of course, I had forgotten the KY jelly. Sighing, I stood up an retrieved the jar from the dining room table. Glancing at the waiting dildo, I decided I would need it.

It was after 4 A.M. I was sore as a bride on her wedding night. The virgin bride of Lexington Steele, the porn star. I could barely move. I'd be so sore in the morning.

I was in bed, having finally given in to the need to rest. I was on my tummy with my new 9" fella up my behind, and the vibrator purring happily inside my vagina. My arms were limp at my sides and my face turned to the window. It was still covered by the thermal blanket, so I felt relatively safe. Relatively. Safe enough to be laying there, anyway.

I was in my panties, as well as the nightie. It was a pair Ken had never seen before. They were pushed halfway down my behind, just below the shaft of the dildo. The base overlaid them, tight to the soft material. I had my legs spread, wide enough to allow my fingertips to gently rotate the vibrator when needed. I was laying atop one on my pillows, elevating me slightly. As big as it was, I could barely feel the dildo up my rear end. It was more an emotional presence inside me than a physical one. I was a very happy girl.

I had fucked myself silly with both larger dildos. I had promised my rear end I wouldn't subject it to the 18" monster, but I had broke my promise. I did it only once, but once was enough. That's not why I hurt so badly though; that was the 12" dildo's doing. More precisely, my doings with it.

In the kitchen doorway I had opened the jar of KY and personally lubed the entire shaft with my fingertips. Then I personally lubed myself, using my fingertips again. I lubed myself inside and out. My vagina, I mean. I had committed myself to the thing anally, but I wanted vaginal intercourse with it first. Dropping to one hand, I flipped the nightie up to my waist and backed to the dildo. I touched it along the top of the shaft and repositioned it with my fingertips. I eased back, holding my breath, relocating it in my opening. It was alarmingly big, larger than anything I'd ever put in me before. I should have begun with the 9" dildo, I thought. Regardless, I pushed back until the head forced its way in, making me wince and gasp softly. Wow, that was big!

I waited a moment. "OK," I whispered, "you can do this." I kept imagining someone across the parking lot watching me do this. If not watching, then imagining. The same way I was imagining him, watching me. I pushed back a little more, and the dildo inched in a corresponding distance. I could not imagine anyone slamming himself or herself up and down this shaft. That was insane. I eased forward and then back, forward and back, accustomizing myself to the girth, or trying to. It was a lot to be accustomed to. I breathed through my mouth, found myself staring blankly at the jamb ahead, alternately approaching and retreating from my face.

I had never cheated on Ken. I didn't consider what I did to myself in his absence as cheating. It was simply pleasuring myself, as I'd done all my life. I knew he masturbated in private--all guys do--so he must suspect I did the same. This gifted dildo though--specifically what I was doing with it—may have crossed the line. I felt I was cheating on him now, in some form or another. I was fucking someone else in essence, if not in fact. It might as well be his cock. This should have bothered me more than it did.

The KY did its job and within minutes I was sliding to my limit up and down the shaft. Each push backward drove the tip in a little deeper; each thrust against my cervix stretched me and made me longer. In five short minutes I was screwing the dildo as hard as I'd screwed anything in my life. I panted, my hair swinging back and forth. I repositioned myself to get the best position, looking back over my shoulder to watch the glistening shaft appear and disappear, looking between my legs so that my hair brushed the floor. I lowered myself until my nipples brushed floor also, my left nipple on linoleum, my right against the dining room carpet. I was enjoying myself way too much.

How much am I taking, I wondered? I reached back and felt 4 of the 12 inches protruding from my vagina. I wanted it all, but knew I'd rupture something achieving that. A vagina could stretch only so far. So I concentrated on getting as much enjoyment from the shaft as I could.

Minutes went by. I grew more aggressive, more aroused, more agitated. Holy God, I thought. I was so glad no one could see me. I was practically wanton in my fucking and I did things to the dildo that I'd never done to a real cock, like talking to it, asking it to fuck me harder, telling it what an ideal lover it was, promising it could take me up the ass as soon as it wanted, and assuring it that I'd never had black up my ass before. It was my first. I couldn't wait any longer. I had to have it.