The bell above the door of Madam Mimble’s Emporium of Enchanted Enticements jangled with a melodious clatter—not unlike the giggle of a pixie who’d just witnessed something deeply inappropriate.

Madam Mimble looked up from her ledgers. “Tessa, darling, the box has arrived.”

Tessa, balancing precariously on a stepladder while dusting the top shelf of Elixirs for the Insatiable, blinked down. “The box, Madam?”

“The one from Bandwith & Blüm’s Experimental Line. You know—the fellows who patented the Inflatable Succubus Hammock.”

Tessa paled. That thing had suction. “Oh. That box.”

The package in question sat on the counter now—square, unassuming, wrapped in paper that glimmered subtly, like it knew secrets it shouldn’t. Across the top, someone had scrawled in curly, hurried handwriting: “Field-Test Required. Do Not Activate Near Livestock.”

Tessa climbed down, smoothing her skirts. “Do we, um… have any idea what it does?”

Madam Mimble smiled with a wicked gleam. “Not a clue. You know how the testing protocols work, dear.”

Tessa sighed. She did. She always did.

She untied the ribbon—and the box didn’t so much open as inhale, folding itself inwards with a soft slurp. In its place stood a contraption made of brass and silk and suggestion. It looked like a throne, a telescope, and a gynecologist’s chair had all gotten randy in a broom cupboard and produced a lovechild.

It had belts. It had levers. It purred.

There was a small plaque on the front:

“The Orgasmatron 7000 – ‘For Exploratory Use Only’.”

Madam Mimble clapped her hands. “On you go, Tessa!”

“Wait—what am I meant to do?”

The machine answered. With a mechanical shudder, it rotated, one leg-piece folding down, the seat reclined invitingly. A velvet voice—genderless, oddly posh—echoed from somewhere inside the device.

“Please mount the Exploratory Module. Clothing optional.”

Tessa glanced at Madam Mimble, who just nodded encouragingly. “For science, dear.”

Muttering “for science” like a prayer, Tessa stepped out of her shoes and stripped with careful reluctance—though the glint in her eye betrayed a thrill she refused to admit. She lowered herself into the machine.

The instant her bare skin touched the velvet-lined seat, straps looped around her wrists and ankles—firm but not cruel. A silken band circled her waist, another her throat. A warm breeze wafted up between her legs from a hidden vent, making her shiver.

A second plaque lit up on the dashboard:

“Welcome, Subject. Initiating Phase One: Stimulus Calibration.”

A mechanical arm emerged with what looked like a quill. It feathered its way along the underside of her thighs, her ribs, her neck. Goosebumps followed in its wake. Then, without warning, it dipped between her legs and began to write in precise cursive along her folds.

“This device is property of Bandwith & Blüm…”

Tessa gasped, her back arching as the words continued to inscribe themselves into her slickening flesh. Every stroke was maddening—too light to satisfy, too exact to ignore. She could feel it spelling “patent pending” against her clit.

She squirmed, breath ragged. “M-Madam M… it’s… spelling legal clauses…”

“Oh, excellent,” Madam Mimble said cheerfully, sipping tea. “That means the calibration’s working.”

The machine hummed and a second arm extended—this one tipped with something that looked disturbingly like a tiny, glistening tongue. It flicked once—directly onto her clit.

Tessa screamed.

What followed was a symphony of sensations. The arms worked in tandem—licking, sucking, writing, probing. One inserted something warm and pulsing into her wet folds, filling her just enough to feel stretched but needy. Another stimulated her nipples with rhythmic pulses of heat and pressure.

“Phase Two: Pleasure Overload Engaged,” the voice intoned.

Lights flared. Gears turned. Somewhere inside, a tiny orchestra struck up a triumphant overture. Tessa bucked against the restraints as orgasm after orgasm crashed through her like waves over a castle made of very sensitive sand.

When the machine finally released her, it lowered her gently onto a plush cushion on the floor, her body slick with sweat and glistening juices, her eyes unfocused, lips parted in a silly, satisfied smile.

Madam Mimble crouched beside her, lifting a brow. “So? Would you say it’s suitable for customer use?”

Tessa blinked. “I… I don’t know my own name right now…”

Mimble patted her cheek. “Perfect. Let’s order six.”

More Velvet Wand…