My mate, Tom, has a nice little business going. He insulates roof
spaces. Now this may not sound much but he gets to clear out a fair few
attics which have not seen a human face for many years. It is
surprising, as well as quite financially rewarding and amusing, to get
his hands on some of the stuff he finds when clearing the rubbish so he
can lay the insulation between the rafters.
A couple of weeks ago, after I was made redundant, we were working on the roof space of this old house which had just been bought by a young couple who were refurbishing it.
“Here,” said Tom picking up a cardboard box and shaking it, “This might interest you being a mechanical fanatic. Sounds like a lot of metal bits.” He passed me the box and got to sorting through some dusty magazines.
I took the box.
Patents Pending World-wide.
Simple to assemble with powerful clockwork drive.
Hours of fun for one!
I undid the string holding the lid on and peered inside. Lots of neatly wrapped bits of metal greeted me. “Never been assembled by the looks of it. Bit rusty but I could clean it up and see what it does. Sure you don’t want it?”
“No, I’ll stick to these Victorian postcards. Look at this! He must have been a right dirty old man who had this house. I reckon I’ll get a few bob for these down at that antique shop. I’ve sold him stuff like this before. Reckons there’s collectors of these postcards. Look at this one! Got big tits but a corset that would fit a horse. You can see more than this on the computer.”
“Alright, I’ll have the kit, you can have the postcards.”
The postcards and kit went into a black bag and we sorted through the rest of the rubbish and mouse droppings before we knocked off for the day and stuffed our dusty overalls in a bag and dumped our face masks.
“That the lot?” asked the young woman who owned the house.
“Yes, madam. We’ll be back to fit the insulation tomorrow.” I gave her a good check over. Firm little tits unfettered by a bra. Just covered with a tight top that only just made it under them. I’d have liked to see her lift her arms. Blue denim shorts which were tight enough to slide into her crack with shapely legs drifting out of them. COR! Wonder her husband left her alone with a couple of randy workmen.
”See you tomorrow, Madam.”
I chucked the bags of rubbish into the truck and we were away. Tom dropped me off and I made for home and my missus, Jenny.
Just after tea I collected my bag and set off to my workshop at the bottom of our garden, much to the disgust of my Jenny, but then I could not bear the thought of another evening of soaps on TV.
“You off down that shed of yours again,” she moaned.
“Found a Victoria mechanical toy in the attic this afternoon. Might be worth a bob or two cleaned up.”
”Anything to get away from me I suppose?”
”Of course not, dear,” I replied making a scoot down the garden.
It was peaceful in my workshop as I opened the box and started to take out the slightly rusty bits in their crumbly waxed paper. I laid them out on my cleaned up bench and checked them against the inventory on the lid. Except for a few screws everything tallied. Thank goodness. I took out the clockwork motor and marveled at its quality. Mainly brass gears and plates. I blew off the dust and then dunked it in spirit to wash off the hardened grease. Another blow and a spray with WD40 and it turned over treat. A little oil on its bearings and I set it to drain on a couple of sheets of newspaper. The bits and bobs were polished up free of rust with steel wool and more WD40 before being wiped dry and sprayed with a nice gold Hammerite coating. Nearly a match for their original colour.
Finally I opened the smaller box which was packed with cotton wool and three, no four, glass tubes. Each of these had a metal cap at the end and a screw connector to a wire running inside it. They were covered in dust and obviously needed a wash. I looked at my watch, better get inside or ‘her indoors’ would be moaning again. I left the metal bits to dry and took the glass components indoors and gave them a wash in soapy water before drying them and returning them to their box each neatly wrapped in a poly bag. Tomorrow I would assemble the bits.
We finished installing most of the insulation the next day, Friday, and as Tom wanted the Saturday off I agreed to finish the job on my own.
“I’ll be back for a couple of hours tomorrow, Madam.” I said as we left. “And by the way I think you had better see that piece of Victorian engineering I found in the loft. I have cleaned it up and I think it might be worth quite a bit and I wouldn’t want anybody to think I pinched it.”
“I work in an antiques shop so I might be able to put a price on it,” said she of the unfettered tits and short skirt.
I assembled the bits that evening and checked it out. Everything ran and
the little dynamo gave quite a buzz when I held the wire and spun the shaft. The instructions made it quite clear how to use it and I was finding it difficult to
think how I could explain its use to Madam of the - alright, you get the picture!
I dragged the tank lagging up to the front door and rung the bell. Madam appeared at the door in a rather flimsy dressing gown and a look as though she had only just got out of bed. I followed her appreciatively up the stairs with the lagging and, leaving her on the landing, got into the loft. I had draped one tank in its plastic bag full of fiberglass when a voice filtered up through the loft door. “Do you want a cup of tea? You can show me the automaton as we drink it.”
Get it over with. I dropped through the loft door and went to my truck to pull out the black bag with the - what did she call it - automaton in it.
She was sitting at one end of the coffee table still in her dressing gown.
“I think I should explain,” I said warily, “I did not know what it was when I assembled it and well...”
She shuffled forward in her seat to get a better look in the bag. This worked her dressing gown up her legs and it draped itself down each side as she sat there giving me a part look at her fanny. No hair I thought inconsequentially as I unwrapped the machine.
“What is it?” she asked leaning forward and letting the neck of her dressing gown slip open, she pulled it closed but did not repeat the performance when it opened again. Nice perky little tits as I had thought. “There are a lot of singing birds and that sort of thing still in working order.”
This was going to be embarrassing. “Well it’s a sort of machine for keeping wives happy when their husband is away.”
She looked at the machine laying exposed, if I dare use that word, on the table. I gave her the instruction manual and she flipped rapidly to the instructions on how to use it.
“Oh! It’s a sort of Clockwork Cock,” she said with a pink blush finding its way onto her cheek. “Do you think it works?”
”I didn’t like to try it on my wife,” I said looking away from her ever more exposed body, “She’s a bit er... stuffy about such things.”
Possibly more to the point I do not want a competitor.
“Well, my husband is away this weekend so I had better test it out. Can you carry it up to the bedroom for me, please?”
I could and I did. I carefully set it down on the bed and explained what the switches and levers did. “I’ll leave you to it then. I’ve got one more tank to lag.” ’And I’d better get rid of the hard on before I give you the bill I thought or I’ll never get close enough to hand it to you.’
She started to tug the knot at the waist of her dressing gown open. “No, you must show me how it works.” She let the dressing gown fall to the floor and stood there naked looking at it. “Shall I lay down with those glass bits between my legs?”
I am sure doctors find it difficult to concentrate on the job in hand when examining naked women. Think how much more difficult it is for an innocent out of work lagging installer when a beautiful and naked girl offers to spread herself open for me to do a demo of the ‘Clockwork Cock’ as she had called it. She sat on the bed and then wriggled down so that the machine was neatly placed between her legs and everything it was going to attack was open to my gaze.
“I’m a bit of a wriggler when I get excited,” she said peering at the machine’s oversized bits, “You’ll find some cord in that drawer there to tie my hands and feet to the bed.” She smiled at me disarmingly, “If you would be so kind.”
I wondered if my zip would stand the strain as I fixed the cords.
“OK then, let’s go and try out this wonder of Victorian ingenuity.” I adjusted the arms with their fur covered ends so that they sat on those now so perky nipples. After she opened her pink and flushed lips with two fingers to allow me access to her vagina, as she obligingly spread her legs further apart to make my job even easier, I adjusted the glass cock so it was just entering her soaking wet pussy. I set the butt plug so that it was between the cheeks of her rounded, firm bum and just making its entrance to her arsehole.
“Ready?” I asked just in time to avoid spilling my lot in my pants.
“Go,Go, GO!” she called tensing herself against the cords.
I turned the machine on and stood back watching - in case of emergencies, you understand - as the machine went to work. The furry tipped arms slid around her nipples and they grew ever plumper. The glass cock moved forward, gently with only the tip entering her at first and then deeper and deeper and as she started her orgasm its extension covered with chamois leather flicked her clit with each stroke. The bum plug moved in and she started thrashing at the stimulation she was getting from the machine at both orifices but could not escape from it as the cords held firm. I had tied them tight enough to prevent her escape despite her struggles. Then the little dynamo cut in. She strained at the cords as her body became rigid just before her climax.
The shock ran through her body again and again and she orgasmed with a loud, shrill scream, and again, and again. The sweat ran off her body at the intensity of her stimulation.
Then the clockwork motor ran down. She was knackered to put it mildly as she sprawled on the bed and so was I from watching her. I could have made a fortune from a movie of her struggles. I released the cords and she gathered herself up to slowly draw out the plugs which had stopped deep inside of her. Eventually she managed to speak. “I have never, ever orgasmed like that,” she almost whispered. “I don’t think I could go through that again for a while.”
She slid her feet over the side of the bed and sat looking at the bulge in my trousers. “Is that insulation or did that excite you too?” she asked.
I tried to stand sideways. How much was due to the machine and how much due to her performance I was uncertain. Maybe I should wind it up again.
“I saw in the instructions that the other fittings in that little box are for the male member, as it so nicely put it. I think I should get to see you being attacked by that machine. Purely so that I can guarantee its performance when I sell it you understand. Fit the bits on and get naked while I wind up the spring.”
Those Victorians certainly knew how to make entertaining automata as I was able to judge personally that morning.
I fitted the last of the lagging on Monday after using Sunday to recuperate. I told Jenny it was hot in the loft and very exhausting.
A thousand pounds in a brown envelope was handed over with the cheque for the insulation work which was very handy until I found a new job. I never did see the machine in the antique shop window.