(The accompanying text contains themes of addiction.)

It started with an experiment. Trying something weird out for the hell of it. The kink club had a bed set up with a machine that slammed your face with a big plunger. The idea sounded funny, so she thought she'd give it a go, and she wasn't ready for the absolute euphoria that came out of it. She ended up spending three whole hours strapped to it before getting hauled off for some aftercare, others generally content to gawk while she got lost in this inexplicable sensation - though the fact that she was droned up and having her null bulge drilled the whole time made it a good show. The closest she could get to describing it was like turning your face into a null bulge, but even that wasn't quite right. She'd kinda given up on trying to articulate the sensations of the esoteric extremes of her sex life with any accuracy.

To her pleasant surprise, she found that she could in fact order those same plunger masks online - she bought the same one she'd experienced at the club, with an extra little strap harness. Naturally, she wanted to play with her new toy when it arrived - her intent was to test the fit then use it as part of a more extravagant solo session, though she got a little carried away with the fit test, manually pumping it on her face for over an hour before her arms got so tired that she'd have to save the main event for the weekend. They did sell pumping machines on the website but oh boy were they expensive.

Her new favourite toy soon saw daily use. When she had the energy she'd suit up, straddle her sybian and relish in a desperate hour of edging while she mashed the plunger into her own face. It felt indescribably, embarrassingly good. Her playmates thought she was joking when she said she loved her experience at the club, and she never brought it up again. Other times, she'd just lay in bed, not even masturbating, just slowly, steadily, working the plunger. In and out, in and out. Stretch and smoosh.

The first time she slept with the mask on came as something of a surprise. She didn't realise she'd fallen asleep with it on until after her alarm - until then she had dreamed of nothing but having her face mercilessly pummelled by the plunger, and greedily indulged the real thing in her half-awakeness. It was a good thing it was a work day, because she could very well have spent the rest of the day pumping away if she didn't have somewhere to be.

So naturally, come the weekend, she slept with it on again and didn't take it off until lunchtime on Saturday. On Sunday it was 4pm. It was just so easy to just leave it on, to while the day away in that gentle euphoria. Soon it became every night, like a sleeping mask. She hurried her other activities until she could retire for the evening, and retreat into the world of teal rubber and rhythmic pressure.

When she asked about the plunger bed at the club, they said it had been a loan and returned to its owner. Wasn't a hit, apparently. So she had a new venue to track down and ingratiate herself to. The owner could tell by the look of her how deep in she was. The way her hair was in a little bit of a mess, flattened at the front, like she'd just taken off a hair band. How round her face was now, the subtle impressions on her cheeks. She wouldn't be able to ride for free, but she could buy time on the plunger bed. It wasn't a petty sum either... but no more than say, a new video game. Not that she'd been playing many of those recently. Her entertainment budget had in fact been allowed to swell, somewhat. So what the heck. Why not? Book a day and come back for the real deal. 12 hours of non-stop hard pounding. Heaven. Naturally, when it was over, after stumbling home, she put her own plunger back on and went straight to bed, and the plunger remained on until Monday morning.

That was the first time she'd kept it on for over 24 hours. This was the tipping point. She realised that there was no limit. Her life began to revolve around it. The plunger mask went on as soon as she came home and stayed on until she had to leave again. Even on weekends - even long weekends. Especially long weekends. 90 hours of non-stop, disorientated, breathless facepounding? The only thing that could top it was spending every moment she could on the real bed. Getting room wasn't hard, but after a splurge on a full three-day weekend strapped in, finding the money for it was hard. And work was noticing. She was regularly late, inattentive, even irritable. Not the qualities desired in a record store.

So drained of budget, on thin ice, and dreaming only of the mask... she figured out that she had just about enough time in her lunch hour to get home and pound the plunger for 30 minutes. Just set three alarms and she'd be fine. Just a little top-up to keep her going through the afternoon. She could trust herself to stop when she needed to...

Hi blame Shad for this brand new inexplicable fetish

FAQ
Q. Uhhh... with all kindness, what the heck am I looking at?
A. Here https://www.furaffinity.net/view/56112656/