Flasher Sunday: Bad Design

I lowered my coffee cup and leaned across the breakfast table. “Honey?”

“Mmhmm?” Arthur was on autopilot, halfway through the Sunday cryptic crossword puzzle.

“My vibe’s broken. It’s not the batteries. It’s just dead.”

He looked up. “The little silver egg with the wired controller?”

“Yeah.”

“Bad design, considering its purpose,” he huffed.

“Can you fix it?”

He sighed and folded the newspaper. “Bring it here.”

Ten minutes later, the controller was open: its guts spilled out all over the table. The little silver orb bisected: its innards also exposed. Arthur played surgeon, soldering iron in one hand, the voltmeter’s probe in the other. I felt a sympathetic twinge of vulnerability for my dismembered little friend.

Finally exhaled and shook his head. “The motor’s fried, Sweetcakes. This thing is dead-dead.”

“What… what am I going to do?” I wailed, anticipating severe withdrawal symptoms.

Sweeping the broken toy to the floor, he flattened me onto the table and tugged my panties off. Within seconds he had two fingers deep in my cunt and his open mouth vacuumed sealed to my clit.

I came writhing, tugging at his hair, screaming obscenities.

“See, babe? You just need something with a more robust design.”

200 words.