The use of the word 'Box' has nothing to do with the feminine organ, you dirty boys, who should not be here in the first place. My fine uplifting (of your friendly penis) stories are meant only for those folks who have passed their 18th birthday.
It's hard to remember back ten years before Henry Wilson invented the Masturbation Box. The world is so different now.
Henry was an employee at Space Age Technologies, same as me. Me? I'm Jeff Gold, the first salesman for this device. Henry came upon the idea of the box while working on a massage unit to be used by astronauts during long space flights. Crampy muscles are a real pain in the butt and other places on those flights. The fabrication of the plastic hands that mimicked real flesh was his main breakthrough, the rest came naturally to Henry, a bachelor and devoted wanker.
I don't want to be unkind to Henry. I loved Henry, but I could see why he was what he was. Henry was a dwarf. Not one of the cute ones. No, Henry was pretty homely. Worse, he had little personal charm to over come his deficiencies. I must say in his defense, that in one area he was definitely not lacking. His penis was a wopper. I saw it at the gym. Soft is must have been six inches. Erected, he told me, ten inches. No woman had yet enjoyed it and it seemed likely that no woman would. Hence his struggle to perfect the box.
He considered me an assistant, so I got to see it first...and try it out. "Jeff," he called in his high squeaky voice, "Here it is, fully completed. I suggest you take it to the toilet at the end of the hall. Lock the door. You can plug it in or use the current from the rechargeable battery pack."
"Okay Boss." As I took the box from him I looked it over. It was finished in a soft plastic that felt warm. The color was pinkish tan; perhaps it might be called flesh color if you were a white guy.
Henry looked particularly ugly today. But truly he was a genius. As I headed to the men's room holding the box that was about ten inches square and weighed about eight pounds, I thought of Steinmetz, the electrical genius. He was also a homely guy and also a genius.
Once in the men's room I turned on the box. In hummed softly producing a kind of white sound that was soothing and almost hypnotic. I was fast zoning out, but also getting a little horny. What a devil Henry is.
I dropped my pants and under shorts. I had not received operating directions. Henry said, "You will find it obvious."
I held the box in two hands and brought it in opposition to my prick that was plumping up in anticipation of pleasurable activity. Suddenly I let out a moan. Two hands came out of the box and lovingly caressed my prick. I was transported back to those hot bedtime wrestles with my fourteen year old sleepovers.
The hands seemed to know every exciting spot. The thumb wiped over my piss slit, spreading pre cum around. It varied its motions from vigorous shaft shagging to almost too soft caresses. I was going nuts. I was making entirely too much noise, gasping, rasping and moaning and crooning, plus hiccupping and burping from the good feelings.
Suddenly a message appeared on the dark panel. I hadn't realized it was a screen. "You will ejaculate in less than a minute. Allow your discharge to go directly into the machine. The machine is self cleansing after each use."
I was in no intellectual mood to digest this terse info; I was a stroke away from a heavy cum. I closed my eyes and let it happen, screaming like a girlie as it hit.
When it was over, I heard the machine gurgling. I guessed that was the "cleanup."
"So how was it?" asked Henry when I returned to the lab.
"Henry, congratulate us. The machine that I have named Lover and I am engaged. Get the preacher on the phone."
I began to dance around the lab. "I'm getting' married in the morning," the song from "My Fair Lady."
"Henry, you have a hit. We've got to get this to manufact and stockpile and few thousand. I can't sell without merchandise."
Well that was the beginning. The dawn of a new society was launched. They sold so well that before six months was passed, over a million were installed. Installed in rest rooms, barracks, hotels, motels, and even more secreted in guy's bedrooms.
It wasn't all positive. Several religious organizations were trying to get a law passed that would ban them. They felt it was a form of birth control. Yes, they had a point. Guys paid less attention to girls. Some wives, though, loved it. "It keeps 'him' from bothering me."
Then there was the question of it's use by underage boys just learning about wanking. They tended to overuse it.
It certainly was a strange sight to go into the large men's room at Grand Central Station where each urinal had one installed and heard the cacophony of sounds coming from the men in total passion.
Sociologists pointed out that the birth rate had declined. Some were worried, other said there were too many people on Earth anyway. Wars seemed to peter out (an apt expression) because men were less aggressive. Life seemed easy and pleasant, but then bar business was down as well as couple matching services.
Some thinkers believed that men might discontinue sexual intercourse for procreation entirely. There was some indication that this might be true. But the whole gay population was entranced by the device. A group of them developed an add-on that was called the Nipple Stimulator and the gay boys were walking around with them slung over their shoulders. A whole fashion industry developed offering elaborate covers for the machine and matching shoulder straps.
I wondered where this might end. As for me, I became, like so many others, a slave to Lover. It seemed to be able to produce more vigorous and satisfying cums than I had ever had before. I met a guy who noticed me carrying mine on my shoulder. He had one also. He suggested that we go somewhere and use them together. "Sort of mutual masturbation," he said with a laugh.
These were prescient words. What was slowly happening is that men's social side began to reject this lonely Onanism. Clubs formed for sex box orgies. Pretty soon guys would date girls, asking them to bring their vibrators and they would get off together.
What do you think was the final development? One guy must have said, "Hey, put the box down, let me try."
They both liked it. Same thing happened with boys and girls. Within two years the sales of boxes had plunged. People were turning to each other again. It almost became a rage. The boxes were removed from public areas and home versions were put up in the attic along with unused exercise bikes and rowing machines, gathering dust.
Henry was fired. Somehow the board of directors felt he had dragged the company into disrepute. I met him at a bar a few months ago. He looked even more bedraggled than before. He told me that he had been keeping body and soul together by joining dwarf-tossing contests. How sad!
"But soon I will on top again. Perhaps you would like to help me market my new device."
"What is it?"
"It's ass fucker."
"M-m-m," I said, "That has possibilities. Do you have a working model I might try?
End