Eden Fantasys sex toy review

Eden Fantasys sex toy review of pocket vibrator.

After I opened the box, my first impression was that jennas-vibe-with-attachments was small, much smaller than it looked like in the picture… hardly bigger than my thumb.  It was like a miniature vibrator, more of a salesmen’s sample… not quite the real thing.  It only had room for one AA battery.  And once I got it all put together and twisted the bottom its “vroom” was miniature too (if that is four out of five… than my Hitachi wanna-be would most likely rate 50 or 60) and to be honest, I need all vrooms I can get.

For straight masturbating, it is useless.  I would rather use my hand.  Putting on all the different little (key word “little”) attachments make very little difference… though I would caution you to make sure that little finger hand looking thing doesn’t have any sharp places.  (It’s pretty amazing how pokey “jelly” can be.)  Bottom line… my fingers work better.  And the Hitachi wanna-be works ten times better.   

Now for the upside… yes, it is very water proof… and yes, it helps in the shower solely for the fact that it gives me a critical two inches of extended reach and when one is contorted into his preferred angle, it is hard to get to exactly the right place.  It also gave one an excuse for only using only one hand to brace oneself against the forces banging ones forehead against the edge of the tub.  I still cannot come in there but with the aid of those four vrooms, I must say the enthusiasm hasn’t been quite so feigned.  It does manage nudge the aging libido enough to make the time in the shower waiting for the water to turn cold pass so much more pleasantly. 

So final assessment is that it is a “foreplay” vibrator rather than the “get the job done” kind of industrial earth mover I seem to require in order to orgasm.  So it is seeing some use… once a week.  In fact, it sits in my toothbrush cup, right next to the shower.  (And it’s so small and so innocent looking, at first glance it could be any sort of personal hygiene device.) 

So while it did not fulfill the fantasized function of orgasms in the shower, it has not ended up in the reject box.

Inspiration... water proof vibrator?

To begin with, you must remember that while sex is still an important part of our relationship, and lately, it is not by any definition epic... either in technique, frequency or sadly even results. 

First you must remember that Master is in charge of all aspects... when, where, how often, what... and you must remember that he is the kind of guy that eats the same thing for breakfast every day of the week.  Even when we go out to a restaurant, he orders the exact same thing... link sausages, hash browns, eggs over easy, wheat toast and orange juice.  And woe to the wee slave that tries to "change it up".  This preference for the predictable and the comfortable translates to our sex life as well.  It is always at the same time of day... same day of the week... (Yes... children, grandma and grandpa only do it once a week.) 

I could script it.  He will be in the bathroom... pooping for some indefinite period of time... 30 or so minutes... (apparently this is part of the… um… planning?)  Then he will wander out and stand in the front room... in his tighty whities... (TMI children??? Well the images in your head will only get worse... look away... look away now.)  He will stare at me... with this "what the fuck you just sitting there bitch?" arched brow glare.  And I will blink and sigh and look at the clock like I am somewhat surprised and then grab a towel and follow him into the bathroom. 

(I could do this is in my sleep.)  Brush teeth... trim pubes... wait for him to finish shaving and brushing his teeth.  (Try… try… try to think of something sexual.)  He may swat me once or twice as we get ready to get in the shower (the lazy master’s favorite form of foreplay).  We shampoo and shave and scrub.  He gives me a once over and grabs my shoulders and pushes down onto my knees.  For the briefest of moments, I always put up a bit of token resistance (he likes to think he is making me).  Then the fluffing commences.  It takes a while but with diligence and proper enthusiasm... (real or feigned) eventually (if all the planets are in proper alignment and all is well with the world) the old soldier rises to the occasion.  He taps me on the shoulder and I obediently stand and bend over... rise up on my tip toes and put my forehead down on the end of the tub.  He fucks for a while from behind for a while and then taps me and I turn and resume sucking.  Rinse (literally), repeat… repeat… repeat…

I find the thought of it… the idea… the reality of it evocative… provocative.  I like that it is happening… but it does not physically arouse me at the time.  The position is too rigorous, the water runs down my back into my ears and nose, the angle is wrong, the water washes away much or all of the natural lube, it starts to chafe… soon I am irritated more than I am turned on.  I just want him to finish or stop.  I pray that the hot water will finally run out. 

Master likes me to orgasm… even insists I orgasm.  And he wants me to do it in the shower… but accepts that I just can’t quite get there… there. 

So, most of the time, once the water begins to run cold, we take an intermission (and intermissions SUCK... for me it can easily destroy any or all progress back to zero) and move the show to his room.  But the good news is, there, where I can finally lie down and reach for my big, industrial vibrator can I relax and have that required orgasm.  

So when Eden Fantasies asked me what sex toy  I wanted to test for them next I got to thinking, if I had a vibrator I could bring into the shower, maybe we could get this done before the water got cold.  So I asked to peruse a selection of water proof things and ordered jenna-vibes-with-attachments.  

I was intrigued by the variety of attachments available and the description said it was four “Vrooms” out of a possible five “vrooms” powerful and I definitely prefer powerful.

I ordered  jennas-vibe-with-attachments and as usual it came almost immediately.  Kayla tells me something like six days to process but it seems like it is delivered much sooner than that and I eagerly tore into the box.

To be cont... 

It started out like most Saturday mornings...

It started out like most Saturday mornings… quiet and coffee… checking emails and blogs.  Master busy with something on his computer.  We had had a busy evening the night before, vanilla friends and family, a house full the squeals and laughter of little children… a house full of life and love.  One of those nights you were happy they were there and profoundly appreciative of the peace and stillness that marked their departure.

So I sat the next morning, sipping my coffee… reading old stories I had written years ago… but there was a part of me, a silent waiting, intensely listening part of me… each time he would move, stand up, sit down, sigh or mumble to himself, I would look up, listen.  It was Saturday morning after all.  It had been a week and for once, I was looking forward to the expected call to the shower.

When he shifted in his chair and called to me, “Pretty girl, come here, look at this,” I was up and moving toward him without thought.  He already had some porn up.  Master is learning what gets the juices flowing… bondage… some sense that the girl is coerced… rough sex with all avenues being taken.  After a few clips, I was tingling… warm and wet and looking at him with a decidedly carnal glint in my eye.

As we moved to the next step of the dance, I could not help but wryly observe that by the time we finished brushing our teeth and got into the shower, that it was inevitable that most of this heat and hunger would have dissipated.  Perhaps he heard that, saw past the humor and heard the fear, the sadness the accompanied the fading of the lust, the warmth… the fear if it slipped through my fingers, I might not get it back.  Because he did not let it fade or slip from my grasp… He kept the fire burning… repeatedly touching me, caressing me, spanking, pinching, scratching… pulling, twisting me, bending me back, pressing me, trapping me as he fed that fire within me.

I was quiet, holding onto the images left in my memory, images of women bound and gagged, women screaming in pain and passion as they were taken.  Letting those images blend and mix with the sensations he was forcing upon my body.

The drain in the shower has been slow, (one more thing on the long list of items needing fixing) and Master looked down at the rapidly growing pool and muttered something about doing something about it… and I teased, “You mean you aren’t going to drown me in there?”

He snorted and said “no” in no uncertain terms.

And I came back, “One more sexy fantasy shot all to hell.”

And you know… it is kind of sexy… the image of being forced to kneel in the murky water, of being forced forward, strong hands in my hair, pushing my face down in the dirty water and having to hold my breath as he fucks me from behind, depending upon his mercy and whim to lift my face up so that I may steal a breath of air.  Unrealistic?  Perhaps, especially with a clean freak Master… but sexy as hell.

The water was up over our ankles when I was bent over at the waist staring down at the water and I had a brief impression of wading in water, a sense of being outdoors, being fucked while standing in a stream or a pond.  But the failure of the drain was perhaps my salvation.  With the danger of flooding, we did not linger under the falling water until the water heater was empty.  At his sharp short command we were soon making our way down to his room.

Pushing me back onto the bed he interlaced his fingers with mine and stretched my arms taut up over my head and straddled my upper body and slowly, deliberately fucked my mouth.  There was a delicious mix of helplessness and restriction of movement.  I remember how my face was smeared with spit and precum.  He did not let go of my hands as he moved down and began fucking my cunt with the same slow deliberate thrusts, my legs lifting up and wrapping around him, pulling at him, urging him deeper.  I was close, amazingly close… I could feel it there just out of reach.

When he moved up to fuck my face some more, he kept my legs hooked up over his knees, forcing my knees up around my ears.  With my hands still pinned above my head, I was restricted even more, constricted, crushed and contorted.   I remember how rich his cock tasted, coated with the thick cream from my pussy, how the smell and flavor filled my mouth and nose and heart.  He kept pushing me further, pressing deeper, probing for the depths of my throat, pressing deeper and deeper until he was buried up to the root, reveling in the sensation and sound of my reflexive gags and struggle for air.

He did not let go of my hands until he moved down to fuck my cunt some more, choosing to lean his weight upon the backs of my legs, keeping my knees still pinned up around my ears.  The new angle tips his cock at a sharp angle up, the underside dragging heavily along the crack of my ass… an intense sensation that ratchets up my soaring excitement but once again, keeps that orgasm just out of reach.  But my hands are finally free and he growls at me to touch myself… the last piece of the equation.   

Everything was perfect… until as he came.  He tensed and his eyes bulged out and he began to utter a mix of grunts and curses… something had started to cramp up at exactly the wrong or perhaps right moment.  I remember freezing under him and staring up… the random thought that Master is definitely not a masochist bubbling up from the cage of the crazy lady in the back of my head.  A thought I wisely did not put into words.  I did not even give into the impulse to giggle.  I watched him ride it out, ricocheting between the pulses of his climax and the lances of pain coming from his leg. 

And when he pulled out, I was still hovering, still touching myself…  and then he did something different… something unexpected… pulling my awareness away from my own imminent pleasure.  He pulls out and immediately presses against my asshole, pushing in… it catches me by surprise.  He has not fucked my ass in months.  The first sensation is pain… pure burning, stabbing pain and I cannot help but cry out and pant.  He stops, buried deep within me, waiting for me to adjust but it does not ease, any movement is a new wave of pain. 

“Get your vibrator.”  I reach but it is just beyond my grasp and he gives me an impatient shove with is cock, trying to push me closer and I shriek.  Finally he stretches and manages to hook the cord and hands it to me. 

And mysteriously, despite the agony in my ass… or perhaps because of it… the moment I touch myself with the head of that Hitachi I am coming, instantly, wildly, a soaring orgasm from heaven.  All pain is just as instantly gone and he is moving, thrusting and to my confusion he is coming again or still… his gasps and growls of passion blending with mine.  My orgasm feels endless, each shuddering lunge into my ass another wave of ecstasy, intensified by the vibrations of my toy.  Long after he is still, I press the vibrator to myself and savor each and every last quivering spasm of pleasure.  I know he is watching me… he loves to watch me come. 

Afterward, snuggling up to him I ask, “Did you come twice?”  He shrugs and says, “Sort of.”  So eloquent… and apparently not only did he come twice… he came a LOT in both places.  Bastard… this is all wrong… I thought us girls are supposed to be the multiple orgasm machines…               

We've got company...

What follows is an account of a visit from the crazy lady... I wish I was still menstruating, I could use it as an excuse...  

As I return to this, reread it to see if I want to share it… it occurs to me that it sounds like this seems a bigger issue than it probably truly is.  I know it is a recurrent thing, a rut we fall into.  And when my mood is sour and wanders into the dark side, when all the glasses are half empty instead of half full, when all things are measured in terms of what they lack rather than what they have… it is then that the little things, the occasional things seem bigger, seem constant, and seem unbearable.

Looking at this now, with different vision I can see how the madness had consumed me once again.  I can see how the crazy lady had gotten out of her cage…

“Let’s take a shower.”

And the sense of predictable inevitability of my life made me sigh… a deep, long breath of sadness, frustration, suppressed rage that literally shook me.  I did not want to take a shower, did not want the same, the routine, the predictability, the mechanical… I wondered if I could just endure it or if I had to force it… to somehow, hope against hope, dredge up some kind of sexual response to this weekly Saturday morning hygiene fuck… I toy with the temptation to fake an orgasm but I have promised to stop this devious behavior.

I cannot help myself and as we stand side by side, brushing our teeth, the first step in dance that has become so entrenched that I could choreograph it… the sense of unbearable routine, the endless cycle of life, the mind numbing treadmill… that I cannot help but ask, “Does it ever feel like this is just one more thing to get through, something that must be done, like taking vitamins or brushing your teeth… something we have to do because we know it is good for us… even if it is not particularly enjoyable?”

He gives me a look, the “shit, she is starting to bitch about stuff” kind of look… and he grabs my nipple and pinches it hard, making my face squinch up and my eyes water. 

“You are being a brat.”

“I am telling you how I feel.  It feels like brushing teeth… something that must be done in order for your mouth to feel good and avoid cavities.”

Again he hurts me and says the word brat.

I get the message and stop talking.  But it is too late… he knows of the bitter brew that has filled me up.  He talks as we wash, “I want to have sex on week nights too… but it always ends up with one or both of us falling asleep… but we could take a shower on a work night too sometimes…”

And the idea of somehow just moving the same predictable dance to a Thursday or Wednesday night nearly crushes my soul and I start a kind of drunken, defeated giggling.  He gives me a sharp look and grips me again, pinching and pulling again and again the word “brat” rings in my ears. 

I blurt out, almost like the pressure on my flesh has squeezed the words out, “That is like someone saying, “I don’t like meatloaf.”  And the response being well we could try eating meatloaf somewhere else, like in the car or on the deck.”

And it is sadly true… I don’t like meatloaf… I mean shower sex.  It may have had its attraction, its moments of erotic fun once… but when it is the only thing on the menu… it is hard to work up any kind of response beyond fatigue and boredom.  There is no foreplay, unless of course you include tooth brushing or the one or two perfunctory swats one receives as one is getting in under the water… I enjoy sucking cock, but it does not arouse me sexually… and once he bends me over the position is strenuous and angled to almost systematically avoid contact with any of the “good places”.  And the water runs down into my nose and eyes and ears.  I could not come like this if I tried and I have long since stopped trying.    

He does not even let go of me now, but I am reckless, brave and foolish.  I give him a dark, challenging look, ready to lose my nipple rather than give ground on this.  I grimly assert… “I don’t like it in the shower.”

And he does this thing… says this thing he has said many times before… a gross, humiliating thing… “I am not going to fuck you without a shower, not when you smell like ass.”  He says that… makes those disgusted comments about me smelling.  I know I am not dirty… in fact, after years of those kinds of words, I think I perhaps wash my crotch and butt more obsessively than any other person.  I will scrub at myself till I bleed sometimes.  I wash myself and rub with baby wipes… every time I pee or poop.  I will wipe until there is streaks of red on the paper.  I sniff at my hands and the paper… paranoid… disgusted with myself.

INTERMISSION… INTRUSSION… MASTER NOTICED MY EXPRESSION… INSTINCTIVELY SENSING MY VENTURE INTO SELF DISGUST… AND DEMANDED MY ATTENTION IMMEDIATELY…