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My master waits for me somewhere deep in the maze of the shadowy machines.

There is no sound but the quiet hiss of compressed air in the distance where he is working. I home in on the sound like a block of raw steel is drawn to the elec-tromagnet that looms from the crane overhead.

As I move, I let my fingers play over the working surfaces of looming machinery. I love the feel of cold, polished steel on my bare skin. As I tease my fingers on the working surfaces, I let my hip slide against massive motors and the cast steel of the housings of these hulking machines. When an adjustment wheel is at the right height, a wicked idea pops into my head. The machine radiates heat from being used all day, yet I shiver in anticipation as I straddle the handle of the wheel and ride the sharp knurls machined into the steel handle. Rubbing the textured steel chafes my wet pussy. The huge machine gives as much pain to me as I get pleasure from it. My bittersweet ride is accented by the sweet smell of cutting oil from the metal shavings in front of me which fills my senses. I ride the cold steel handle of the hulking machine until I am close to orgasm and so raw that even the slightest touch will feel like I am being stroked with a welding torch. Reluctantly, I force myself to climb off, unsure how long I spent indulging myself, but sure that I am painfully late.

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Read the rest of Raw Material in Consent Magazine Issue #21 Spring 2004