In retrospect, the vibrator's color should really have tipped Betsy off. Not that it really would have mattered--the outcome was probably inevitable from the moment she walked into her bedroom that day, possibly even from the moment she took her first trip to the museum in fifth grade and stared fascinated at a Grecian urn until her teacher had to come back and usher her along to join the rest of the class. But if she'd really thought about the vibrator for a moment or two, Betsy might have figured out what was happening to her.
Instead, she pulled her skirt down over her lush, curvy brown hips and dropped it into the hamper, following it with her panties a moment later. Her jacket already hung on the hook by the door, but she wearily undid the buttons on her blouse one by one before tossing it in with the rest of her clothes. She reached behind her back and unhooked her bra with a sigh of gratitude, hanging it over the back of a chair and massaging the spots where it dug into her full, heavy breasts. Betsy knew she should have bought a new one by now, but 'adjunct professor in Greek mythology' wasn't exactly the kind of position that left her rolling in dough. She could get a few more months out of it.
She shook out her curly black hair, already looking forward to a long hot bath in rose-scented water--she'd taught three classes today on top of office hours, and some of her freshman students had behaved with the kind of arrogant, naive, microaggressive stupidity that made Betsy wonder why she didn't take up a nice, respectable job like ditch-digging. She had every intention of changing into her rattiest sweats, ordering pizza, and curling up in front of the television for the rest of the night. But when she turned back toward the bedroom door, the vibrator caught her eye.
The strangest thing about it wasn't the color. Certainly it was strange--the phallus resting on her bedside table gleamed with a burnished golden finish that instantly drew Betsy's attention. On looking a little bit closer, she realized that it didn't look like the kind of mock sheen that came from vacuum metalizing hard plastic. She'd seen that plenty on the collection of vintage Beast Wars figures she kept in her living room, and she didn't care who knew it. No, this looked like the kind of gold she very occasionally saw on very small pieces at the museum she worked at part-time to make ends meet and pay for her infrequent splurges on a Transmetal Rhinox or a mint-in-box Optimus Primal. Real gold. 14 karat gold at a guess.
But the composition wasn't the strangest thing either. Oh, it was weird as hell to see that much real, genuine 14 karat gold electroplated onto what was very obviously a fake penis. It was even weirder to see dozens of tiny little diamonds inlaid into the thick, girthy shaft, forming a series of lightning-bolt patterns with a pebbly texture that Betsy could almost imagine brushing against her sensitive flesh. The little pearl nub where a man's frenulum would be, in just the right spot to rub a woman's clit with every thrust? Absolutely, genuinely, one hundred percent weird. This thing looked like the sort of hyper-sexualized luxury item that some Christian Grey wannabe would pick up from a Hong Kong art gallery for his trophy wife.
But even that wasn't the strangest thing about it. Its size was... Betsy felt her face grow hot, and even with no one to see it, she felt a tiny surge of gratitude that her ebony skin hid her blush. Well, it was larger than anything she would have purchased. Probably larger than any boyfriend she'd ever had, either, not that she took measurements or anything. It looked to be almost a full twelve inches long, and almost as thick as her wrist at the very base. Betsy's cunt ached just thinking about trying to clench around its massive girth, and she blushed harder when she realized that ache wasn't entirely imagined discomfort. Fucking that thing would be an endeavor.
Or so she imagined. Because that was definitely the absolute strangest thing about the dildo lying on her bedside table. Betsy knew it hadn't been there when she got out of bed this morning.
She approached it cautiously, tilting her head to look at it from as many angles as possible. As she got closer, Betsy noticed that not all of the tiny precious gems studding its surface were diamonds; it appeared that someone added the occasional polished sapphire, giving the the impression of coruscating energy radiating up and down the shaft in every stylized lightning bolt. She could only imagine what it would look like if she reached down and twisted the little knob in the base to turn it on--the vibrations would probably make it look like it was practically crackling with electricity. Assuming it really worked. Assuming it was really even real.
Not that Betsy doubted the evidence of her senses or anything. Even if it did seem impossible for a luxury sex toy to simply materialize in her room while she was away at work, there was no real way to argue with its physical existence. Nothing argued persuasively for its own presence quite like a foot-long, inch-thick rod of 14 karat gold studded with precious gems.
But assuming it was real, how did it get into Betsy's apartment? She knew she didn't bring it in. Even if she had the kind of money that would allow a person to pick up a fifty thousand dollar vibrator at the shops and forget she'd done it, Betsy knew she didn't have the chance to go anywhere today but work. She couldn't even make it to the grocery store, let alone to some kind of high-end sex shop that sold custom-made gem-studded dildos. No, someone must have slipped it into her bedroom while she was out....
