"The Machine" Futa, Solo (?)

Hey, y'all. Here's a new one inspired by those futa pictures you occasionally see where the futa is strapped into some kind of device that milks her cock and/or tits. For some reason, I was considering the other logical applications of such a machine and came up with this story. Hope you enjoy it.

Mandy hadn't realized how turned on she was until the teacher called her name. Class had just started, and she was standing in one corner of the room, chatting with her girlfriend, Jenny. They had been flirting and touching as they often did, but, without even realizing it, Mandy had begun groping the other girl, grinding her pelvis against Jenny's soft body, her seven inch cock fully hard in her loose pants.

Reluctantly shaking herself out of her erotic haze, Mandy looked at her teacher, Mrs. Hart. Mandy was a red-head, her hair done up in girlish pigtails. She was not tall, only a few inches over five feet, but she had a nice figure, with comparatively large breasts and a perfectly rounded ass. Unfortunately, her assets were muted by the school dress code, which dictated that all new-half students were to wear loose clothes. No tight jeans or tops, certainly no skirts. The public school system had learned its lesson when intersex students had first started to become more common twenty years ago.

“Are you having a problem over there, Mandy?” Mrs. Hart asked. The sharp tone of her voice was depressingly familiar, and the fifteen year old schoolgirl felt the first stirrings of dread.

It was a longshot, but maybe she could talk her way out of it. “No, Mrs. Hart,” she said, trying to sound sincere. “Everything's fine.”

Mrs. Hart stood up from her desk chair and walked around to step closer to the young new-half. “Are you sure?” the teacher asked sharply. “Because it looks to me like you were about to violate your classmate.”

Mandy spared a glance to Jenny. Her blonde girlfriend glanced back, a mischievous glint in her eyes, a look that said, “You can violate me anytime you want.”

Feeling her dick, which had flagged somewhat upon hearing Mrs. Hart's voice, throb again with arousal at the thought of bending Jenny over against the wall and taking her right in class, Mandy's eyes carried their own message back to her spunky girlfriend: “Traitor.” Jenny flashed a half-grin in response, and Mandy turned back to Mrs. Hart, resigned to her fate, but automatically defending herself. “I'm fine, ma'am, really, I'm under control now,” she said to her teacher.

“I can't take that chance,” Mrs. Hart said coldly. “Report to the Focus Room, come back when you're thinking clearly.” The tall, imposing teacher turned and walked back to her desk. “Make sure you copy someone's notes later,” she said over her shoulder.

Mandy's shoulders slumped. She hated the Focus Room, she found it humiliating. Furthermore, she tried to be a good student, and disliked mis