To Dream, Perchance, To Squirt


It was nearly noon as she left the clinic, and Mirabella stepped out into the sun feeling no different than she had when she walked in a few hours ago. She wiggled her hips discreetly, rubbing her thighs together to see if she could feel anything, a tell-tale tingle or tickle that announced her new plumbing. A woman waiting on a bus caught her little dance and began to giggle, mouth buried in her palm and eyelashes aflutter.

She couldn’t wait to test it out, and according to the clinical instructions she had received, there was no need to. She was good to blow. Her entire body ached to feel that moment of release, that cusp of pleasure and intensity so great it bordered on pain and her body was gratefully wracked in mild convulsions. And for the first time she would be able to send streaming arcs of gooey liquid from her quivering cooze, thanks to the squirter mod the smart clinic had implanted in her.

“What can I getcha?” the bartender asked as she scanned the nearly empty room.
“Oh, I dunno, how about a crowd of attractive folks with a clean bill of health and an adventurous libido,” she teased. The bartender looked at her like she had asked him to pull her finger. “Okaaay, well how about a half shot of vodka in a tall glass of cranberry juice?”

He gave her a conciliatory smile and turned to make her drink. She checked out his ass. Too flat. Too bad, guy had one helluva pretty face, but she wasn’t gonna pop her squirt gun on the first person who was only hot in headshots.

At the end of the bar there was an attractive woman, much older and beginning to fade around the edges of her youthful perfection. Mirabella didn’t care for younger women much. They were too silly or insecure to make good lovers, at least for her tastes. Men were, too, but they were also usually happy to take instructions without getting flustered or hurt as easily.

She cast several questioning glances at the woman before catching her attention, but when she did she noticed something so unattractive it instantly turned her off – misery. Sometimes you don’t see it until you look in a person’s eyes, but if you know what you are looking for, it’s unmistakable. Even the most attractive people, if miserable, will be bitter and sour lovers. She could still taste the last one she had been with, and that was only once and in her first years of blossoming sexuality.

There was nobody else even remotely worth considering in the place, so she finished her drink and got up to leave. As she did so the man behind the bar spoke, “Thanks for coming…” She stopped him there with a little shushing gesture, winked, and walked out.

Mirabella realized she should have thought of this, should have made her appointment for later in the day, when more potential lovers would be out searching the night for the sake of erotic fulfillment. As she cursed herself she felt something. Like a little drop of electricity. Like a sparkle of ecstasy grinning between her legs.

“Fuck it,” she thought, “Who needs a partner to test out a new toy.”


When Mirabella was ten years old her best friend Amileah showed her some porn that she had found on her brother’s laptop. She was amazed by the cumshots. That all this strange rubbing around on one another caused a person to spew out some special liquid produced specially for that occasion just electrified her. How fascinating! However it was disheartening that only the men were shooting out these beautiful strands of sticky stuff, while the women’s wetness just oozed lazily from them. How unfair! But on the seventh or eighth scene they had watched she saw it.

His penis was not especially large by any standards. But as she layed on her shoulders, legs spread up into the air and apart, he pulled it out of her and started whacking her lady parts with it. As she began to wiggle and moan more intensely, he smacked her with it harder, repeated blows on her outside stuff with his glistening purply thing, sometimes rubbing her with it in between bonks, as her vagina pointed straight up into the air.

Suddenly the woman let out a muted scream and went into what looked almost like her aunt Robin’s grand mal seizures. And as she did so that pussy erupted like a goddamn volcano, spewing what seemed like a gallon of goo three to four feet in the air, long enough for the man to force his face into the stream and take in a mouthful before the woman collapsed into a shivering pile on the floor.

Mirabella felt excited in that way she never knew what to do with, and without saying a word awkwardly ran out of the room, the house and off to her home where she spent most of the rest of the night in the bathroom inspecting herself in the floor to ceiling mirror.


At eleven she had already gotten her first pubes a year earlier and was expecting to get her period any day. She could feel it and she was tired of waiting. A period would mean she had become a woman, and as such, she would finally know if she was a squirter or a dud.

She had tested her body extensively over the last year and was already able to produce very pleasurable results, even though she lacked the privacy for any of the more in depth experiments she had in mind for the years to come. She had become a tech expert merely in the quest of hacking her parents privacy controls and learning to cover her digital tracks just so she could study pornographic movies and learn all she could about the mysteries of the body.

Someday soon, she knew, she would be ready to do controlled studies with lab partners.


By sixteen Mirabella was far more advanced than other young women her age. She had studied her sexuality with the vigor of a scientist and the passion of an artist. Always safely, of course, and within the accepted limits of culture and law as often as possible.

Most of all, discretely. Never with her regular friends or peers. She had a second group of secret friends from which she formed bonds of trust that allowed her to examine the scope and breadth of her lust without fear of it coming back to haunt her socially.

She had been with boys and girls. She had been with two boys, three boys. A boy and a girl. Five girls. She had been in every position she could find and used her mouth with the expertise of a porn star with a double master’s degree in dental and gynecology.

The only thing she hadn’t tried was anal. Not because she was prude about it, but because she wanted to save an ace-in-the-hole. She wanted to have something new left to do if she ever matured into the master squirter she had always dreamed of becoming.


She barely had made it through the door when she began to undress herself. It had been six months since she had found out about the breakthrough squirter mods available at smart clinics. It had taken that long for her to get an appointment for the procedure and now her entire body cried out in desire, unable to wait a moment longer. It had already been a dozen years since she first felt the ache to ooze.

At first she ran to the bed, but that was too obvious. Besides, she wanted to make a mess. She wanted to soak her home and belongings in her musky shejizz like it was the perfume of the divine. She grabbed a few toys and eventually settled on the living room floor. She tugged an extension cord she used just for this purpose, already plugged in, out from underneath the television stand and fed its current to the powerful electric wand that could make a corpse cum. She hoped she could pull it off with a more finesse approach, but wanted to be ready just in case.

Mirabella pulled her brand new buttplug from the package and dribbled lube over the tip, and watched eagerly as it slowly ran down the sides. She swung back, her hips rising into the air, and after teasing the rim of her butthole with slow circles of the tip, began to push it slowly in. As the widest part slipped just past the entrance she felt her anus pull it the rest of the way into resting position and giggled as her toes did little dances above her head.

As her feet came down her fingers slid between her legs and began to run well-disciplined patterns over her clit and more sensitive areas of her labia, occasionally making a full stroke into her hot wet hole before bringing her freshly moistened fingertips back out to trace circles, figure eights, criss crosses and a whole geometric array of touches in three dimensions.

Yes, by God and Goddess, she could feel something new and it wasn’t just the buttplug. It was like a little reservoir and she could feel it filling, as it did so putting increasing pressure against a little dam she couldn’t wait to feel burst. But she needed more.

Taking out the plug, she inserted a string of beads. Over her left hand she placed a small device that allowed her to provide her clit with a vibrating pulse while she fingered herself on the inside. Even though she was wetter than a Seattle sasquatch in spring, she poured lube over the edge of her pubic mound and let it run down into everything and anything.

Mirabella buckled and throbbed and wiggled and squealed and worked ever closer to her life’s dream, to become an orgasmic geyser capable of drenching everything that lie within the path of her lust. She felt it coming, it was close. She turned the wand on, just in case. Just in case she needed one last push in the final moments before her glory.

“Now,” she thought, “this is the edge.”


She reached down and slowly pulled the beads out from inside of her as the first wave of it washed over her, and looked down just in time to see her precious perfume come arcing of her like a tidal wave of pleasure. The intensity continued to grow. It grew and grew until it was like electricity racing through her body, wracking her in spasms that seemed to go beyond mere orgasm into the otherworldly. As everything she had ever known and ever been began to fade into the background of this sensation she let her mind go streaming off with it and felt satisfied for the first time in her entire life.


The coroner had never seen anything like it. Her burnt body laying there in the throws of passion, rictus grin locked in a mask of ecstasy, with the implements of her desire and demise spread out around her. Somehow the flames had confined themselves to her body and turned what would have otherwise been the most erotic thing he had ever seen into the most disturbing and bizarrely grisly.

A few days later after an extensive autopsy and studying the forensic data he turned in his report.

“Subject died of cardiac arrest caused by electric shock which was accidentally administered when a liquid conduit had been created between her body and a nearby extension cord via vaginal secretions during orgasm. The volume of the liquid was such that the conduit of electrical current continued even after the projectile liquid had settled into a stream on the floor between the victim and electrical device, resulting in combustion of the anterior side of torso and face, by which time the subject was already deceased.”

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