I stood frozen behind the contraption, torn between denial and inevitability, the empty wine glass she had carelessly handed me clutched in one hand while the other hovered over the worn red switch of the machine’s controller. Time seemed to slow as I grappled with the sight of Denise reclined in the battered gynecological chair. Her pink sleeveless Nike golf shirt clung to her body, still damp from her round in the sweltering Florida humidity, accentuating every curve. Her skirt, flipped backward and held in place by gravity, left her completely exposed, my angle offering a rare, straight-on view of my wife that felt foreign.
Her legs were spread wide, secured in the frayed stirrups, bunker sand still clinging to her ankles, held in place by stale sunblock as they pressed into the cracked padding. Her golf shoes, still on, their soft spikes dotted with grass from her earlier round, remained in place; removing them hadn’t crossed her mind in her distraction. Sharp tan lines etched crisp boundaries along the smooth skin of her inner thighs, the vivid contrast pulling my attention. Wetness beaded on the unkempt bush surrounding her pussy, created solely from the anticipation of this moment.
Typically reserved, the wine had stripped away her inhibitions, leaving her bold and unguarded. A wry grin played at her lips as she glanced up at me, fluorescent light catching faintly on her nerdy glasses and the glint of her wedding band. Behind the lenses, her steady, piercing gaze locked onto mine, silently urging me forward with an unmistakable plea to flip the machine’s switch.
My heart pounded as I cast one final glance at the colossal foot-long monstrosity, its girth rivaling that of a summer sausage. Once aimlessly positioned in the empty space between the stirrups, it now hovered with cold, deliberate precision. The broad, latex-wrapped mushroom head loomed ominously, a mere four inches from her neglected entrance. I drew a deep breath, trying to steady myself as my finger trembled over the switch, hesitating despite knowing what pressing it would unleash. Finally, I flipped it. The sharp click cut through the air, only to be absorbed instantly by the concrete walls of the sex dungeon.
The machine powered on with its familiar low hum, a steady whirl emanating from the dented aluminum box. The sound seemed louder than that morning, filling the room with a mechanical thrum that resonated in my chest. Time seemed to stretch as the metal rod extended from the box, closing the four-inch gap instantly. A hydraulic hiss accompanied its movement, the sound sharp and deliberate as the bulbous silicone helmet met Denise with a firm press, not extending far enough to penetrate. The contact drew a sharp, involuntary jolt from her body before the rod retreated, disappearing back into its encasing, only to begin its steady, inevitable advance once more.
A minute ticked by as the device maintained its rhythm, the dildo’s tip barely grazing her with each thrust, forming a sticky strand that stretched and snapped with every retreat, clinging to the brown pubic hair surrounding her opening. Despite the teasingly minimal stimulation, soft, involuntary moans slipped from her lips. The device’s design became unmistakable; it had been meticulously calibrated and cruelly positioned to deny penetration at its lowest setting, a calculated torment meant to taunt both operator and subject with its imposing size and maddeningly deliberate movements.
I suddenly found myself in a hypnotic trance, forced to accept that this was only the beginning. It was clear from her infatuation with the device that her benign soft moans would soon give way to a drunken plea for me to turn the dial, a moment that would alter Denise’s world, whether I was prepared for it or not. The sheer intimidation of the dildo, as thick as my wrist, gnawed at my resolve, each precise thrust tightening the coil of tension in the air. Denise’s trembling grew more pronounced, every movement syncing with the machine’s rhythm until the plea I had dreaded finally broke free.
“More,” she gasped between moans, her voice thick with a desperation I’d never heard before. It sent a jolt through me, my heart racing as I stood paralyzed, my finger still pressed against the red switch, having not removed it since initially flipping it. Despite my efforts to resist her command, a sharp wave of fear crept in. My eyes were suddenly forced to the knob, the handwritten “DEPTH” label taunting me. Its two unexplored settings loomed before me, not as a silent dare but as a threat to my physical relevance in our marriage. A pit formed in my stomach as I stared at the control box, caught in a quiet denial about what turning that knob would do, an outcome I could no longer ignore.
“More!” she demanded again, her tone sharper and more commanding this time, snapping me out of my daze. My gaze lingered on the dildo, its sheer size a promise of the devastation it was about to inflict. I wasn’t prepared to watch it wreak havoc on the woman I hadn’t been intimate with in months to see its teasing give way to an unfeeling, impossible intrusion. My mind raced, leaving no room for hesitation. Reluctantly, my finger drifted from the red switch to the knob, my hand closing around it with a trembling grip. The weight of avoiding a third plea pressed heavily on me. Taking a deep, shaky breath, I finally turned the knob to its second setting.
Everything seemed to slow, as if playing out in 120 frames per second, like the replays on golf broadcasts, the same speed Denise had used to analyze her swing during practice. But this wasn’t the elegant arc of a touring professional. This was the steady motion of the dildo, withdrawing into its housing before surging forward again. The thick, vein-ribbed shaft advanced with unwavering force, the rounded head barreling toward her entrance with mechanical precision. Its exaggerated contours weren’t just a promise to stretch her; they were an inevitability. Whether it would fit didn’t matter; the cruel contraption didn’t care. My hand gripped the knob tightly, every fraction of a second dragging on, the tension in my chest coiling tighter with each passing moment. I was powerless to stop what was coming. It pressed forward with cold, unfeeling indifference, unconcerned if she was prepared.
Her scream pierced the air, “Oh, fuck!” The words dissolved into a strangled gasp as the massive, latex-wrapped silicone head pressed firmly against her entrance. The moment remained in slow motion, and each detail burned into my memory. The bulbous tip pushed forward with unrelenting force, parting her damp, tangled pubic hair before stretching her neglected vagina wide, effortlessly engulfing its ungodly girth. The mushroom-shaped crown breached her in one smooth motion, leaving no room for hesitation or resistance. Her head snapped back against the threadbare headrest of the gynecological chair, her eyes clamping shut as a raw, unrestrained scream erupted from her lips.
Surging forward ten inches from its aluminum casing, the rod had closed the four-inch gap effortlessly, driving a half foot inside her and instantly eclipsing the five inches I could barely manage on my best day, with the added cruelty of being three times as thick. Engineered to remain firmly in place even during retraction, the dildo stayed deeply seated, stretching her anew with every precise, mechanical thrust. Its massive form looked impossibly large as it vanished inside her, yet her tiny pussy accommodated it with startling ease that left me grappling to make sense of what I was witnessing.
The next few minutes were a blur of mounting helplessness as I struggled to take in the scene before me. The device asserted total control, its merciless force seeming determined to erase the memory of the dream-shattering seventy-nine she had shot earlier. Denise’s fingers gripped the edges of the chair, her knuckles beginning to whiten as she braced herself against the overwhelming girth, transforming what had once been an almost familiar length into an alien sensation.
She didn’t resist. Her body easily absorbed the massive intrusion, leaving me questioning everything I thought I knew. With each withdrawal, her juices glistened along the front half of the Magnum XL condom, illuminated by the harsh fluorescent light, while the remaining half a foot behind it loomed like a cruel testament to its immense size. Every thrust sent a visible ripple coursing through her body, forcing her grip to tighten even more. Each shuddering tremble made one thing brutally clear: her body now belonged to the machine.
The chamber was alive with a chaotic symphony. The faint buzz of the overhead light mingled with the steady hum of the device, Denise’s moans echoing off the cold cinderblock walls. Adding to the cacophony was the rhythmic hydraulic hiss of the metal rod as it moved in and out of the dented aluminum box with each thrust.
It quickly became clear that the six inches, even with its obscene girth and an unforgiving rhythm no human could replicate, was not enough to push her over the edge. For all its efforts, the contraption couldn’t extract the stubborn orgasm trapped within her on its current setting. Though it drove her to the brink of ecstasy, she remained unable to let go, held captive by the mental weight of what had been a career-ending round of golf.
The moment felt strangely suspended, like an intermission. Her release lingered maddeningly out of reach as she peered at me through her glasses, her wide eyes glinting with an almost dominant desperation that I couldn’t ignore. Her moans began to weaken, her body having fully acclimated to the device. To my shock, the second setting, with a girth enough to destroy most women, hadn’t been enough for Denise. Instead, it left her teetering on the edge of satisfaction but unable to cross over, its steady efforts falling short of the release she desperately craved.
She watched me intently as my gaze shifted back and forth between her face and the gigantic dildo sliding in and out of her, with half of its payload yet to be touched. Her sly grin carried an almost cocky demeanor, completely unexpected as if she were taking pleasure in my visible fear, silently daring me to take the next step. She didn’t need to say a word; the inevitability of what happened next was etched into her expression, her eyes demanding my surrender to the moment. The truth hit me like a crushing wave in that instant: my worst nightmare was on the verge of becoming reality.
“Do it,” she silently mouthed, her eyes locked on mine, glinting with a desperate intensity I couldn’t ignore. She was aching for release; it was unmistakable, and turning the knob to the machine’s third and final level was the only way to release the stubborn orgasm from her loins. Her breathless plea hit me like a blow, leaving my hand frozen above the knob, my heart racing as my worst fears began to take shape.
It was as if the contraption and alcohol flowing through her had somehow made her forget about our sexless marriage, transforming her into someone I barely recognized. My eyes flicked between the knob and Denise, watching as she essentially pleaded for me to unleash the full twelve inches of the dildo on her. Her moans reverberated through the room, her eyes never leaving mine as she observed me standing over the machine’s control like a DJ at a turntable. But this wasn’t music; it was a knob, and its outcome was likely to change the way my wife looked at sex forever. My hand trembled, unsteady and hesitant, as I fought to contain the rising tide of anxiety coursing through me. Meanwhile, Denise, oblivious to my inner turmoil, was utterly consumed by her mounting pleasure, her focus locked on the release that lingered just out of reach.
“Do it, Chris!” she demanded, her previously mouthed command now spoken aloud, startling me with its sudden intensity. Her tone was desperate and unwavering, cutting through her soft moans with a force that left no room for hesitation. My fingers hovered over the control, trembling as I took a deep breath, desperately trying to steady myself. Her urgent plea left me no choice. I glanced at the hulking dildo one last time, my thoughts racing, my mind struggling to process the reality of what was about to happen: my wife’s pussy about to swallow a foot-long silicone log.
Almost against my will, my hand twisted the knob, the motion feeling as though it belonged to someone else. A loud click followed, punctuating the tense air. Time seemed to slow, every fraction of a second stretching endlessly. The metal rod paused momentarily as if engineered to taunt, holding still just long enough to heighten the anticipation. Then, the low hum shifted into a deeper, more forceful growl, like an engine revving up for a task demanding far more power than before.
The device surged forward from the box, shooting past its original six-inch depth from the machine’s second setting. Though it happened in a split second, the moment unfolded in super slow motion to me, each second stretching endlessly. Inch by inch, the dildo disappeared inside Denise, the girthy silicone monstrosity advancing with cold, mechanical precision. Seven inches, then eight, vanished, twisting my stomach in knots and leaving me nearly paralyzed as I struggled to comprehend the sheer impossibility of what I was witnessing.
Denise let out a raw, guttural grunt, primal and unrestrained, a sound I had never heard from her before. Nine inches followed, then ten, her body straining to accommodate the intrusion. Her head jerked forward, snapping back against the padding of the chair’s headrest as if her mind and body were trying to cope with the overwhelming fullness. Eleven inches slipped inside, her fingers digging into the armrests as her moans became sharper, more visceral.
The entire foot-long length disappeared inside her, the base vanishing completely, leaving no trace of the Magnum XL-wrapped monstrosity, as if swallowed whole in a surreal magic trick by David Copperfield, except its destination was no illusion, but Denise’s vagina. It was as if her body were impaled on the metal rod itself rather than the dildo, her form instinctively tensing and shifting in response to the overwhelming sensation. The apparatus paused momentarily, seemingly engineered to heighten the tension, holding still just long enough to make her shudder before resuming its withdrawal.
“Holy fuck!” she screamed, her voice raw and unrestrained, filling the room as the walls absorbed her cry. Before I even had time to process what was happening, the dildo had already plunged in and out of her five times, its entirety now sheened with Denise’s juices, all before her initial scream had even ended. Her voice erupted again, another roar quickly swallowed by the walls, as she was overtaken by an unrecognizable force, consumed by an insatiable sexual energy that seemed to radiate from every part of her. Any trace of control vanished instantly; she had fully surrendered herself to the merciless rhythm of the machine.
The additional six inches unlocked by the third setting of the contraption had completely transformed her. Moments ago, she had been fighting to find release, but now she was teetering on the edge of what was shaping up to be the most explosive orgasm of her life. She was unrecognizable; my 5’2″ petite wife, known not only for her precision and power with 275-yard drives on the Epson Tour but also for her unshakable composure, had been reduced to a blubbering, incoherent mess with each pass of the machine.
Her moans and cries collided in a chaotic symphony, her words dissolving into fragments that barely resembled language. Gasps turned into guttural sobs, interrupted by unintelligible utterances that bordered on speaking in tongues. Her head thrashed side to side against the threadbare headrest, her lips trembling as she failed to form coherent sounds. The transformation was complete; the disciplined and focused woman I had always known was gone, replaced by someone utterly at the mercy of the instrument’s cruelty.
Panic gripped me, mentally breaking me as I stood frozen, my fingers still glued to the knob, knees trembling and weak. The machine’s physical dominance and the sheer intensity of what it was doing to Denise felt like too much to process. Her reaction was something I had never seen before, something I hadn’t been prepared for. I struggled to cope with the way her body trembled uncontrollably, her sounds turning raw and animalistic, completely unrecognizable. Hearing her speak in tongues as if overtaken by an unstoppable force only twisted the knife deeper.
Sweat began to form over her body, glistening under the harsh overhead light as her legs quaked uncontrollably, rattling the stirrups with every thrust. Beads of moisture appeared along the hairline of her short-cropped hair, sliding down to collect at the edges of her glasses. Her pink golf shirt, damp with sweat, clung tightly to her petite frame, accentuating the rise and fall of her heaving chest as her giant C-cups strained against the fabric with each labored breath. Behind her fogging glasses, her eyes were tightly shut, her expression contorted as she struggled to process the overwhelming pleasure coursing through her. Every precise stroke of the device tightened her grip on the chair, her knuckles whitening as her fingers dug into the frayed edges of the armrests, clinging desperately for stability against the unrelenting onslaught.
“Fuck!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, her voice trembling as she teetered on the brink of control. Her head snapped back, and then I saw it, that familiar orgasmic expression I hadn’t seen in so long, now magnified beyond anything I could have ever imagined. “I’m gonna…” she gasped, her breath hitching as if the words themselves were too much to bear. “I’m gonna c…” she cried out, her voice climbing sharply before cracking under the weight of her need. “Oh fuck! I’m gonna cum, Tommy!” she yelled, her tone peaking in raw, unrestrained intensity.
Tommy? Not Tommy! The name hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest as Denise, on the verge of an explosive orgasm, screamed out the name of my best friend, the best man at our wedding, the man who had introduced us eleven years ago, and now, our neighbor. Had I heard her right? I attempted to replay her screaming cry in my head, desperately hoping I was mistaken. But it suddenly became obvious. The ease with which her pussy swallowed the foot-long dildo revealed a dreaded fear I had lived with since our introduction, one that had lain dormant all this time. My legs buckled beneath me, and my body went limp as I instinctively clung to the machine’s housing to hold myself up, my stomach churning violently. Instead, an instrument meant to relieve Denise of the frustration of a career-ending day may have just unearthed a marriage-wrecking secret, a nightmare I couldn’t escape.