Meghan stood silently outside the bedroom door, watching her husband, Craig. She had arrived home much earlier than expected; the anticipated shopping trip had been cut short because the car's touchy ignition coil had once again acted up. Climbing the stairs, Meghan had been about to call out to Craig when she heard the sound of the television coming from the bedroom: moans and grunts, the unrealistic ecstatic dialogue of pornography.
She had refrained from speaking and ascended the rest of the staircase as quietly as possible. Now Meghan watched in a kind of horrified fascination: there on their bed, her husband was splayed out spread-eagled, his eyes intent on the small television perched on the dresser, his boxer shorts around his ankles, his right hand slowly but relentlessly squeezing and stroking his penis.
And there was something else. His penis didn't look normal; it was hard, but at a strange angle and the whole package was somehow weirdly constricted. Meghan crept closer, actually coming into the room but keeping a hand on the open door, ready to close it quickly in front of her if need be. Now she could see: his penis and testicles were wrapped tightly in some kind of strap mechanism, the balls pulled away from the penis and separated from each other and the cock itself constricted at the base so that it swelled a dark purple without being able to stand at its usual sharp upward angle from his thighs. Meghan noticed, with open-mouthed fascination, that it hung at a downward slant, yet swelled, thick and turgid, as Craig slowly stroked his loosely closed fist along its length, exhaling with a shuddering intensity.
As shocked and disgusted as Meghan felt, mentally, something stirred in her, a lightness in her head and a flush of feeling in her thighs that tingled its way, hot and insistent, to the lips of her cunt and centered with a sudden throb at her clitoris. Instinctively, one hand strayed to her crotch while the other held her uncertain balance with a grip on the door's edge. She stole a glance at the television screen as her fingers dug against the fabric of her skirt, searching for a purchase through her panties to the hungry heat in her pussy.
The video was something different from the typical fuck and suck skin flick that Craig frequently insisted they view together before sex on Saturday night (against her half-feigned objections.) In this film, a woman clad in skin-tight black rubber that revealed her swollen nipples and puffy sex, had a man, bound at the wrists and ankles, lying across her lap as she inserted some kind of pointed apparatus into his rear end. After shoving the thing in and out of him several times, adding sharp twists on the inward thrusts, she left it buried there and raised her hand to spank him hard on the ass, over and over. The video man squirmed against her thighs and made small sounds of tortured pleasure.
Meghan thought he might come to orgasm and realized she wasn't far from that herself, so she withdrew her probing hand but not before her audible intake of breath had seized her husband's attention. Simultaneously, Craig snapped his head in her direction and released his grip on his bound-up penis. Sitting up clumsily, grabbing at the sheets in an ineffectual effort to cover himself, he stuttered her name, tripped over the beginnings of an explanation, then quickly gave up, sighing deeply and looking as miserable and humiliated as imaginable. Still, his organ, trapped in its wrappings, refused to give up its turgidity, waving in defiance of his embarrassment.
Meghan wasn't sure what to say or do. They stared at each other, eyes wide and frightened, until, finally, Meghan spoke.
"What . . . what do you think you're doing," she managed to choke out, the heat of her arousal still throbbing in her crotch. "What are you watching and what," she gestured at his penis and its paraphernalia, "What the hell is that?"
"I'm sorry," Craig squeaked and he started to unwrap his organ, fingers fumbling nervously, his eyes unable to meet hers.
"Wait," she said, louder than she had intended. "Leave it there."
Craig froze.
The only sound in the room was the phony orgasmic screams of a woman on the television who, Meghan realized as she glanced at the screen, was watching the spanking while she masturbated furiously with a huge dildo.
Meghan's scalp tingled and her arousal made her knees weak. What was going on here, she wondered but she couldn't stop herself from approaching her husband as he lay there, watching her, his hand still holding the end of the strap that was coiled around his cock and balls.
"Tie it back up. Or whatever you do with it," Meghan heard herself say. "I want to see how it works." He complied, tightening the thing even further, making his trapped erection twitch and jump. Meghan took his wrist and wrenched his hand away from the thing and up over his head. She reached down to examine his contraption: a leather thong or shoelace, it seemed, wrapped tightly under his scrotum, between the testicles and around the base of his penis. The end, tucked into the coils around the base of the scrotum, hung down toward his ass.
She grabbed it and pulled with increasing pressure, forcing the balls apart and the cock down, creating a tension between its desire to rise in its arousal and the strap's insistent tug. Craig made a strangled moan as she pulled but when she looked up at his face, there was more pleasure there than pain.
