My husband Mark and I have been married now a year and a half, but our marriage almost didn't survive the first year. It wasn't because of infidelity or anything like that. It was a simple case of not understanding each other's expectations, and not communicating enough. My name is Beth. I'm twenty-eight years old. I keep reasonably it, but I'm no lingerie model. I'm five seven and a hundred and thirty-five pounds. I have dark brown hair that I keep about shoulder length. My breasts are 34B. Mark's a year older and I think he's a good looking guy. He's six feet tall, and he likes to run and bike.
Mark and I hadn't lived together before we got married like a lot of people do these days, except for the month immediately before the wedding when we closed on our new house. It's a small two, bedroom ranch in a good suburban neighborhood. The typical starter home. But at eleven hundred square feet, it wasn't much bigger than either of our apartments.
So basically, twice as many people and "stuff" in half the living space. It took some adjusting. Since we didn't have kids, and didn't plan to for a while, we stored our seasonal and more seldom used clothes in the closet of the second bedroom. The basement was unfinished and the only thing down there was the laundry and mechanicals. The plan was to finish it when we started to have kids, but for now that's where we put our workout gear. I was a little disappointed I wouldn't be able to watch TV when I was on the treadmill, but sacrifices had to be made.
I'm a technical writer for a health care software company, so I have a typical office job, but Mark works a lot from home. He's an operations consultant that helps small businesses with things like improving their purchasing, hiring practices and stuff like that. He's out of town working at clients on an average of two days a week. But he needed a space for his computer and a quiet place for conference calls. His big computer screen looked stupid on our dining room table when friends came over to see the house, so he put together a homemade desk out of plywood and filing cabinets in the basement. We found that most of our adjustments worked really well. Mark's "office" was especially effective. He couldn't hear anything down there except for water running through the pipes.
My dad is a Presbyterian minister. When I was growing up, my mom insistently told me that I couldn't do anything that would embarrass him in front of the congregation. She had her big three she wanted me to promise I wouldn't make mistakes with: alcohol, drugs and boys. I didn't rebel like some ministers' kids do. We lived in a small town and I new how word could get around.
So when I met Mark, I wasn't pure as the driven snow, but my sexual experience was pretty vanilla. Mark expanded my horizons quite a bit when we started dating. Screwing in different positions. Oral sex. Sixty-nine. I had a healthy sex drive, and enjoyed learning and sharing our bodies with each other.
Once we got settled in our new home, for the first month or two, we still had the honeymoon spark in the bedroom. We made love probably three times a week, whenever the mood hit us. The novelty started wearing off for me though, after a while. And four months in we were like an old couple, lucky if we were having sex twice a month.
I knew Mark was frustrated. He'd roll over in bed at night and suggestively stroke my leg or breast. Sometimes I just wasn't in the mood and I told him that. Sometimes I would tell him to do it for himself and lay there as he screwed me with very little arousal on my part. Sometimes he'd settle for a hand job. When I really felt guilty, I'd give him a blow job. I'm not a fan of swallowing. I tried to once with a prior boyfriend, and couldn't suppress my gag reflex. I've avoided it ever since. So I either spit out Mark's load, or if I sensed he was going to cum, I would take his penis out of my mouth and jack him off onto his chest.
I knew our relationship was getting strained, but I couldn't bring myself to do anything about it. I was under timeline pressures at work, and I was pretty distracted. Physical intimacy just wasn't as important to me as connecting with my husband through conversation and mutual support. Mark was the opposite. For him to be attentive and kind outside of the bedroom, I guess he needed more frequent sex to take the edge off.
That all began to change on MLK day. I know that was the day because it was company holiday for me, but Mark had to work. I was disappointed at first that we couldn't do something together, but when we got up that morning, it was raining and pretty miserable. I went for a run anyway, thinking up a meal plan for the week as I jogged. When I got back to the house, I showered and then sat down and wrote out a grocery list. Mark was working in the basement, so I went down to tell him I was going to the store.
"Can you think of anything we need from the store," I asked him. "I'm going to go shop for the week."
"Can you get some diet cola?," he replied. "We're completely out."
"Sure. Anything else?"
"Not that I can think of. Thanks."
There was hardly anyone at the store, and I had a good list, so I got through my shopping in record time. When I got back from the store, I brought the bags in from the car and then took my wet shoes off and left them by the door. I unloaded the groceries and put everything away. Then I put some ice in a glass and poured Mark a soda. He doesn't like coffee, but needs his caffeine. He's as bad as I am when I don't have my morning cup.
I went down to the basement to give him his drink, but when I turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs, I came up short. Mark was sitting at his desk with his pants and underwear around his ankles, slowly stroking his cock. That stunned me, but what was more shocking was what was on the computer screen. There was a video playing of a woman who was bound, spread eagled on a bed. Some sort of machine was driving a huge black dildo in and out of her pussy, which was shaved completely bald. I must have gasped because Mark became aware that I was there and turned around, startled.
"Beth!," he shouted as he scrambled for the mouse and closed the video, and then struggled to pull up his pants over his very obvious erection.
"What are you watching Mark? What are you doing?," I almost cried, although I knew the answer to both questions.
"I didn't think you'd be back yet. And, well, you know we haven't been having much sex. I'm just horny. I'm sorry."
I simply didn't know what to say, so I just went back upstairs, carrying the undelivered soda with me.
The rest of the day was tense, and the space between us in bed that night was like the Grand Canyon. Mark wanted to talk about it, but for some reason, my feelings were hurt. It was almost like he had cheated on me, even though I knew that was ridiculous. I wasn't naïve. I knew he masturbated. We had talked about it occasionally when we were dating. We joked about how he'd have to take care of himself sometimes when we hadn't been able to see each other for a while. But I was finding that now that we were married, I felt really different about it.
By coincidence, and I guess fortunately, Mark had to leave early the next morning on a two day trip. It would allow us some time apart to cool down.
I was thought about the episode the entire time I was at work the next day. Not so much about Mark playing with himself, although that continued to bother me, but about what he was watching. I had never imagined such a thing. I mean, I knew about bondage and other kinky sex, but to be fucked by a machine was something I didn't know people did.
That night, when I got home, I changed into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. I tossed my bra in the laundry basket too. If it wasn't for social standards at work, I'd be fine not wearing one. They aren't comfortable.
I took the laundry basket into the basement to wash some clothes. After I had sorted and started the first load, I turned to go back upstairs, but caught myself staring at Mark's computer. I continued to be somewhat stunned by the video Mark had been watching. He'd never expressed an interest in bondage, or sex toys, and I didn't own a vibrator. When I masturbated, I was a fingers only kind of girl. So I was confused. I decided that was the key to why I was upset. They weren't secrets exactly, but Mark hadn't been totally open with me about what he thought about sexually.
I walked over and stood by Mark's desk. I tapped my fingers on the back of his chair. I really hadn't gotten a good look at the video the day before, given the emotions of the moment. Truth be told, I was curious. I sat down in Mark's chair and woke up the monitor. I opened the browser, and tabbed through the browsing history until I found the URL of an obvious porn site. I clicked on it and was redirected to the site. In an instant the thumbnail for the video he had been watching reloaded. The title was "Teen Pussy Destroyed by Fucking Machine". It said it was eight minutes long. I sat down and clicked play.
There was no way the woman was a teen. She was young, sure, but easily in her mid-twenties. The whole video looked professionally filmed with good lighting and two camera angles, one from above and one close up on the dildo plunging in and out of her vagina. I couldn't tell if she was really enjoying herself or not. She was swearing and tossing her head back and forth. I decided it was probably an act, although the dildo's assault was very real, and the woman had a light sheen of sweat on her chest and forehead. I was surprised that I felt a little flushed, and I felt a tingle in my crotch that I knew was the beginnings of arousal. I watched the clip until the end, when the woman flailed around in what may or may not have been a real orgasm.
I looked down at the bottom of the screen and there were a series of thumbnails under the banner "related videos". Some of the scenes had a woman tied up, some had titles about giant vibrators, some showed similar mechanical devices. One of the thumbnails caught my eye. The title was "Amateur Fucking Machine BJ Cum in Mouth". It showed a woman bent doggy style over some sort of wedge pillow, a machine positioned at her rear, and a man laying at her head with his legs spread on either side of her. His cock was in her mouth. It was twenty-two minutes long. The camera looked to be positioned slightly above and behind them, and off to one side. It must be on a book case or a dresser I thought. I only hesitated for a moment before pushing play.
The video started with the woman bent over the pillow, looking back over her shoulder at her partner. He was applying lubricant to the dildo. When he was done, he worked to position the fake cock at the entrance to her vagina. The dildo was massive, and purple. It was much bigger than any cock I had ever seen. I couldn't believe it was going to fit inside her. Her mound was cleanly shaven, so it was easy to see as the man put the tip into her tunnel and then used the controls to initiate the machine's motion. It slowly pushed the dildo forward, inserting it into her cunt. The woman adjusted forward on the bed a little bit, and then looked over her shoulder at the guy and smiled. He stood there stroking his cock as he watched the dildo go in and out.
"I'm ready," she said, as she settled her chest down onto the supporting pillow. The guy handed her the controls and then went to the head of the bed and climbed on. He positioned his legs on either side of her and she took his cock in her mouth. Then she reached over for the control and turned a knob to adjust the speed of the machine. I couldn't believe the pace she set it at. It was going like a jackhammer. I thought there was no way she can ride this for twenty-two minutes.
I was getting really turned on now, and I knew things were going on below my waist. I put a hand down the front of my shorts to find my clit. My panties were already very slick. I hadn't played with myself since before we were married. Mark kept me sexually satisfied, but I was so aroused I couldn't help myself.
"Tell me when you are going to cum," said the guy on the bed. She just nodded her head and continue to suck on his dick. Eight minutes into the video, the woman took her mouth off his cock, and lay her head on his thigh.
"I'm going to cum," she panted.
She kept stroking his cock with her hand as her orgasm hit. She let out a big groan and curled her toes as she went into the throes of her climax. It was all just so erotic that I decided I was going to have to cum too.
