Wench Winch
"Wench Winches! For all your most extreme clit-stretching needs!"
What is a Wench Winch?
Why, a winch made especially for wenches, of course. You've seen the commercials! "Why make her suffer an everyday punishment when you really want to make her suffer a clitastrophy!?' " Corny, sure. But they are selling like the proverbial hot cakes. Honestly, we have a two-month backlog of orders; the warehouse is always out. Ever since that new infomercial hit the late-night airwaves, it's been impossible to keep up with the demands.
The infomercial starts with a delectable young furry fem bound to a wall, whom they introduce as Stacy. They begin praising their product by regaling you about how easy it is to use. "Watch as we easily clamp the Wench Winch's patented "No Escape" clamp onto Stacy's clitty here." Stacy, clearly terrified out of her wits, begs them not to. When the clamp closes and is locked in place (and it does indeed look easy), she screams prettily.
The camera pans to the Winch Wench on the far side of the room: a squat, blocky thing about the size of an armchair and painted a focus group-approved shade of blue. A vixen celebrity waves her hands about it, showing it off, paws gliding about it's features (of which there are few). Then she flips a simple switch. If you watch closely, you can catch the briefest flash of terrified pity in the foxwoman's face, but her expression has returned to conditioned exuberance before most viewers notice. There is a soft rumbling from the engine as it starts up. The winch begins to turn, pulling the cable into itself, picking up the slack. The winch's speed slows to a crawl just before the cable is pulled taunt.
The camera focuses in on Stacy's hurting, horrified expression, capturing that delicious moment when the cable is drawn taunt and starts to pull at her clit. The transformation from fear to agony in her eyes alone guarantees sales.
Then infomercial turns away from Stacy to discuss features, make boasts about engineering, and generally present the machine as a marvel of the new age.
Five minutes into the infomercial, "Now, let's check back with Stacy and see how she's doing!... ooh, her clitty has been stretched forty-five centimeters!" And indeed it has. Stacy's face is frozen in a strained rictus of pain. Her naked body has arched as much as her tight bonds allow; the sight is glorious. But it's her clit that draws gasps of amazement from the studio audience. The small, intimate nub has been stretched far beyond anything sane. The video zooms in, the stretch of flesh so thin it's barely visible from any distance. A cartoon figure with a smiling animated tape measure appears on the screen to show off the length Stacy's pleasure pearl has been gruesomely pulled. Beneath it, lines of small print remind viewers that the Wench Winch is to only be used with fems whose damage-preventing nano-treatments are fully up-to-date. The number 45 jumps off the cartoon measuring strip and does a little jig while the tape measure mouths a comical "WOW!" You cannot see the announcer's grin, full of perfect teeth, but you can hear it in the jovial salesman sound his voice, "That's gotta hurt! We'll check back in with her later..."
The infomercial jumps to testimonials. A goat man lavishly praises the Winch Wench's ease of use and reliability. A pair of overweight hippos swear it saves them so much time each week that they would otherwise spend stretching their servant girls' clits themselves. (And really, who has the time?)
Fifteen minutes in, "Now let's check back in on Stacy! OH MY GOD! A full meter! And look, isn't her expression just priceless? How often do you wish you could punish your fems like this? And the winch is still going strong!" The video fawns over Stacy, her body quivering in unimaginable torment, her muzzle open and her pupils shrunken to mere pinpoints in eyes wide as saucers. From a distance, you might think her eyes were nothing but blank whites underneath an overflowing sheen of tears. Stacy isn't making sounds anymore; she's well past the point of screaming. "...we'll check back in again at the end of our show!"
The infomercial repeats every one of it's selling points, looping the same energetic voiceover. More testimonials. A mother glories in using the Wench Winch on her daughter every week, allowing her to stretch that clitty meters when she couldn't pull it more than a couple centimeters on her own with her old set of pliers. A girl's school principle comments how it alloys them to impose more stringent discipline, commenting that he's purchased ten units for their school, and the teachers are recommending more. A sheriff's deputy extols it's effectiveness in curbing jaywalking and littering by femslaves in the community.
At the end of the 30 minute infomercial, the camera once again returns to suffering Stacy, lingering on her tear-streaked, naked body, arched gymnastically from the wall, locked in female agony. "And finally, let's take one last look at how Stacy is doing! ...wow, are you seeing this!?? Somebody get the tape measure! Yes! yes, that's right! Stacy's pearl has been stretched just over *four meters*!! Stretched so thin it's hard to see! As fine as a hair on my chinny-chin-chin! And how taunt it is!! And yes, the Wench Winch is still going! With no signs of slowing down!"
"Order now, and we'll throw in free a two-hour video of our live demonstration at the Foxtail College campus, featuring much, much more of our lovely ‘assistant' Stacy!"