The Museum

I'm writing this story as a warning to all you men who think your wife isn't enough to satisfy your sexual needs. My husband was one of you until a few months ago, and I think he learned his lesson. Let me tell you how it happened.

When we were married, my husband Martin (which isn't really his name; I've just always liked that one) was 28 years old and I was 16. Lots of people called him a cradle robber, and in many ways I guess he was. Other people didn't matter a whole lot to us then, because we were in love, and he was a charmer. I guess he just swept me off my feet, to coin a phrase.

In the first couple of years of our marriage, the sex was really great. Martin got my cherry, and since he was the only man or boy whom I'd ever dated seriously, I really didn't know much about sex. He taught me a lot, from oral sex to all the different positions that an experienced man was familiar with. Like I said, I didn't know much, so thought everything we did was new and exciting, and to me it was.

By the time we'd been married for ten years, our sexual relations had been reduced to the point of maybe two or three times a month. That simply wasn't enough for me, so I had to masturbate quite a bit. Martin never seemed to be bothered by the lack of screwing, and I began to think that maybe he had passed his prime, even though he was only 38 years old.

We had been planning a trip to Europe to celebrate our 10th anniversary, and had the reservations all made to take a cruise ship to England, then ride different tour buses to see the Continent. I had no idea anything was at all unusual in our marriage until one time I needed to double-check a credit card charge that had been made to buy our ship reservations.

Martin had always handled all our finances, and I really didn't know much about them. One day about a month before we were scheduled to depart, the cruise line called to ask about a charge that had been made on our credit card, and they wanted me to find the monthly statement and double-check the amount. I told them I'd have to call back, because I really wasn't sure where the statements were kept, and my husband was out of town overnight.

As soon as I got off the telephone, I started looking through Martin's file cabinet, and surprisingly enough found the statements filed under "Credit Cards". I'm glad he had an organized mind.

I started looking through the file until I found the statement for last month, and soon saw the charge that the cruise line had made. I wrote down the information, and was going to call the company, when I saw that the next charge listed there was to "Southeastern Entertainment, Inc." in the amount of $400. I had never heard of such a company, and thought that must be some pretty good entertainment to be worth that much.

Just to satisfy my curiosity, I looked at the statement from two months before, and there the charge was again. Now I had to know what was going on, so I went back over the entire year's statements. I found that same charge going back for seven months, which meant that we'd been charged $2,800 for whatever kind of entertainment it was, and I knew for sure that I hadn't been entertained anywhere near that much.

I then looked at the dates for the charges, and saw they were all made on the last Friday of the month. Curiously enough, Martin was always out of town on that particular day of the month. Even more curious was that very day was the last Friday of the month, and Martin was also "out of town."

Since I was a stay-at-home wife, I had learned several years ago to use computers just to give me something to do when I was home by myself. When the Internet got popular, I signed up for an account and learned to surf. The first thing I did, then, was to start using the Web to locate "Southeastern Entertainment, Inc." Imagine my surprise when I saw its address was here in our hometown. I simply didn't know what was going on.

The look-up service I used also listed a telephone number, so I called to get what information I could. You could have knocked me over with a feather when a sultry-voiced woman answered, saying, "Mistress Christine's House of Pain. We cater to all kinks. What is your pleasure?"

I was dumbfounded, and instead of saying anything, hung up the phone. I don't know how long I stood there in shock, but do recall that I became angrier by the second. All I could think of was my slimeball husband was paying some whore $400 a month to "cater" to his "kinks". I have to admit that I wasn't sure just what that meant, but doubted it was worth $2,800 out of our bank account, and probably another $400 had already been added to that total.

The more I thought about all the times he'd told me that we "couldn't afford" this or that, the more determined I became to make him pay for sneaking around on me. However, first I was going to make sure that I knew just what his "kinks" were. Since he obviously couldn't discuss them with me, they must be something really embarrassing or disgusting.

Martin returned during the afternoon of the next day, as usual, and I pretended everything was just fine and dandy. Inside I was seething, but made up my mind to act like there was nothing out of the ordinary. As usual also, he said he was "too tired" from his business trip to have sex that night and even the next.

I spent the weekend laying my plans to find out just what was going on at "Mistress Christine's House of Pain", and what my husband was getting there that was so much better than what he could get from me that he'd pay $400 for it. I spent my Monday morning doing the housework and watching TV, and then after lunch I drove to the address that I had found for Southeastern Entertainment, Inc.

The building was located in an industrial district, and was one of those old warehouses that have been converted to apartments or condos. There was no sign on the building to help me locate it, but by parking the car and walking around, I was finally able to see a small address number mounted on a door. I didn't know whether to knock, or just walk in, and finally decided to do the latter.

The door opened into a reception area that surely would win an award for most tacky decorating ever done. The walls were covered with bright-red velvet wallpaper, and the brass wall-hung lamps had very small bulbs in them, making the whole place pretty dim. There was a woman seated behind a desk, and she was talking on the telephone. She gestured that I should take a seat, and so I did.

I couldn't help but overhear what she was saying, and there certainly wasn't any doubt about the nature of the conversation. She was obviously talking to a man, because she was telling him that if he came for a "session", they'd stretch his "little dickie", or whip his "little nutsies", or roast his "itty-bitty weenie". I wondered if that was what had been done to Martin when he came here. Maybe that was why he was always avoiding sex with me on the weekends after he'd spent $400 here.

Finally the woman ended the conversation, after making an appointment for the man's session. She turned to me and asked if she could help me, and I hesitated before speaking, even though I'd practiced what I intended to say. Finally, I said, "I'd like to bring my husband here, and was wondering just what services you offer. Could you tell me?"

She said, "Sweetie, I'll do much better than that. How would you like the guided tour? That way you can see what's available, and choose just the right thing for your man. Okay?" I said that sounded like the best way to help me make my decision, and the receptionist pressed a button on her desk, telling me that someone would be with me shortly.

In less than 30 seconds, a young woman came through a door behind the desk and the receptionist told her that I wanted a tour before selecting the things I wanted done to my husband. The newcomer was dressed in a manner that startled me, and I'm sure I stared at her. She was wearing an outfit that looked to be made of black leather or plastic, and was about the size of a one-piece swim suit. That in itself wasn't the part that surprised me, but the revealing nature of it did. There were two large circular cutouts around her breasts, which revealed them in their entirety. At her crotch, there was a heart-shaped cutout which showed that she was shaved down there, and I could see her whole slit. Never in my life had I imagined such a thing existed, and even if I had, would never have believed that a woman would wear it when meeting a stranger.

The young lady walked over to me and held out her hand, introducing herself as "Mistress Kathy". I was about as embarrassed as I'd ever been, sitting here with my head about the same height as her naked vagina, and shaking hands just as if meeting a salesperson in a downtown department store. She indicated that I should follow her, and I stood up. We walked through the door and entered a long hallway.

As soon as the door had closed behind us, Kathy asked if I were interested in "B&D or S&M". Since I'd never heard of such things before, I didn't know how to reply. She saw my confusion, and asked, "You're pretty new to this scene, aren't you, honey?" I told her that I certainly was, but was eager to learn more about it.

She put her arm around me, which I found unsettling. Never in my life had I been this close to another woman who was so nonchalant about her exposed breasts and sex organ. I was afraid that she was one of those women who prefer other women to men when it came to sex, and I was just about to run back through the door. She must have sensed my uneasiness, because she lowered her arm and said, "B&D stands for 'bondage and discipline'. It usually involves the use of restraints such as straps, ropes, and clamps. The man is instructed to perform certain acts according to the orders of his mistress, and if he doesn't do things just right, then the amount of discipline is increased. Most of that sort of thing is pretty mild, and it involves mind games more than real punishment. Not my sort of thing, actually. I like to hear them suffer lots more than they do with B&D."

"S&M is more what I prefer. It stands for 'sadism and masochism'. Do you know what those words mean?"

I had to confess that I didn't know any more about them than what I'd seen of television. Again, she took pity on me and explained.

"Well, honey, a sadist is someone who gets off on hurting another person. Around here, we use it in a sexual sense, as you've probably guessed. A masochist is someone who likes to be hurt, usually in a sexual way."

"Now all that means that when a man, or a woman for that matter, comes here for an S&M session, then I, or another mistress, apply certain painful 'treatments' to his body. Since I enjoy doing that sort of thing to men, I guess you could call me a sadist. I don't know of any other thing that gets me off as much as destroying a man's cock and balls and listening to his screaming. Know what I mean?"

I had to confess that I didn't know what she meant, but that it sounded like fun, and maybe just the sort of thing that my husband needed to get him to treat me better. She smiled at that, saying, "I like the way you think, dear."

We decided that I should see examples of what was available there, and she led me down the hallway. The hall was about 10' wide, and there were rooms on each side of it. Set into the wall were what I at first thought were windows, but Kathy explained they were two-way mirrors, so that someone in the hall could see what was happening in the rooms. She said that the afternoons were a slow time for them, but that in the evening nearly every room would have a customer being put through his or her paces.

She said that the rooms progressed from the mild stuff to the pretty strong stuff. As we looked into the first room, I saw some whips and leather straps hanging on a wall panel, but not much else. My guide said that the first four rooms were used for B&D, and were just "vanilla" crap. She explained the use of some of the straps, and said that the whips were just for show, since the people in to that sort of thing didn't really like pain, just the threat of it.

The next four rooms were used for beginning S&M, and she said that customers in there would be given light doses of pain in the first, working up to harder stuff by the fourth, but still without breaking the skin. She pointed out pulleys and ropes mounted in the ceiling, and a thing she called an "X-beam", which looked like that letter of the alphabet mounted to a wall. It had leather cuffs at each end of the beams which were used to secure the person in place.

The last four rooms were where Kathy worked. She said that the sessions there were very intense, and the vast majority of the customers were men. I could see that there were more of the pulleys and ropes mounted to the ceiling, and the display panels of equipment were filled with straps, whips, canes, wooden rods, clamps of every sort, large lead weights, and things that I couldn't identify.

As we approached the last mirror, she said, "There's a session underway in this room right now. We offer reduced rates for afternoon sessions, and the fellow who's in there now always comes then so he can afford more. I want to warn you that what he's getting is pretty intense, so if you have any doubts about seeing it, then maybe we should go back now.

As we had walked down the hallway, looking at the rooms and the equipment, while Kathy explained what would be done to a man in there, I found myself getting more and more aroused. I don't ever recall having feelings of that sort before, or even thinking of doing such things to Martin, but I began to realize that it was what I wanted to do to him. When Kathy cautioned me about the last room, it only served to make me even more curious, and I told her that I wanted to see everything they had to offer before making a decision about my husband's session.

We stopped before the last mirror, and I simply couldn't grasp for a moment what I was seeing. As my eyes finally focused on the interior of the room, I saw a naked man hanging upside down. There were ropes tied around his ankles, and each rope went to a separate pulley. These were mounted to the ceiling at least 10' apart, and his legs were spread so wide that I didn't know how his body kept from being split down the middle with the strain.

There were several pins or needles stuck in his penis, and as I looked more closely, I could see they had been pushed all the way through the thing and the points were sticking through the other side. It was amazing to me that his cock was hard as a rock, and was bobbing up and down with his excitement. His mistress was standing beside him, and just then raised her whip and brought it down on his crotch. As the stroke fell across his genitals, I saw his mouth open, as if he were crying out.

Kathy told me that the rooms were soundproofed, but if I wanted to hear him screaming, she could turn on a small speaker beside the window. By that time, I was too far gone in my own arousal to do anything other than nod my head.

She pushed a button beside the speaker, and I could hear the man groaning and whimpering. The mistress again whipped his cock and balls, and this time I could hear his scream as well as see his reaction. The wetness in my crotch was becoming the focus of my brain now, and I wanted nothing more than to put my hand in my panties and give my pussy some relief.

As I concentrated on the man being tortured, Kathy stepped up behind me and put her arms around me. She whispered, "That sort of thing always makes me hot. How about you?" I don't remember answering her, but she seemed to know the effect the scene was having on me, and she placed her hands over my breasts and began rubbing them.

This was an entirely new experience for me. I'd had some girl-girl sort of things happen when in grade school, but never had the other girl touched me. We usually would just be on the same bed, touching ourselves while talking about boys. It had never in my wildest dreams occurred to me that a woman's hands on my breasts could feel so good, and be so arousing.

Kathy was encouraged by my lack of resistance to her advances, and began to knead my titties even more. Soon she pulled my blouse out of my jeans and reached under it, cupping my breasts and squeezing and pulling on the nipples. She then lowered one of her hands and worked it inside my jeans and panties. I drew in my abdomen to help her reach my crotch, too lost now in my passion to do anything to stop her.

Her finger soon found my slit and began to rub it. As I watched the man being tortured, her finger worked its way deeper and deeper into my pussy. Finally, I arched my back and orgasmed. I heard her whisper to me, "Kiss me", and turned my head to her. We began kissing, and it was so far beyond any kiss I'd ever had from Martin that I can't even use the same word to describe them.

We finally broke the kiss and I turned back to watch what was happening in the room. The mistress was now whipping the man's balls, and he was groaning and whimpering continuously, and his hips were pistoning back and forth as he humped the air. Suddenly he screamed even louder than before, and cum started spurting from the end of his dick. I had never seen that happening before, since Martin always insisted that we have sex in a darkened room, and it was fascinating to me to watch the gobs of jism arcing from his penis and then landing on the floor. As the force of his orgasm subsided, the final gobs landed on his chest and stomach.

Kathy had continues to caress my breasts as we watched the man cumming. When he was finally spent, she asked me if I had enjoyed the show, and I replied, "Jesus Christ in Heaven, yes! Never in my wildest dreams had I thought such a thing could happen. Does that sort of thing happen very often?"

"Yes, quite a bit. That particular guy cums every time his balls are whipped. Most of the men we get in that room are really into pain, and they cum pretty much every time we have a session with them." She withdrew her hands from my breasts, and asked, "Did you like what I did to you?"

I turned to her then and pulled her to me. My kiss on her lips served as answer, and when we finally broke from it, she said, "That's the kind of answer I like best. Have you ever had a woman do that to you before?"

I said that not only had it never happened, I had no idea that it ever could happen. I'd known that there were women who liked to have sex with other women, but never imagined that I was one of them. She said that didn't mean that I was a lesbian, just that I was so turned on by what we were watching that I no longer cared who or what gave me an orgasm.

The mistress was lowering the man to the floor by then, and Kathy said that the session was over. We turned and walked back up the hallway hand in hand, and when we reached the door, kissed again. She said that I could make any arrangements I wanted with the receptionist, and that she would look forward to seeing me again if I brought my husband for a session, or came for one myself. I smiled, thinking that it would be a cold day in Hell when I allowed anyone to get me in one of those rooms, although I certainly would like to watch Martin being punished. We said our good-byes and I went through the door.

I spent a few minutes talking to the woman about the different rates that were charged for the different levels and rooms. It was interesting to learn that the last room was billed at $400 per session, with the others billed for a lesser amount. That meant that Martin had been tortured in the same room as the man who had the needles in his penis and was being whipped on his crotch. No wonder my poor husband didn't want to have sex for a few days afterward.

I told the receptionist that I would return when I had decided which room was appropriate for my husband, and then left. I think I had a greater understanding of Martin at that moment than ever before. It was probably for the best that this whole thing had happened, since I had discovered something about myself that had been completely hidden all my life: Number one, that I liked seeing a man tortured, and number two, that I was attracted to other women. Perhaps I would build on these experiences. I know that I would certainly look at my girlfriends in a whole new way now.

I didn't say anything about what had happened that day when Martin came home from work that evening. My pussy was still feeling a thrill from the experience, and when we went to bed I wouldn't take no for an answer, and practically raped him. All the time he was in me, I imagined him hanging by his heels, his dick full of needles, and his crotch being viciously whipped. It was a good orgasm for me, although he seemed to be super sensitive in his crotch and couldn't manage to cum.

Nothing of note happened before it was time for us to board the cruise ship to England. We had a fabulous time on the cruise, dancing every night and having good sex in our cabin afterward. We met lots of other interesting people, and I even thought about trying to arrange a meeting with one or two women I met, but the right opportunity never came about.

We stayed in England for about five days, touring all the usual tourist traps, then rode a tour bus through the Chunnel and onto the Continent. We saw lots of very interesting places during the tours we had signed up for, and all in all had a really good time. The last part of Europe on our itinerary was The Netherlands, Amsterdam in particular.

We took a walking tour through the city, being in a group of maybe fifteen other couples. We visited shops, art displays, and sidewalk cafes. Late in the afternoon, our tour guide paused outside a building that had a small sign reading, "Pijnigen Museum". He told us that the items displayed in that particular museum were not for the faint of heart, and said that if any of us wanted to see them, he'd take the rest of the group down the street to another sidewalk cafe and spend an hour there waiting for us. Martin and I were both getting pretty bored with seeing the same old stuff over and over again, so we chose to visit the exhibits.

We stepped inside the building with four other couples from our group, and the type of things that the museum contained soon became evident. Although everything displayed in the lobby was pretty mild, one thing that caught both Martin's and my attention was a brochure explaining that the Dutch-to-English translation of 'pijnigen' was 'torture'. I thought back to Mistress Christine's place of business, and felt a thrill in my chest. I knew by the way my husband was acting that he had the same feeling.

A young lady approached our group, and immediately recognized we were Americans. She addressed us in English, saying that everything in the lobby was available to browse free of charge. She informed us that the main part of the museum was in the basement, and that there was a charge to tour it. I'm sure that Martin wanted to see the stuff down there just as much as I did, so we didn't hesitate to buy our tickets. Two other couples did the same, and soon we were led down a narrow stairway to the basement.

We entered a fairly large room, and could see lots of strange-looking equipment standing around. Nearly everything had a mannequin in place, showing how the various tortures would be applied. There was a low-volume recording in the background that played moans, groans, and cries of pain. All-in-all, it was an effective way to display the things we saw. The girl led us through the exhibits, all the while explaining the purposes of the equipment, and the varied uses to which it could be put.

The exhibits started out pretty mild, and then progressed to the more extreme forms of torture. In the latter part, we was a dummy being stretched on a rack, another hung by metal hooks through its chest muscles, another suspended by its wrists and being mercilessly whipped by another dummy. There were red stripes drawn all over the "victim's" body, to represent the blood that would have been drawn by the lashes. As I thought of having Martin tied to each piece of equipment, I became aroused. Since I have never worn a bra, I know that my arousal was evident to anyone who looked at me, and I noticed that the guide was doing that frequently.

At one point in the tour, she was explaining how a particular nasty thing called the "pear" would be inserted in the body cavities of either a male or female victim. Once in place, a knob on the end would be turned, and the pear would expand somewhat like the unfolding petals of a flower. I was thinking of how that would feel in my increasingly wet pussy, and was blindly looking at the girl. When I came to my senses, I saw that she was returning my gaze, and my face immediately blushed and I looked down. She covered the moment by taking us to the next exhibit, which was the final one.

The guide directed us to stand across a small table from her, and we did so. She then reached under the table and brought out something that I could not immediately recognize. After I looked at the thing for a few seconds, I realized that it was a miniature guillotine. Instead of a place to place the victim's head, which wouldn't have fit anyway, due to the small size of the thing, it had two boards with 2" diameter holes in them. There was a space between the boards, and when released the blade would fall into and through this space.

She smiled at us, then asked, "Now, would anyone care to guess what this little device would be used for?" We tried to think of uses for the thing, and some guesses were a cigar cutter, fingernail trimmer, toenail trimmer, etc. Finally the girl said, "Let me give you a clue."

She again reached under the table, and this time withdrew a sausage of the approximate size that would fit the hole. She placed it through the hole, then again asked for guesses. I think that everyone there had figured it out by then, and there were some embarrassed giggles, but no answers. Finally she said, "Okay. Just in case any of you had any doubts, this should make everything clear." She then released the catch on the guillotine, and we all watched in fascination as the blade fell and the severed portion of the sausage dropped to the tabletop.

There were several gasps from the audience, and I think I was one who also did that. My brain was simply frozen in time as I felt a surge of lust in my crotch. Martin was standing beside, and a small way behind me. I reached back and put my hand on his crotch, and felt the biggest, hardest erection that he'd ever had. As I again became aware of my surroundings, I saw that the girl was looking at where my hand was placed, and that she was smiling.

She then looked at the other people in our group, and asked, "Now, are there any men here who would like to volunteer for a live demonstration." Again there was a lot of nervous giggling, and I noticed that the men, Martin included, unthinkingly placed their hands over their crotches.

The guide then thanked us for visiting the museum, and directed us to another set of stairs to use to return to the ground floor. As we left the basement, I looked back and saw the girl returning the guillotine to its place under the table, and then disposing of the remains of the sausage.

Martin's hard-on was mostly gone by the time we returned to the street, but I knew that both of us were still thinking about the last exhibit, and the demonstration we'd been given. I couldn't erase from my mind the image of Martin's cock being placed through the hole in the guillotine, and then the blade descending toward it. I was convinced that he was thinking the same thing, because he seemed quite distracted.

When we met our walking-tour guide at the cafe, he said that was the end of that day's activities, and that we were on our own until the next morning. He repeated directions for finding our hotel, and then left us.

I wanted to visit a small shop that I had noticed earlier, to look for gift items for friends and family back home, and Martin said he was too tired to do much more walking, so we agreed that he would return to the hotel for a nap, and I would meet him in our room in a few hours.

As the shop was very near where we were then, it took me the space of a very few minutes to reach it. I went inside to look around. As I was browsing, I realized that someone was standing beside me and turned to see the girl who had been our hostess in the museum.

I was momentarily startled, then embarrassed as I recalled her noticing me looking at her while I was thinking of sex. She was very friendly, and introduced herself as Nikki, and I told her I was Maryann, but everyone called me Mary. We chatted about some of the items in front of us, then she said, "I noticed that both you and your husband were interested in some of my exhibits, shall we say some of the more 'extreme' equipment. Would you be interested in a private tour of another part of the museum that is normally kept locked?"

I was interested, and certainly knew that Martin would be, given the fact that he'd already paid $3,200 to be tortured. I asked her what sort of exhibits were in the other part, and she told me that they picked up where the last one left off. She could see that she had my undivided attention, and suggested that we go to a nearby cafe and have a cup of coffee and talk. Since I really had nothing else to do, and I felt an immediate friendship for this young girl, I agreed that would be a good thing to do.

We sat talking and sipping our espresso for almost an hour, and by the end of that time, had become fast friends. She told me that her father and mother had originally set up the museum and had run it for several years. Her father had died about ten years ago, and then she and her mother had taken over. She said that they both shared an avid interest in the subject matter covered by the museum, and spent lots of time looking for new equipment to display there. Her mother had died in a traffic accident two years ago, and Nikki had become the sole owner of the place.

I'm not sure how it happened, but after awhile it was decided that I would accompany Nikki back to her place of work, and it seemed natural for us to walk arm-in-arm as we returned there. By the time we arrived, our arms were around each other, and it seemed even more natural for us to kiss when we stepped into her office and closed the door.

I remember being very aroused by her touch and her kiss, and I remember her hands roaming over my bare breasts, but have no memory of removing, or of her removing, my blouse. I know that soon she was also bare-breasted, and that we were sitting on a couch. She was leaned toward me and licking and suckling my nipples, and I was afraid they'd break off, they were so hard and distended.

I remember that we were both completely undressed and lying on the floor kissing and caressing, and then that she was crouched above me with her head buried between my legs. As I looked up at her pussy, I was sure it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, and I pulled it toward my mouth and kissed it. After that, it seemed we were lost in licking and sucking each other, until finally my back arched and I orgasmed more strongly than in my whole life. I remember her crotch being pressed forcefully against my face as she also reached her own orgasm, and didn't care if she smothered me or not.

My next clear memory is of Nikki lying beside me, and we were kissing again. I marveled at how different my own juices tasted when compared to hers, and how when they were blended in this manner, were more delicious than the finest wine. We continued kissing and caressing as we cooled, and then I told her the story of Martin's visits to the torture chamber in our home town.

Nikki was very sympathetic as I told my story, and said she couldn't understand why I remained with him, after he'd been so underhanded and sneaky. I told her that I simply had no other choice. I didn't even have a high-school diploma, and certainly couldn't support myself. She then said that she'd noticed Martin had been very turned on by the torture equipment in the museum, and knew that he was a masochist. I agreed, and said how embarrassing it was to have my own husband seek his sexual gratification with other women, and on top of that to pay them thousands of dollars for the service.

We dressed and she poured two glasses of wine. As we sat snuggling and sipping the wine, we talked of how she really had no use for men, and would like to see every one of them castrated and with their cocks cut off. It was her opinion that everyone would be better off if that were to happen, since most men rarely thought with anything other than their cocks anyway, and maybe afterwards they'd be able to actually use their brains. I was in an agreeable mood then, and said that Martin would certainly be better off without his equipment, since then he wouldn't feel the need to spend all our money on prostitutes.

One thing led to another, and the wine and our "girl talk" led to the tour earlier that day in the basement below us. Nikki kissed me sensously, and whispered, "It's too bad he didn't volunteer to demonstrate the use of the penis guillotine. If ever any man were the perfect candidate to have that machine used on him, he's the one." I nodded my agreement, then pulled her to me and we kissed long and passionately.

When we came up for air, I asked something that had been in the back of my mind for some time. "Was that thing ever actually used on a man, or is it just for show?" She pulled back slightly and looked at me, as if to gauge my reaction, and said, "It's been used many times. It was the standard punishment for rapists in many European countries, and also for men who molested children. I have no idea how many times it was used before mother bought it and added it to our collection, but I know that she and I used it at least half a dozen times."

I was stunned by her words, and must have been sitting there with my mouth open in surprise, for she said, "Better close your pretty mouth or flies will get in." When I did so, she again kissed me, finally letting me come up for air long enough to ask, "Are you truthfully telling me that you've used the guillotine to cut the cocks off six men? You're just kidding, aren't you?"

She assured me that she was telling the truth, and in fact had used it on a man just two weeks before. I simply couldn't believe what she was telling me, and asked her for details.

"It was a case of child molestation. The man was a prominent businessman here in Amsterdam. When his wife caught him in their daughter's bed, with both of them naked, she threatened to tell everyone she knew. He begged her to keep quiet, saying that he'd 'do anything' if she did so. She then told him that if he'd give up his penis, she'd keep quiet about the situation."

"Apparently he absolutely refused to do that, begging her to please name some other penalty. She said that it was that or the newspapers, and she wouldn't accept anything less. She set a deadline for his decision by giving him 48 hours to make up his mind."

"When the time had expired, she asked him what he was going to do. He begged her one last time to reconsider, but she wouldn't do it. As she was dialing the number for the police, he agreed to do as she asked."

"The woman is my aunt, and the little girl is my niece. Of course, my aunt knew about the things in the basement here, and through talking with my mother, her sister, knew that the penis guillotine was the tool she needed. She made the arrangements with me to meet them here after closing time one night. I have a drug that makes men very easy to handle after they've had a little of it in their wine, and I got him to drink some of it."

"We took him to the basement and made him undress, then tied him to one of the posts down there. I moved the table in front of him while his wife played with his cock and got it nice and hard. She then tied a cord around the base of his thing so he wouldn't bleed to death, and I guided it into the hole in the guillotine." Even with the drug, he knew what was happening and started to fling his hips about trying to get away from the machine."

"I got a piece of rope and wrapped it around his waist and the guillotine, then pulled it tight and tied it. His stomach was pressed tight up against the hole, and I knew that he wouldn't have even a stub left after the blade fell."

"I placed a catch basin under his dick, and then told my aunt that everything was ready. She told him to say goodbye to it, and then released the blade. We got him dressed and into their car, and she took him to a hospital and made him get out about half a block away. She had told him that he was to say that a gang of thugs had robbed him and then did that to him, and apparently he did. The police came to her house the next morning to tell her the sad news, and she pretended to be very upset."

"After my aunt and uncle left, I took the basin up to the alley behind here and let a stray dog there have a midnight snack. He seemed to really like it, and even licked the basin clean for me. There was some blood on the guillotine, of course, but it was designed to be easy to clean. All in all, it took less than two hours from start to finish."

By the time Nikki finished her story, I was almost out of my head with lust. I wanted nothing more than to get Martin tied to that post and strap the guillotine around him. I could still hear the sound of the blade as it sliced through the sausage that afternoon, and fantasized that it was dropping now toward his waiting cock.

Nikki could tell that I was highly aroused by her story, and asked if I was fantasizing about doing that to my "bastard of a husband". I said that she must be reading my mind, because that was exactly what I was thinking. However, I knew that threats of exposure would never get Martin to willingly agree to come to the museum and allow himself to be tied to a post.

Nikki said, "Actually, he doesn't have to agree. If you can get him to drink just one drop of the drug I have, it'll make him easier to manipulate. After that, you can get him to walk down to the lobby of the hotel and get in my car, and once in there, to drink some more drugged wine. Five drops are all that are required to make him act like a zombie. He'll follow any orders we give him, and what's even better he won't remember anything that happened after he drank the first drop. What could be easier?"

I was worried about Martin dying of shock or blood loss after he'd been unmanned, and asked Nikki about it. She reassured me, saying, "If we tie off his cock at the base, he won't lose any more blood that what's in the thing. The drug will prevent him from going into shock. After it's done, we'll take him close to the hospital and drop him off. We can order him to walk to the emergency room door, and they'll take it from there. You can call the police from your hotel room and say that your husband went out for a walk and hasn't returned. No one will be the wiser."

By that time, I had had enough wine and was sexually aroused enough that the plan sounded good to me. We talked of how when Martin no longer had his dick, he wouldn't have to resort to prostitutes, and spend thousands of dollars of our money, to get his kicks.

I looked at my watch and saw that I'd be late getting back to the hotel, and stood. Nikki stood with me, and again we kissed long and deep. Finally she asked, "Well? Are we going to do it to him or not?"

I held out my hand, saying, "Give me the drug and tell me what time you want him to be outside the hotel. He'll be a cockless wonder by this time tomorrow."

She smiled, then kissed me again. "Have him walk out the front door of the hotel, then turn right and walk one block. Tell him to get into a dark green BMW that will be parked at the corner waiting for him. I'll be there at exactly 11:00 tonight, so see to it that he leaves your room about five minutes before that time. You should go down by the back stairway in the hotel, and go out into the alley. Wait for me to pull up, then get in. After that, we'll bring him back here and have some fun."

She handed me a small glass bottle and instructed me on how to use the dropper lid to put a single drop of the liquid in his drink. I then straightened my clothes and left the museum, walking quickly back to the hotel.

Martin was sleeping when I entered the room. I thought that he had probably had a bath after returning, and was naked under the single sheet drawn over him. He was lying on his back, and the sheet was tented above his crotch. It was pretty obvious that he had an erection, and was probably dreaming about all the nice toys we'd seen at the museum that afternoon. I quietly pulled back the sheet and looked at his penis, which began to bob back and forth when freed of the cover. I stood there for several minutes trying to imagine how he would look with just his balls and maybe a tiny stub for a cock. I thought that it would be an improvement.

I decided to take a bath also, since my whole body seemed to be covered with the combined juices from the sex Nikki and I had earlier. When I came out of the bathroom, Martin was awake. He moved back the sheet and asked me to get in bed with him, making sure that I could see his aroused state. I wanted to keep him nice and horny for later tonight, so told him I thought we should go down to the hotel dining room first and have dinner. Then we could bring back a bottle of nice wine and have a real party. He thought that sounded like a good idea, so we both dressed and went downstairs.

By the time we'd finished dinner, it was a few minutes after 9:00. To kill some time, and to avoid having to fight off Martin in our hotel room, I suggested that we walk to a liquor store a few blocks away and get a bottle of wine to "put us in a really mellow mood" when we were in bed. I could see that he was getting pretty horny from thinking about the museum exhibits, as well as from my suggestions that tonight's sex would be something special.

I made it a point to stop in front of each store and spend lots of time window shopping, trying to use up as much time as possible. I planned to give him the doctored drink at about twenty minutes before 11:00, because Nikki had said to allow fifteen minutes before giving him instructions.

Martin was panting like a dog in heat by the time we walked through our hotel room door. As soon as it locked behind us, he grabbed me and started kissing me passionately. I was struck by the difference between his kisses and those of Nikki's. His were much more demanding and urgent, while her's were soft and tender, and therefore much more erotic. I was beginning to understand why many women preferred others of their sex when it came to making love.

My wristwatch was reading 10:30 by the time I was able to break away from Martin, and I suggsted that we shouldn't let the expensive wine go to waste. He opened the bottle and poured a small amount for each of us, and we sipped it for about ten minutes. As soon as his glass was empty, I told him I'd pour another drink for him, and suggested that he go pee then so that he wouldn't feel the need while we were "making out".

As soon as he was in the bathroom, I got the little bottle out of my purse and quickly placed one drop of the liquid in his glass, then added a couple inches of wine. I swirled the wine around the inside of the glass to mix the contents, hoping there was enough wine to mask the taste of the drug.

When Martin came back into the room, I handed him the doctored glass and proposed a toast to "the best night of sex we've ever had". As I knew he would, he quickly drained the glass and started hugging and kissing me again. He was eager to undress me, but I delayed as much as possible without making him suspicious. Finally, I could notice that his actions had slowed dramatically, and he had a dazed look in his eyes. My wristwatch was now at seven minutes until 11:00, so I decided to test his condition.

I said, "Martin, I want you to stand up and spread your legs." As soon as he had done that, I ordered, "Now grab your balls and squeeze as hard as you can. I want you to try to bust the damn things. Do it!"

He began squeezing his nuts and whimpering from the pain he was causing. It was obvious that he was under my control now, so I told him to stop squeezing and listen closely to me.

"I want you to go downstairs to the hotel lobby, then walk out the front door. When you are outside, I want you to turn right and walk one block. Look for a dark-green BMW parked there. Walk to the car and get in the back door and close it. Wait for me. Do you understand what I want you to to?"

He answered affirmatively in a dreamy voice, and I made him repeat the instructions to double-check that he remembered them. When I was satisfied that he understood what he was to do, I opened the door and told him to get going. I went back into the room and put the drug bottle, the wine bottle, and his glass in my purse, and then walked down the back stairway. The door into the alley was at the foot of the stairs, and I used it to leave the hotel.

As the door closed behind me, a car was pulling into the alley from the street. I couldn't see the color, since its headlights were shining in my eyes, so I stepped back into the shadows behind a garbage bin. When the car pulled up and parked next to the door, I could see that Nikki was driving and that Martin was sitting in the back seat.

I got into the back seat beside him, and immediately placed another four drops of the drug in the glass, then poured a splash of wine on top of it. After swirling the liquid to mix the contents, I ordered him to drink it, which he did. Nikki then drove away from the hotel, and spent about fifteen minutes driving around in order to give the drug time to reach full effect.

When she judged that enough time had passed, she drove into the alley behind the museum and parked by her back door. She got out and looked around to make sure we were alone, then unlocked the door and held it open. I ordered Martin to get out of the car and walk through the door, and he did so.

As soon as the three of us were inside the museum, Nikki locked the door behind us and we walked to her office. Once inside, she turned on the lights, then placed her arms around me and we kissed. How very different it was from the demanding kisses of my husband. This was a true sharing of passion and arousal, and not an attempt to get me in the mood for sex. We kissed, caressed, and undressed each other for what seemed like ages, but couldn't have lasted for more than fifteen or twenty minutes.

Finally, Nikki said, "Okay, we can take care of our needs after awhile. The drug will wear off in three or four hours, so we should get started on him now. Tell him to get his clothes off."

I turned to Martin and ordered, "Remove all your clothing now. Be quick about it." His hands went to his shirt front and started unbuttoning it. As soon as it was removed he stepped out of his shoes, then leaned over and took off his socks. He then unfastened his trousers and stepped out of them, followed in short order by his undershorts.

My next order soon followed. "Get your cock hard now. I want it to be the biggest hard-on you've ever had. Play with it until you're ready to cum, then stop. Do not cum. Do you understand me?"

He said, "Yes", then started playing with himself. He was still aroused from earlier, and soon his penis was standing at full staff, and we could see the first drop of pre-cum glistening at its tip. He began to moan with pleasure, and then stopped playing with himself. When he took his hand away from it, his cock began jerking up and down and the pre-cum dripped from it in a long strand.

Nikki hugged me again, saying, "Ready to take him down to the basement now?" I was very aroused by this time, both from the anticipation of what we were going to do to my husband, as well as Nikki's attentions to my body a short while ago. I replied to her question, "Yes. Let's hurry. I can't wait to see his cock in the guillotine."

Nikki walked to a door behind her desk and opened it. She said, "Bring him down here", then began descending a stairway to the basement. I ordered Martin to follow her, then walked behind him, closing the door behind me.

My lover had turned on the lights in the basement by the time we reached the botton of the stairway, and I could see that we were in a different room from that afternoon. It was smaller, and there were not as many exhibits in this one. There was a supporting post in the center of the room, and Nikki told me to order Martin to stand with his back against it.

When he was in position, she placed a wide leather belt around his midsection, then buckled it tightly behind the post. She then pulled his arms behind the post and secured his wrists with handcuffs. Kneeling at his feet, she pulled them back until they were also behind the post, and secured his ankles with a larger set of handcuffs. His crotch was now pushed forward by his awkward position.

Martin's cock was now jutting from his body, larger than I'd ever seen it. It was obvious that he was extremely turned on by the situation, even in his drugged state. The pre-cum was now literally dripping from his dick head, and I knew that the slightest jacking motion of the shaft would cause him to explode.

Nikki pushed the table forward until its corner was under his balls, then set the guillotine on top of it. She looked at me and asked, "Do you want to do the honors?" I nodded my head and moved beside my husband. As he looked at the machine setting there a few inches from his cock, he seemed to become even more aroused. His penis began to jerk wildly, as if trying to reach the guillotine all on its own.

Nikki handed me a short length of cord and I wrapped it around the base of his dick, taking two turns and then drawing the ends tight and tying them securely. I then held his cock with one hand while sliding the guillotine forward, and guided his member into the hole. As he saw his dick enter the hole, he moaned in anticipation of what was soon to come.

When the machine was as far as it would go, I released it. Because of his thrusting motions as he tried to "fuck" the thing, it wouldn't stay in place. Nikki handed me another length of cord and I placed it around his waist and the guillotine, then formed half a knot in the ends. By pulling on the ends of the cord, I was able to draw the thing back tightly against his crotch, and then completed the knot to hold it in place.

Nikki then handed me a small ceramic bowl that would serve as the catch basin. I placed it under his cock, ready to catch his severed member and any blood that would drain from it.

All the preparations were now completed, and the only step that remained was to release the blade and let it do its work. Nikki stepped up behind me, reached around my body and fondled my breasts. I looked down at my nipples and couldn't believe how hard and distended they were. Surely I'd never in my life been this hot, and I knew that my orgasm was just moments away. My lover dropped one of her hands to my crotch, and inserted a finger into my slit. As she pinched and pulled on my nipple, and frigged my pussy, she told me to take the trigger release in my hand.

I slowly reached for the small lever that would free the blade and send it to its resting place below. By that time I was moaning, and my breath was coming in ragged gasps. Suddenly I thrust my cunt against her hand, and gasped as my orgasm overtook me. I heard Nikki tell me, "Now! Pull the trigger now!", and saw my hand, as if in slow motion, push the lever down.

The blade fell in a slow motion of its own, then the cutting edge disappeared between the two boards that were imprisoning Martin's engorged cock. I heard the blade impact the bottom of the guillotine and come to rest. Again in slow motion, the now severed cock fell from the hole and dropped into the catch basin. It lay there twitching and shrinking as the blood emptied from it.

I don't know how long my orgasm lasted. Surely it was several hours, although when I finally regained my senses, there was still a small flow of blood from the little, wrinkled thing laying in the bowl. Nikki reached up to my face and turned it to her, and we kissed.

As we broke the kiss, I saw that Martin was sagging against the belt that was holding him in position, and realized that he was unconscious. Nikki said that it was normal for a man to pass out, and it wasn't life-threatening to him. She said that the state of arousal a man reached as he watched his severed penis falling into the basin, coupled with his inability to cum because of the restricting cord, caused the blackout every time.

She took a small bottle from a nearby cabinet, and after opening it, held it under his nose. I could tell that it held smelling salts, and soon saw him come awake coughing and gasping for breath. He was still in the drugged state, and was unable to speak. He stared at the wrinkled little thing laying in the bowl, but I'm not sure he recognized it as his own. At any rate, it would be his last sight of it.

Nikki pulled away the table, and then released his ankles. As soon as he was able to support his weight, she removed the handcuffs and the belt. She told me to get him upstairs and tell him to get dressed, and she'd be up as soon as she had cleaned up the mess.

I was amazed at Martin's ability to climb the stairs on his own. It was obvious that the drug had done its job of preventing shock, and that his brain simply hadn't recognized yet that he was now much less of a man than before. After we entered the room above, I handed him his clothing one piece at a time and told him to get dressed. When it came time for his socks and shoes, I had to kneel to help him. By the time he was fully clothed, Nikki had returned from the basement, holding the catch basin.

She asked, "What do you want to do with this thing?" I said that it looked like dog food to me, and she smiled and agreed. We walked to the alley door and went outside, and after she whistled a mongrel dog came running up. She gave the bowl to me and I placed it on the ground, then watched the dog hungrily devour the meat and then avidly lick up all the blood. Finally the bowl was as clean as if it had been through a dishwasher, and Nikki picked it up and put it in the car.

We drove to the nearest hospital that had an emergency room, parking about half a block away. Martin and I got out and I instructed him to walk to the door that I pointed out to him, and when someone came to answer the buzzer, to take down his pants. I figured the lack of a bulge there, and the small amount of blood on his undershorts would tell the story.

We waited in the car and watched him walk to the door and press the button to summon an attendant. A few seconds later a nurse opened the door, and Martin dropped his trousers. We saw the nurse place her hand to her mouth, then carefully reach for his shorts and pull them out to allow her to see inside. She then turned and must have yelled for assistance, because another nurse showed up right away with a wheelchair. As soon as they got him in the chair, it was wheeled inside. We left, and Nikki drove me to my hotel.

I was able to sneak through the lobby unseen, and got back in the room with no one the wiser. I waited until about 2:00 in the morning, then called the police to report that my husband had gone out for a walk about three hours earlier, and still hadn't returned. The desk sergeant took my name and telephone number and told me to wait by the phone for his call in case they had any information for me.

I was sound asleep when the telephone rang about 8:00 that morning. The caller said that my husband had been located in a hospital and that a car was on the way to take me there. I was instructed to describe what I would be wearing, and to wait in the lobby of the hotel, where a policewoman would contact me.

I followed the instructions and was waiting downstairs when the woman arrived, compared my clothing to my earlier description, then introduced herself. I immediately went into my "distraught wife" act that I'd been practicing, and allowed the policewoman to support me as she helped me to her car waiting outside.

As we drove to the hospital, I kept asking her for information about what had happened to Martin, but she would say only that the doctor would have to give me that information. I could tell that she knew his condition, but was either reluctant to tell me, or under orders to not do so.

We arrived at the hospital and I begged her to hurry, pretending that I was desperate to see my husband. Instead of taking me to his room, she escorted me to a small office and entered with me. A man was sitting at a desk, and I could see by his name tag that he was one of the doctors on staff at the hospital. He spoke poor English, and most of what he said had to be repeated by the policewoman.

He first told me that my husband was in satisfactory condition, and was resting comfortably. I pretended to be very much relieved by that news, and questioned him as to what had happened to Martin. He looked momentarily embarrassed, then said something that I was unable to decipher. I turned to my escort for an interpretation, and she too blushed, then said in a low voice, "His penis was removed by an assailant last night."

I had anticipated this moment, and had practiced thinking of when my beloved dog was run over and killed, so that I would be able to recall that time and give a convincing performance of my grief. My acting surely must have been at the Academy Awards level, because both the woman and the doctor rushed to my side and tried to comfort me.

After I regained my composure, and the doctor was returning to his desk, I whispered to myself, knowing that the policewoman would overhear, "So he finally found someone who would do it for him." I could tell by her reaction that she had heard me, although she pretended otherwise.

The woman then escorted me to Martin's room, and I looked in on him and saw that he was sleeping. I continued playing the distraught wife by rushing to his bedside and hugging and kissing him, all the time knowing that the drugs he'd been given here made him totally unconscious. Finally the policewoman asked me to accompany her to another room where we could talk.

We were alone in the new room, and as soon as the door had been closed, she began to ask me the usual questions about name, address, etc. As I became more easy with the situation, she asked, "Have you ever had any indication that your husband had any unusual desires when it came to sexual relations?" I pretended that I didn't have any idea what she was talking about, all the while showing by my reaction that I knew exactly the direction of her question.

She then reassured me that everything said here would remain in a confidential police report, and that I needn't worry about being embarrassed. With a great show of reluctance, I finally told her that I knew Martin had visited, indeed several times, a place in our hometown that catered to men interested in S&M.

She wrote down the information and then said softly, "I have to confess that I overheard you say to yourself something about your husband finally finding someone 'who would do it for him'. Would you please explain what you meant by that?"

I had practiced for this very question by remembering the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to me, and I did so again then. As I recalled that moment, my face burned with shame and I lowered my head. The woman gave me a few moments to collect myself, then continued, "I realize that what I am asking is extremely embarrassing for you, but you surely know that we need any information you can give us."

I replied that I understood that, but that particular information was extremely difficult for me to relate to a stranger. I then drew a deep breath, as if steeling myself to face a bad situation, and said, "When my husband and I had sexual relations, he wanted me to threaten to castrate him and to remove his penis. In the recent past, he was unable to reach completion unless I held a knife in my hand and described what I was going to do to him." I then again recalled my most embarrassing moment in order that I would again blush.

The policewoman then said, "I see. This must be extremely difficult for you, knowing that your husband had sexual fantasies that he continued to the point they came true. This sort of thing is not unusual in policework, especially here in Amsterdam, where we have a reputation for being a wide-open city. We will pursue the investigation with all available means, but the likelihood of us ever finding the assailant is small. I wish I could be more reassuring, but I don't want to mislead you."

The woman then stood, saying that she would return me to the hotel if I wanted. Of course I said that I had to remain by my husband's side in case he awakened. We said our goodbyes, and she departed. I was confident that the police investigation would go no farther after they confirmed that Martin had indeed visited the S&M whorehouse in our hometown, and that Nikki and I were safe.

I waited in Martin's room for several hours, anxious to be the first to talk to him when he awakened. Nikki had assured me that he would have no memory of last night, but I had to be sure. When he regained consciousness in the late afternoon, I rushed to his bedside and hugged him.

He had no memory of anything concerning last night's activities. He said the last thing he could recall was drinking wine in our hotel room, and then he assumed he'd passed out. I told him that he had become drunk, and then went for a walk to "clear his head". I said I didn't know what had happened to him after that.

When he finally got around to asking why he was in the hospital, I pulled back his bedcovers so that he could see the bandaging on his crotch, and the catheter leading from there to a collection bag. "Someone mutilated you last night", I said.

He looked confused, and I'm sure he was. "What do you mean? What happened? Who did it?" His questions told me all I needed to know about his memories of last night, and I explained quietly to him what had happened. It was strange to see that his reaction had two facets. As could be expected, he was extremely upset about what had been done to him, but there was also an undercurrent of excitement in his questions. It was obvious that his masochistic nature could not be entirely suppressed, even when it had brought him to this result.

Even given his upset, he could not long remain awake, and soon slipped back into sleep. A nurse came in then, saying that she was going to give him another injection that would cause him to sleep until the next day, and that there was no need for me to remain at the hospital. I then left and returned to the hotel.

Nikki and I had decided that it would be best if we had no contact for several days, just in case the police were watching me. I continued to visit Martin, and to return to the hotel after he drifted into sleep. After a week of this routine, I carefully returned to the museum just before closing time one evening, and slipped in to Nikki's office.

She had seen me entering her office, and was quick to lock the outside door and turn off the lights. When she entered the room, we rushed to each other and began hugging, kissing, caressing, and undressing each other. Soon we were lying on the floor locked in mutual licking and sucking of our pussies. We orgasmed quickly, and then continued arousing each other until I again climaxed, followed shortly by Nikki.

We then dressed and she drove us to her home, where we spent the night repeating our attentions to the other's body. I don't know how many times I orgasmed that night, but it was several. It seemed that all she had to do was recount the details of Martin's unmanning to arouse me to a fever pitch. Over and over she told me how we had tied him to the post, placed his penis in the guillotine, then secured it to him so the last little bit of his thing would be chopped off. She told me of how I had been dripping wet when she put her finger in my cunt, and how when my back arched against her hand, she had told me to release the blade. She made the sound of the blade falling, then recalled how his engorged cock had fallen into the bowl. By the time she reached that point of the story, I was wet again and ready to cum.

Nikki dropped me off a few blocks from the hospital the next morning, and then drove on to the museum. When I returned to the hotel that evening, and I had bathed and changed clothes, I again used the back stairway to enter the alley and walk to the museum. We then spent the night in Nikki's bed. We followed this practice every day until Martin was released, and it was time for us to return to our life in the United States.

Leaving Nikki was probably the most difficult thing I've ever done in my life. Our last night was one long series of lovemaking followed by crying. I don't know that either of us ever slept, and I'm sure that I looked just as bad as she did when we parted the next morning. We promised to write every day, as lovers always do when faced with separation, but I think we both knew that we were probably seeing one another for the last time ever.

We returned home by air, since neither of us could see any reason to travel by the slower cruise ship. It was amazing how quickly we returned to our previous lifestyle in some ways, and how very much different it was in others. Martin resumed his work duties, with everything there going as usual, except he no longer "traveled" on the last Friday of the month.

I remained a stay-at-home wife, except that I took for a lover another woman, and we spent many days pleasuring one another. I knew there would always be a special place in my heart for Nikki, but soon came to realize that I could love others as well.

Martin's sex life was changed radically, as can be imagined. He no longer visited the S&M whorehouse as before, and, of course, we no longer had intercourse. What was unchanged was his desire for sex, though. His testicles continued to manufacture testosterone, and he continued to long for sexual release. We found through experimentation that about the only way he could find that release was through pain, and I was only too happy to provide that for him.

Our usual procedure to give him an orgasm was for both of us to undress and go to the dining room. He would stand with his back to the table and spread his legs. I would tie his ankles to the table legs, then order him to lie back across the tabletop. Usually by that time, his little stub would be erect (it was actually almost 3/4" long, which was surprising to me). I would sit on his face until I became aroused by his licking and sucking, and then would climb off and get my whip. While standing between his widespread legs, I'd whip his stub and his balls, all the time cursing him for being less than a man. When he had finally reached his peak of arousal, his cum would spurt from the little nubbin.

All-in-all, I am much happier with my whole life now, and not just the sexual part. The money he used to spend on his whores has now found a much better use, since I spend it on myself. Like I said, I'm much happier and more fulfilled than ever before, and think with fondness of the day when I first looked at that credit card statement.