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THE WATCHER
Chapter 2 The advertisement was simple enough. The layout showed a landscape photograph of a beautiful setting, dominated by a large Spanish-style building. It could have been a typical ad for a vacation resort anywhere in the world. What made it different was the name of the resort, La Casa del Tormento. Since Spanish is my mother tongue, I knew that it translated to English as, "The House of Torture". Everything below that part of the display confirmed the name of the place. The text was headlined with, "Bring your lover, your wife, or your husband to us. We offer a full range of discipline and training, and can cater to any tastes, no matter how extreme." There were two stylized photos at the bottom of the advertisement that left no doubt as to the nature of the training offered. The first showed an older man standing beside a kneeling, naked younger woman. In one hand he was holding the end of a leash which was fastened to a collar around the woman's neck. In his other hand, he held a riding crop. The red stripes on her back left no doubt that the crop had been recently used. The other photo was almost identical, except that the roles were reversed. A severe-looking woman of approximately my age was holding the leash of a naked younger man, and his back also displayed the same marks. I knew then that I'd found the place we had been looking for. I don't know how long I sat there staring at the screen before I made up my mind to contact the resort and request more details. Uppermost in my mind was personal security. If our sexual lives were to be made public, we would have to leave town to escape the shame and humiliation of the exposure. There could be no hint as to our fantasy, and what we were doing to satisfy it. I knew that if there were any doubt as to the security of the contact, I'd simply not make it. The ad suggested three ways of establishing contact. The first was to call their toll-free number, which I rejected immediately. I knew that the telephone company keeps records of all calls, and that the records could be subpoenaed by any police organization. That made that method a no-no to me. The second way involved writing a letter and mailing it to the resort. Again, I rejected that because of security concerns. The third procedure was the one I elected to use. It involved using the e-mail address provided in the advertisement. I was sure that method would be the most secure, and if I were careful to cover my tracks, would prove almost impossible to trace to me. I mentioned in the first chapter that my work is as a teacher of Business Administration. Because of that, I'm familiar with the use of computers, although mainly as they are used in a business setting. Internet security is another matter entirely, and for that I had to rely on a conversation I had recently heard at our faculty lounge. Most of the talking had been done by a man from the Computer Science Department and an acquaintance of mine who worked in the college library. The librarian had opened the conversation by referring to the Patriot Act, which had recently been passed. One provision of that act allows police agencies to obtain patron records from local libraries. My friend said that sort of thing went against every principle that librarians honored, and she told us what her organization was doing to restrict such access. Since the police were mainly interested in records related to a patron's use of the computers for Internet access, the library directed most of its efforts to that area. Each computer was already networked, of course, and that made it easy to perform identical operations on each machine, provided one had administrator access. That made it relatively simple for the librarian to do a central hard drive reformat and then re-install the operating system. My friend said it was their practice to do that before closing the library for the night, and then each computer would be "clean" when the building opened in the morning. That made the choice of a library computer obvious to me, and so the next weekend found me seated before a private terminal in our local public library. I had written down the address of the resort and was prepared to contact it as per their directions. However, there was one other thing that I knew had to be done, and that precaution was also a result of the conversation I'd heard. The Computer Science teacher said that virtually any e-mail letter could be traced to the server where it originated, and for that reason anyone who desired to remain anonymous should use an Internet-based mail service. He had mentioned several names, and I chose the one I recalled. In a matter of minutes I had established my new account, using made-up information, of course, and soon my letter requesting further information about their services was sent. I mentioned in my letter that I would like to bring my husband to them for possible "modification", knowing that was the code phrase used in many Websites when referring to our fantasy. Hopefully, they would understand just what it was that I wanted, and would respond accordingly. The next day, I returned to the library, and again used one of their computers to access the Internet. There was a letter in the Inbox of my online mail account, and I anxiously opened it. It began: Senora, Thank you for contacting La Casa del Tormento regarding your needs. Let me assure you that we offer every possible service you could desire in proceeding with your husband's modification. We have available three levels of modifications, and I have listed them here with the prices for each. Please note that those prices are for the modification only. In addition, there will be a charge of $100 per day, per person, while you stay with us. Most of the modifications will require a recuperation time of at least a week, although you should allow more time if certain other treatments are applied to your husband. You may choose to enjoy our facilities at your leisure while our staff performs the modifications. If you choose to participate, you may watch us perform the procedure, you may assist us, or you may perform the procedure yourself, with assistance from us. The charges will be the same, no matter your choice. Our prices are as follows: Partial castration - $1,000 Total castration - $1,500 Penectomy - $2,000 Total nullification - $3,000 We require a deposit of $500 be made to confirm your reservations with us. If you choose to do so, you may visit our secure server at https//:www.xxxxxx.com. Please specify the date you wish to arrive, the type of modification to be performed on your husband, and any other treatments you wish applied to him. Please be assured that you will be allowed to make additions or changes to your requests when you have had a chance to inspect our facilities. I don't know how many times I re-read that letter, but I seemed like I sat there for hours absorbing all the nuances. I wanted to print it for later reading, but was too concerned with the privacy issues to do that. It was simply amazing to me that such things as castration and penis removal would be discussed in a letter sent to a stranger, and that there was even a price schedule established for doing such things to a man. My brain seemed to be in a fog then, and I knew that I couldn't trust myself to make any decisions before I recovered my composure. For that reason, I left the letter on the service's server, and told myself to not make any choices or take any actions for at least a week. ____________________________ Our session that night was certainly memorable, for Jeff as well as me. I kept him in the garage for several hours, torturing him endlessly but not allowing him to cum. When I felt the need, I'd lower him to the floor and make him lick me to orgasm. As soon as I'd recovered, back up he went for the next round. Over and over, I visualized sitting in a chair and watching as his testicles and penis were slowly and painfully removed. Each new fantasy was more detailed, more agonizing to him, than the first. When I finally whipped his crotch long enough for him to climax, his erection did not subside at all. His case of blue balls must have been the worst he'd ever had, and I finally took pity on the poor man and allowed him to jack off. After we had both recovered enough, we made our way to bed, there to sleep exhaustedly until late morning. I never did tell Jeff during that time just what sort of plans I was making. Part of it was that I wanted it to be a surprise for him, but the biggest reason was that it simply never occurred to me to ask his opinion, or his advice, on the matter. Our lifestyle had been based on him being totally subservient to me for several years now, and I saw no reason to change that at this time. I guess it was a case of, "If it's not broke, don't fix it". I never thought that he would try to get out of the situation if he knew what I was planning, or would try to change my mind. By that time in our relationship, he was my literal slave, even if we kept secret that part of our lives. By the time the next weekend arrived, I had made my decision regarding our visit to the resort. I again visited the library, re-read the letter, and then clicked the link to the secure Website. Entering my credit card information was very simple, and almost immediately the transaction was confirmed. I was assigned a six-digit number that was to be used when checking in at the front desk of the resort, and assumed that was done to protect my privacy. I liked that part a lot. My next step was to write the letter stating when we would arrive, and just what sort of "treatments" and "modifications" I wished to be applied to Jeff. I had been formulating that letter for a few days by that time, and it was quickly written. My requests were simple and easily stated: I wanted to watch my husband being tortured by another woman (or women). I wanted him to feel the pain of being clamped, stretched, and whipped. Finally, I wanted to watch one of his balls being removed. That pretty well summed it up, and seemed simple enough to me. He and I could both live our fantasies, and at the end he'd still be able to enjoy his remaining "toys". I specified our arrival time as being in approximately six weeks. By then the school year would be over, and I would be free for about three weeks before the start of the summer session. Jeff's annual vacation was two weeks in length, and I had already told him to schedule it for that time. The resort was located in Mexico, less than 100 miles below Tijuana, which meant that it was about 700 miles from our home. We could drive that easily in two days, since nearly the entire trip would be on Interstate 5. I planned for us to spend the first night in a motel at the approximate halfway point, and there Jeff would spend his next-to-last night as a whole man. I would allow him to have "normal" sex with me, but I wondered if either of us could get excited about that sort of thing anymore. Maybe we'd end up just rolling over and going to sleep. I guessed that my secret knowledge of the true purpose of our trip would allow me to become as aroused as usual, and maybe my arousal would stimulate his. ______________________ Time has never flowed more slowly for me than it did in those six weeks. After two or three weeks, our sessions began to pale for me. I wanted more than ever to live my fantasy, and now that the time was nearly at hand, just imagining it was no longer good enough. Jeff was still enthusiastic during our visits to the garage, but I knew that he could sense my lack of concentration. Several times, I almost told him what was planned for him, but at the last moment was able to bite my tongue. Finally the anticipated day arrived, and we loaded our suitcases and travel supplies into our SUV and headed for the highway. Jeff took the first stint behind the wheel, and we were soon underway, heading south toward our vacation in beautiful Mexico, ostensibly to visit the land of my ancestors, and maybe locate some long-lost relatives. As far as Jeff knew, that was all that was planned, and I said nothing to enlighten him. As Jeff drove, I began to talk about all the Websites we'd visited during the past year. I recounted the various stories we'd read together, and the photos and drawings we'd looked at. As I described in detail all the things that had been done to the men in the stories and photos, he became more and more aroused. At one point, I reached over to him and unzipped his trousers. I reached inside his undershorts and withdrew his erection, letting it stand free to demonstrate his arousal. After several minutes of describing one particularly painful session that we'd read about, a drop of pre-cum formed on the tip of his penis, and it was soon spread over the lower portion of the steering wheel. As a transport truck passed us, I heard its horn blaring loudly. Looking up at the driver, who was then right beside us, I saw him signal a "thumbs up", and knew that he had seen what was going on in our car. Nothing of any real importance happened during that day's drive. We spent the night in a motel about 300 miles north of the Mexican border, and Jeff did seem to enjoy the sex we had. I hadn't brought any toys to use on him, but apparently my story-telling efforts during the day had served to get him as aroused as necessary. As I sat on his mouth after he had climaxed inside my pussy, I tried to call up my fantasy so that I could also climax. Nothing happened with it, though, and I finally gave up after deciding that at this stage, nothing but the real thing would suffice. I knew that I could certainly wait for a couple more days to cum, and that delay would probably just make it better for me. ___________________ The next day passed pretty much as had the first. Jeff took the first duty behind the wheel, and I again used my story-telling ability to get him turned on and erect, after which his penis was again allowed to breathe fresh air. I was driving when we reached the border, and decided that he should probably put his little thing back in his pants before we passed through the customs station. The Mexican official there seemed to be impressed by my fluent use of his language, and my obvious command presence. With little delay, he waved us through, and we were at last in the country where Jeff's last moments as a whole man would be spent. We soon reached the turnoff that would take us to the connecting road that would take us to the highway that would take us to the part of Mexico where the resort is located. Sorry to carry on like that, but that's just the way the road system is down south. Those of us who live in the States usually don't appreciate just how good our road system actually is. It's only when we travel to a foreign country that we notice the contrast. Jeff was driving when we at last came within sight of the entrance to the resort. I was impressed by the well-kept fence that surrounded the acreage, and by the guarded gate at the mouth of the driveway. As the attendant left his booth, I motioned him to my window and gave him the six-digit number that had been assigned to me. He returned to his post, spoke briefly into a telephone there, and then hurried to open the gate. As we drove through, he called out, "Enjoy your stay, Senora". I smiled and thought inwardly that I planned to do just exactly that.
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