His Pearls, My Treasure - Pt II

Our dinner was a wonderful time for talk and celebration of the happiness that we found. Steak, lobster, crab-stuffed eggs, warm wine and hand-holding. I asked him to sing for me. And he picked the tune of "J'non regrette rien" from Edith Piaf. His beautiful full voice taking it to new measures.

I had prepared our bed with a thick absorbent padding, tape to secure his penis, gauze to ply him with and the necessary tools to sterilely remove those pearls. I took caution to prepare our room with my own strands of pearls, pearlized candles and small treasure boxes to heighten the emotion.

It was storming like crazy -- a perfect time to be bedded and bed down with him. He was intoxicating to me. His kiss innocence and seduction. The storm would cleanse our souls. Things would take care of themselves and we knew this.

I put his balls inside me one last ceremonial time. It was like being in pearl cove and transported me to a time in Bermuda where the beach was covered in small stones, resembling pearls and feeling complete elation. We came in unison, his white explosion covering my belly and pubic area. I wonder where he was and what he was thinking.

I settled myself between his thighs, taped his still erect penis and took the betadine solution to clean him. The internet is a prize when it comes to purchasing the tools needed. Our normal breakfast tray was now serving as our hospital cart. Scalpel, syringe, anethesia, and thread to sew. I always sucked at sewing, but tonight, I would ace that.

Exchanging deep kisses and words of devotion and love, I proceeded to cut away at the wonderful pearls put before me. I concentrated on how much of a treasure they were to me and valuable. He allowed me this revery. With each cut, and sponging and removal, I treated him to a view and my own happiness that he was giving me such a gift. It was painstaking and long - longer than I thought, because I'd never done more than take a splinter out of foot or shaved all the way for a gynocological exam. This was like doing a dissertation and a biology class all in one.

He was talkative, as I cut away and careful to let me know NOT what to do. I looked at the pearls as they lay on the tray. They resembled little pork chops or chicken, but to me they were lustrous pearls - his treasure - now mine.

He had gifted me with an abalone treasure chest from the islands. It gleamed in the candlelight. I chose it to hold the preciousness of him. When all was said and done, I let him insert his pearls into that chest, filled with preservative.

From that time on, he has gifted me once again with many types of pearls. It is our sign - our significant secret. Our lovemaking has never been better, however, I do miss the pearls inside me. The memories of that are my treasure.

I would give my life again, to experience wanting something so bad that I would give everything, sacrifice everything to obtain those pearls. He is the treasure. My treasure. His pearls are mine.