THE LETTER  

The letter was in our Inbox when I checked for e-mail that fateful night.  I knew immediately who it was from, and what it meant, since the sender was one of our regular correspondents, and he had been telling us repeatedly what he had in mind.  Not even pausing to read it fully, I called my wife, Sharon, saying, "Honey, Bob sent that letter.  Better come read it."

She lost no time in coming into the room we use for our combined offices, and was soon standing beside me, reading the short letter along with me.  Bob had wasted no words, and his message was terse and to the point.  It said:

 "I'm at the Holiday Inn in Boulder, at 4777 North Broadway.  Room #13.  Blue Explorer parked by the door with New Mexico plates.  Keycard behind right-side front tire.   Do what you want; take what you need."

No further explanation was needed.  We both knew what Bob meant by his offer to Sharon.  He was telling her to do anything she wanted to him, specifically in the area of sexual torture.  He was telling her to take from his body anything she desired, which we both knew meant that he had finally come to terms with his need to be castrated, and to have his penis removed.

The letter was no bolt from the blue.  We had been regularly corresponding with Bob for several months by that time, with each letter becoming more detailed in the ways he wished to be tortured at my wife's hands.  He had begun alluding to castration by the time we'd exchanged letters for a couple of months, and then at last he admitted that he was consumed by the desire to have his cock cut off by a woman.

It may seem odd to you, the reader, that a man who was a complete stranger to us just one year before would express himself is such a way to my wife.  Maybe it'd help you understand the situation if I provided a brief background, and then you'll be able to see what led up to this strange situation.
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Sharon and I have been married for slightly more than three years.  During that time, our lifestyle could well be described as FemDom, although it has certainly gone well beyond that by this time.  What began with bedroom play that was borderline B&D quickly became more serious in nature.  I guess the best description of our mindset now would be S&M, with my wife being the sadist, and me the masochist.  She seems to have a deep-seated desire to give me increasingly-severe pain of a sexual nature, and I know deep in my heart that I need that sort of pain, and maybe even more.

That it will become much more, as we both hope, is best shown by a fantasy we've had almost from the first year of our marriage.  Again, in order for you to understand how such a thing could come about, I have to provide some background.

Following the divorce from my first wife, I decided to take a short vacation in California before beginning my life as a once-again single man.  I drove out there, in no hurry to return to my home, glad to see sights which were new to me.  Due to the increasing horniness I was feeling after almost three months of no sex, I decided to visit a bar one evening to see if I could pick up a willing woman.

In point of fact, the "picking up" was done by the woman, not me.  However, as I was to learn to my horror just a few hours later, "she" was really a "he," and her/his purpose in seducing me to her/his home was to make a movie, and take photos, of me being sexually tortured.  That's just exactly what happened, and by the time my state of drunkenness lifted, and I realized I was in trouble, I was already naked and strapped securely to an X-beam.  To make a long story short, I was indeed tortured in front of the camera, culminating in a glansectomy, which means the head of my cock was cut off.

I was treated in a hospital for a few days, then when finally able, drove back home to try to put my life back together.  I was unsuccessful in that attempt, and when I had finally sunk to the point of actually considering suicide, I met Sharon.  She literally saved my life, and I've been her slave in mind and body ever since.  I owe her everything, and will do anything she requires to give her pleasure.  Of course, that meant cooperating with her latent desires to give pain to the one she loves.  As you can probably guess by now, my own desires soon became the opposite, but equal, of hers.  She loves torturing me; I love to be tortured by her.  I guess we're a perfect match.

The fantasy I mentioned a few paragraphs before is actually quite simple in contemplation, but much more difficult in realization.  She's said many times the main reason I became more than a passing love affair was her fascination with my maimed penis.  She named it "The Headless Horseman" the first time she saw it, and we now refer to it as "HH."  As further proof of her interest in my altered member, she calls me "Shortie," in open reference to my shortened cock. 

Her fascination soon turned to compulsion, and as she's fond of saying, "I want to finish what those guys in California started."  Of course, as you can guess, that means she wants to remove what remains of my penis, leaving me with my testicles intact, driving me crazy with lust as I would have no way to satisfy my carnal urges.  I share her fantasy, compulsion, or obsession, whatever you choose to call it.  She wants me to live life as her eunuch, and I want to live that sort of life.  Again, we're a perfect match.

Sharon is a professional writer of children's stories, and perhaps because of a need for balance in her career, is somehow driven to write another type of story that's about as far removed from kid's stuff as you can imagine.  Her "real" stories are all fluff and sunshine, meant to inspire children while teaching them at the same time.  The stories she truly enjoys, though, center upon the theme of a man being sexually tortured by a woman, usually his wife.  In virtually every one of her stories of that nature, the man is subjected to castration or penectomy, and sometimes both, at the hands of his wife.  She loves writing stories like that, and I love reading them.  As is obvious from fan mail, thousands of other men share my love.

Bob is one of those men.  He has always been fascinated by thoughts of being cuckolded by his wife, and when it finally happened, of being forced to listen in humiliated silence from the next room as she is fucked by her "sexual husband," as they call her lover.  He is equally fascinated by the idea of being castrated by her, and, if she would agree to do it, watching as she lovingly removes his cock.

He has revealed his desires many times in his letters to Sharon, with each successive e-mail becoming more and more detailed.  That leads us back to where we started: with the receipt of his letter telling Sharon where he was, and telling her to torture him as much as she wants, and then take her trophies as she leaves.

He had actually proposed that scenario more than two months prior to the fateful e-mail.  It was obvious to me that Sharon had become more and more fascinated by the idea of torturing and neutering him, as her replies revealed.  She never did arrive at the point of actually telling him she wanted to do as he asked, but instead left it at "maybe."  She had instructed him to send her a letter as soon as he checked into the motel in a nearby city, giving details on how to locate him.  She said further that "probably nothing would happen," but left her final decision unsaid.

I knew, however, that my wife was much more serious about actually torturing and de-sexing Bob than she ever let on in her letters.  I knew she'd been making plans for his session, because some of the equipment she had ordered to use on him was in the nature of a "final solution," in that if she tortured him with it, his cock and balls would no longer be of any use to him.  I was sure that meant she was going to really and truly make his fantasy a reality.

As further proof of her intentions, she told me to make some alterations to our garage.  In reality, the garage has become her torture chamber, rather than a place to park our vehicles.  I had used my carpentry skills to construct some devices for her to use on me, as well as installed a pulley and rope system that she uses to suspend me for further delights.  It was when she instructed me to install a second pulley, and then to make the garage just as soundproof as possible that I knew she was deadly serious.  If Bob thought his letter would result in nothing more than an exciting night alone in his room, masturbating as he fantasized about being tortured and unmanned, then he was in for a big surprise.

Chapter 2

As Sharon became more serious about actually doing to Bob what he so obviously wanted her to do, she told me several times her reasoning for doing so.  Again, it will require a small bit of background for you to understand why she said what she did, so bear with me, gentle reader.

As I mentioned in the first chapter of this story, both my wife and I had come to love the idea of her removing my penis.  She was convinced that would leave me in a perpetual state of high arousal, bordering on lust.  It was her belief that such a condition would force me to focus my entire existence on giving her pleasure, because she would be my only avenue for sexual relief when I was no longer able to masturbate.  I wasn't so sure of that, and in truth, can't explain the extreme excitement I feel when thinking of her unmanning me.  All I know is that the mere thought of being tied across a table, and watching as she very slowly and sensuously slices away my penis, is enough to literally take away my breath.  I love to hear her describe all the various methods she may use to perform my penectomy, and every single one seems to be even more exciting than the last.

Sharon has said many times that she wants to make the removal the best thing that's ever happened to me, and she wishes there were some way to practice the procedure so it would come off without a hitch (to make a bad pun).  When Bob suggested his scenario which would culminate in his castration and penectomy, it was the answer to her prayers.  I actually think she made the decision to do it from the very first moment she read his initial letter on the subject.  I'm sure she thought it was God's gift to her that a willing man would present himself just at the time when she needed a test subject.  Bob's fate was sealed long ago, even though he didn't realize it.

The fact that she'd begun ordering the special equipment she'd need over two months ago, as well as her orders to me regarding the remodeling of the torture chamber, were ample evidence of her early decision.  I guess all her temporizing in the letters to Bob were just to avoid scaring him out of showing up.  She didn't want to go to all that trouble to torture a man and make him a eunuch, only to have him chicken out at the last moment.  Given Bob's enthusiastic cooperation with her, and his genuine appreciation of what she did to him that night, I'm sure Sharon's misgivings were unfounded.
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Almost before she'd read the last word in his letter, Sharon said, "Yes!  Until now, I wasn't sure how serious he really was.  Get the car right now.  I can't bear to wait another minute."

I shut down the computer, then rushed to the bedroom to get dressed.  I am not allowed to wear clothes when we're home alone, so I hurriedly threw on a pair of jeans, a shirt, and my socks and shoes.  By the time I had driven our minivan around to the front door, she was standing there impatiently, a scowl on her face.  As she opened the passenger-side door, she said in an ominous voice, "Damn you for keeping me waiting!  If he's gone when we get there, you'll take his place tonight!"

Given that I had some idea what was in store for Bob, her words should have frightened me, but they had the opposite effect.  Every time a new "toy" had been delivered during the past two months, Sharon would carefully explain its use to me, telling me how much Bob would love what it did to him.  Of course, when she told me what it would do to Bob, I was substituting the name "Shortie" in my fucked-up mind.  I actually craved being the target of her attentions that night, even knowing it would mean I would be a total eunuch before dawn, and wracked by agonizing pain.  I have to admit that I secretly hoped the other man would have had second thoughts, and jumped in his car and left town before we arrived.
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Such was not the case, though.  The twenty-mile drive to Boulder must have seemed to take an eternity to Sharon, judging by all the fidgeting she did.  She said very little, even at that, and I was sure her thoughts were consumed with planning once again every torture Bob would be subjected to in no more than an hour.  Several times, I saw her lips moving silently, and her fingers curling, almost as if clutching some new instrument of torture.  There was no doubt whatsoever in my mind that if Bob were indeed gone when we arrived, I would be substituting for him.

It's hard to explain exactly what I felt when we arrived at the motel, and saw Bob's Explorer parked in front of the door of room 13.  On the one hand, I wanted it to be him who would suffer so terribly at my wife's hands, and on the other I wanted very much for it to be me.  The evidence of his car parked there solved the dilemma for me, however, and I knew that, although my time would come soon, it would not be that night.

We had rehearsed over and over what we'd do when we arrived at the motel, and it seemed second nature to back into the empty parking space beside his car.  I donned the pair of gloves we'd brought along just for this, and as I got out the driver's-side door, Sharon scooted over to sit behind the wheel.  I quickly retrieved the keycard from where he'd hidden it, then used it to unlock the door.  After carefully checking the surroundings to see if anyone were watching me, I reached up to the outside light and unscrewed the bulb before entering the room.

The only light in the room came from the partially-open bathroom door, as Sharon had instructed Bob in her final letter.  She had also instructed him to be lying face down on the bed, entirely naked.  He was in that position as I entered, and by the dim light I could see he had also followed her other instructions.  He was wearing a tight-fitting blindfold over his eyes, and a ball gag in his mouth.  His hands were both behind his back, held there by handcuffs around his wrists.  I knew from personal experience just how difficult it is to put on handcuffs in that position, and was glad to see he'd somehow solved the problem.  I saw the key to the cuffs on the bedside table, and put it in my pocket.

Bob's bathrobe was laying across a nearby chair, as per Sharon's final instruction.  I'm sure that part must have mystified him, since it had always been his assumption that the session would take place in his motel room.  Sharon had other plans, though, and the robe would be needed to put them in motion.

I could tell by his body language that he knew someone had entered the room, and I wasted no time in reciting the words Sharon had drilled into my brain over the past few days.  It was very important to her that Bob be a willing participant in what was to come, and the speech she'd written for me to recite stressed that fact.

I whispered, "Bob, it's Shortie.  Sharon wants to take you to our house.  Once we arrive there, she will torture you in ways that will give you more agonizing pain than you ever thought possible.  When she's through with that part, she will castrate you and cut off your penis.  If you want that to happen, then stand up and do exactly as I say."

I could tell by his reaction that my words surprised him.  He had been expecting to be tortured and unmanned here in this room, and it took him awhile to grasp what I was saying.  To his credit, though, he hesitated only a few seconds before rolling sideways and sitting up on the edge of the bed.  He then stood, waiting in silence for whatever was to come.

I picked up his bathrobe and draped it over his shoulders.  As I stood in front of him to tie the sash around his waist, I saw that his crotch was freshly shaved as per Sharon's orders, and his semi-erect penis was standing at half staff.  Even in that condition, the thing was easily 2" longer than mine had been even when whole.  Its diameter was also greater, and a quick jolt of envy shot through my body as I thought of how much more pleasure he could give Sharon than I ever could.  That thought soon passed as I envisioned what was to happen to his massive tool in the next few hours, and I knew the few shreds that remained of if by then would be better off sliced away.  Before another day had come, I would once again be the biggest man in my wife's life.

I placed one hand on Bob's back and guided him to the door.  We walked to the open side door of the van as quickly as possible, given his sightless condition, and I helped him get inside, following him at my best speed.  Sharon was pulling away even as I closed the door, and by the time I had his seat belt fastened, the car was headed up the road.  My job finished in the back, I worked my way between the front seats and soon was belted in also.
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As soon as we reached a deserted part of the road home, Sharon stopped the car.  That surprised me, as nothing had been said about stopping short of our destination.  She said only, "You drive now.  Give me the key."  She then got in the rear of the van to sit beside Bob.  As I slid over to the driver's seat, I saw she was opening his bathrobe, and then her hands were busy at his crotch.

As I pulled the van back on the road and picked up speed once again, I could hear her talking softly to our guest.  I heard her say, "Hi, Bob.  I'm Sharon.  I'll be your hostess tonight, and I just know it'll be a night to remember."  She laughed softly at that, then continued, "I've wanted to torture a man's cock and balls for years, and not stop until they were nothing but bloody shreds of meat hanging from his crotch.  Thank you for wanting that as much as me.  I promise to give you more pain than you ever dreamed was possible, and when I'm finished with you, to leave your crotch as smooth as mine."

Although I couldn't see all that well through the mirror, since the rear of the van was dark, I knew her hands had been pleasuring him all the time she spoke.  Her gasp of pleasure told me he'd become fully erect, and was confirmed when she said, "God, I had no idea you'd be so big.  I've dreamed of torturing a really big cock, and you're the answers to my prayers.  You're going to make me the happiest woman in the world tonight.  I wish there were some way to make Shortie's little pecker get half this big.  It won't be any loss when I cut his off, that's for sure.  Yours is another matter.  Thank you for bringing it to me."

I then saw her kiss him on the cheek, and it had just as much passion as if she had done so on his gagged lips.  Her head then lowered, and I knew from his sharp intake of breath that she was pleasuring his nipples.  His moan of pain told me in short order that she was biting him there, which she loved to do to me.  I was sure he was enjoying that very special type of pain as much as I did, and it was impossible for me to contain my feelings of jealousy.

Her head then disappeared completely from view, and his moan of pleasure told me she had taken his massive tool in her mouth, and was running her questing tongue over the head to drive him to even greater heights of ecstasy.  Suddenly I heard his muted cry of pain, and knew she had bitten him sharply, although not with enough force to break the skin.  She'd learned quickly just how hard she could bite me, and knew that if her teeth penetrated my cock, the blood loss would cause my hardon to deflate.  She didn't want that to happen with him for several hours, because, as she'd told me on several occasions, "It's no fun to torture a limp noodle."

Before I'd realized so much time had passed, we arrived at the mouth of our driveway, and I pressed the button on the dashboard that opens the gate there.  I drove through quickly, closing the gate behind us.  It was almost 1/4 mile from the road to our house, and in all that time I never saw Sharon's head rise above the level of Bob's crotch.  His moans and gasps told me she was alternating between pleasuring him and biting him viciously.  By experience, I knew that would result in a bad case of blue balls, and would help ensure his staying hard for what was soon to come.

I pulled up beside what used to be our garage, but had for several months been Sharon's torture chamber.  By the light of the outside light mounted beside the door, we got Bob out of the van and guided him inside, where his doomed cock and balls would soon meet their fate.

Chapter 3

As soon as we entered the room, I turned on the inside light and turned off the one outside.  As far as any observer would be able to tell, we were lost to the outside world.  What happened from here on, to both Bob and I, would be of Sharon's choosing, and hers alone.

I quickly surveyed the room, taking note of the heavily-insulated walls and ceiling, all covered by panels of sound-absorbing material.  The entrance was similar to an airlock, in that there was an outside door, then a space of about one foot to an inside door.  Both of the doors were constructed of fiberglass, with a foam core, and had sound ratings that were at the top of their class.  When I'd completed soundproofing the place, I'd placed a radio inside and turned its volume as high as possible.  I'd then gone outside with Sharon for her to approve my efforts.

As we stood there, about 6' from the wall, we could hear less than a whisper of sound from the radio.  Since our house is over 1/4 mile from our nearest neighbor, our security should be complete.  Sharon had signaled her approval by kissing me passionately for a long time, then roughly squeezing my erection through my work clothes.  She then whispered in my ear, "Now no one will hear Bob scream, will they?  And when it's time for me to do you, they won't hear you either.  Thank you, my love.  I'll be sure to give you lots of extra pain tonight, as your reward.  I'm so glad you won't have to wear your gag anymore.  I just know it'll be lots more exciting to hear you scream in agony when I take off your useless little thing."

That it was more exciting for her to hear me scream in agony was soon demonstrated.  That very night I was tortured for hours in the remodeled dungeon, never once wearing the ball gag that had been a usual fixture for many months.  Every time I would give voice to my pain and fear, Sharon's efforts seemed to redouble.  That would make me scream louder, which would in turn make her try harder.  By the time she lowered me to the floor, so we could return to the house, it was impossible for me to speak above a whisper.  I'll never forget how my ravaged throat burned later when she sat on my mouth, giving me drink after drink of her golden nectar.  I loved every moment of it, and was sure Bob would feel the same when Sharon began torturing him.

That she was indeed anxious to begin doing that very thing was demonstrated as soon as the inner door closed behind us.  She quickly pushed the robe off his shoulders, and then stood admiring his cock.  His own excitement was evident in the way the thing was bobbing up and down, as well as by the enormous drop of pre-cum that glistened at its tip.  As we watched in fascination, the drop began to change to a teardrop as it made its slow way to the floor.  Before it had a chance to fall free, Sharon caught it in her open hand, then squeezed his shaft to force out even more of the lubricant.

She extended her hand to me, saying, "Honey, lick this up before you get undressed.  Hurry.  I can't wait to get started on you guys.  I've been planning this night for a long time, and I just can't bear to wait a moment longer."  She then stood there in silence, looking at me expectantly.

I had eaten my own cum for more than three years, always at her direction, and usually from her pussy after I'd deposited it there.  To be faced with her order to now eat the same thing from another man was entirely different, though, and I hesitated as I fought to overcome my revulsion.  To be sure, I'd eaten another man's cum in the past, and in fact it had been a double load.  However, that had been licked and sucked directly from her pussy after she'd returned to our bed, and somehow that made it not only more acceptable to me, but also supremely exciting.  To be faced now with licking up the same fluid that would go directly from his cock to my mouth was proving to be difficult.

At last she tired of waiting for me to do as she had bid, and said simply, "Now!  Do it!"  I cannot refuse her when she uses that tone of voice, and I meekly lowered my face to her open hand, and licked the slimy drop that was resting there.  As I swallowed it, I realized it didn't taste so much different from my own, or from the man who had cuckolded me.

Satisfied that she'd once again established her authority, Sharon then told me to get undressed, and I hurried to obey.  In a matter of seconds both Bob and I were standing there for her inspection, his much-larger penis rock hard and throbbing, and my smaller member just beginning to stiffen in anticipation of the delights it would soon experience at the hands of its mistress.

Sharon then walked to a nearby cabinet and opened one of the drawers.  She took out two masks that had been ordered several weeks before, and held one out to me.  I'd already been briefed on this part of the session, and donned the mask without hesitation.  As soon as we were both masked, Sharon removed Bob's blindfold, saying seductively to him, "It's safe for you to see us now, Bob.  We couldn't take the chance before, since you mustn't be able to identify us.  I've explained in the past why we have to be so cautious, so I'm sure you understand why we had to do it this way."  Since she hadn't removed his ball gag, he couldn't reply, but I saw his head nod slowly in agreement as his eyes focused on Sharon's beauty.

Any man who thought my wife not beautiful wouldn't be much of a man.  At 36 years of age, she's in magnificent physical condition, due to the daily, long walks we take, as well as our twice-weekly visits to a local swimming pool.  She's surprisingly strong, as I've learned over the past three years, especially when she's wielding her whip.

Bob seemed to be awestruck by her beauty, and the reaction was well-deserved.  Sharon has jet black hair, with obsidian eyes to match.  Although her family was originally from southern Mexico, her Spanish heritage is evident in her high cheekbones and Castilian nose.  Her light brown skin is unblemished, and is as smooth as silk.  She's truly a raven-haired beauty, and I'm constantly bewildered by what could possibly have made her choose me as her husband.

She gazed deeply into Bob's eyes then, and after a long pause, asked in her most seductive voice, "Would you like me to undress for you?"  The rapidity with which he nodded his head was almost comical, and he was rewarded by one of her sweetest smiles, which flashed briefly before her hands moved slowly to the top button of her blouse.

The two of us were awestruck as she very slowly unfastened each button in turn, at no time opening her blouse enough to give us more than the merest glimpse of the swelling that formed her magnificent breasts.  I had seen her exposed breasts many times, of course, but somehow their allure never faded.  I've always been a "tit man," and my continuing fascination with that part of her anatomy stands as mute evidence that particular kink has never waned in the slightest.

She pulled the tail of her blouse out of her pants, which allowed it to open slightly wider.  I knew Bob's eyes were fixed on her chest, as were mine.  He watched like a mouse transfixed by a snake as her hands slowly disappeared under that garment, obviously cupping each breast and slowly massaging it.

Her nipples had already been hard, in anticipation of what this night would bring, as well as her interest in the other man's much-larger cock.  As her fingers caressed her buds, they seemed to double in size, and I was sure Bob was about to get his first glimpse ever of the most magnificent nipples in the whole world.  I don't have all that much experience in judging such things, but based on what I'd seen in the past, and what was displayed on many Websites, Sharon's nipples are much larger than average.

The thing that truly entrances me about her nipples is that they have the appearance of being above the center of her breasts.  I don't know how such a thing could be, but I do know that they are above the centerline, and when they're erect, seem to actually point upwards, as if in prayer to Gaia.  The aureolas are also much larger than any I've ever seen, and their dark-brown color makes her breasts even more beautiful.

At last she pulled the blouse open, and I heard Bob's sharp intake of air as he saw for the first time ever just how beautiful Sharon is.  It seemed he shared my captivation by that part of her body, and I knew he, like I, had eyes for nothing else.

Sharon very slowly began to sway her hips, almost as if in time to some soft, sensuous music only she could hear.  Her shoulders moved in counterpoint to her hips, and with every cycle, the blouse dropped lower along her arms.  When it reached her elbows, she straightened her arms and let it drop to the floor.  With her upper body completely naked then, she was the personification of the Earth Mother to me, and I longed to bury myself in her lovely breasts, trying with all my might to give her the sort of pleasure she gave me just by allowing me to gaze upon her beauty.

With her hips still gently swaying, Sharon stepped out of the pumps she'd been wearing that evening.  Since she had been wearing no socks, her feet were bare to our gaze.  I knew how supremely sensitive that part of her body was, and I longed to fall to my knees and worship each toe, then kiss my way up each foot to the gentle swelling of her ankles.  A quick glance at my companion told me he was having trouble deciding just where to look.  His eyes would fasten on Sharon's breasts, then quickly lower to her bare feet.  Just as quickly, they would return to her nipples, standing there in all their glory.  I knew the feeling of being torn by just which part of her beauty to gaze upon, but since I was in that same dilemma, had little sympathy for him.

Still moving her hips in a small circle, Sharon slowly and entrancingly moved her hands to her waist.  She opened the single button, then seductively pulled the zipper to its lowest point, exposing just a glimpse of her lace panties.

Placing both hands at her hips, and on the waistband of her pants, she began to tantalize us by very, very slowly pushing downward, while at the same time her swaying motion was punctuated by thrusts of her crotch toward us.  I have seen college girls at the local bars try to perform that very same maneuver, and know beyond all doubt that their efforts are just pale imitations of what Sharon was doing at that time.  She was offering herself to us, but at the same time teasing us to the point of insanity by the snail's pace of her disrobing.  My cock was as big and hard as it had ever been, and a quick sideways glance at Bob confirmed he was in the same condition.  Both our penises were bobbing up and down in approval of her display, and my own dripping pre-cum was the equal of his.

Sharon was never one to wear tight pants, knowing intrinsically she doesn't need that sort of display to draw admiring glances from any man who sees her.  Because of that, her motion was all that was necessary for her garment to respond to gravity all on its own.  With increasing rapidity, but much too slowly for either of us, her lower body was revealed to our avid eyes.

I don't know what happened to the pants after they fell below her crotch, for I had eyes for no other part of her body.  I had been smelling her pheromones for what seemed like hours, and now that her crotch was visible, they seemed to fill my nose to the point I could think of nothing else.  I had completely forgotten about Bob until I heard his muted gasp, and knew he had seen what I had seen.

Sharon's lacy white panties had a red heart sewn on the front, with the point directly over the parting of her legs.  Above the heart, two words had been embroidered.  They were, "For Bob."  I knew then that she had ordered at least one more thing, in preparation for this night, for I was just as surprised to see those words as was my companion.

She asked in a husky voice, "Do you like my panties, Bob?  I bought them special just for you."  Although he was unable to speak through the gag, his answer was evident in the enthusiastic way he nodded his head, while moaning deep in his throat.  My own jealousy left me speechless, but at the same time there was more than a hint of increasing lust as I thought that maybe she planned to once again cuckold me, as she had that one very-exciting time in the past.  I had not been allowed to see her being fucked by the first man, and now my heart was racing at the thought that maybe at last I could see such a thing.  The jealousy and arousal warring in my brain served to close my throat, and I was unable to utter the slightest sound.

Sharon then asked her second question of him, and it, too, was greeted by his enthusiastic answer.  She asked in her best bedroom voice, "Would you like to take off my special panties, and see what I have for you?"  Again his head nodded rapidly while he moaned, and she accepted his answer by picking up her pants and removing the handcuff key from the pocket.

He understood what she intended to do, and quickly turned around so she could remove the handcuffs, and soon they were on the floor.  She then reached up to unfasten his gag, saying, "This needs to come off, too.  You'll need your mouth in a few minutes."  I'm sure he knew what she meant as well as I did, and again jealousy warred with arousal as I thought of another man's face buried in her precious crotch, his tongue busy giving her the pleasure I so very desperately wanted to provide.

Sharon placed her hand on Bob's shoulders and indicated she wanted him to turn around, and he quickly did so.  Again his avid eyes took in her beauty, and unbidden, he said, "God in Heaven!  I've never seen anything so beautiful."

She smiled, but in a severe tone of voice said, "I did not ask you to speak.  Do not do so ever again, unless I ask you a direct question."  His face was crestfallen, but his eyes never left her body, and indeed it would probably have been all but impossible for him to look at anything else.

Again Sharon placed her hands on his shoulders, and with a slight pressure told him what she wanted.  He almost fell to his knees in his eagerness to obey her slightest command, and waited there breathing rapidly, impatient for her next instructions.

The instructions were not long in coming, as she said, "You may remove my panties now."

The rapidity with which his hands flew to her hips would have been comical in other circumstances, but right then it only served to further goad my jealousy.  As he slowly slid the filmy undergarment down her delicious body, it was all I could do to stop myself from crying out for him to stop.  My locked-tight throat was probably the only thing that kept me from embarrassing her, for my brain seemed to have no ability to control my actions.

Once the panties had been pulled below her crotch, he no longer had eyes for them, although he continued to move them down her legs.  His entire being was very obviously centered on the wonderful sight less than one foot in front of his face, and I knew how very hypnotizing it could be.

Sharon has made it my duty for some time now to keep her pubic hair closely trimmed with scissors.  She told me that at one time she had experimented with shaving her crotch, but the constant repetition of the duty, along with the itching as the hair grew back, convinced her to not again choose that option.  Instead, she instructed me to trim her bush so the hairs were about 1/2" in length, and I was allowed to perform that service two or three times a week.  I would have loved to do it every day, if not every hour, but she always said, "Too much of a good thing might spoil you."  I'm sure she's right on that score, but it still doesn't stop me from wanting to serve her more often in that manner.

I had knelt in front of my wife on numerous occasions, just as Bob was now doing, and in my mind's eye I could see what he was seeing.  The closely-trimmed pubic hair did very little to conceal her slit, and when she parted her legs a small amount, as she was doing now, her engorged labia.  It was odd in a way, but I was sure that the small amount of masking provided by the hair somehow made her treasures so very much more exciting than if she had been shaved down there.  I suppose it's analogous to the fact that a woman wearing a diaphanous gown, which does little to conceal her charms, is more arousing that she would be if completely nude.  The male mind is an odd thing, I guess.  I don't try to analyze it, I just accept it.

I also knew from personal experience how very strong Sharon's scent was at that distance.  I'm sure she has more pheromones than anyone else on the planet, and have noticed many times that I can tell the state of her arousal when she's more than 20' away from me.  To be as close as Bob was to her dripping-wet pussy would mean that one was simply bathed in them, and I was sure he was as completely in her thrall as I ever had been.

Sharon looked down at him with a loving expression on her face, then placed her hands on his head and drew it forward.  I heard his explosive gasp, then his passionate outcry, "Oh, God, yes!  Please!"  I knew he was her slave, heart and soul, and was powerless to resist her in any way, no matter what she asked of him.  I also knew that what she would ask of him that night was beyond his wildest imaginings.

Chapter 4

As my wife drew the kneeling man's head toward her waiting pussy, I was once again almost overcome with the mixture of jealousy and lust.  I wanted to be the one to give her that pleasure, but at the same time, I wanted to watch another man doing it.  I wanted to see the passion rising in her body, and watch her ride his questing tongue until she found her release.  I wanted to hear her soft moans, to hear them rise in intensity and volume, and then hear the sweetest sound in the world, the sound of a woman in the throes of orgasm.  I wanted to be the one bringing her to that ecstasy, but just as much I wanted to see Bob doing it.  Unable to act on either desire, I simply stood there as Sharon spread her legs and drew his head forward even more.

The only sound in the room was the tiny sound his tongue made as it lapped up her copious juices, followed quickly by the sound of his throat working as it swallowed them.  Again and again he licked her slit, swirling his rigid tongue around her engorged clitoris.  Again and again she moaned with increasing intensity, her eyes shut tight.  I knew she was thinking of what would happen before this night had passed, and it was those so very exciting images that finally drove her over the edge.  With a violent shudder, and a cry of, "Gaia," she gave herself over to the greatest pleasure a woman can achieve: her orgasm.

Time had no meaning to me then, and I have no way of knowing how long her release actually lasted.  At some point in time, however, she pulled her crotch away from his still-busy lips and tongue.  It was apparent that he was still almost unconscious from his own lust, for she had to forcefully restrain his head in order to keep it from once again finding its place between her legs.

At last his tongue ceased its efforts and withdrew into his mouth.  It must have taken an immense amount of willpower, but eventually he was able to lift his eyes from her still-so-near pussy, and look toward her face.  When Sharon saw that she had his attention once again, she said softly, "Thank you for doing that.  You're much better at eating my pussy than Shortie is, or ever will be.  That's the best orgasm I've had in years."

He seemed unable to respond to her praise, and I was equally unable to protest.  I knew she often found my efforts at pleasing her to be lacking, but to have her say such a thing to another man was very humiliating to me, and I could do nothing but drop my head, my face burning in shame.

Sharon then asked him, in her most seductive tone of voice, "Would you like to fuck me, Bob?  Do you want to stick your big cock in my tight little pussy, and push it as deep inside me as you can?  Do you want to feel how tight I am, after having had nothing bigger than his little pecker inside me for years?"

That was enough incentive for my rival to find his voice, and he uttered an impassioned, "Yes!  Please, Sharon!  I want that more than anything!  Please!"

She smiled again, then said, "You'll have to earn it first.  I want to whip you now.  Will you let me whip you as hard as I can, knowing it'll earn you the right to fuck me?"

With no hesitation, he said, "God, yes!  Please whip me as hard and as long as you want.  Please!"

She replied, "Okay.  Just to make it more interesting, though, let's have a little contest between you and Shortie.  I'm sure you both know what the prize will be.  The man who keeps his hardon for the longest time will win the right to fuck me.  May the best man win."  As she said those words, she pulled Bob to his feet, and by the way she gazed lovingly at his engorged, very large, cock, I knew which of us she wanted to claim her prize.

She continued, "Bob, I want you to help me get Shortie ready for his whipping, and then he can get you ready for yours.  Just to make things interesting, I think you guys should start even, don't you?"  Neither of us had any idea what she meant, but by the same token, neither of us were thinking clearly at that time.

That's why when she led Bob to me, then placed her hands on his shoulders to indicate she wanted him to kneel in front of me, he responded as if he were a robot.  He sank to his knees, then waited there with his head less than one foot from my erect penis.  I immediately realized what she intended, and was not surprised when she said to the other man, "Now open your mouth as wide as you can.  Let's see if your blow jobs are as good as your cunt licking."  She then placed one hand on the back of his head and the other on my bobbing cock, and as his head moved forward, guided my headless little dick into his waiting mouth.

That he was deep in lust was indicated by the way he closed his lips around my shaft, then began to run his tongue over it.  As I looked down, I saw his cheeks draw in as he sucked, and at the same time could feel the stimulation that gave me.

The only time in my life that such a thing was done to me was when I was a boy of about 12 years of age.  One night when my 11-year-old cousin stayed overnight at my house, we had engaged in mutual cocksucking, as I'm sure most young boys do when the opportunity presents itself.  Since that time, though, I've never had another experience of that nature, nor had any desire to do so.  I suppose the best way to characterize my feelings about homosexual relations would be to say I was more than extremely disinterested, and actually more than a little revulsed as I thought of having another man's penis in my mouth, or anywhere else in my body. 

When Bob's lips closed around me, when his tongue began to caress me, and when his sucking began, I had no thoughts other than of pleasure.  What he and Sharon had been doing had kept me in a prolonged state of arousal for at least an hour, and I was sure my case of blue balls was the equal of Bob's.  I've heard it said there's no such thing as a bad orgasm, and I guess what I experienced right then was proof of it.  I felt no revulsion whatsoever as he sucked my cock.  To the contrary, it felt very good, and I was almost sorry when after a few seconds my balls began to release the load of cum they'd been storing for so long.

The gagging sounds Bob made when my first spurt hit the back of his throat was evidence enough of his own lack of interest in having sex with another man.  I'm sure that if he hadn't been so very, very aroused by Sharon's attentions to him, he'd never have consented to voluntarily allow me to climax in his mouth.  His extreme arousal was demonstrated even more when I instinctively placed my hands on both sides of his head and held him in place while I pushed forward as far as possible.  I guess the only thing either of us could say to justify what we were doing was, "Our brains were in our balls."  It happens.

Finally my last spasm forced the final drops of cum into his mouth, and my head cleared a small amount as my passion subsided.  I could hear his throat working as he swallowed the last of my offering, and then my hands drew back from his head as if in horror at what they had been doing.  Sharon smiled sexily at me, then said, "Okay, hon.  It's you turn to do Bob."

Her reference to us "starting even" swept through my brain then, and I'm sure I must have shaken my head in unconscious denial as I thought of doing to him what he had done to me.  As I thought of his cock deep in my throat, pumping its slimy load toward my stomach, I feared I'd be unable to stop myself from bolting for the door.  It was nothing but my years of training, at the hands of my loving wife, that made me stand there awaiting her instructions.

Her instructions were unvoiced, but crystal clear nevertheless.  She placed her hands under the other man's arms, guiding him to his feet.  After walking around behind me, she placed her hands on my shoulders, indicating with the slightest of pressure what she wanted me to do.  And I did.

As I knelt there in front of our guest, I saw the evidence of his extreme arousal in the way his large erection bobbed up and down, with a spiderweb of pre-cum trailing toward the floor.  I understood then why Sharon had let him suck me first.  She knew that his lust would help get him past any reluctance to engage in oral sex with another man.  She also knew that her control of me would be tested, and demonstrated, by my willingness to reciprocate, even when my passion had cooled.  I resolved to do her bidding, whatever it cost me, and thereby assure her I was her slave, and deserved her love.

It was almost more than I could do to open my mouth unbidden, but that's exactly what I did.  She wordlessly pushed my head forward, while guiding him as she had done with me so shortly before.  I felt his engorged head enter my lips, then slide over my tongue.  That caused my instincts to clamp my mouth shut, but not grind my teeth against his throbbing member as I so very much wanted to do. 

Through the corner of one eye, I saw Sharon put one hand on Bob's butt, while still forcing my head forward.  It was obvious she wanted to see if I could, and would, accept his entire length in my mouth and throat, and through my revulsion at being raped in this manner, I resolved to do what she seemed to want me to do.  I relaxed my lips and tongue, trying to force my stomach to settle, and my throat to stop gagging as his pre-cum impacted my taste buds, and its slimy flavor suffused my mouth.

Sharon kept up her slight pressure, and it was immediately increased manyfold as Bob put his hands on my head and pulled me towards his crotch, at the same time as he thrust forward.  That he was on the verge of cumming before he'd ever entered me was demonstrated as his first spurt splashed against the back of my throat before he'd completed even one motion of his hips.  His instinctive response was to bury his cock as deeply as possible in the warm, wet enclosure, and that's just what he did.

Over and over his spasms forced gobbets of semen into my mouth and down my throat.  I did my best to simply shut down my brain, and swallow his seed, and after one small gag reaction, that's just what I did.  As if in a daze, I swallowed time after time, until finally, after an eternity had passed, I heard his final moan and felt his body relax.

Thinking my ordeal was over, I tried to pull my head away from his crotch, but Sharon held me in place after all but the head had been withdrawn from my mouth.  She then said, "Wait a second, honey.  Let me make sure there's none left."  She placed her other hand on his exposed shaft and began "milking" it towards my tongue, and I felt once again the revolting sensation of his semen entering my mouth.  Again, I steeled myself to do as she wished, and swallowed his last drops.

At long last, I was released.  I remained kneeling there for what seemed a long time, trying to come to terms with what I'd done.  Finally, I simply decided to accept the situation as just one more way to demonstrate my love for my wife, and pushed it to the back of my mind.

I felt Sharon's hands under my arms, urging me to my feet, and soon I was standing beside the other man.  Neither of us would look at the other, and I knew he was just as embarrassed as I, as any normal men would be who had just seconds before engaged in such activity.

Sharon smiled at us then, saying, "Now you can start even.  Remember, the last one to lose his hardon gets to fuck me."  She paused to make sure she had our attention, then said, "Now, I want you boys to stand under the hoists, and I'll get you cuffed and stretched for your whippings."

She said nothing else, and I knew she was again testing my resolve to follow her orders.  As before, I was determined to do nothing to embarrass her in front of the other man, and simply took the few steps necessary to position myself underneath one of the suspension stations, and there held my arms out, wrists together.  Bob was mentally alert enough by then to realize what was expected on him, and he quickly imitated my actions.

The lace-on wrist cuffs were fastened to the end of a rope hanging from the ceiling, and were about chest high at both stations.  Sharon wasted no time in placing the cuffs around Bob's wrists, then lacing them tightly in place.  She then came to me and repeated the process, and soon both of us were once again her complete prisoners.  Of course, in my case no cuffs had ever been needed to make me her prisoner, and even her slave.  She knew that, and I knew that, and that knowing was the bedrock of our marriage.  I vowed to outdo the other man in every way that night, and earn the right to claim my privileges as her husband.

The rope to which the cuffs were fastened rose to the ceiling, where it was attached to the drum of a small automotive-shop hoist that hung from a wooden beam I'd fastened to the roof framing.  In practice, all Sharon had to do to suspend me was to lace the cuffs around my wrists, then press a button on the wall that would operate the hoist.  The second rope and hoist, where my rival would be suspended, was about ten feet away from "mine."

As soon as both pairs of cuffs were securely laced around our wrists, Sharon walked to the nearby wall where two sets of pushbuttons were located.  Each set had a red button, which would cause the hoist to retract the rope, and a green button which would lower the rope to the floor.  She placed a finger of each hand on the two red buttons, and as I heard the soft click, followed by the whine of the hoists, felt my rope being drawn toward the ceiling.

As I looked toward my companion, I saw his arms also being drawn upward.  At the same time as his hands had reached their highest point above his head, I felt the stretching in my shoulders that I had come to associate with the oh-so-painful, but oh-so-pleasurable sessions in this room.  Once again, my brain began to descend toward my crotch, and I felt the familiar tingling that presaged an erection.  As had happened many times in the past, by the time the only part of my body that remained in contact with the floor was the tips of my toes, my penis was completely erect.

I heard Bob groan as the pain in his shoulders shot throughout his body.  I hoped that my being used to such pain, and even associating it with sexual arousal, would give me the advantage I needed in keeping my hardon during the upcoming whipping.  What worried me was the fact that his cock had never flagged at all after his climax in my mouth, signifying his continuing extreme arousal.  I was sure we were evenly matched in this competition, but resolved to do everything in my power to best him, and thereby earn to right to fuck my wife while he watched, rather than vice versa.

Satisfied with the amount of suspension she'd given us, Sharon released the buttons and the room was immediately quiet, except for the muted sound of Bob's groans of pain, and his harsh breathing as he tried to make his body accept it.  She then opened the doors that covered a display board mounted to the wall, and my whole attention, as well as his, was centered there.

Every "toy" that Sharon had used on me in the past three years was displayed there, and seeing them again served to increase my arousal.  I knew intimately the pain and stimulation each clamp, each weight, each pin or needle, and each whip could give me, and I reveled in the memories of all the sessions spent here.  Surely my rival would have no such memories to stoke his own lust, and his penis would soften as she whipped him, thereby assuring my access to her pussy.

We watched in breathless fascination as she lovingly caressed each whip displayed there.  The flogger with its many shorts strips of thin leather; the cat with its foot-long black leather handle, and its nine lashes of thicker leather, which I had been required to soak many times in vinegar, not only to stiffen the leather, but also to intensify the sting; the bamboo whip that could feel as if it were flaying me, but in reality was only giving me deep bruises; lastly, the new whip Sharon had ordered just for this night.  She had not yet used that one on me, and I secretly hoped she never would, for I knew deep in my soul I'd never be able to quietly accept what it would do to me, as she said she wanted me to do.

It resembled a cross between a buggy whip, and what we called a "blacksnake whip" on the ranch.  The handle was about 18" in length, after which it began to taper, finally reaching a point six feet later.  The whole thing was wrapped in very thin black leather, and I knew without being told that when it struck naked skin, it would raise a vicious welt if wielded gently, and create an open wound if used with more force.  Given Sharon's intense arousal this night, I was sure she would not be gentle with her chosen victim, and I prayed with all my heart that she would choose Bob, and not me.

I watched in trepidation as she caressed each instrument in turn, then almost sighed in relief as she removed the flogger and walked toward us.  I knew very well the feel of that particular whip, and had come to love its effect on me.  I hoped that would give me an advantage in the ordeal that was soon to come.

Chapter 5  

It was so quiet in the room that I could hear Bob's breathing increase in pace as Sharon approached us, carrying her flogger.  She stood there, swishing the thongs through the air absently, as if trying to decide which of us to whip first.  I was hoping she'd choose me, believing that my familiarity with that particular whip would allow me to establish my superiority over the other man, when it came to our abilities to tolerate pain.

I was sure the other man was just as transfixed as I by the readily-apparent evidence of Sharon's arousal.  Her chest was almost heaving as she breathed heavily, and her magnificent breasts rose and fell in time with her breathing.  The large, upward-pointing nipples looked to be more distended than I'd ever seen them.  I didn't need the glistening highlights between her legs to know her pussy was dripping wet.  The scent of aroused womanhood pervaded the room, and if Bob were unable to smell it, as I could, then his sense of smell was poor indeed.

To my immense satisfaction, she looked directly at me, then said, "You first.  You can show Bob how much of a wimp you are when it comes to being whipped, and when I do him, you can see how a real man acts."  I was sure she was just teasing me, for she's said on many occasions how pleased she is with the way I've come to not only accept the whip, but to actually enjoy it.  Her words only stiffened my resolve to show up the other man, and as my wife disappeared behind me, I relaxed my muscles, knowing that would lessen the sting of the lashes.

Sharon usually delights in teasing me before she strikes the first blow, believing the anticipation only increases my arousal, and the pain she gives me.  This time there was no hesitation at all, and the first sting of the lashes caused me to gasp in surprise.  Bob and I were each standing on our toes, trying to take as much weight as possible off our aching arms and shoulders.  We were facing one another, and I guessed she'd positioned us like that so he could watch my reaction to her ministrations, and I could in turn watch his.  Not only would that increase our anticipation and fear of what was to come, it would also make our responses more of a "contest," as each strove to keep his penis hard for a longer time than the other.

The whippings she normally gives me are slow, sensuous affairs.  She spends lots of time draping the thongs over my erection, then slowly dragging them across it, increasing my stimulation.  Following each stroke, she will softly caress the stripe, and sometimes even kiss it.  That makes the whole process very erotic, and I've come to anticipate each stroke, knowing what will follow it.

This time, though, she had no interest in making it erotic for me.  Her entire purpose seemed to be to give me as much pain as possible, in the shortest amount of time.  Stroke after stroke exploded against my backside, and soon the fire she'd kindled there was a roaring bonfire.  I lost count of the number of times she flogged me, and was sure my butt was covered with welts and bruises, even though she had yet to use a real whip on it.

Fortunately the pain was not that much higher than usual, so my cock continued to stay erect.  I could see Bob's disappointed expression as he watched it, and knew he was hoping it would deflate as soon as she started on me.  When Sharon paused to glance around my body to judge her progress, I could see the same look on her face as his, and realized she wanted the other man to win this contest.  Somehow that stiffened my resolve, if not my penis, and I vowed to do everything in my power to maintain my erection.

Seeing my penis still standing proudly from my crotch, she correctly judged the flogger wasn't going to have the effect she so obviously wanted.  We watched as she again walked to the panel, and I'm sure Bob's approval of her choice of whips was the opposite of my fear.  She took the cat from its hook, then ominously cracked its thongs through the air as she once again approached me.  I didn't need the stern expression on her face to know I was in trouble.  Based on past experience, I knew the Headless Horseman could maintain its erection for a few strokes, but after ten it would begin to sag.  I longed to cry out, to beg her to not do that to me, but knew that would be a violation of our relationship.  She expected me to accept whatever she did without protest, and no matter what it cost me, I would attempt to meet her expectations.

She didn't walk around behind me this time, instead stopped about six feet in front of my suspended body.  As Bob gazed in admiration at the curves of her backside, I saw him smile in anticipation of his impending victory.  He could tell by my own expression that I dreaded the cat, and he hoped that meant my penis would soon be soft.  I feared he was correct in that assessment, although I once again tried to steel my body to accept whatever Sharon was about to do to it.

In her sweetest, most seductive voice, she said softly, "Spread your legs, honey."  Saying nothing else, she dropped her whip hand, flicking the thongs until they were spread on the floor behind her.  In the deathly quiet of the room, she looked questioningly into my eyes, waiting for the obedience that was her due, as my mistress.  I confess there was a hesitation of a couple of seconds before I took my weight onto my aching shoulders, and began to shuffle my toes to the sides.  Soon my crotch was as wide open as I'd ever had it, and my reward was her smile of approval, and then the quick movement of her arm as she brought the cat forward and upward with every ounce of strength she possessed.

The explosion of agonizing pain in my balls overwhelmed my efforts to remain quiet and accepting.  My scream rang out in the room, and my vision immediately blurred as tears flowed from my eyes.  Those of you who have never had your balls whipped by a cat have no idea, and are unable to imagine, what I felt at that moment.  There are no words to describe the horrible agony that shot through my abdomen, and then throughout my entire body.  There was an immediate sensation of sickness in the pit of my stomach, and it took every ounce of willpower to hold it in check.  To describe as "overwhelming" the urge I had to close my legs would be to understate what I actually felt.  Every fiber in my body and brain was demanding I do so, but luckily the years of training I'd had took over.  Although they were trembling uncontrollably, my legs stayed widespread, although I knew my ability to consciously control them was in doubt if she continued to whip my balls in that manner.

That she intended to do just that was demonstrated as she once again flicked the cat's thongs behind her, then brought them whistling upward.  Again they found my waiting nuts, and again I screamed in agony.  I don't know where I found the strength, but when the red haze once again cleared, my legs were still spread, waiting for the next blow.

I saw the two of them staring at my pain-wracked crotch, both smiling, and feared the worst.  To my horror, when I looked down, the Headless Horseman was responding to gravity, being already only half erect.  Sharon said softly, "Looks like Bob won, doesn't it?"

Unable to not respond, I cried out, "No, please!  Let me get it hard again.  Please!"

A look of displeasure crossed her lovely face, and she asked ominously, "Did I ask you to say something?  You can't keep your little pecker hard, even to keep another man from fucking your wife.  Bob won fair and square, and now he can have his prize.  However, I think maybe I need to do something to shut you up, don't you?"

She then went to the display board again, this time returning with my ball gag.  I hadn't worn it since the room had been soundproofed, and didn't want to again.  However, when she held it up to my mouth, my training took over and soon the thing was firmly in place, strapped around my head.

Sharon then lowered Bob's rope, and soon he was standing with both feet on the floor, while she unfastened his cuffs.  In all that time, he hadn't said a single word, and I knew she approved of that, and wished I'd been able to keep quiet as he had done.

As soon as he was fully free, Sharon began to fondle his cock and balls, then drew him to her and kissed him deeply.  I watched in helpless frustration as she pleasured him, wanting it to be me standing there, but at the same time perversely aroused to see her with another man.

At long last they broke the kiss, and she said, "You won the right to fuck me, Bob.  I was sure you'd be able to stay hard while he was being whipped, and I was right, wasn't I?  Would you like to fuck me now, while he hangs there and watches?  Do you want to put your monster cock in my tight little pussy?"

He had to clear his throat several times before he could speak, but soon I heard him say, "Please, Sharon.  I want to do that more than I can say.  God, I want to fuck you more than anything else in this world.  Please let me do it.  Please."

She said nothing further, merely placed her hands on his shoulders.  Almost as if he'd been shot, he fell to his knees and knelt there, waiting for her next instructions.  She placed one hand in the center of his chest, indicating he was to lie on his back, and again he complied at his best speed.  Soon his massive cock, still bobbing and dripping in arousal, looked as if it were beckoning her to mount.

She wasted no time doing so, as she straddled his crotch, then lowered her pussy to him.  With one hand she guided his monster into her dripping-wet opening, then said softly, "You mustn't put any more than just the head in me.  You're much too big for my pussy, since the only thing that's fucked me for years has been Shortie's little dickie.  Besides, I haven't been taking my pills lately, and I don't want to end up pregnant.  Can you control yourself?"

He gasped out that he'd do as she said, and then as the head of his cock disappeared between her legs, he moaned and whispered, "Oh, God, Sharon.  You feel so wonderful.  Please let me fuck you all the way.  Please!"

She said softly, "No.  Nothing but the head.  You'll be very, very sorry if you go any deeper than that."  Her words were belied by her actions, though.  At the same time as she uttered them, she began lowering her body still further, and his renewed moans told me she was accepting more and more of his shaft.

When about half his penis had entered her, she began alternately lifting and lowering herself on it.  She never stopped saying softly, "Stop.  Don't you dare push it any deeper.  You mustn't fuck me like that.  Don't let yourself cum inside my pussy." 

Deeper and deeper his massive cock forced its way inside her, driven there by her movements.  Over and over she told him to stop, while at the same time lowering herself even closer to his abdomen.  Over 3/4 of his length was buried in her pussy when she started to gasp and moan, still telling him to stop, and to not cum inside her.

I knew no man in the world could have resisted the sort of stimulation she was giving him, and was not in the least surprised when he moaned deeply, cried out, "Oh, Jesus Christ in Heaven!"  His hips thrust upward at the same time as she drove herself downward with all her strength. 

As his climax began, she reached around her body and gripped his balls viciously.  I heard her whisper, "Don't cum in me!  Don't you dare empty your balls in my pussy!"  At the same time as she uttered those words, she squeezed his testicles with every ounce of her strength, almost as if trying to force every drop of semen from them.

At that instant, she arched her back and cried, "Gaia!  I'm cumming!  He's raping me!  Make him stop!"  My brain and body reacted with every available resource then, trying to free myself and go to her aid.  The cuffs and rope were too strong for me to gain my freedom, and all I could do was thrash my body from side to side as I watched my precious Sharon being raped by the monster that was filling her delicious pussy.  I tried to cry out for him to stop, to threaten him, but the ball gag held tight and prevented anything more than mumbled sounds from escaping my imprisoned lips.

At last the tension left her body, and she slumped forward, lying with all her weight atop her attacker.  To my utter surprise, she kissed him passionately for what seemed like hours.  All the time they lay there, I could see his still-erect penis was lodged inside her, and I wished with all my heart that I could free myself and cut it from him as punishment for the way he'd ravished my wife.  All I could do, though, was hang there in mute frustration, and hope that she would soon get off her rapist.

Finally she did indeed raise up on her arms, and I heard her say softly to him, "Now you're going to get what's coming to you.  You can't go on raping women, you know.  You have to be stopped."

She then struggled to dislodge his member from her pussy, then stood above him as before.  Without saying anything further, she walked to the wall switch and began lowering the rope and cuffs to the floor.  Bob watched in silent fascination as she once again secured the cuffs to his wrists, then returned to the switch.  With no hesitation, she pressed the red button for the second time that night, holding it down until my rival was pulled to his feet, and then was supported by only his toes.  I heard the muted cracking of his shoulders as they again assumed his weight, then his groans of pain.

Sharon released the button, then used the other switch to lower me until I was lying flat on my back, but with my hands still imprisoned above my head.  Satisfied with my position, she released the button and came to me.  As she stood above me, she said, "Honey, you have to help me.  He shoved his cock all the way inside me, and I'm sure some of his semen got in my womb.  Please suck it out of me.  Hurry!  Try to get all of it."

She then removed the ball gag and lowered herself to my mouth.  For the second time that night I tasted the other man's cum, but this time it was flavored with her pussy juices, which is the way they were meant to be.  With mindless efficiency, I went to work at the task I love so well.  My tongue licked fervently, and then my lips locked on hers while I sucked with all my might to remove his seed from her womb.  Gobbet after gobbet of their mixed juices filled my mouth, and I quickly swallowed each one, sending the load to its rightful home in my stomach.

I longed to bring my wife to her third orgasm of the night, thereby asserting my rights as her husband.  In my memory, she's never climaxed more than twice in a session, and that was to hold true at this time also.  Although she obviously enjoyed what I was doing, her clitoris never did swell to the degree of hardness that always indicates she's about to cum.  It seemed that not only was I a failure in keeping my cock hard and in preventing her being raped at the hands of another man, I was also a failure in giving her the release she loves.

At last she rose from my face, whispering, "I hope you got all of it, honey.  Wouldn't it be awful if there were still some in there, swimming toward my egg?"  She smiled sweetly down at me, then once again walked to the wall, where she lifted me to my former standing position.

She then chose two items from the display board, and walked toward Bob.  The first was a boot lace, and I was sure I knew its intended use.  The other thing she was carrying was a spreader bar.  She rarely used it on me, since I always did my best to voluntarily hold my legs spread while she whipped between them.  The fact she intended to secure Bob's ankles in a widespread position told me she intended to punish him very severely.

She dropped to her knees in front of him.  His semi-erect cock was at the level of her head then, and to my dismay she leaned forward and kissed it fondly.  I was sure I heard her whisper, "Goodbye," but couldn't be sure.  The expression of his face changed in an instant from one of interest to one of lustful arousal, and I knew that whatever she'd whispered was extremely exciting to him.

She then focused her attention on fastening the spreader bar to his ankles, and soon his feet looked to be six feet apart, and that seemed to give his penis new energy.  Once again it was trying to become fully engorged and bobbing, and as I saw what she did next, I was sure he'd soon have his third erection of the night.

Chapter 6

Still kneeling in front of him, between his widespread legs, Sharon leaned forward and wrapped the boot lace twice around the base of his cock and balls.  She held the ends loosely in her hands, then to my surprise looked up and the man and said, "We'll take you back to your room now if you want.  I feel I owe you that choice, since you've given me so much pleasure this night.  If you want to stay, then I promise to torture you beyond your wildest dreams.  I'll give you agonizing pain you never knew existed.  What do you want to do?"

I simply could not understand her offer to him.  He had brutally raped her only minutes before, against her express wishes.  Now she was offering to let him off Scot free, rather than punishing him as she'd threatened, and as he so richly deserved.  If I had been allowed to speak, I'd have pleaded with her to not set him free, but to make him suffer the ultimate punishment.  He had violated her, and deserved to suffer as much as possible for that.

With virtually no hesitation, he said in a voice husky with emotion, "Don't stop.  Please do anything you want to me.  Please."

She simply nodded her head, then returned her attention to his rising penis.  To my horror, she once again took his offending member in her mouth, and from his moans and sighs I knew she was giving him the pleasure I love to receive.  I could almost feel her velvety tongue running over my headless cock, and was sure the pleasure he was receiving was manyfold what I had ever felt.  The head of a penis is exquisitely sensitive, and many were the times I wished that part of me could grow back, so I could once again know the pleasures it could feel.

Sharon is an accomplished fellatrix, and on this occasion she was using every skill in her repertoire to bring Bob to his former state of high arousal.  That she was successful was obvious by his reactions, from the deep moans of pleasure, to the thrusting of his hips as he tried to drive his tool deeper into her mouth.

After a space of time that seemed forever to me, he cried out and drove his crotch forward with a mighty thrust, signaling his orgasm.  Sharon responded by sharply jerking the ends of the cord, as I was sure had been her plan all along.  I knew the horrible, agonizing pain that was produced by the simple act of tying off a penis that's in the throes of its climax, because she'd once done that very thing to me.

I'll never forget the feeling deep inside my abdomen, as if something had burst because of all the unrelieved pressure.  I was sure my sperm ducts had split wide open, and barely had time to think I would surely die from the agony before I'd passed out cold.

I think Sharon had been frightened by what she'd done to me, for when I awakened I was lying on the floor and she was slapping my face to revive me.  Her tears were of genuine concern, and her anxiety on my behalf was further demonstrated later when she helped me to bed, then lay there cradling me in her arms for the rest of the night.  She's told me often since then that she was very frightened, and thought she'd killed me.  She promised to never again do such a thing to me, and I have always been grateful for that.  I was literally unable to walk upright for two days after that incident, and even a week later could feel the pain in my crotch.  I wanted Bob to experience the same sort of agony, and even more, I wanted it to be just the start of what he would feel later.

The scream of agony that tore from his throat was music to my ears, and I prayed it would not be silenced by his unconsciousness.  I wanted him to experience his pain to the fullest, and not be spared even the least bit of it by blacking out.  My prayers were answered when he did not do so, and the cries that continued to burst from his throat were evidence of his continued suffering.  He thrashed about, trying to free himself from his restraints, but succeeded in doing no more than pulling his cock from Sharon's mouth.

For her part, she did nothing more than continue to kneel there, her eyes darting from his thrusting penis to his face, waiting for him to once more recognize her presence.  Even though I couldn't see her lovely face, I was sure there would be a smile on her lips as she watched his antics, and I was sure she was as pleased as I that he was being punished for his violation of her body.

At last he hung there without movement, the only evidence of his continued consciousness the steady groans and whimpers that issued from his throat.  Slowly his eyes cleared, and he once more looked down at Sharon, who remained quietly in front of him.  When she saw that she had his full attention, she said ominously, "Now we can get started, Bob.  What you felt just now was a pale imitation of what I have planned for you."

She then stood and walked to the wall cabinet, where she seemed to delight in touching each instrument of torture hanging there.  She lovingly ran her hands over each of her wonderful toys, several times removing one of them from its hook, then after fondling it while looking at Bob, returning it in favor of another.  At last she picked up the new whip, the one with the long, single tip that I dreaded so much.  Satisfied with her choice, she returned to stand in front of her victim once more, all the time swishing the whip through the air, delighted with the way it whistled and cracked.

Bob had quieted somewhat by then, and as she approached he had eyes for nothing but the dread instrument she continued to slice through the air.  As he became completely quiet, she said softly, "Now you'll see what happens to rapists, Bob.  I hope you think the pleasure you took by force is worth what I'm going to do to you now."  She then walked behind him, slightly to one side.  She raised the whip and held it high above her head, and I waited eagerly for the sound of it whistling through the air before it tore into his helpless backside.

She hesitated for awhile, then said, almost as if to herself, "No.  I want Shortie to see this, so he'll have something to look forward to.  It'll be his turn soon enough."  She then reached around her prisoner and gripped his purpling cock in one hand, using it to turn him so that his butt was now towards me.  Satisfied with his new position, she also changed hers and once again raised the whip.

This time there was to be no reprieve for him, and she brought the lash down against his ass with every ounce of her strength.  The sound of the impact was followed instantaneously by the sound of his agonized scream.  I was sure I'd never screamed so loudly, but when I saw what the whip had done to him, I knew Sharon had never done so much damage to my body as she had done to his.

The open wound traced a straight line from one side of his gaping buttocks to the other.  It was at first a thin red line, but soon widened as the blood welled from the cut.  His cries never ceased as she once again raised the whip before bringing it down again, this time moving it slightly so that it inscribed an "X" across his ass, with the two lines meeting over his hole.  Sharon laughed as she saw that, then said, " 'X' marks the spot, I guess."

She then struck the third blow so it crossed at the same location, but this time the line was horizontal.  That seemed to mark the end of her attempts to create a work of art on his buttocks, and she then repeatedly lashed him until his whole backside was a mass of welts and cuts, with the blood oozing from each before joining the other drops to run down his legs.  Every new stroke was acknowledged by a fresh cry from his ravaged throat, each seemingly louder than the one before.

I have no idea how many lashes she gave him, but at last they came to an end.  She stood there panting for breath, her breasts heaving and the perspiration beading her body.  I thought she'd never looked more lovely, and longed to be free to worship her, and use my lips and tongue to bring her pleasure.  That was not to be, though, as she seemingly had completely forgotten I was even in the room.  I hung there in silence, as easily ignored as any other fixture.  She had eyes only for the man she was torturing, and focus only for regaining her own strength so she could continue to do so.

With a small shudder, she once again regained control of herself.  She threw the bloody whip at my feet, saying, "You can clean this later.  I don't want to put it back looking like this."  She then again went to the cabinet, where she opened one of the drawers.  The thing she withdrew this time was very frightening to me, and had made me shiver in fear, and more than a little anticipation, when she first unwrapped it following its delivery. 

As she returned to where Bob was hanging, still groaning in pain, although more quietly now, she was carrying the deadly-serious instrument of torture.  I could not suppress my involuntary shudder as I thought of how the thing would be used.  As I looked at my companion in pain, his eyes were beginning to focus on it also, obviously wondering how Sharon would employ it to bring him further torment.

Standing close to him, she held it right in front of his face, allowing him to concentrate on it, and as understanding dawned on his face, I knew he had fathomed its purpose.  Rather than expressing his fear, as I had, he moaned deep in his throat, and I knew he was expressing his excitement, his arousal, his want, and his need.  He knew what Sharon would do to him, and it was the answer to his prayers.

The new toy she was holding looked like nothing more than a small electric soldering iron, but in place of the tip there was a razor-sharp blade, four inches in length.  Hanging from the insulated handle was an electrical cord, waiting only for its mistress to give it the energy it needed to do its sinister work.  Everyone in the room knew exactly what that work would be, and the tension among the three of us was very high.

When Sharon was sure Bob understood what she was holding, and what its purpose was, she smiled sweetly, then said, "I bought this just for you.  I hope it'll be as exciting for you as it'll be for me."  She then draped the cord over his purpling erection before once again returning to the cabinet.

Again reaching into the drawer, she took out an extension cord and a small metal tray that looked just the right size to hold the heated knife when it was not in use.  She plugged the cord into a wall socket, then as she returned to the man, payed out the coils as she walked.  When she reached her position in front of him once again, she joined the two cords, then placed the tray on the floor, with the tool resting in it.

She said, "It'll take just a few seconds for it to get hot enough, so you won't have long to wait.  I have just a couple of other things from the cabinet, then we can get started."    That last was said as she returned to the drawer, and I could tell she was doing something while standing there, but since her back was to me, didn't know what.  My question was answered when she came back carrying a small syringe, with a liquid in it.

She said, "I want to be sure you won't pass out, Bob.  I need for you to see what I'm going to do to you, and I'm sure you want to watch me doing it, don't you?"  She waited for his slow nod, then gripped his now-still cock with one hand, while very expertly injecting the contents of the syringe in the base of his cock, below the point where it and his balls were tied off.

Satisfied with her efforts, she took the needle back to the drawer, saying over her shoulder, "Just one more thing, lover.  I know you're as anxious as I am to get going, but just be patient for another couple of minutes.  We're almost ready."

When she came back this time, she was carrying a large glass jar, almost filled with a clear liquid.  She knelt in front of him once again, then set the jar on the floor beside her.  All the while smiling up at him, she unscrewed the jar lid and placed it on the floor.  The attention of all three of us was focused on the soldering iron, and it was quiet enough in the room to actually hear the metal in the blade faintly pop as it expanded from the heat.

When it had a dull red color to the cutting edge, Sharon picked it up carefully, saying, "I'd better be careful with this thing.  A girl could hurt herself, couldn't she?"  She laughed softly at her little joke, then said, "I think it's ready now, but maybe I'd better test it to find out for sure."  She then touched the head of his cock with the red-hot blade, and his confirmation that the blade was indeed hot enough rang through the room.

She knelt there in silence until his cries of pain subsided to subdued sobbing, then said, "I think it's ready.  Let's get rid of these things first.  I've always thought there should be a better place to store these ugly things.  I guess it makes it lots more convenient when the time comes for a man to be castrated, doesn't it?  Maybe that's what Mother Nature had in mind in the first place."

Saying nothing further, she guided the blade to the center of his sac, then touched it to the flesh right below his cock.  That the drug was at last taking effect was shown by his more subdued reaction as his scrotum parted slightly, then even more as she pulled the cutting edge downward.  The heated blade cauterized the incision immediately, so there was no bleeding.  However, the room was immediately suffused with the smell of cooking skin, and oddly enough, that seemed to stimulate my appetite, rather than sickening me.

Sharon continued to move the blade slowly along the centerline of his sac, stopping only when she had reached the point where the thing had been tied off by the cord.  Replacing the tool in its cradle, she said quietly, "Okay, watch this."  She placed her hands on the two halves of his separated bag, then pulled them apart.  Her efforts were rewarded by the sight of his balls falling free of their lifelong home, then swinging like pendulums on their individual cords.

She stared as if mesmerized, seeming to be totally hypnotized by the slow swaying of his freed testicles.  When they at last came to a rest, an involuntary shudder passed through her body as she once again roused to a state of total consciousness.

Again holding the tool, she said quietly, "Okay.  From this point on, you're nothing but my eunuch, Bob."  She then efficiently gripped his balls, one at a time, stretching them from his body while severing the cords that still connected them to his crotch.  The first was dropped into the waiting jar, where it floated in isolation until joined shortly by its lifelong mate.

She then trimmed the remnants of his sac, but instead of also placing them in the jar, tossed them toward me, where they lay close to the bloody whip.  She said to me, "You can feed that stuff to the cat later.  I'm sure it'll be the best use ever made of anything hanging from his crotch."

Her attention returned to his darkening penis, which she held securely in her left hand.  As she raised the red-hot blade, everyone in the room knew the time for the last part of this oh-so-exciting ritual had arrived.

With deliberate precision, she placed the blade vertically against the head of his cock, centering it on the small slit there.  She then began to slowly push the blade against his tender flesh, while moving it up and down in short sawing movements.  His immediate scream of agony told us that the anaesthetic had not completely taken effect, and I was sure Sharon was smiling as she looked upward to her assailant's face.

The red-hot cutting edge moved slowly down the length of his cock, cauterizing the flesh as it went.  Because there was no blood loss, the two halves remained very-much erect, reminding me of Sharon's favorite way of cooking hot dogs: slicing them lengthwise and placing them in the oven.  His ruined manhood resembled nothing more than the split wieners I cooked for her several times a month, and I began to wonder if she would dispose of this "hot dog" in the same manner, by smearing it with mustard and eating it.

At last the blade reached the base of his cock, and she withdrew it.  She stared fixedly at her handiwork for awhile, then looked at the whimpering, groaning man.  When she was sure she once again had his attention, she said in a soft voice, "It looks lots better that way, doesn't it, Bob?  Let's see you rape another woman now."  After a short pause, she asked, "Do you want me to leave it like that, and take you back to your motel now?"

His cries and groans had been steadily subsiding as the painkiller took effect, and he was able to answer her, saying, "Please don't leave me like that, Sharon.  Please.  Cut it off.  I want you to have it."

A pang of jealousy flashed through my brain at his words, and I knew he was much braver than I could ever be.  Once again I resolved to face my own unmanning with the courage he was demonstrating, hoping my wife would be pleased.

She said simply, "Thank you.  I wanted it for my trophy, and as a way to remember this very-exciting night.  Thank you."

She then positioned the knife at the base of his cock, and began to slowly force the blade through the ravaged flesh, while sawing it back and forth with tiny movements of her arm.  That Bob's genitals were now completely numb was demonstrated by his silence, and rapt attention to what she was doing to him.

She moved the knife slowly downward through his shaft, giving it time to cauterize its path.  At no time was even a single drop of blood shed, and the two halves of his penis remained completely erect.  To his credit, he never once tried to pull away from her hand and the knife, and I had to admire him for that, even though everyone knew such an action would have done him no good.  Sharon had made up her mind that he was to be a complete eunuch, and that was what he would be.

I watched in fascination as the blade completed its gruesome work, and then as she held his severed remains aloft so he could look at them for the last time ever.  They were then dropped into the jar, once again to join their former companions.

Sharon placed the knife in its holder and unplugged the cord.  She stood before him for what seemed an eternity before lifting up on the tips of her toes and kissing him full on his lips.  Again she said, "Thank you."

We both watched as she walked to the wall, where she pushed both green buttons to lower us to the floor.  She released Bob's wrists first, which again caused stirrings of jealousy in my heart.  As she released me, she said to the other man, "Bob, I'm sorry to have to do it, but we must put your blindfold back in place.  I'm sure you understand our need to protect ourselves in that manner."

She then replaced his blindfold, and signaled me to remove my mask as she did the same.  She helped him put on the bathrobe, and dropped the handcuffs and key in one of its pockets, saying, "We won't need these, will we?"

In a matter of minutes, the three of us were once again dressed, leading our blindfolded guest to our waiting van sitting outside.  He was weak from the aftereffects of the treatment he'd received in Sharon's torture chamber, and it took the two of us to get him seated and belted safely in place.  She ordered me to drive, while again taking her place beside the man who had provided her with so very much pleasure and satisfaction that night.

Chapter 7

The drive back to Bob's motel was short and uneventful.  Sharon sat beside him all the way, hugging him close and whispering to him.  I was able to catch enough words to know she was praising him for his bravery, and thanking him for giving her the most exciting night of her entire life.  Over and over she told him she'd keep her trophy forever, so it could remind her always of him, and what she'd done to him.

When we arrived at his room, I once again parked as close as possible, donning my gloves before getting out.  The exterior light was still dark, assuring we would be unseen by any observer.  I helped him inside, then got him on the bed.  I stayed just long enough to watch him dial 9-1-1, then placed the keycard on the table and left, pausing at the door to jam a large gob of wood putty in the strike plate.  Sharon had planned that part also, thinking it would convince the police that Bob's misfortune had been set up by someone near to that area, maybe as part of a gang initiation.  We hoped that would misdirect the investigation far from us.

As I drove home, Sharon sat there in silence for most of the way.  Finally she sighed deeply, as if coming out of a dream, then said, "That has to be the best thing that's ever happened to me.  I don't see how I can wait another two years to do it again.  I'm afraid that if you can't find another man for me, we'll have to re-schedule your session for no more than six months from now."  She then lay her head on the seat back, and said nothing further.

For my part, I was almost in a fog as I drove home.  Part of me wanted to stop the car and run as fast as I could in the opposite direction.  The stronger part, though, felt a deep-seated thrill as it thought of everything she'd done to our friend that night, and longed for it to happen to me.  Every time I had an image of Bob hanging there with Sharon torturing him, his face was mine.  Every time he screamed in agony, his voice was mine.  I too was feeling her sense of urgency about my unmanning, and sympathized with her inability to wait two years for it to happen.  I knew deep in my heart that before many more months had passed, there would be a companion to Bob's jar sitting on our bedside table.
_____________________

Epilogue

Sharon's best friend is a nurse who works part time in a medical clinic, and part time in the local hospital where the ambulance took Bob.  She could not resist telling Sharon about the man who had been brought to the emergency room about 2:00 a.m. a few days ago. 

Sharon said it was the most difficult thing she'd ever done to pretend ignorance about the subject.  She said it was almost beyond her acting ability to sit there listening to her friend recount the details of the patient's injuries, without jumping right in, saying, "Yes, I know!  I did that to him!  It was wonderful!"  She didn't do that, of course, but just sat there with intense interest written all over her face, urging the other woman to tell her every delicious detail.

The nurse said she was sure Bob's bandages had been changed more often than any other patient in history.  Apparently the nurses just couldn't get enough of looking at his empty crotch, and would later giggle among themselves as they tried to guess the size of what had been removed.  Again, Sharon found it difficult to remain seated there, and not hurry to the bedroom to return with her trophy to show her friend.  However, she was able to restrain herself.

We received another e-mail from Bob the day he returned home.  In it, he thanked Sharon over and over for what she'd given him, and many times referred to her as the "answer to his prayers."  Surprisingly, there was also a note from his wife, echoing Bob's sentiments.  She told us Bob was now much calmer, and didn't seem so distressed when her sexual husband paid one of his regular visits.  Always before, Bob had listened in humiliation and frustration from the adjoining bedroom as they made love throughout the night.  Now, he was much more accepting of his situation, and was able to rest much better in his lonely bed.

Sharon was very pleased by the letter, and sometimes insists I call her "Florence Nightingale," in honor of her charitable efforts in helping Bob and his wife achieve a better life.  Of course, I always do.  I'm trying to keep her as happy as possible, hoping she'll move my "appointment" even closer to the present.  I long to feel the heated blade passing through my sac, and then my cock.  It's almost more than I can do to not beg her to do it this very night, but know deep in my heart she'll do it when the time is right, and not a second before.

The End