Two-Girl Call — The Castration Disconnection

It took a shit-load longer to get to Pearson. The flight itself would be quick from Toronto to JFK, but it’s the ground transportation that really fucks you.

There’s the always-clogged Q.E.W., then the slow, stenchy L.I. Rail.

But Rita needed me, so I had to go.

Mi Mama, Su Mama.

I got there. I got “home.”

Rita Casa, Su Casa.

It was nice of her mother to take me as sort of another daughter. “Any close friend of my baby Rita, is my baby too,” she would say as she served up her famous, and always-ready chicken soup.

You don’t really think you’re going to want hot soup when the air temperature is near 100° F, more than 35° C for us Canadian metrics. But when you sniff it, you know you need it.

Kind of like when a lesbian first gets up-close and personal to another woman’s cunt.

Rita’s mother must spike the stuff with something secret and perfect, because man it makes you feel good, good, good.

I carried a tray with two steaming bowls into Rita’s bedroom. She was apparently so tired, or so something, that she couldn’t even meet me at the door. Her mother was glad I was there, her “best friend in the world,” as assigned by both Rita’s mother and by Rita herself.

Rita was white as a ghost and trembling like the lone dead leaf still clinging to a tall Canadian maple braving a Yukon winter.

I entered the chilly interior of Rita’s summer igloo.

As we sipped the magic soup, she began her story:

“Lia, for the past two days I have never been so turned on and so near death.”

She told the story of the call from Gretchen on Thursday night, when she agreed to be the second in her phone sex job’s special attraction, the two-girl call.

Apparently Gretchen had been in conversation with John for many months.

His fascination was castration.

His intoxication was castration.

His electrocution would be castration.

Also, apparently, Gretchen had already met John. She was wet and willing to facilitate his castration.

Provided the method itself provided indemnification.

Within a half-hour of the castration conversation, Rita was getting the picture. She also got the offer.

Gretchen had agreed to help, but she wanted help herself.

Rita agreed to go. Right away, too.

Gretchen would already be there. All Rita had to do was retrieve the hand-held GPS receiver John had hidden in the ladies room of a little non-descript dinner up in the Maine woods.

It would at least be a nice drive.

When you’ve got 400 horses under the hood of a fiberglass-light, lipstick-red and classic-old ‘vette, you’ve got to let them ponies out of the barn.

Detroit, Detroit, got one hell of a hockey team. Made one hell of a sports car.

Hell would be on the way.

She got to the old diner just in time for breakfast. She broke down for the once-a-year traditional grease-the-gut hash browns, venison sausage and sunny-sides-down just as the Maine sun began to glisten on the dew-covered main highway.

She found the GPS receiver and punched in the coordinates she had received by phone.

About 25 miles northwest, deep into bear and moose country.

John was bare when she got there. And he was wearing a noose in moose country.

Gretchen was also bare, except for the stilettos.

But John, Gretchen, and Rita were not alone.

Just like John, there were 29 other nude men in nooses.

Actually, each man had two nooses. One around their own tree branch and their necks, as usual, and the other a thin wire noose around the top of their scrotums.

As Rita looked around and listened, she heard the sound of a small gasoline engine. Only two cars were visible. Her Corvette was shut down and cooling off, and Gretchen’s Lexus was cold and silent.

She followed the scrotum wires. All 30 men were cross-connected to a portable generator in the rear of an old school bus parked by a small, muddy pond.

For 48 hours, Rita just watched.

Sometime during the ordeal she got naked and had been masterbating to exhaustion. This is what she saw:

Each noosed man had his own switch and voltage adjuster. Gretchen turned them all on (because she was beautiful and naked, and because she knew how to work a dimmer switch).

Slowly, while the others watched, Gretchen cranked up the juice. Rita was cranking out juices of her own.

John would be last, so he saw 29 pairs of balls start to glow. And he saw 29 pairs of eyes smiling as their gonads began to arc and spark.

And explode.

But just before the explosion, the tree nooses were tightened by Gretchen, bringing each man to the near-asphyxiation high they needed to get them off.

They got off all right.

Sperm flew everywhere.

Then balls and blood flew everywhere.

John was so hard and horny after watching the 29 before, he squirted the longest, highest squirt of cum Rita had ever seen.

After John was done, Gretchen loosened the nooses around a large black man who had also cum a lot but had yet to have his balls explode.

His cock was amazing. His cock was a keeper. His name was Robert.

He had the cock to die for.

Nearly 30 men already had, and there would be more. Gretchen saved Robert and his ebony beauty.

She also needed him to help load the bus.

After shooting their loads, losing their balls, and losing their lives, there were 29 heavy men to sink.

Into the bus they came in. Into the bus they came in to have their last cum. Then into the pond never to be seen again.

Gretchen and Robert rolled away in the Lexus, while Rita weakly worked the stick shift in her red, red roadster.

She was on autopilot all the way home to mom.

All the way home to me.

She’s had her soup, and you’ve heard her story.

We’ll just have to wait and see if she will ever be ready to take another two-girl call.