“He hit me!” It was Sandy. She and her husband, own a small IT company where I work part-time since I retired from over forty years in the industry. She was sobbing and, barely intelligible. I knew they were having some problems, but I never figured Eric to be violent.

“Are you OK?” I asked. She sobbed, “I think so, Steve…………my face hurts, but I don’t think anything is broken.” I asked, “Are you away from the house?” Sandy said she was in her car at an all night gas station. “Can you find your way to my house?” I asked. She said she could.

“It will take you about thirty minutes to get here.” “Pull it together and come up here and I’ll keep you safe for now.” “I’ll be waiting, call if you need to,” I said. On the other end, I heard a soft, “Thanks, Steve.”

I hung up the phone. This was just what I needed was something to add more pain and complications to my life. My wife had died just a few weeks ago and I was still hurting from that. Now two of my best friends were probably going to split up.

It took Sandy 28 minutes to get to my house. She always drives like she was on the last lap of the Daytona 500 and being hurt and abused didn’t slow her down very much.

I went out to her car and helped her inside. I locked the door behind us. Better safe than sorry. I looked at her. She was a mess. I could see the imprint of Eric’s hand on the left side of her face. Her ear was swollen and she obviously hurt. She just collapsed into my arms and started bawling. I held her and stroked her hair and made little noises that meant I cared.

We managed to get up the stairs and into the living room. “You’ll have to share my bed tonight as I’ve not had time to get another room fit for human occupancy,” I told her. “Good, I want you to hold me until we wake up,” she said, “I need to feel important to someone right now.”

I suggested, “Why don’t you take a shower?” “That will make you feel better and I’ll find something for you to wear to bed.” “OK,” she said. I helped her get into the upstairs bathroom. I told her I thought she could undress and get in the shower by herself and I would put something for her to wear on the vanity counter while she was showering. I got her a clean washcloth and towel. She closed the bathroom door and took her clothes off and climbed in the shower. When I was sure she was in the shower, I put a nightgown on the vanity and closed the door behind me.

Sandy knows that I bought my late wife loads of very sexy sleepwear and I’m sure she was expecting me to have put out something very skimpy and very see through. When she finished her shower and started to dry off, all of a sudden I heard the sound of her laughing like a fool. “My God, Steve!” she said, “A flannel nightgown.” “That is so funny!” She opened the door and came out. She was not wearing the flannel nightgown. She was naked.

I had a pretty good idea of how Sandy would look without clothes. She has a nice, compact sports model body and is not afraid to show it off. Her breasts are small, but perfectly shaped with nice, perky nipples. She has a small waist and only the slightest hint of a tummy. Her hips are fairly wide and her ass is small and tight. All in all, she is a fabulous looking gal.

“I would rather sleep this way than to wear flannel,” she said, still giggling a bit. I could not have agreed more. Even with the evidence of her beating still showing, she was beautiful. She lay down on the bed and I got undressed and laid down facing her and held her close to me. She snuggled close to me and said, “Please just hold me until we wake up.” Even though I wanted to have her, I knew that she needed to be held and comforted and that was fine with me.

It was almost 9 AM when I was awakened. Sandy had waked up and she reached down and was holding my already erect cock. “Good morning,” she purred, “I see you’re going to be friendly this morning.” One of my favorite things in life is a morning quickie. Now here I was naked, in bed with a beautiful woman who was younger than my oldest grandson and whom I had desired since I first met her. The day was off to a very good start, indeed.

I found her well-shaved pussy and slipped a finger between the lips. Sandy was wet and ready. I pushed first one and then two fingers inside her. She welcomed this and started to thrust against me. “Fuck me now!” she moaned. I slid on top of her and she guided my cock into her. I buried myself deep in one thrust.

We humped against each other like we were possessed. Sandy was cumming almost from the first stroke. We kept on and soon I was cumming too. She knew I was ready and she pulled away and put my cock deep in her mouth. She milked me dry and kept sucking. I loved it. I gathered my wits after a bit and said, “Sandy, as much fun as I’m having, I really do have to pee right now.” “OK,” she pouted. “Me too.”

We made our pit stops and I checked my blood sugar. Damn! I was low and had to eat; being diabetic sometimes really sucks. “I’m low and have to eat now,” I told her. “How about some of my world famous pancakes?”

“But I want more sex!” she said in her most teasing voice. “I really need it.”

“I do too, but I also will pass out if I get much lower, so let’s do it again later.” I explained. Sandy agreed. I made some coffee and started the pancakes. We both knew that cooking while naked may be dangerous, so we put on some clothes. We sat down to eat. We were enjoying our breakfast when I asked, “What in the hell was your argument about last night?” Sandy replied, “The usual, he is getting hyper-critical and self-centered and treating me like shit when we are alone.” “He is off his anti-depressant and that’s what happens.” She said, “ He finally told me to put my clothes on and get out. While I was getting dressed, he slugged me in the side of my head.”

She asked, “Do I look terrible?” “Well, you’re not going to pose for the cover of Vogue, but you look better than I thought you would this morning,” I answered. “You have some bruising and your ear is still swollen,” I told her. “How do you feel?” She said, “I’m sore and my feelings are hurt.” “I am so pissed at him.”

I asked, “What should be done about Eric?” Sandy said, “I’m going to kill him.” “I’ve got my gun and I am going to kill him.”

“Now, give me the gun, sweetheart,” I said, trying to be firm as I knew she was serious. “I think I have a plan to make him wish he was dead and that would be even better than you killing him,” I explained.

For a guy who has always been a pretty much straight arrow, law-abiding citizen and who was raised by a cop, I have some very unsavory friends. I planned on calling in a favor from a couple of them.

Sandy wanted to know more. I told her the basic outline of my plan. “I have this friend from up home named Bruno.” “He is a retired enforcer for the mob.” “He’s a huge guy and he likes to hurt people.” “I need him and one other mean bastard to do this.” “We will invade your house at night and grab Eric.” We’ll tape his mouth shut, bind him hand and foot with duct tape, and we’ll strip him.” “We will beat him within an inch of his life and take him over to the hospital and dump him outside the emergency room when the coast is clear.” I told her, “The plan needs to be fleshed out, but we can do this and not get caught and best of all, you will not be involved, so you will stay out of the slammer.”

She wanted to know, “How long will it take to get this all together?” I said, “I think we can do it in less than two weeks.” “Meanwhile, you will need to stay here as I can be here to keep you safe.” “But I can go stay with Mom,” she protested. “Sandy, your mother works on third shift, he knows that and he is still pissed at you.” I pointed out, “If you stay with me, I have no reason to leave you alone and that will be safer.”

“Thanks, Steve,” she said as she hugged me. “You are a great friend.” She laughed, “And you’re not bad in the sack either, especially for an old fart.”

I called Bruno and gave him a very brief outline of the situation. I asked that he be at a safe phone the next morning at 10. I would call him from a pay phone. He said he would be waiting.

Suddenly, I found myself being dragged back to the bedroom. Sandy had not been kidding several months earlier when she told me she needed sex three times a day. We both ripped our clothes off. She threw me on my back (well, it was easy as I was helping) and took my cock in her mouth. I thought I was in for a treat as she always claimed to give the world’s finest blowjobs. But I was wrong. She wanted me hard right now. It worked. She stopped sucking and started riding my fat cock as hard as she could. I thought, for a minute, she might be trying to fuck me to death.

I reached up and grabbed her breasts and squeezed as hard as I could. “Ouch!” she said, so I stopped. “Why did you stop?” she pouted without losing a stroke. “You know I like to be hurt.” I grabbed her pretty, small breasts again and dug my fingers into them. We fucked like minks for a while, both had a great orgasm, and collapsed for a bit. I noticed I had bruised her breasts.

“I’m sorry I bruised you, sweetie,” I said. Sandy looked at my fingerprints on her breasts and said, “Oh! Souvenirs!” “That felt good and I’m very glad you did it, Steve.”

When we got up again, I explained the plan to Sandy. She was in agreement with me that it would be much better to make Eric live with a major reminder of what he had done than to kill him.

The next morning, we got dressed and drove into Greensboro and went to the Amtrak station. Payphones are scarce nowadays and enclosed ones even more rare, which is why I wanted to call Bruno from there. Sandy waited for me to make the call. Bruno was at the first of a list of pay phones where I could find him. I told him of my plan. He said he would be more than happy to help. He said his son had taken over his slot in the organization and would be our third man. “Little Bruno?” I asked. “He always was such a great little guy.” Bruno said, “Little my ass; he’s six foot eight and weighs 280.” Yes he would be a great help.

We discussed the details. Bruno said he and his boy who is known as Trey in the mob as he is a “the third”, would get all the stuff we need and see that it was gone when they left town after the job. I would need to get a vehicle. My old employer has an older Chevy cargo van that the company gofer drives sometimes. Everyone at the company has keys for it and I never turned in my set when I left. I would borrow the van after everyone had left for the day. Best of all, the color of maroon it was painted would show up as black under those funky vapor lights.

We went back to my home. There was a message on the phone from Eric. He was trying to find Sandy. I called and told him I had no idea where she was. Actually, she had unzipped my trousers and was giving me one of her fabulous blowjobs. Yes, she was as good as she claimed. He said no one knew where she was and he was worried. I played dumb and told him I would let him know if I heard anything.

“Maybe we should hide your car,” I suggested. “That way, if Eric comes looking for you, he won’t see it.” I called my mechanic and he said we could stick it in his storage lot. Eric would never have reason to look for it there. Sandy thought that was a great idea.

Over the next several days, we made the plan to get the van. Everyone involved in the whole operation would wear gloves from start to finish. There would be no fingerprints to tie anyone to the deal. I insisted that Sandy stay at the house throughout the attack. It would be too easy to tie her to it if she went along. She was very disappointed, but agreed after a bit of pouting.

Finally, the time came to go to the safe phone again. We ventured back and waited a few minutes for this street person to get off my phone and out of the booth. The phone rang.

“Yeah,” I said. “OK you got all the stuff, that’s good.” “Meet me at the Wal-Mart on highway 14 about 10 PM on Tuesday.” The die was cast and Eric was in for a night he would never be able to forget.

Finally, it was Tuesday. It was a little after 8 when Sandy drove me to grab the van. I got in and started it and we got out of there. We left my car at the designated drop point and drove the van home so she could be there while the operation went down.

When Bruno and Trey got into town and met me at the Wal-Mart, they had all the stuff we needed. They had black bounty hunter type uniforms that were lettered in dark blue on the back: “State Bail Bonds, Indianapolis, Indiana.” This met the letter if not the spirit of the law. They also had a warrant for arrest for one Eric Rich who had skipped bail. We had black hoods to pull over our heads during the raid. “I thought it would be a nice touch to give our old friend Tyce a credit if we get stopped,” said Bruno. “He’s not involved in any of this, is he?” I asked. Bruno said, “Naw, our people got the Steveuments, made the uniforms and the license plate. He showed me a genuine plastic imitation Indiana plate that was totally bogus but looked like the real thing.

We all changed into the bounty hunter uniforms. We left our civilian clothes in Bruno’s car. Trey wiped down the tools we would bring along: a 20-ounce ball peen hammer and a large pair of Vice Grips. I told the guys I had wiped the van clean inside and out. We each put on two pair of the blue gloves that they wear for autopsies. They are not likely to tear when stressed. I unwrapped the roll of duct tape I had gotten for the expedition. It was now show time.

As we drove, I explained the lay of the house to Trey and Bruno. The house was on a quiet residential street on a corner. The next-door neighbor was an old coot who was deaf as a post. The house across the street was vacant as was the one across the side street. The house diagonally across the intersection had the bedrooms on the far end and in the back. The layout was perfect for our plan.

Eric’s house was on a well-wooded lot. This made it easier for us to approach unseen. We parked near the back door. His car was there, so we knew he was inside. We had the tools and the tape in our belts. The back door was unlocked; a big break for us, but the house was dark. We went in quietly and I located the door to the bedroom. I threw it open and Bruno and Trey barged in, grabbed Eric, and slapped a big piece of duct tape over his mouth. While they held him, I taped his hands together and then his feet. He was remarkably quiet. I think he was in shock from the sudden invasion.

Eric was sleeping naked, which made our job a bit easier. We dragged him out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. I’m sure he knew he was in big trouble. A couple of hard shots to the ribs from Trey made that very clear to him. We forced his crotch against the table. We slipped a piece of cord around his scrotum and yanked it out so his balls were on top of the table. Bruno held him while Trey tugged the cord taut. I took the ball peen hammer and swung it hard at his right ball. Eric tried to scream, but he couldn’t; the tape would not allow it. Also, the incredible agony of having a ball exploded by a hammer blow only allowed a loud moan to escape. I hit his left ball. He jerked. I am sure that the first blow to each ball pulverized it. I could feel the hammer squishing the contents, but I wanted to make sure, so I hit each one at least six times. I felt his sack and it was full of pulp. It felt like it was full of over-ripe pear. That was good. I gave his balls a couple of more whacks for good measure. Next, we looped the cord around his cock. We twisted it around the shaft, just below the head. I guess absolute terror can cause this, but he was hard as a rock. We drew his cock out as far as we could. I hit his cock as hard as I could right at the base. I was hoping I could pound it right off his body. A cock is much tougher than are the balls. I pounded on it for several minutes until it was hard to recognize as a penis. I had crushed all the erectile tissue and probably destroyed his urethra too. To add to the fun, I went between his legs and caught the root of his cock behind his now useless scrotum and clamped the Vice Grips on it over and over again. I could feel everything being mashed and destroyed. It was sweet revenge for him hitting dear Sandy. His cock was now as useless as his balls.

Sometime during all this, he passed out from the pain. We knew he was out because he became a dead weight that Bruno had to hold up. We hog-tied him with the duct tape and threw him in the back of the van. We drove the eight or so blocks to the hospital and pulled in to the emergency room lot. There was no sign of anything outside the E.R. We had the rear doors ajar and we drove up, dumped him on the drive, and pulled away quietly. Trey had a huge cherry bomb with an extra long fuse. He lit the fuse, leaned out the passenger side window and hurled it in the direction of the E.R. We wanted Eric found before he could die from his injuries.

We hit the street and took off. We drove sanely and did not attract any attention even though we passed a couple of cop cars. We got to my car and pulled the fake plate off the van. Bruno would drive the van and follow me. It would be back in its place before anyone knew had been used. We put the van back where I had found it. We checked the van over and gathered and bagged all of our stuff. We drove my car back to Wal-Mart and picked up Bruno’s car. We all went to my house and changed back into real clothes. To protect Bruno and Trey, Sandy stayed out of sight. If something went wrong, that way, she could honestly say she had no idea who had helped me.

All the uniforms, the tools, the cord, the tape, everything used were bagged up and put in Bruno’s trunk. He would drop all this stuff off up in Roanoke with a guy who was connected. This guy also worked at the Norfolk Southern Railroad shops boiler house, so he would see that everything met a fiery end the next morning.

I thanked the guys profusely. They said they were happy to do it. A guy who would hit his wife deserved what Eric got.

Meanwhile, the explosion had gotten the security guard’s attention at the hospital. He called for help. Orderly’s came out and loaded Eric on a gurney. The Stevetors were not busy and immediately huddled over the victim. They cut the bonds and pulled the tape from his mouth. They assessed the damage to Eric’s genitals and decided he would have to have immediate surgery to avoid gangrene. They paged the urologist on call.

When Stevetor Davis, the urologist arrived about 45 minutes later, he looked at the mess that was Eric’s cock and balls and said they had been destroyed. Davis said he had never seen anything like it, not even with a land mine victim in Viet Nam. He had him taken to the O. R. and they prepared to remove the damaged tissues. Really, all he could do was remove the remaining bits of his testicles and suture the cords. The penis was also so badly damaged that he had to do a total penectomy and urethral reroute. Damned right, Eric would think about his fate every day for the rest of his wretched life.

Stevetor Davis finished up his work and left Eric in the recovery room with a catheter emerging from his new piss hole in his crotch. No one knew who he was and it would be several hours before he would be able to tell anyone.

Of course, the police were very excited about this assault. They thought it was gang retaliation for a while. Then they realized that the local gangs are too stupid to plan something like this. They decided it was probably the work of the Russian mafia from Brighton Beach up in Brooklyn.

Around 11 AM, they finally found out who the victim was. They sent the crime scene people to the house and went over it with a fine-tooth comb. They found nothing except some blood and gore where we had beaten his balls and cock apart. They talked to the neighbors, but they had heard nothing at all.

About dinnertime, I got a call from the lead investigator, Bruce Smith. Bruce was an old friend and had recently been made a detective. He hated being in plain-clothes. I told him what I knew.

Yes, Sandy was staying with me. Eric had hit her and she was afraid he might kill her. No, we did not know anything except what we saw on the news. The reports were sensational, but vague. They said something about a guy being mutilated and dumped at the E.R.

Bruce asked if he could come up and talk to Sandy. I told him he could but I would need to be with her as she was a wreck. He arrived at my house a little after seven that evening. Sandy had taken off her makeup, scrunched up her hair and had borrowed one of my biggest sweatshirts and a pair of warm up pants. She looked like a distraught victim.

Bruce asked the usual questions about who might have done this to her husband. She said she had no idea. She was consistent in saying that she was too scared of Eric to have even thought about attacking him. She did a perfect job.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that Bruce wanted back on the street. He hated detective work. He preferred life in uniform. He found the whole process of questioning a victim and basically accusing her of retaliation to be distasteful and demeaning and he wanted to get it over with.

Bruce and I chatted about the situation. I agreed with the theory being floated that the Russian mob might have had something to do with it. They were a nasty bunch that liked to hurt people and leave them hurting forever. Cross them and they made you regret it for a long, long time.

Since Eric insisted he had had no dealings with the Russian mob, the police chalked that up to a reluctant witness. They got the FBI and the New York cops involved, but they never got anywhere. His mutilation is still an open case, but it has been put on the back burner. We got away with it!

The upshot of all of this has been that Eric and Sandy divorced. She and I went far away and started a new business and life together. We are happy. She will be well taken care of when I die. With the difference in our ages, that is very important.

I also never thought I could keep up with her libido, but she and I share so many kinky interests, that this has not been a problem. But that is another story and may be told at another time. We are happy and the fact that Eric is a miserable nullified eunuch makes us even happier.

We know that he is in major depression now. He has had to move in with his parents and they have the unenviable task of caring for him. He should have thought that there would be consequences when he hit Sandy.