Our Caribbean Anniversary, Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I'm not sure what I'd expected, but it certainly wasn't what was revealed to my eyes by the bright lights. I turned to look at my wife, and was certain, from the expression on her face, that she had known what to expect. That was surprising to me, given the nature of the displays.

Arrayed before us were several tableaus, with small sections of wall between them to separate each from the other. From what I could see, even though each exhibit was different from the others, the subject was similar. That subject was definitely adult-oriented, as she had warned. To my eyes, it was obvious that the whole room was one big torture chamber. I had read about, and seen pictures of, several of the things displayed there, but seeing them all there together, in that basement, somehow made the effect much more stunning.

As one, my wife and I turned to our guide, waiting for her explanation. She smiled at the expressions on our faces, then said, "As you can see, all the exhibits here are concerned with tortures of one sort or another. However, there is one unifying theme, and it's that each tool, each piece of equipment, and each machine is designed to be used to torture a male subject."

"I'm sure many people think that tortures were always applied to males, but I can assure you that's not the case. There have been many sexual deviates throughout time who thought that women were perfectly acceptable targets of torture, but we at the museum have no use for them. We believe there could be nothing lower than a person who would hurt a woman, and if I could have such a person here, he'd soon realize the error of his ways." Although she had a slight smile on her face when she said that, I could tell she was deadly serious. My wife seemed to agree, as she nodded her head slightly.

She continued, "Now that you've seen the nature of the exhibits, are you still interested in touring them?" She looked at us expectantly, waiting for our answer.

I was almost in a state of shock by then, and struggled to answer her question. My own interest would have been evident to anyone who glanced at my crotch, for I could feel the stirrings of an erection there. I was sure the Bermuda shorts I was wearing would do nothing to hide my arousal, and hoped neither of the women would notice.

Sharon was not slow to answer, and indeed seemed to be much less surprised by the displays and the explanation that I was. It was almost as if she had been expecting to see such things, and demonstrated none of the shock I was feeling. She replied, "Yes. We want to see the whole thing. I'm sure there're many interesting exhibits."

The young woman then led us to the first display, which I recognized as a type of torture device called a "rack." It was nothing more than a long table with large winches at each end. As in illustrations I'd seen, there were two ropes fastened to each winch, and I knew they would be tied to the victim's wrists and ankles. When the winches were turned, the ropes would tighten, stretching him painfully.

There seemed to be something different at one end of this rack, though, and before I could call attention to it, our guide began her explanation. "As I said before, all the exhibits are centered on the subject of male torture. This particular machine is a rack, as you've probably already guessed. It's used just as its counterparts have been used throughout history. The naked man is placed on the table, and then the ropes are tied to his ankles and wrists. When the winches are turned, he'll be stretched in a most satisfying manner."

"There is something different about this particular rack, though. If you'll look at the end where the man's feet are placed, you'll see three other smaller winches, each with a cord fastened to it. As you've probably guessed, those are for stretching his genitals. One of the cords would be placed around his penis, and the other two around his separated testicles. As you can imagine, when the small winches are turned, his things will be stretched. The distance such things can be pulled is truly amazing."

Even through my excitement and arousal, I caught the implication that she had seen the rack in actual use. That made me even more excited than before, and I couldn't stop myself from fantasizing about being tied to the table, with the three small cords in their intended positions.

Through my lust-fogged brain, I finally realized that my wife was speaking to me. I reluctantly dragged my eyes away from the rack, and directed my attention to her. She laughed aloud at my distraction, then repeated what she'd said. "That's an exciting display, isn't it? Have you ever seen anything like it?"

That caused me to hesitate in confusion, because the truth was that I had seen something very much like it. One of the Websites I visited regularly was dedicated to "rough sex" between homosexual men, and I had seen several photos there of such a machine in use. The difference was that it didn't have the special small winches on one end. In the photos, the man tied to the table was having his cock and balls stretched by a cord that was draped over a board above the table, and that was being pulled by another man. Still, the effect was very much the same. I had jacked off many times while fantasizing about it being me tied there, and now that the real thing was standing here before me, I simply couldn't control my stiffening cock.

As I returned to reality, I realized both women were looking pointedly at my crotch. My face must have been burning a bright red with embarrassment, because they both began laughing. Finally, Chantal said, "Please don't be embarrassed, Mr. _____. That sort of reaction is almost universal among men. I'm sure I could count on one hand the number of men who have been down here who did not become excited. Your reaction is quite normal, I assure you."

It may have been normal, but it did nothing to reduce the shame I was feeling. I was glad when she said then, "Shall we continue on to the next exhibit?"

Sharon said something about being ready for more, and hoping the next display would be even more exciting than the first. I didn't say anything, because of my embarrassment as well as the tightness in my throat. As we walked a few steps to the next area, I glanced surreptitiously at my crotch, and could see that my Bermuda shorts were very much tented. There was no way to hide the effect this part of the tour was having on me.

The next exhibit also involved a table, but it was much different than the rack had been. It was quite ordinary in appearance, being about two feet wide and six feet long, and having wheels on the four legs. The unusual parts were the many ropes and cords that were dangling above it. Each had been run through a pulley attached to the ceiling, and then continuing to a nearby wall. There were five winches fastened to the wall, and the cords were obviously tied to them. I could see the first winch had two ropes run to it, and they dangled above the head of the table. The same arrangement was used for the two cords hanging above the foot of the table. The interesting part, at least to me, was that there were three smaller winches fastened between the two outer ones, each with a separate cord dangling over the center of the table. Even without Chantal's explanation, I was sure I knew the purpose of the things.

After giving us a few moments to stare at the exhibit, she said, "This particular exhibit is somewhat similar to the previous one, as you've probably already guessed. In use, the naked man will lie on the tabletop. The two ropes at the head of the table will be tied to his wrists, and the two at the foot to his ankles. The three cords will be attached to his penis and his testicles."

"This particular device is best used by five women torturing one man, but of course that rarely happens. The more normal situation is for two women to slowly turn the handles on two of the winches, and then to move to two others and tighten them. Slowly but surely, the man will be lifted free of the table. At that point, the table will be rolled away, leaving him suspended about four feet above the floor. His body will be arched as he tries to bear his weight on his arms and legs, but after several minutes the strain will cause more and more stretching of his genitals."

"When the women are ready, they will slowly turn the end winches in a reverse direction. They will continue to do that until all the man's weight is being supported by his cock and his balls. The amount of stretching then is truly amazing." She said the last in a dreamy voice, almost as if recalling a scene she had actually witnessed. As for me, I was "witnessing" the scene in my head, and the man who was being suspended was me.

I'm sure my cock was harder than it had ever been, and between its demands and the fantasy playing out in my head, I hadn't noticed my wife was no longer standing beside me. The first indication I had that she'd moved was when I felt her hands encircle my body and begin unbuttoning my shirt. The startlement cleared my head just enough to allow me to realize that Sharon was standing behind me, and nuzzling my neck as she slowly removed by shirt.

When I instinctively moved my hands to hers, she said in a husky whisper, "Stop that! Put your hands down!" I'm sure my balls were in almost total control of my body then, and my arms returned slowly to my sides. Soon the shirt was being removed, and I remember actually holding my arms back to make the process easier for her.

As soon as she dropped the shirt to the floor, my wife spoke through her throat that sounded as tight as mine felt. She asked, "Is it really possible to hang a man by his cock and balls? Wouldn't they just tear off?" I have to admit that the same question had fleetingly run through my brain, but my lust wouldn't allow me to devote any thought to it.

Still, my attention was riveted to Chantal as she said, "They're stronger than you'd think. If he has a hardon, a man can actually be suspended by his genitals for long periods of time. I remember reading years ago that a Russian by the name of Rasputin was suspended from a lamppost that way, and was then stoned to death by a crowd. Apparently he was left hanging for several hours, and his things continued to support his body all that time. I'm sure that some men's equipment would be torn free, but I've never seen it happen."

Sharon then asked the question that had become foremost in my mind. "Have you actually used this equipment?"

Chantal hesitated for several seconds, carefully considering her answer. At last she answered softly, "I'd rather not say right now. Maybe when we become better acquainted I'll be able to trust you more. For now, all I can say is that everything in this room is authentic equipment, and would function in the intended manner."

Sharon must have nodded her acceptance, as I could see a slight smile of appreciation on Chantal's face. She then said, "I suppose I don't have to ask if you want to see the next exhibit. Your husband's excitement is there for all to see, and I'm sure you're also feeling somewhat the same way. Even after all these years, this part of the tour is still arousing to me."

She then led us slowly to the next section, giving us time to inspect everything there before she began her explanation.

"The application of heat to a man's genitals has been an accepted part of torture for centuries. This display, and the next two, use that principle in interesting ways. Here you see a simple framework suspended from the ceiling by a rope through a pulley. The man would be secured to the framework like this." Here she paused to indicate a large illustration on one of the walls.

Looking closely at the rendering, I could see that a naked man was tied in what was almost a standing spreadeagle position. The framework was behind him, and extended from his head to his butt. There was a rope passing under his armpits that held him tightly to the metal frame, and his arms were widespread and tied in place. Another rope passed around his waist, securing his lower body in place. His legs were fastened to the framework in what must have been a very painful position, being drawn up until his feel were nearly at the level of his crotch. I could see that his ankles had been tied to the metal also, denying any possibility of movement.

When she saw that we understood how the framework was used, Chantal continued. "After the man is secured in place, the frame would be raised several feet off the floor. Then this piece of equipment would be placed under him." At that point she pulled forward something that looked for all the world like an outdoor barbecue unit. However, instead of the top being open, or having a grill on it, it was almost completely closed.

On the top cover, in the center, was what appeared to be a large, upside down funnel. It was obvious that if there were really a bed of coals in the thing, all the heat would be directed through the spout of the funnel.

I realized that my head must have nodded my understanding, for she smiled and said, "I see your husband grasps the principle. Maybe he's seen such a thing before, on the Internet maybe?"

That was close enough to the truth to cause me to again feel embarrassment. Actually, I had seen something very similar. What I had seen had been an actual barbecue, with no lid. It had a bed of red-hot coals in it. A naked man, with a huge hardon, had been suspended in a horizontal, face-down position, by his wrists and ankles, with his crotch centered over the coals. As his muscles adjusted to the strain, his crotch dropped closer and closer to the coals. I'm sure the outcome would be the same in either case.

Sharon was again standing right behind me, with her breasts pressing into my bare back. I could feel her very hard nipples against my flesh, even through her blouse. As she asked her question, one hand dropped to my crotch and began fondling my penis through my clothes. It was all I could do to not cum then, but somehow I managed to avoid doing so.

In her still-husky voice, she asked, "Would a man be able to stay hard while that was being done to him?"

Chantal smiled broadly before answering, finally replying, "That's not a problem. When this particular torture is applied, as in all the remaining ones, his penis will be banded very tightly at the base. That will keep him hard as a rock, no matter what is done to him."

Again Sharon asked, "Have you actually used this equipment on a man?"

Again Chantal replied, "I'm sorry. I just can't answer such a question until I'm sure about you. It's quite possible you or your husband could represent the police, although my opinion is that you don't. His excitement is genuine, and I believe yours is also. However, I just can't be positive on that account."

My wife's hands then moved to my waistband and unbuttoned my pants. Again I instinctively tried to stop what she was doing, and again she ordered me to drop my hands. As she pushed my Bermuda shorts down my legs, followed in short order by my undershorts, she asked, "Does this convince you? Surely no policeman could do this, could he?"

Chantal laughed then, saying, "I'm convinced. If any policeman were to present himself in such a condition to a suspect, no court would ever consider the case."

To say I was embarrassed then would be an understatement. My cock was simply uncontrollable, and I knew without looking that it was bouncing up and down like a metronome, and probably had a drop of pre-cum on the tip. My excitement was only increased when Sharon lowered both hands to my crotch and began to roughly squeeze my balls. I loved it when she did that, and she knew I couldn't resist such treatment.

Chantal then began to honestly answer Sharon's questions, saying, "Yes, I've used every piece of equipment you've seen, and will see later. I have no qualms about admitting that I'm a dedicated sadist, as were my mother and grandmother before me. It seems to run in the family."

"My earliest memories are of men being tortured down here, and of joining in when allowed to. I recall being very excited when I watched my grandfather being tortured here, and then turned into a eunuch. Then, when it was time for my father to meet the same fate, I was an active helper. Mother and I had him down here for many hours then, and in the end he begged for the knife. Since that time, many other men, including both my husbands, have felt the pleasures I can give them, but I really have no idea of the number. Dozens, surely. Maybe a hundred in all."

All the time Chantal had been speaking, my wife continued to abuse my balls. As I looked downward, I could see an almost steady dripping of pre-cum from my cock. By that time, I was almost delirious with lust, and it was all I could do to keep from begging that the fire be lit, and I be tied to the framework. Given the tightness of my throat, and the way I was gasping for breath, I probably couldn't have done more than moan, anyway.

Our guide then beckoned us forward, and we walked to the next display. Sharon had released her hold on my nuts when we walked, but quickly regained it as we stood before the next piece of equipment.

Again, this one was nothing more than a simple table, similar in size to the suspension table we had seen several minutes before. Short pieces of rope had been tied to each of the corner legs, and lay coiled loosely on the top of the table. Wide leather straps were dangling on each side, at the middle, with a buckle on one end of one of them. There was something laying on the table, and as I concentrated on it, I saw that it was an oddly-shaped funnel. The spout of the thing was at least a foot long, but less than 1/2" in diameter. Unlike an ordinary funnel, the end was closed, and had been formed into a rounded shape.

Chantal gave us a short period to guess the purpose of the equipment, then said, "This is not one of my favorites, although I've used it a few times. In use, I tie the man in place with the ropes around his wrists and ankles. The belt will hold his midsection in place. His erection will have been tied off, or course. What fun it is to torture a limp noodle? Don't you agree?"

I think I actually nodded in agreement, and Sharon whispered a heartfelt, "Yes."

The explanation continued, "The tip of this funnel will be greased, and then it'll be pushed into the hole in his cock. I'll keep pushing it in until it reaches the tied-off section, otherwise it won't work right."

"If you look behind the table, you'll see a small furnace with a ladle suspended over the part where the flames would be. There will be molten lead in there." At Sharon's gasp, Chantal smiled broadly before saying, "I can see you already know what will be done with the lead. You're right. I'll bring the ladle to the funnel and slowly pour the contents down the tube. Believe me, the reaction that produces is absolutely amazing, and that's why the belt is very necessary. If he could be allowed to thrash around, some of the lead might splash on me, and I wouldn't like that. Of course, the man always passes out immediately, but that's why I have a bottle of smelling salts with me. I want him to be awake to enjoy every minute just as much as I do."

Sharon was squeezing my balls even more forcefully by that time, and the pain that produced was shooting up into my stomach. Rather than asking her to stop, I spread my legs even farther to give her easier access.

Finally she cleared her throat a couple of times, then said, "I can't believe that a man would just meekly climb up there, knowing what you were going to do to him. Do you have other people here to help get him tied down?"

Chantal smiled knowingly as she stared openly at what my wife was doing to my balls. She then replied, "I think you underestimate the control a man's balls have over his life. Believe it or not, men have actually begged me to torture them. The masochistic streak runs deep in many of them, and they're in heaven when they actually find a woman who will do what they want. Just look at the way your husband is holding his legs open so you can squeeze his nuts. His brain is in his cock right now, and I'm betting he's another of those who like rough treatment. Do you agree?"

Sharon was quick to respond, "Yes. I've known for quite awhile now that he likes pain. Given what I've seen on his computer, his craving goes beyond even that. I know he fantasizes about having his cock and balls cut off, because most of the photos and stories he downloads are about that subject."

To say I was shocked by what she'd said would not have been the whole truth. Chantal was right about my brain being between my legs then, and I'm sure I wasn't capable of being shocked. I do know that my embarrassment deepened to the point where I was mortified, and if I had been capable of running up the stairs and out the door, I'd have done so. However, the grip my wife had on my balls prevented movement of any sort, and all I could do was stand there with my face burning bright red.

Chantal said, "Yes. You described the stories and photos to me in your letter a couple of months ago. As soon as I read that, I knew he was ready to visit here. In fact, if you were to choose to use this particular equipment on him, I predict he'd climb on the table with no assistance or urging from us. That's why I can guarantee this will be the most exciting night either of you have ever had."

Sharon's husky response was, "I'm sure it will. I can hardly wait."

I was unable to speak or to move. I now knew why our vacation plans had been changed, and that our visit to this museum was no accident. I felt as much dread as I did anticipation as we walked to the next section of the room.