Our Caribbean Anniversary, Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Again we lay there in silence for a while, and I knew she was giving me time to digest the full implications of what she'd told me. After a while she asked quietly, "Do you have any questions you want to ask? You've been asleep quite awhile, and I though maybe you'd be curious about what's been going on during that time."

In fact, I did have some questions I wanted to ask, but one in particular had been nagging at the back of my mind ever since I'd awakened the first time. I asked, "What happened to my. . ., my . . ., you know?"

That caused her to chuckle, but she finally answered, "I assume you mean your cock and balls, don't you? Do you want to know what happened to them?"

I nodded my head, not trusting my mouth to form the words to answer her. That was sufficient for her to explain, "They were brought here to the clinic at the same time as you were. In fact, they're in the room right next door. Ian is preparing them for display." She paused to give me time to react, then continued, "He squeezed all the blood and cum out of them as the first step, and then started injecting them with something called 'formalin'. He says it's a preservative, and should make them last a long time."

"He's been injecting them three or four times a day, and they get bigger every time he does it. Your cock is now just as big as it was when I cut it off you, and your balls are probably bigger than they've ever been. He says by the time he's done, your penis will be at least two inches longer than it ever was when you had it, and close to twice the diameter. Your balls will be twice their former size. Should make a nice trophy, don't you think?"

I was simply stunned at her explanation of what was being done to my former genitals. After awhile, I was able to ask, "How will they be displayed? You surely won't just lay them on the coffee table in the living room, will you?"

That caused her to break into laughter, and I had to join in as that image passed through my mind. Her reply, when she was able to make one, was more serious. She said, "No, dear heart, although it's tempting. It'd almost be worth it to see the expressions on our friends' faces when they come to visit."

"Do you remember one of the photos you downloaded that showed a set of a man's genitals that were mounted on a round base, and covered with a large glass jar that had a round top? The container is called a 'vacuum jar', and I remember seeing one in my high school science class."

"The cock was erect, and mounted upright in the center of the jar. The balls had been removed from his sac, and placed one on each side of the penis. Do you remember that one?"

I did remember that particular photograph, although it hadn't been one of my favorites. Rather than seeing the results of a nullification, I'd always been more turned on by pictures showing it being done. My favorite photo was actually a set of two. In the first, a naked man was standing behind a penis guillotine with his erect cock sticking through the hole, below the upraised blade. In the second, the blade was at the bottom of the track, and the cock was laying on the floor. I knew that the photo had been manipulated by a computer program, but it was still one of my favorites. The photo of the cock and balls in the glass dome was interesting to look at, but it didn't do much for me.

I said, "Yes. I remember that particular photo. I'm not sure just why I saved it, since it wasn't one of my favorites. Do you mean that's how mine will be displayed?"

She replied, "Yes, that's what I mean. The full story is a little longer than that, though. That photo was always my number one favorite, and as soon as I saw it, I began to think of the contents as being yours. It became almost an obsession to me, and finally I tracked down the Website where you'd found it. There was an e-mail address there for the person who'd posted it, so I wrote a letter to that address asking about the origin of the photo."

"It took so long to get a reply that I'd about given up on ever getting one. It must have been a month later when I received a letter from a person claiming to be the one who'd posted the picture. He said he'd found it on another Website, and gave me the URL for it. I had to actually pay for access there, but it was worth it. It was a FemDom Website, and the area dedicated to male torture was worth the price of admission. It's a good thing you hadn't found that place, or you'd probably have jacked off so much your dick would have been rubbed away by the friction."

We both laughed at that, and she continued, "It was fairly easy to contact the person who'd posted the photo there, and we began to write each other on almost a daily basis. She said she'd like to tell me about the origin of the photo, but just couldn't take a chance I was an investigator of some sort. After I realized I'd have to meet her in the flesh to get more information, I suggested we try to arrange a meeting. Do you remember last year when I said I'd been asked to be a consultant on a project in Denver?"

I told her I did recall that, and she continued, "Well, that was kind of a white lie. The truth is that I flew there to meet the woman, and see if I could convince her I really did want information about her special trophy, and didn't care anything about the legal aspects of the thing."

"We arranged to meet at a shopping center she'd described, and so I rented a car and drove there. I'd told her what I'd be wearing, and just sat on a bench where she had suggested we meet. After about half an hour, a woman approached me, and asked if I were Sharon. I said I was, and she introduced herself as Milly."

"She told me again that she had to be 100% convinced that I didn't have any connection with the police, and I asked her what I could do to convince her. She asked my to go with her to the restroom, and so we did. When we got there, she held the door open on one of the stalls and told me to go inside and stand facing her. When she was sure no one else was in there with us, she told me to pull down my pants and underwear, stick a finger in my pussy, and then suck it."

"I don't need to tell you that was a difficult thing to do, in front of a stranger. When she told me that it would prove I really was who I claimed to be, I went ahead and did it. That was all it took, and she then said if I really wanted to see her trophy, and find out where she got it, she'd take me to her home. By the way, that's why I undressed you in front of Chantal. I thought it'd probably convince her we were on the up-and-up, and it worked."

"By that time, I was pretty well committed, so I went with her. It was dark by then, so I have no idea where we went, other than it was several miles east of the shopping center. When we got to her house, there was a man sitting in the front room watching television, and I assumed it to be her husband, and maybe the source of the trophy she claimed to have. She introduced him as her lover, though, so I decided he probably still had his equipment."

"She led me to a room in the back of the house, and then opened a cabinet. Standing there on a shelf was the jar you saw in the photo, although it's much larger than it appears there. Her husband had a really huge cock, even allowing for the extra size caused by the injections. I'm sure it was at least a foot long, which meant the 'real' thing was probably nine or ten inches."

"After I'd stared at the thing for quite awhile, she asked me if I'd like to see where it came from. Of course, I jumped at the chance. She said she'd call the maid, which I thought was pretty odd, and went to the door and yelled for 'Louise' to come there."

"The person who came to the door was wearing a dress and had long hair, but she was about the ugliest woman I'd ever seen. Milly and I were sitting on a couch then, and she told Louise to come closer. When she told the woman to raise her skirt and pull down her panties, I began to suspect what was happening there, and I was right."

"The crotch I saw was shaved smooth, and it was easy to see there was no vagina. Instead there was a ring of scar tissue with a small hole in the center of it. When I looked at Milly, she said, 'My husband, Louis, although when he's at home, we call him Louise.' "

"To make a long story short, Milly gave me the e-mail address of the museum. Chantal and I wrote back and forth a few times, and I decided that we needed to change our anniversary trip plans. I don't have any regrets for doing so, so you? This was much more fun than seeing some bears in Alaska."

Rather than react to her attempt at humor, I assured her that I wanted what had been done to me, and that I felt nothing but love for her for doing it. She seemed to more easily accept what I said this time, and continued by saying, "So that's how it all happened. It's fitting that a photo you'd downloaded should have been the very thing that led to my having a trophy to display when we get back home, don't you think?"

I agreed with her opinion, saying that I'd always believe we'd have found a way for it to happen sooner or later, but that coming to the museum had been the perfect solution to the problem. After another quiet pause, I asked, "Have you been staying in the hotel while I've been here?"

She answered, "No. Actually, I'm staying with Ian and Chantal. You may have guessed that they're lovers. Ian moved in with Chantal and her second husband right after assisting her with making the man into a eunuch in the museum basement. She hasn't told me yet which of the machines they used to nullify him, although she's mentioned she'd been torturing him down there for several months before finally cutting off everything."

I considered that for awhile, and then asked, "What happened to her first husband? Did they get a divorce?"

She became very serious then, and replied, "No. There wasn't any need for a divorce. She told me he tried to beat her once, after he'd come home drunk. She called her parents, and between the three of them, they brought the bastard to the basement of the museum. I'm sure you can imagine, from what she said to us at the start of the tour, that she was pretty rough with him. In fact, he didn't survive the last torture."

If I had thought my ability to be shocked was long past, I was proved wrong then. I'm sure my mouth was hanging open as I tried to come to terms with that information. Finally I asked, "You mean he died? Was it one of the things we saw that did it to him?"

She answered, "No. Chantal said it was something farther on in the tour. Apparently we missed most of the things she has down there. I guess we were just too anxious to get you behind the guillotine. She told me that there are lots of really fun toys down there. I kind of wish we'd taken the time to see all of them, don't you? I guess it's just as well, though. Apparently most of the things that come after the guillotine are used to totally destroy a man's genitals, rather than just remove them. If we'd done something like that, I wouldn't have a trophy for my anniversary present."

I had to agree with her assessment, since it was impossible for me to imagine a better way for me to become a eunuch. The guillotine had been my "dream machine" for a long time, and I'd never have any regrets that we'd chosen it over some other device.

I then asked the question that had been troubling me, saying, "What did they do then? Surely there was trouble over that, wasn't there?"

Sharon must have been ready with her answer, for she said immediately, "No. There was no trouble. As for what they did, Chantal said they took what was left of him on a night-fishing excursion. He 'accidentally' fell overboard in shark-infested waters, and when the searchers found his remains, there was no way to tell just where his injuries had occurred. She said they've had to do that a few times over the years, when some man wasn't tough enough to take his punishment, or when his wife was tired of him. Let that be a lesson to you. Behave, or we'll be back here before much longer."

She laughed when she said that, but I could see there was a deadly seriousness behind her mirth. I was sure it wouldn't take any such implied threat to make me "behave," but it was sobering all the same.

She seemed to become very quiet and still then, as if thinking of something she wanted to tell me, but couldn't think of the right way to say it. Finally she said, "It looks like maybe the trophy won't be the only thing we take home with us as a memento of our visit here."

When she didn't say anything more, I asked her what else we'd be taking home, and she began telling me something that simply stunned me. She said, "When I was planning our trip to the museum, I made the decision that you wouldn't be fucking me before we arrived, and of course you'd never again fuck anybody at all afterwards. When I was packing my things, it never occurred to me to put my birth-control pills in the suitcase. That means it's been several days since I've taken one."

"My period started the day we visited the museum, and it ended today. That means I'm probably going to be in my peak fertile period for the next few days." She stopped speaking then and looked directly in my eyes, waiting for me to understand what she meant. She must have seen that understanding sweep across my face then, because she continued, "I see you know what I mean. You're right. I've decided that I want Ian to get me pregnant, and if we have to delay our return home to give it time to happen, then that's what we'll do."

"I know we had decided to not have children, but that was mostly your decision. Now that I'm in charge of our relationship, I'm going to change some things. I didn't mind not getting pregnant before, because I guess that I instinctively didn't want to carry your baby. That's not the case with Ian. I really and truly want to give birth to his child, and have it as a reminder of what a wonderful lover he is."

"I'm going to tell David that it's his child. The expression on his face when a brown baby comes out should be priceless, don't you think? Of course, you'll be listed on the birth certificate as the father. I'm sure you'll be a good daddy, now that your life isn't controlled by those useless things that used to be between your legs."

"Now, I'm going to go get you something to eat. Don't worry, it'll be something more solid this time, although you'd better get used to eating cream pies direct from the source. That's going to be a big part of your diet from now on."

She then stood up from the bed, got dressed, and left the room. In all that time, I lay there in stunned silence, trying to come to terms with what she'd just told me. Not only had she brought me to this place to have my cock and balls removed, and converted to her trophy, but she also planned to have her lover move in with us when we returned home. The most overwhelming part, though, was that she intended to get pregnant by a black man who was a stranger to us just three days ago. My head was spinning as those thoughts raced back and forth through it.

I finally decided that, in the final analysis, there was literally nothing I could do to change any of that scenario. It was my own fetish that had brought me to this, and my overwhelming fascination with being made a eunuch, that had led to my wife's equally strong interest in seeing it done to me. In other words, I'd made my own bed, and now I had to lie in it.

That thought seemed to give me some peace, if not an actual resolution. At that point, my exhaustion again swept over me, and I fell into a deep sleep.

_____________________

As I am writing this narrative, about six months after our return from the island, everything predicted by my wife has come true. David moved in with us less than two weeks after our arrival, and spends every night in my wife's bed. I listen to the sounds of their lovemaking, not needing her taunts to know that he is a better lover than I ever was. She is fond of telling me that he has given her more orgasms in six months than I did in twenty-five years of marriage. From the sounds, I'm sure it's true.

I lie there awake every night, in my lonely bed, waiting for her to summon me. When she does, I have learned to hurry to the side of their bed, where I wait kneeling as she turns sideways and then places her legs on either side of my head. I no longer need her order to do my duty, but begin to eagerly lap up their mixed cream, licking and sucking her pussy until every delicious drop has been swallowed. When she is feeling particularly aroused by my attentions, she'll order me to also clean David's crotch. Sometimes she even allows me to drink "straight from the tap," as she calls it. I no longer have any shame, it seems, and am pleased to be able to give pleasure to both of them in any way I can.

Her pregnancy is well advanced now, and her tummy is quite swollen. I'm sure Ian's baby is going to be large. We already know, through the magic of ultrasound, that it's a boy. Sharon is already teasing me that it'll probably have a bigger cock at age ten than I ever had. She's probably right.

Speaking of my cock, let me add this final note. About a month after we returned, the doorbell rang. There was a FedEx deliveryman standing at the door holding a large package. When I brought it inside the house, I immediately saw that it was addressed to my wife, with a return address of the island where we'd spent our 25th wedding anniversary.

Sharon very excitedly opened the box, and then lifted out what we knew was inside. The jar was about 18" tall and 12" in diameter. Inside it, displayed rampant and sticking straight up in the air, were my former genitals. As Ian had promised, they were much larger than they had been when attached to me. In an odd way, that made me proud.