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As Kirsten worked in the garden, lovingly planting impatiens and petunias, a delivery truck pulled out to her house. "Flowers by Suki," it read. She stood up and brushed away the mulch from her knees. A man approached her and handed her a small box. "Pour Madam," he said in a lovely French accent. Kirsten signed the receipt, pulled a five from her jeans and took the box inside. It wasn't her birthday, any kind of special occasion and there was no man in her life. She threw the purple crepe paper aside and sucked in her breath. A black rose. The symbol. Kirsten's knees buckled and she had to sit as she traced her fingers over the petals. The realization that Erich was ready and wanted her again filled her with trepidation. This was the sign, his signal, after all these years, that his castration was imminent. They hadn't spoken in a long, long time. "He must be 55 by now," she mused to herself. She was still not 50. Her life revolved around her now-grown children and free-lance writing. He had sailed and traveled the world, lecturing at colleges when it suited him and letting others run the business. Kirsten's life was "little" in general terms, but full nonetheless. Since he left her, she remained celibate, waiting for the door to reopen, only occasionally sharing dinner or going to the theatre with a male companion. It was her own type of castration, denying herself the pleasure only Erich could make her feel. She put the rose under her nostrils and inhaled. She began to recall the feel of his strong legs and upper body, how her body burned when he took her forcefully and his tied balls buried deep within the walls of her vagina. They had played many nights and afternoons like that. In her revery, a thorn pierced Kirsten's forefinger. She automatically put it in her mouth and became erotically charged and felt once again - alive. Rose in hand, she took to her bedroom and dug out the polaroid pictures they had taken -- his cock and balls tied up, him with his erect penis taped and a knife lying across his full testicles. Her hands shook as she relived the moments on the dining room table when, with surgical gloves covering her hands, she pleased him with an alcohol rub on his balls and titilated him with the knife strafing his manhood, never cutting, but once nicking the skin and drawing blood. Kirsten was beyond return. She lay the pictures down beside her and stripped out of her jeans and t-shirt and began to masturbate - the rose lying over her heaving breasts. He was calling to her "cum for me." Erich's breathless whispers surrounded her ears. "Take me, take my balls, they are yours." Her orgasm was explosive, so much so, that she cried out his name and wept with tears of joy. He was "ready" and he wanted her to castrate him or at least be ther. She would never deny him anything. In her quaking, two petals from the black rose fell to her groin. She placed them inside her, their silken texture brushing her moist walls. "Oh, Erich, you remembered," she said aloud. The black rose, his call to come back to him. She lay quietly and stroked herself with the rose. She would make the phone call tonight. Erich looked at his watch. It was almost 4:00 p.m. The delivery was made at 2:30, as the clerk informed him. Would she respond or was it too late, he wondered. Although apart, she remained ingrained in his being. He scoured the web to find any articles she might have written. He followed her budding career from the shadows, always proud of her and the ability she had to overcome adverse circumstances. Erich had played, his group of courtesans were adequate. His personal wealth had shifted greatly to multi-millions - a far cry from the 90's when he began with a beach bar and pizza shop. But there was emptiness. No amount of property, wine, $1,000 dinners and the always filled dance card could squelch his desire for more. He again looked impatiently at his watch. "She'll call." he told himself. He had walked away from their relationship because it had become too intense. Unspoken ties were choking him and his bon vivant ways. Kirsten had only sent one note after the rift. "My dearest Erich, if one day you desire castration and you wish me to be there, send me one black rose." Erich had heard through the grapevine that Kirsten was devastated for months, walling herself off from friends and events. She then threw herself into her only outlet -- writing, and it paid off handsomely. However, she still remained aloof and cut off from society. Kirsten surveyed her aging body in the mirror. Her breasts were tiny and pert, with just a hint of dimpling near the nipples. Her weight was only a pound or two over from the last time he saw her. She turned sideways, noticing the usual lumps and deposits that happen over the years to your legs and ass. "Not too, too, bad, but I'm certainly not 20." Redressing, she searched for the phone number she vowed one day to forget. Having the piece of paper would give her confidence that she could actually dial it. Erich sat on a leather chair, once again watching on his wide-screen tv, the procedure he would soon undergo. He stroked his cock as the doctor cut deep into the fleshiness of the sac. With each nuance of the surgeon's incisions, he grew harder, and leaked his clear pre-cum. His one hand began working his cock harder, his other clutching at his own balls which were wrapped with rubber bands - making them prominent. He knew when the exact moment would be that the patiend himself would cum and Erich would do it too, within seconds of each other. The lubricant that Erich used had now become a lather and the heat building inside his groin was intense. He was close. "Ah, uh, ahhhh," he groaned as a close-up was not directed to the taped penis of the patient. His expulsion of the thick milky cream shot onto both their stomachs. "Release," he thought as he willed himself back to earth. Erich continued watching immersed in the continued cutting and removal of the testicles, sitting back leisurely, his cum still tangled in his body hair. With his forfinger, he wiped his stomach and tasted his seed, remembering how Kirsten had said that she wanted to "bottle it, market it" and make the world crave his cum. He chuckled outloud. And then, his private phone line rang........ TBC
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