Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 AN INTERESTING PROPOSITION

   (FM, cbt, sad, nullification)

   Chapter 1

   This is not your typical rags-to-riches story, although that kind of
progression is certainly what happened to me.  I guess you could call it
pure dumb luck that I'm now in comfortable circumstances, and my future
looks even more bright.

   Rory and I were married right out of high school, after having dated as
steadies for a couple of years.  Before you ask, I'll tell you that, yes,
we had been having regular sexual relations for most of that time.  It was
good enough, I suppose, but I certainly never felt the earth move, as some
of my friends always said they did.  My climaxes, when Rory took enough
time for them to happen, were good enough, but nothing to write home about.

   I'm not really sure why we decided to get married, but guess at the time
it seemed the right thing to do.  My parents kept telling me that Rory
wasn't good enough for me, and maybe I married him as a show of my
independence.  Whatever, it happened, and I was bound and determined to
make it work.  It always seemed to me that he wasn't quite as dedicated to
that idea as I was, but maybe that's just the way men are.  I'd never had
sex with anyone else, and obviously didn't have all that much experience
with men.

   Rory seemed to have problems holding jobs, and was always applying for
something else, saying that it'd be the right one for sure.  Somehow the
"next one" never worked out either, and he was soon visiting the
unemployment office once again.  I worked as a waitress at a restaurant a
few blocks from our apartment, and the tips I got there were about all that
kept our heads above water.  I've never thought of myself as beautiful, but
many people, especially men, think I'm attractive.  That, coupled with a
friendly attitude and a few "accidental" touches when serving men, always
seems to produce big tips.  Thank God for that, because we really needed
them.

   A few days before the fateful night I'm going to describe later, an
interesting person came into the restaurant after the regular dinner hour.
He seated himself at a small table in my serving area, then sat quietly
waiting for me to bring the menu.

   As I walked to his table carrying a glass of water and a menu, I
carefully checked him out.  I always played a little game with myself, by
trying to guess the size of tip a guy would leave.  One thing I've noticed
is that men eating alone always tip more than those who are in the company
of others.  Since this fellow was alone, I immediately put him in the 20%
category.  When I was close enough to judge the quality of his clothes, I
raised him another 5%.  Definitely worth the time to be extra friendly.

   He was larger than our usual customers, probably 6'-4".  I guessed his
weight as being at least 250 pounds, and even though he was fully dressed,
with long sleeves, knew it was mostly muscle.  It wouldn't have surprised
me in the least to be told he was a football player, because he just had
the appearance of a professional athlete about him.

   I was disappointed when all he ordered was a cup of coffee and a piece
of pie, and immediately saw my tip fall to the $1 range.  Even with that,
there was something about him that made me want to be extra friendly, and
so I was.  Maybe it was my fascination with his very dark coloration.  I've
heard many people described as "black," but he was the first I'd ever seen
who truly fit that description.  His skin was so dark that it almost looked
purple.

   I remember he wore an unusual piece of jewelry on the lapel of his black
leather coat, and couldn't seem to stop looking at it.  He must have
noticed my interest in the thing, for at one point he put his thumb behind
it and pushed it toward me, saying, "I see you're interested in my lapel
pin.  Lean closer and you can see it better."

   His deep, rumbling voice seemed to vibrate in my brain, and almost as if
hypnotized, I leaned down and looked closely at the jewel.  It was a flat
circle, about one inch in diameter, and a deep black.  It had been set in a
rim of silver, which seemed to enhance the quality of the gem.

   As I stared at the thing, I was sure I saw something like an eye open
and close very quickly, which startled me.  I jumped back, then laughed at
my reaction.  When he asked what had startled me, I told him what I thought
I'd seen.  He said it was probably just a reflection from one of the
overhead lights, and that set my mind at ease.

   I brought the coffee and pie to his table, leaving the bill with it. 
Since the total was less than $5, my tip surely would be less than $1,
which was disappointing.  Since there was nothing I could do about it, I
just shrugged it off, hoping some big spenders would come in before much
longer.  My tip jar was decidedly low that night, and I knew Rory would be
disappointed when he met me after work.  He always liked to visit one of
the bars in the neighborhood, and unless I'd hidden part of my money
beforehand, he'd spend all of it before we got home.

   After the customer had left, I returned to his table to remove the
dishes.  To my surprise, he'd left a $20 bill laying on top the bill, which
meant that I'd have over $15 dollars left after the total was deducted. 
Definitely worth my time!

   I did something I rarely did, which was to place the money in my pocket,
and pay the bill from my tip jar.  That way, when Rory came to get me after
work, he'd never know about the extra money, and I could use it to buy
groceries, rather than watching him drink it up later that night.  I'd done
that on a few occasions, and it had always proved to be a good way to make
sure we had enough money for the essentials.

   By the time 9:00 arrived, and it was time to close up, Rory had already
been in the restaurant for half an hour.  That meant only one thing: that
he didn't have any money to buy drinks at the bar, and he was forced to
pick me up after work.  Sure enough, as soon as we left he steered me
across the street and down to the place where we'd spend several hours
enjoying ourselves.  At least, he'd be enjoying himself by becoming more
tipsy by the minute, plus flirting with other women in the place.  I'd
spend most of my time sitting alone at a table, nursing my drinks until
closing time.  We'd then walk home arm-in-arm, mainly because by then my
husband would be too drunk to walk unsupported.  All things considered, not
all that nice a way to spend an evening, but at least there were some other
people in the bar who would talk to me.  Better than sitting home alone,
wondering what sort of trouble Rory was getting into.

   A couple of hours after we entered the bar, my husband was dancing with
another woman, and I sat there trying not to glare at him as he rubbed his
body against hers.  Just as I was getting completely fed up with the
situation, who should walk in the door but the pie-and-coffee man from the
restaurant.  As he surveyed the crowd, his eyes paused for a split second
on me, and I was sure he recognized me.  I was so angry at Rory by then
that I almost wished the man would come to my table and try to pick me up.
I wasn't sure my husband would mind all that much, but at least it'd give
me a small amount of satisfaction to know at least one man in the world
thought I still had my looks.

   Instead of walking my way, though, the fellow stood idly at the edge of
the dance floor, surveying the dancers.  I was sure he was looking for
someone he knew among the people on the floor, and my curiosity made me
devote more than casual attention to him until the song was finished.

   To my surprise, it was my husband that he began talking to as the
dancers walked off the floor.  Judging by Rory's expression, he didn't know
the man, and since he had been heading for my table when the dance was
over, I could tell he was surprised, and more than a little cautious, to be
approached by such a big, muscular person.

   My first guess was that Rory had become involved in something he
shouldn't have, and the other man was some sort of enforcer who was going
to threaten him.  After a few seconds I changed my mind, since my husband
was obviously interested in what the man was talking about, and there was
not the slightest hint of fear on his face.  Instead, as the man continued
talking, Rory's expression changed from mild interest to something much
more intense.  I was sure the big man was making some sort of offer to Rory
that involved money, since that was about the only thing that could produce
that sort of reaction in him anymore.

   Right before they parted, the man handed something to my husband, which
he quickly stuffed in his pocket.  When he looked guiltily at me, I was
more sure than ever that some sort of shady transaction had just taken
place.

   To my surprise, instead of sitting down with me and having another
drink, Rory said, "Let's go home.  We need to talk about something." I was
more sure than ever that he'd become involved in something that was going
to cause trouble for us, so I didn't protest when he pulled me to my feet
and hurried us toward the door.

   He wouldn't say anything to satisfy my curiosity until we were in our
apartment, with the door locked behind us.  Just when I had almost made up
my mind to insist on an explanation, he sat down at the kitchen table, then
asked me to do the same.  I did so quickly, since I knew that was the best
way to get this puzzle solved, then sat there waiting for him to begin.

   After clearing his throat a couple of times, Rory began by saying, "I
know you saw the black guy talking to me in the bar.  He made an offer to
me that would mean lots of money, and since it involves you, I need to tell
you about it.  Just don't say 'no' until you've heard me out.  Okay?"

   I nodded in assent, then waited for him to get his thoughts in order.

   He said, "The guy offered me $10,000 if we'd do something for the man he
works for.  He already gave me a $100 bill to show he's serious." That
amount of money was more than we'd ever had, or ever hoped to have, and the
shock it produced kept me from doing anything other than just staring at my
husband, waiting for him to continue.

   He did, saying, "His boss is some rich guy who has more money than good
sense, apparently.  What he does is send the black man around to find women
he likes, then pay them to come to his house.  I think you can guess what
he'd want to do after that."

   I had no trouble guessing what Rory meant, and felt an instant flash or
anger that he'd even consider selling me like a common whore, let alone
actually taking a "down payment" from some stranger.  How could he even
think of doing such a thing?  My first thought was that I should just stand
up and walk out, but the seething anger deep inside me seemed to paralyze
me, and all I did was just sit there.

   He must have taken my inaction to mean that I was thinking about the
offer, and to nudge me to accept it, he continued, "It's such a small
thing, really, when you think about it.  And we could certainly use the
money.  It's an interesting proposition, isn't it?  I think we should do
it."

   By then I felt nothing but complete disgust to even be this close to the
person who obviously considered me as nothing more than his possession, to
buy or sell as he chose.  My throat was so tight with anger that the only
word I could force out of it was a quiet, "Okay."

   As I stood to leave the room, Rory was smiling broadly, and I knew he
was already planning how he'd spend the $10,000.  He seemed almost
oblivious of my presence as he said, "I'll call the guy right now and get
it set up.  The sooner the better, as far as I'm concerned.  Right, babe?"

   By then I was already walking through the door into the bedroom, and
didn't bother to say anything.  Believe me, the thoughts I was having right
then were better left unsaid.



   AN INTERESTING PROPOSITION

   Chapter 2

   That Rory truly was anxious to be paid $10,000 for letting another man
fuck his wife was more that evident when he came to bed about half an hour
later.  He undressed in the dark, then climbed under the covers with me. 
His excitement was plain when he snuggled up to me, and I could feel his
hardon through his undershorts, which was all he ever slept in.

   That same excitement was shown by his eagerness when he said, "It's all
set up, babe.  The black guy is going to pick us up out front at 7:00
Saturday night, and he'll take us to his boss's house.  I told him he'd
better have the money to show me when he gets here, or otherwise the deal's
off.  Pretty smart, huh?"

   Right at that moment, "smart" was the last word in the world I'd have
used to describe my husband.  Others that I found much more descriptive
were "bastard," "son of a bitch," and the one uppermost in my mind, "pimp."
However, I'd already made up my mind to appear to be co-operative, and to
see the situation through to its expected conclusion.

   Most of the time I'd been lying in bed, after storming out of the other
room, had been spent in seething anger.  After several minutes had passed,
that feeling had changed abruptly to one of cold calculation.  I was still
angry at him, of course, but now there was more to it than that.  I'd been
thinking of every slight he'd ever given me, every fault he'd demonstrated
since our marriage, and every instance of his inability to hold a
meaningful job.  In short, I'd reached the end of my patience with my
husband, and had made the firm resolution that our marriage was over.

   I wasn't so stupid as to just walk out, though.  To the contrary, I saw
the "interesting proposition" as my opportunity to leave Rory with
something to show for all the time I'd wasted with him.  Come Hell or high
water, I intended to lay claim to at least half of the money, and use it to
start my new life.  I thought he owed me that much.

   That's why, instead of starting an argument, or turning my back on him
and pouting, I said simply, "Sounds good.  The sooner the better, as far as
I'm concerned." That seemed to take him aback slightly, but then he
apparently accepted my eagerness as nothing more than an interest in the
money, which of course it was, but just not in the way he thought.

   I was lying on my back, and he began to caress my breasts through my
nightgown.  That, coupled with his obvious arousal, told me he wanted sex,
which right at that moment did nothing other than increase my disgust for
him.  It occurred to me that he was as excited by the thought of another
man fucking his wife as he was by the money.  It really and truly didn't
matter to me right then, for he'd already killed whatever remained of the
love I once felt for him.

   However, instead of rolling to my stomach to avoid sex with him, I
simply gripped his penis through his shorts and began to stroke it.  Rory
had always been very quick on the trigger, and that time proved no
different.  In just a few seconds, he groaned, whispered, "Fuck," and then
shot his load.

   His dick began to shrink almost immediately, as it usually did.  If I'd
let him enter me, it would have been the same.  He would have climaxed a
few seconds afterwards, then rolled over and gone to sleep, leaving me to
lie there in frustration.  Many had been the nights when I'd resorted to
relieving myself with my hand while he snored beside me.  Now, though,
there was no hint of sexuality in the thoughts I was having.  I merely
wanted him to leave me alone, and masturbating him had been the quickest
way to achieve that end.  The whole thing had been very mechanical, and
that was fine with me, as it seemed to have been with Rory.  _____________

   The events I've described above happened on a Wednesday night, so we
didn't have long to wait for Saturday to arrive.  Rory acted like it was
our honeymoon all over again, and seemed to want sex all the time.  For my
part, I no longer wanted that sort of contact with him, so to get rid of
him I continued to masturbate him, and that seemed to satisfy him enough to
make him leave me alone for awhile.  I occurred to me during that period
that he was trying to establish his "ownership" of my vagina by having sex
with me as much as possible, but by then I'd already written him out of my
life, and sexual relations were of no interest to me.  I simply wanted
Saturday night to arrive as quickly as possible.

   We were both dressed in our best clothes, and standing by the curb in
front of our apartment several minutes before the appointed time.  As he'd
done almost continuously since Thursday morning, Rory talked non-stop about
what he planned to buy with his new-found wealth.  Prominent on his list
was a new car, and he'd said more than once that maybe $10,000 wouldn't be
enough to buy the one he wanted.  My disgust for him was so great by that
time that when he hinted that maybe we'd need to have a second "session"
with the rich guy, I was simply beyond words.  He obviously thought he'd
found the goose that laid golden eggs, and that my vagina was his to sell
at his pleasure.

   The limousine that pulled up beside us was a dark blue in color, and
gleamed in the streetlight.  The black man got out and greeted us, using
our last names very politely.  He introduced himself as "Wilson," and I had
no idea whether that was his first name or his last.  It didn't seem to
matter to Rory.  His only response was, "Okay, Wilson.  Let's get this show
on the road."

   Wilson opened the rear door, then when Rory tried to crowd in ahead of
me, placed one oversize hand on his shoulder, saying quietly, "Please let
Mrs.  Jones enter first, sir." I almost hoped that my husband would object,
for it was very plain to see that the other man was much larger, much
stronger, and in much better condition.  I got a secret thrill when I
thought of Rory lying in the gutter, spitting up broken teeth and nursing
the many bruises Wilson was certainly capable of giving him.

   He obviously had the same thoughts, because he merely stepped back and
waited for me to enter the vehicle.  I slid across the brushed leather
seat, and was already marveling at the luxurious interior when Rory got in
beside me.  There was a stack of bills on the other seat, which was
slightly in front of us, facing the rear of the car.  Rory had eyes for
nothing else, and immediately picked up the two packets.  In the light of
the interior lamps, I could see that each stack contained $100 bills, with
a paper band holding them together.  As expected, he began counting the
money, much to my embarrassment.  Wilson said quietly, "I'm sure you'll
find it's all there, sir." My husband didn't make any sort of response, and
for my part, I was too ashamed of him to say anything at all.

   The door closed with a solid clunk, and then we felt rather than heard
Wilson enter the driver's seat.  There was a darkened partition between our
seat and the front of the car, and the only evidence we had that anyone at
all was up there was the smooth motion as we pulled away from the curb. 
We'd traveled for less than a couple of blocks when Rory announced, "Yep.
It's $10,000, as promised.  God, just think what I can buy with that much
money." The personal pronoun he'd used didn't go unnoticed, and I felt more
than ever like just a common whore.  However, instead of making a sharp
retort, I merely took one of the packets from him and put it in my purse,
saying, "Since I'm the one who's going to earn this money, I think I'll
take my half right now." The expression on his face told me he was
surprised, and more than a little upset, to let part of the money out of
his possession, but as before I was beyond caring.

   The "swanky" part of our city is located in the hills on the north end,
and as expected, that's where we seemed to be headed.  Never in my life had
I ridden in such luxury, and even when the car crossed some railroad
tracks, I didn't feel even the slightest bump.  Everything about the
limousine screamed "money, money, money," and I was sure the $10,000 that
had been resting on the seat when we'd entered would be no more than pocket
money to its owner.

   That sentiment was reinforced several times over when we at last arrived
at our destination.  The car had stopped momentarily as soon as it had
turned into a paved driveway, and when I looked out the side window, I saw
an ornate metal gate slowly opening.  As we drove through, the gate closed
silently behind us, and then my attention was drawn to the house we were
approaching.

   To call it a "house" simply is meaningless.  Perhaps a better word would
be "mansion," or maybe even "palace." At least, that's what it brought to
my inexperienced mind, since it was the first time in my life I'd seen
anything so huge, and so ornate.

   The front door was behind large, fluted columns that seemed to reach for
the sky, with each lighted by its own floodlamp.  The driveway actually
passed between the columns and the front door, and that was where Wilson
stopped the car.

   In no time at all, the rear door again opened, and the driver was
standing there, waiting for us to get out.  Rory hurriedly stuffed his
share of the money in his pants pockets, where it produced unsightly
bulges. I was sure he didn't care at all about such a thing, but to me it
was just one more indication of his crassness in comparison to Wilson's
refinement.  However, since it would have created a scene to ask my husband
to put the bills in my purse, I tried to ignore his appearance.

   We were led to the large, deeply carved door, which Wilson opened and
held for us to enter.  With a muted, "Please follow me.  The Master is in
his study, awaiting you," he escorted us down a wide hallway, past the most
magnificent staircase I'd ever seen.  Again and again, my belief that we
were in the presence of wealth was reinforced, and I was almost in awe.

   As we reached a set of double doors, fashioned of a dark, richly-grained
wood, and also carved as the front door had been, Wilson paused.  He said
quietly, "I should tell you that the Master has been confined to a
wheelchair for almost two years now.  He suffers from a degenerative
disease that has taken the use of his legs from him.  Please be prepared
for that when we enter." He then opened both of the doors at once, then
placing my arm in the crook of his elbow, he led us into the study.

   My first impression was one of wonder at the large number of books that
were shelved from floor to ceiling along three walls of the room.  In
contrast to the few paperbacks we had at home, these were all bound in dark
leather, and the lettering looked to be gold.  Again, that served only to
reinforce my opinion of the wealth of our host, who was seated in his
wheelchair in the center of the room, looking at the door as it opened.

   He touched a control mounted in the arm of the chair, and it silently
propelled him to a position directly before us.  As soon as the chair came
to a stop, Wilson's deep voice rumbled, "Sir, may I present Mr.  and Mrs.
Jones." He then turned to me, saying, "Mrs.  Jones, allow me to introduce
Mr.  Charles Roebling." (I've used fictitious names, of course, since it's
imperative our privacy be protected.)

   Wilson then introduced Rory in a similar manner, and as they shook
hands, my husband embarrassed me even further by saying, "Hey, Chuck, how's
it hanging?"

   I could see Wilson bristling at the insult to his employer, but Mr. 
Roebling was gracious, and merely said, "I am just fine, Rory, except for
my obvious handicap.  I trust you're in good health." He then dismissed my
husband from his attention, and turned back to me, holding out his hand.

   As we shook hands, he said, "My dear, you are even more lovely than the
photographs Wilson brought me.  Truly a vision of loveliness.  Thank you so
very much for agreeing to join us for dinner tonight."

   It's true that we'd been told dinner would be served that evening, but I
had almost forgotten about that detail.  It was still foremost in my mind
that I would be expected to offer my sexual favors in return for the
$10,000, and even though I'd long since made up my mind to do just that, I
was still more than a little uncomfortable with it.  I had a fleeting
thought that maybe being a dinner guest was all that was expected of me,
but was sure that was not the case.  Surely Mr.  Roebling was not so
desperate for dinner guests that he would have to pay them to show up.  No,
the dinner was undoubtedly just a preliminary part of the evening, and the
main event would begin shortly thereafter.  And while I was not looking
forward to that part with any eagerness, I was more than willing to see it
through.

   The part that caused me more than a little curiosity, though, was his
reference to photographs of me.  As far as I knew, the only pictures were
the ones in my high-school yearbook, and they certainly didn't resemble my
present appearance.  That momentary thought receded when he continued,
"Perhaps you'd like a drink before dinner is served?  If not, we can go to
the dining room right now."

   Before I could answer, Rory broke in, saying, "Hell, it's already two
hours past supper time.  I'm starved.  Let's eat."

   Again Wilson frowned, but Mr.  Roebling merely said, "Wilson, please
tell the staff that we're ready to dine now." As the black man left the
room, our host said, "Please follow me, if you will," and put his chair in
motion to follow the other man out of the room, but turned down the hallway
in the opposite direction.  We followed along behind, listening with half
our attention to his descriptions of the paintings hanging on the walls,
until we arrived at the dining room.

   Just at that moment Wilson entered the same room from another door, and
he stood beside Rory and me as Mr.  Roebling moved his wheelchair to a
position at the head of the table.  He then escorted me to a chair on the
side of the table, at our host's right hand, while indicating to my husband
that he was to be seated across from me.  When he saw that the three of us
were in place, he took the chair at the other end of the table, completing
our foursome.

   I was somewhat surprised to see Wilson seating himself there, since I
had assumed all along that he was one of Mr.  Roebling's servants. 
Admittedly, I didn't know all that much about dining in high society, but
doubted very much that the hired help ate dinner with their employers. 
Whatever their relationship was, I was sure it'd become clear later.  At
that moment, there were other things to be concerned with, since the meal
was being served by two young women, while a man I assumed to be the butler
stood beside Mr.  Roebling, as if making sure everything was done
satisfactorily.

   I won't bore you with a description of the sumptuous meal, other than to
say it was beyond anything in my experience, and indeed in my imagination.
I'd heard of seven-course meals, but had no idea what that meant.  After
that night, I knew.  And believe me when I say it's pretty special,
especially to a girl from the wrong side of the tracks who thought
hamburger steak and French fries defined good eating.

   My strongest memory of the meal is how wonderful it was to actually
engage in conversation while eating.  Both Mr.  Roebling and Wilson seemed
to be knowledgeable on every subject imaginable, while at the same time
never talking over my head.  I gave me a good feeling to know that someone
actually valued my opinions and views, and I couldn't help but draw the
contrast to this night and the ones Rory and I spent in front of the TV,
eating a hastily-prepared supper.

   It took over an hour from start to finish, but at last the dessert had
been served and eaten.  When our host suggested we return to the study for
after-dinner drinks, Wilson rushed to pull my chair back from the table,
then to take my arm in assistance.  I have to admit that all the attention
he was giving me made me glow.  Never in my life had I been treated as
someone so special, and I knew it wouldn't take long to get used to such a
thing.  I loved it.

   We returned to the study, and Mr.  Roebling asked Wilson to prepare the
drinks.  When he suggested something called a Black Russian for me, I
nodded my head in acceptance, having no idea what sort of drink that would
be.  Rory said he wanted a beer, which cause me a slight twinge of
embarrassment, but then that feeling passed.

   We had been drinking an assortment of wines during the meal, and the
mixed drink seemed to make me more than a little tipsy.  I could feel a
warm glow in the pit of my stomach after the first couple of sips, and by
the time the glass was half empty, it was quickly spreading to that special
place a few inches lower.  Accompanying that glow was something else,
something I hadn't felt in a long time, and it took a few seconds for me to
realize I was becoming excited, and I mean excited in a sexual sense.  I
could feel my nipples tingling, and I was more than a little aware of a
rising heat in my vagina.  I felt wonderful, and if I'd been home alone, my
hand would have been busy in my panties in no time at all.  Here in this
wonderful house, in this wonderful company, though, I fought to suppress my
arousal, hoping the men wouldn't take note of it.

   There was no reason to worry about my husband noticing anything like
that.  By the time he'd drained his glass of beer, his body began to slump
on couch where he was seated.  His eyes were still open, but he seemed
oblivious of his surroundings.  I'd seen him like that many times when he
came home after a night at the bar, and knew he was beyond help.  A good
night's sleep was the only thing that would bring him back to reality.

   Apparently the evening's activities had been waiting for just that to
happen, for almost at the same time as I noticed my husband's condition,
Mr. Roebling said quietly, "I believe he's ready now.  Why don't you
prepare him, and I'll escort Mrs.  Jones to the activity room.



   AN INTERESTING PROPOSITION

   Chapter 3

   Wilson said simply, "Stand up." There was no "please" and no "sir".  He
had issued an order to my husband, and the tone of his voice told me of the
scorn he felt for Rory.  I have to admit that right then I shared more than
a slight bit of that feeling, but it wasn't enough to distract me from what
was happening, and what I was sure was about to happen.

   Rory came to his feet, then stood stock still.  He was obviously in a
daze, and could do nothing other than respond to instructions.  The next of
those was soon issued, when the big man said, "Follow me." He then turned
his back and walked from the room, confident that the other man would
follow him without question, which he did.

   Mr.  Roebling then held his arm out to me, saying, "Would you please
accompany me, my dear?"

   I did, and we left the room, holding hands like two shy lovers on their
first date.  I knew, however, that this "date" would be like no other I'd
ever had.  Given the heat that had settled in my crotch, and the excited
flush to my face, I certainly had no hesitation in getting the evening's
"activity" underway.

   We went but a short distance down the hallway, and as he held open a
door for me, I walked into a room that was much like the study had been,
but without the books, chairs, and desk.  This room was also paneled in
dark, rich-looking wood, which glowed with a soft luster in the muted light
from the etched-glass panels inset in the ceiling.  The only piece of
furniture was an odd-shaped table, upholstered in black leather.  When I
glanced briefly at the table, I could see that it was constructed in the
approximate shape of the human form.  There was a raised pillow at one end,
where the head would rest.  At the center of the table, the top split into
two separate pieces, each about six inches wide and three feet long.  There
was a space of a few inches between the two pieces, which told me clearly
the function of the table.  I had no doubt whatsoever that it would soon be
my head resting on that pillow, and my legs lying on the two supports,
spread slightly to give ready access to my most private places.  As my
breath quickened even more, I longed to tear off my clothing and rush to
the table, there to be ravished over and over by my host.

   If that was to happen, though, it was apparently not going to happen
quickly.  Instead, Mr.  Roebling, still holding my hand, led me on a tour
of the room.  As he escorted me along the walls, he paused to explain each
painting hanging there, always watching me closely as if to judge my
reaction.  Between each painting was a mirror, and as I glanced at myself
each time, I could see the heat in my cheeks causing them to become more
and more red.

   Every painting in the room was extremely sexual in nature.  The one
nearest to the door showed a man and a woman, both nude, engaged in a
passionate kiss.  The next showed the same pair deeper in foreplay, lying
side by side, but facing in opposite directions.  The man was kissing her
vagina, while she was engaging in giving him vigorous fellatio.  The final
painting in that series showed the man standing, with the woman impaled on
his penis.  Her legs were wrapped around his hips, and he was supporting
her with his arms.

   By the time Mr.  Roebling had given me the background of the first
paintings, I was more aroused than ever.  It was very easy for me to
imagine myself as the woman there, and the fire deep inside me rose higher
and higher.  I wanted nothing more than for him to order me to undress,
then to place me on the table and do to me what was in the paintings.  He
didn't seem to share my impatience, though, and continued to move us slowly
around the room, showing me painting after painting, each more erotic than
the one before.  Each had the predictable effect.

   By the time we had looked at every painting, and arrived close to the
door once again, I had seen things I'd never before known about, let alone
imagined.  There were depictions of groups of men and women engaged in sex,
in every possible combination.  Women were making love to other women, and
men to other men.  I saw women bound with their legs spread impossibly
wide, being approached by creatures who were half men and half horses,
their penises monstrously engorged, and all aimed at the delicious target
being presented.

   I saw naked men hanging suspended by their wrists, their cocks rampant
and their legs bound wide open.  Women surrounded them, each holding
vicious-looking whips, and every one of them in the act of striking the
wonderful targets being presented to them.  The artist had rendered the
stripes on the victims' penises in loving detail, and the effect that
produced in me was beyond belief.  Never before had I known such a thing
could be appealing to me, but seeing it represented there, I knew that if
given a chance to do such a thing to a man, I wouldn't hesitate.

   We completed the tour and stopped close to the wall beside the door
where we had entered.  There were several wooden pegs protruding from the
wall, and even my fogged brain could fathom their purpose.  I wanted to
tear the clothes from my body as quickly as possible, hang them on the
pegs, and then wait to be ravished.  Again, Mr.  Roebling demonstrated he
was not as desperate as I was.

   He looked up at me with the most sincere expression I'd ever seen on the
face of a man.  At last he said quietly, "I'm sure you know why I asked you
to be here tonight, my dear.  It was intended to be just another dalliance
on my part, an excuse to gain the type of sexual gratification that was
once mine, but is now very much more difficult to come by."

   He paused then, almost as if trying to gather the courage to say
something difficult for him.  Taking a deep breath, he continued, "If you
would prefer to not stay, then I will not delay you.  You've already given
me the wonderful excitement only a true woman can.  Your noticeable
arousal, your wonderful scent that signals that arousal, and the flush in
your cheeks are reward enough for me.  Simply say so, and I will instruct
Wilson to return you to your home.  The money is yours to keep, of course."

   He sat there in anticipation, willing me to speak.  I, too, took a deep
breath before speaking.  "I have no wish to leave.  I want to be here with
you, and I know no matter what happens, it will be wonderful."

   He said quietly and simply, "Thank you." After another pause, he asked,
equally quietly, "Would you undress for me, Sharon?"

   My only answer was to move my hands to the front of my blouse and begin
to unfasten the buttons there.  As he watched in rapt fascination, I pulled
it open, then slid if off my shoulders and down my arms, finally hanging it
from one of the wooden pegs.  My brassiere was the type that fastened in
front, and I was saved the awkwardness of trying to remove one that takes
lots of dexterity and practice.  Soon it joined my blouse on the pegs, and
I reveled in the sharp intake of breath I heard from him, then his
whispered, "Absolutely beautiful."

   The three buttons on the side of my skirt were soon opened, and it was
soon no more than a pile of cloth on the floor.  I stepped out of my pumps,
then began to remove the only thing I'd splurged on for this night, my
fishnet stockings.  I rolled them down my legs very slowly, feeling all the
time his eyes burning into my flesh as it was revealed inch by inch.  Soon
the skirt and the stockings joined the other two pieces, and I was left
with only my sheer panties to protect my modesty.

   That I had no modesty by then was demonstrated when I hooked my thumbs
in the waistband of my last remaining garment.  Very slowly, and with just
a hint of rotating hips, I began to inch then downward, accompanied by his
almost continuous soft moans and sighs.  At last I stepped out of them, and
turned to hang them alongside the other items.

   He held out one hand, with a pleading look on his face, and I knew what
he wanted.  I placed the panties, with their soaking-wet crotch, in his
hand, then watched entranced as he brought them to his face and inhaled
deeply.  It seemed to be almost more than he could do to give them back to
me so I could impale them on the peg, but at last he did.

   In a voice shaking and husky with emotion, he said, "The vision you
present is the most beautiful thing in the entire world.  No artist has
ever been able to capture the true beauty of womanhood.  Goya's crude
attempts are nothing less than laughable.  Raphael came close, but even his
consummate skill could not record the excitement of the simple lines, the
sensuous curves, the delightful texture of a woman.  If any artist could
truly capture such things, the world would be his oyster."

   I loved to hear his compliments, but was very glad when he a last fell
silent and took my hand once again.  He guided his chair, and me, to the
table, which was to be my resting place for the remainder of that most
memorable night.

   Neither of us uttered a word when we arrived at the table.  I knew what
was expected, and he knew no instructions were needed.  With all the
gracefulness I could muster, I placed my back to the edge and lifted my
body to a seated position.  Swinging my legs up, I positioned them on the
two narrow supports, then lay back with my head on the pillow.

   Charles could restrain himself no longer, and his shaking hands found my
breasts.  The nipples were already engorged, and when his questing fingers
pinched then lightly, I gasped at the surge of lust that raced through my
body.  It was then I looked up for the first time, and saw the large mirror
on the ceiling.  I became lost in the image of my body being pleasured by
my lover, and marveled how that sight seemed to intensify what I was
feeling as he alternately caressed, then punished my tender buds.

   There was another large mirror on the wall to my side, and I glanced at
it also.  That view was not as entrancing as the one above me, so I didn't
linger there.  At some point, either a few minutes, or an eternity, later,
I heard a soft humming from beneath the table.  At the same time, I
realized my legs were being slowly spread as the two parts under them were
moved apart.  It seemed nothing less than natural for that to be happening,
and I gloried in the feel of the air on my exposed, very hot, very wet,
womanhood.

   I heard another humming then, and when my eyes dropped from the mirror,
I saw Charles moving to a position between my legs.  Not a word was said as
he guided his chair forward, and then as his mouth made contact with my
pussy.  When his tongue made its first slow lap upwards along my slit, I
sighed deeply, then said passionately, "Oh, Godddd!"

   That seemed to be the encouragement he'd been waiting for, and his
efforts to pleasure me redoubled.  He began flicking his tongue sideways,
then rapidly dipping it into and out of my hole.  When he found my engorged
clitoris, I simply could not stop myself from crying out, "Yesss!  Oh,
please!"

   Deep in the fog of my passion, I heard a soft click from the wall beside
me.  As I looked that way, part of the wall beside the large mirror seemed
to swing backwards, and I realized it was actually a door into an adjacent
room.  As the door swung open, I could see the other room was dark, but
when the light from the room where I lay, receiving the supreme pleasure a
man can give a woman, briefly entered, it seemed to me that the mirror
became almost gray in color.  That effect, which I put down to a fevered
imagination, disappeared when Wilson entered and closed the door behind
him.

   By then I had no more attention to devote to the mirror, since it was
entirely focused on the huge black man standing there.  He was as naked as
I, and even though his rippling muscles were attractive, I had eyes only
for his crotch.  Standing there, in all its glory, was a penis bigger than
I'd ever seen, or even imagined.  It was of a size to match his own frame,
and seemed no more than a fitting reminder of his overpowering manhood.

   Since my husband was the only man I'd ever been intimate with, my
experience with male equipment was very limited.  I'd seen pictures in
magazines he'd brought home, and on the Internet, of course, but what was
sticking straight out from Wilson's body was far and away larger than any
man should be able to grow.  It was in many ways a duplicate of the horse
cocks in one of the paintings I'd seen earlier, and I was surprised to see
normal human feet when I looked down, and not the hooves I expected.

   I truly saw no other part of his body as he approached me, his gigantic
cock aimed directly at my head.  When he was less than a foot away from me,
my mouth seemed to open of its own accord, offering a safe haven.  With no
pause, he guided the huge knob between my lips, and then over my waiting
tongue.  He sighed deeply when I tightened my lips around his shaft, and
then began running my tongue over the head, in imitation of what Charles
was doing to my own engorged flesh.

   I reveled in the feeling of his exquisitely-soft flesh in my mouth, and
the taste of the pre-cum which constantly renewed itself as I swallowed
each precious drop.  Never before had I had such a feeling, such an
overwhelming urge to give a man as much pleasure as possible.  My husband's
penis had been in my mouth a few times, always at his insistence.  During
those times, though, my thoughts had been mainly of revulsion, and fear
that he would shoot his cum in my mouth.  With Wilson as the man behind the
penis, there were no such feelings, and I longed to feel him force the
monster deeper inside my mouth, and then give me the reward of his burning
hot semen.

   It was just at the moment I had that thought that my overcharged body
could take no more.  With a moan that seemed to come from deep inside me, I
arched my back off the table, and gave myself over to the sensations of the
best orgasm I'd ever had.  To call it something so simple as an "orgasm"
just belittles what I felt at that moment, though.  I recall one of the
Emanuelle movies that referred to the female orgasm as the "petit mort," or
the little death.  Up until that moment, I'd never truly understood just
what that meant, but now I do.  My body and my brain did nothing less than
shut down, and the tiny animal inside me reveled in the most wonderful
release it had ever known.

   When I finally regained my senses, my instant thought was that Charles
and Wilson would cease pleasuring me, and that was the last thing in the
world I wanted to have happen.  That, too, was entirely different than any
of my prior experiences.  On those rare occasions when I'd climaxed with
Rory, I'd cooled off quickly and then simply rolled over and fallen asleep.
Now, however, I wanted these feeling to last for an eternity, and did what
I could to continue them by holding the hardness within my mouth, and
sucking and licking it with all my might.  To my overwhelming relief,
Charles did not stop his own ministrations, but continued licking,
flicking, and sucking.

   At that instant, he stopped, and my eyes opened.  Wilson was pulling his
member from my mouth, and wasted no time in walking around my lower body.
As the wheelchair backed away from my widespread legs, the big man took his
rightful place there, and lifted both my legs and placed my ankles on his
shoulders.  With no further pause he began to insert his cock in me.

   Rather than just simply push it quickly to its limit, as Rory usually
did, Wilson seemed to enjoy teasing me by moving into me at a snail's pace.
The huge head acted as a trailblazer for the incredibly long, incredibly
stiff shaft that followed it.  As it spread me wider than I ever thought
possible, I knew that even if I were split apart, I'd demand that he
penetrate me even more deeply.

   Just when I thought I could experience no more pleasure, Charles pulled
my head to him and gave me the deepest, most sensual kiss I'd ever had.  He
then moved his attentions to my breasts once again, nipping and suckling
one of them while pinching and pulling the other with one hand.  At some
point an eternity later, I remembered the mirror above me, and became lost
once again in the wonderful sensation of feeling the monster invading me
deeper and deeper, while at the same time seeing it happen.  Charles then
began using only his hands to abuse my nipples, dividing his sense of sight
between what Wilson was doing to my pussy, and the lustful expressions that
dominated my face.

   There is no way for me to assign a duration of minutes, or hours, to
that time.  It's as if it happened outside of any normal reference, and yet
when I recall that wonderful experience now, years later, I vividly live
each second.  That may seem strange to a person reading this, but that's
the way it is.  It was wonderful; it lasted a lifetime; it was over far too
soon.

   At some point during the eternity Wilson was fucking me, I realized my
body was thrusting against the invader with every bit of strength it had.
My head was bouncing from side to side with equal force, and over and over
I kept gasping out, "I didn't know!  I didn't know!"

   Again I felt my back arch instinctively, impaling my riven pussy on
Wilson's member.  I heard someone cry out, "Oh, God!  Pull them off me! 
Please tear them off!" Charles then exerted every ounce of his strength to
grip my nipples as tightly as possible, and try to follow my instructions.

   Again time stood still for me, as my whole body was racked by the
intensity of my orgasm.  Again it went on forever; again it lasted for far
too short a time.

   At some point during that time, I heard Wilson groan in ecstasy, and
then felt his final mighty thrust.  I knew the head of his cock had entered
my womb, where no man had ever been before.  At that instant, I could feel
the indescribable sensation of his seed spurting inside me.  I'd never
before felt that, and to describe it as "wonderful" is meaningless.  The
sensation was simply beyond description.

   There was another thought deep within my brain that I'd never had with
Rory.  I had been using birth control pills since before we were married,
since I had no desire to be a mother.  At that moment, though, that
primitive part of my brain responded, and I felt an intense desire to be
impregnated by this wonderful man standing between my legs.  I actually
felt regret that there was no way he could fertilize my egg, and that
feeling was completely and utterly original.  I understood then that it
wasn't so much that I didn't want a child; it was that I didn't want my
husband's child.

   At last that too ended, and I returned from paradise.  I heard Charles
say, "Bring him," and then felt the huge penis being withdrawn from deep
within me.  As Wilson walked toward the hidden door, Charles placed one
hand between my still-widespread legs, and used his fingers to pinch closed
my pussy lips.  I had no chance to wonder why he was doing such a thing,
because all my attention was drawn to what my other lover was doing.





   AN INTERESTING PROPOSITION

   Chapter 4

   He had entered the adjacent room, and had apparently turned on a light
there.  Suddenly the mirror disappeared, and was replaced by a window of
the same size.  Seated behind that window was my husband, the slack
expression still on his face.

   When Wilson stood behind Rory's chair, and it then turned and moved
toward the door, I realized it, too, was a wheelchair.  That was confirmed
when the two men entered the activity room.  I barely had time to notice
the mirror return when Wilson turned off the light and closed the door.  My
attention was riveted on my husband, who was as naked as Wilson and I, and
who had been secured to the chair with bindings around his wrists and his
ankles.  The pink worm standing between his legs was almost comical when
compared to Wilson's semi-erect cock, and I would probably have started
laughing at it if the next part of the evening had not begun right then.

   Not a word was said as the chair was guided between my widespread legs,
until Rory's mouth was touching the hand there, almost as if kissing it. 
With one huge hand on the back of my husband's head, Wilson pushed it
forward, to my pussy that now gaped wide open after Charles withdrew his
hand.  The rumbling voice said simply, "Eat it."

   If I had thought my ability to experience further pleasure that night
was at an end, then what my husband did between my legs made me realize my
error.  I can only guess that he was literally out of his mind with lust,
after all that time spent watching his wife's body being given so much
pleasure by two other men.  It was probably just as exciting to him to see
that I was giving just as good as I got, and with evident enthusiasm.

   He had eaten my pussy on only one occasion during the time we'd dated,
and afterward during the years of our marriage.  I'd never insisted on it,
since I could sense his obvious lack of enthusiasm the only time he'd done
that.  That night, though, he acted as if he were literally starving, and
the combined juices he licked and sucked from my vagina were the only thing
that could save him.  He was almost frantic in his efforts, and his evident
frenzy soon had an equal effect on me.

   For the third time that night, I felt the sensations of lust rising deep
within me.  Again my throat made the moans of passion, again my breasts
tightened and my nipples hardened, again my breath came in ragged gasps. 
Both Charles and Wilson bent over me, each taking a nipple into their
mouths.  As I looked again at the mirror above me, I saw that Rory's eyes
were intent on the sight of the two giving me pleasure.  That didn't
diminish his efforts to remove every delicious drop from me, though, and if
anything increased them.  I could feel that his mouth was firmly fastened
to my hole, and the suction was tremendous.  I knew he wanted to eat
Wilson's semen just as much as I wanted to feed it to him.

   Over and over I thought of Rory and I being the subjects of one of the
paintings on the wall.  The vision of him hanging suspended, with his legs
tied wide open, burned in my brain.  I was standing before him, flicking my
whip through the air, reveling in the terrified expression on his face.  At
last I drew my arm back as far as possible, then sent the thongs whistling
toward the obvious target: his tiny little worm.  Time after time I whipped
it, glorying in the way each impact produced a trace of white, and watching
in fascination as it became a blazing-red stripe.

   Again I gasped in shock as my third orgasm of the night swept over me.
As before, my back arched sharply upward while I drove my crotch against
his mouth.  It was so quiet in the room that I could actually hear him
swallowing the load after load that my spasms pumped into him.

   It was a good orgasm, of course, since there are no bad ones, as far as
I know.  It certainly couldn't measure up to the other two, but it was very
satisfying to me to cum while my husband sucked another man's seed from my
pussy.  I've always loved that particular feeling, which is a
difficult-to-describe combination of passion and dominance, and still do.
It's become a regular part of my sex life, and I would miss it very much if
it were to no longer be so.

   My return to reality took less time, and eventually my breathing evened.
Wilson pushed Rory's chair to a place beside me, then smiled as he
indicated my husband's condition.  I had to smile also when I looked at
where the big man was pointing.  There on Rory's chest and stomach was the
undeniable evidence of how great was his arousal.  Gobbets of jism were
strung there, clinging to his body hair in a disgusting sight.  If the
sight hadn't been so repugnant, I'd have laughed at how ridiculous he
looked.  As it was, I merely ignored him, instead turning my full attention
to Charles when he began to speak.

   He said, "Sharon, we need to talk about a very serious matter.  I'm sure
there's no need for me to tell you just how much pleasure you've given us
tonight.  We both hope you've received just as much pleasure as you've been
given." He paused as I nodded in agreement, then continued.

   "Wilson and I have been looking for some time for a woman who is right
for us.  We think you're the one, and it's our most fervent hope that you
have equal feelings for us." I started to reply, but he stopped me by
holding up one hand while saying, "Please don't say anything until you've
heard me out.  What we're offering may be too much for you to accept.  We
sincerely hope not.  These few hours have convinced both of us that you're
the one we want."

   After marshaling his thoughts for a few seconds, Charles continued, "I
guess the best way to say it is this: we want you for our wife." I'm sure
the shock I was feeling was plain to see on my face, but he didn't
acknowledge it.  Instead, he merely said, "You surely know by now that
Wilson is very special to me.  In many ways I regard him as the son I never
had, and that has filled a great void in my life."

   "However, there is another void that remains unfilled, and that is the
need to see the generations continue.  In short, I want a baby to be born
within what remains of my lifespan, and to know that he or she will live in
the future long after I'm gone.  I want that baby to be yours and
Wilson's."

   At that point I was speechless, and seeing that I was incapable of
making a coherent response, Charles filled the silence by saying, "Wilson
is already recognized in my will as being my sole heir.  If you agree to be
our wife, I will instruct my attorney to add a codicil giving you an equal
share of the estate, which is considerable, I can assure you.  You will
never again want for anything."

   "Before you make your decision, however, there is one important thing
you need to know and consider.  Your husband will need to live here with
us, since we wouldn't want him to be a threat to our privacy.  I have
distant relatives who would be sure to contest my will if they knew there
was no blood relationship between the three of us, and his loose mouth
would provide ready fodder for them.  I'm sure you can see the truth of
that, can't you?"

   I nodded in agreement, understanding the truth of his words.  Rory had
never demonstrated any ability to keep secrets, and given the enormity of
this one, would be sure to blab it to everyone he knew.

   Charles continued, "Good.  I knew you'd understand.  Now, there is
another part of the bargain that may be a little bit harder for you to
accept, and it also involves your husband." Again he took a few seconds to
organize his thoughts, then said, "There must be no chance, however slight,
that he could be the father of your baby.  It is imperative that such a
thing not happen, which means we will be forced to take certain
precautions."

   "Those precautions are this: we will do what is necessary to ensure that
he is totally unable to have sexual relations with you.  That means that
not only will his penis be removed, but he will also be castrated.  It is
entirely possible for a man to impregnate a woman even if he has no penis.
All he would have to do is to excite himself to the point of ejaculation,
then use a finger, or some other instrument, to introduce his sperm into
the woman's vagina.  Can you see the necessity of what we propose?  Please,
Sharon, say you understand."

   I actually did see the reasoning behind what he proposed for Rory, and
saw the necessity, as he had asked.  What's more, as that thought, and my
easy acceptance of it, flashed through my mind, I realized I'd already made
my decision.  I knew with an almost overwhelming sense of the rightness of
my decision that I never wanted to leave this lifestyle, and what was more,
that I already loved these two men with all my heart and soul.  I not only
wanted to be with them forever, I craved it and needed it.  I knew what my
answer would be, and knew it wasn't at all necessary to waste any more time
fretting about it.  I also knew that, even given all the sexual
satisfaction I'd already experienced that night, just the thought of what
was going to happen to Rory was causing the burning in my groin and cheeks
to re-ignite.

   I looked deeply into Wilson's eyes for several seconds, recognizing the
look of love he had for me.  That same look was in Charles' eyes, and I was
sure they saw the same mirrored in my own.  It seemed we were the perfect
match for one another (or would it be for "two" another; this unique
relationship would take some sorting out, apparently).  Their very evident
love for me reassured me of the rightness of my decision.

   I then looked at my husband, still securely tied to the chair, and saw
another emotion in his eyes.  It was mostly one of fear, but not totally
so. Mirrored there, I was sure, was more than a small amount of craving of
another type, and that craving was evident to see by anyone who glanced at
his crotch.  His little worm was once again standing up in all its four
inches of glory.  That sight was the final bit of confirmation, and looking
deep into his eyes once again, I said, "It's an interesting proposition,
isn't it honey?  I think we should do it." Then deliberately looking at his
little pecker, I continued, "After all, it's a pretty small thing, isn't
it?"

   ___________________

   Epilogue

   I suppose this story wouldn't be complete unless I tell you about what
happened in the hours, and years, after the time I've described above. 
You're probably more interested in what happened immediately after I'd made
my decision to become the wife of Charles and Wilson, so I'll start there.

   The details of the next couple of hours had all been thought out by the
two men long before they found Rory and me, and made the "interesting
proposition." Once I'd given them my answer, events moved at a fast pace,
almost as if they were afraid I'd change my mind if there were any delays.
Believe me, there was no way I would have done that.

   Wilson and I dressed quickly, but Rory remained tied to the wheelchair,
naked.  As Charles took my hand once again to escort me from the room,
Wilson pushed the other chair behind us.  We turned the opposite way down
the hallway this time, then continued until reaching the end.  When Wilson
pushed a button on the wall, a set of doors slid sideways, revealing an
elevator car.  We entered, then traveled up to what was labelled as the
third floor.

   That part of the house was given over to the use of another man, whom I
had not known about until that moment.  He was introduced by Charles as
"Dr. Norad, the house physician," and I was told he had been retained to
provide exclusive medical services to the household when the Master's
medical condition had deteriorated.  Although not mentioned at the time, I
learned later that the man's training as a surgeon had been an important
factor in his hiring, since Charles and Wilson had been planning for this
very event for several years.

   That the doctor knew exactly what was expected of him, and precisely how
to go about it, was demonstrated as he quickly took over.  He directed
Wilson to push "the patient" to a room he called the "surgery," which was
soon accomplished.  The main item in that room was a specialized table, and
it was close to that where the chair was brought to a stop, and the straps
untied to free Rory.  The doctor said curtly, "Stand up and get on the
table." That Rory was still very much under the influence of the drug he'd
been given earlier was demonstrated by his mindless obedience, even though
he knew what would happen to his precious manhood if he did so.

   I was surprised at the perverse thrill that suffused my body when the
surgeon asked me if I'd like to "strap your husband down so he can't get
away." I very much wanted to do that, and with a minimum of instruction,
soon had him secured to the table with a strap around his midsection,
tie-down cuffs around his wrists, and other straps and ties that held his
legs securely in place, widespread to allow easy access for what was soon
to come.  Even now, after five years have passed, that special thrill has
never been duplicated, even though I've been present at other modifications
since then.  I guess it's just a case of the first time being the best,
with undoubtedly an extra fillip because the first man was my husband. 
That surely made it extra special to me.

   Rory's crotch was expertly shaved, and then several injections were made
around the immediate area.  The surgeon said that he preferred for the
patient to remain conscious during the procedure, since that would allow
him to watch.  I especially liked that part, and it somehow increased my
arousal to know my husband would see every step as he was reduced to a
total eunuch.

   To my disappointment the anaesthetic caused his tiny pecker to become
soft.  I was secretly hoping it would be as hard as possible when it was
cut off him, but as the doctor said, that would introduce the hazard of
unstoppable blood loss.  I had to accept that explanation, because after
all, I didn't want to hurt Rory.  Well, maybe a little bit of pain would
have been just fine with me, so it's probably more accurate to say I didn't
want to harm him.

   The actual surgery took more than an hour, and by the time one tiny
penis and two equally tiny testicles were lying in isolation on the
stainless steel tray, I was almost out of my head with lust.  I loved
watching Rory's face as he stared at the overhead mirror, seeing every
detail of his unmanning.  More than once I squeezed my legs together,
trying to give myself the orgasm I so deeply craved.  However, I never
could achieve that, although by the time the stitches were all in place, I
was almost unconscious with arousal.

   I barely remember being taken to the master bedroom by Charles and
Wilson, but that's where I awakened late the next morning.  I was alone in
the bed by then, but the memories of what had happened there during the
hours following Rory's surgery told me I'd had lots of company.  Even more
than that, the extreme stretching and deep penetration my pussy had
experienced from Wilson's monster was now a throbbing pain in my abdomen.
It wasn't a bad pain, though.  To the contrary, it was more of an itch than
a pain, and I knew instinctively there was only one thing in the world that
could reach deeply enough inside me to scratch it.  I struggled out of the
bed, then went in search of that thing.  _______________

   Wilson impregnated me less than two months after I discontinued taking
the birth control pills.  The confirmation of that event gave Charles an
indescribable joy, and many were the times when he sat between my
widespread legs, giving me the pleasure I'd grown to love above all others,
with his hands cupped around my swelling tummy.  He came to call that
special time, "talking to junior," and I truly believe he indeed thought of
it as just that.  In many ways, he considered the baby to be just as much
his as Wilson's, although he always referred to Charles, Jr.  (that's what
we named him) as his grandson.

   The love I had for the two men deepened with each passing day, and when
Charles' medical condition reached its ultimate conclusion three years
later, I couldn't have been more heartbroken.  His loss left a great void
in my life, as it did in Wilson's.  Even at his young age, Junior shared
the loss with us, and missed his "PopPop" very much.

   Our lives continued, as all lives must.  I've never found a man who was
so accomplished at giving cunnilingus, although I've certainly tried.  Many
men have been brought here for our entertainment, and even more women.  In
every case, the men have proved disappointing in their efforts to give me
oral sex.  The women, though, are another case entirely.  It seems to be a
case of having a pussy of their own tells them how to pleasure mine.  Many
of them have said I'm equally good when it comes to eating their cunts, so
I guess my theory is probably correct.  I know where I want to be licked,
and so that's where I do it to them.  It always seems to work.

   Wilson always enjoys introducing our female guests to his monster, and I
get more than a little pleasure in watching him slowly pushing it deep
inside them.  I vividly remember my first time, and can re-live it to some
degree as I watch the pleasure other women get from being fucked by a real
cock for the first time in their lives.  I love to share him with them, for
I know it keeps our own love fresh.

   I mentioned above that men were also brought here for our use.  Though
most of them are for the doctor's pleasure, as he seems to have no use for
women, I sometimes take my pleasure from them also.  The doctor has a
special room in the basement where he likes to take the men, and it's
filled with all sorts of wonderful toys he uses on them.  I've spent many
pleasant hours there, watching as he demonstrates his special skills.  At
times, I even join in when one of the men is especially attractive to me. I
still get that thrill in my crotch, and probably always will, when a man is
undergoing some torture that reduces him to nothing more than a sex object.
And I have to admit that I also enjoy accompanying the doctor up to the
surgery, when he takes his victims there for modification.  He's an
important part of my life, and although I don't love him, what he does
always gives me a type of arousal Wilson can't.

   You're probably wondering what became of Rory.  After he recovered from
the surgery that made him a total eunuch, he was given a position on the
staff here, working with the gardener.  He seemed to take to that work with
a dedication that was very surprising to me.  The doctor said it's not
uncommon for eunuchs to demonstrate that sort of mindset, and he thinks
it's the lack of male hormones that improves their concentration.  I don't
know about that part; I just know that Rory at last found his niche in
life.

   He's still an important part of my life, in some ways.  For instance,
Wilson and I use jogging as our form of exercise, especially in the summer.
When we return from our jog, and I'm hot and sweaty, I like to go to where
Rory is working on the estate.  It gives me a deep-seated thrill to call to
him, "Eunuch!  Come here!" As he approaches me, the expression of
subservience on his once-proud face is very pleasing.

   He knows what is expected, and falls to his knees in front of me.  I
lift my jogging skirt, revealing my naked pussy to him (Wilson doesn't like
for me to wear panties, since he often needs quick access to my charms). 
As I spread my legs, then pull his head into my crotch, I say, "My cunt is
all sweaty and smelly.  Clean it for me.  My husband will want to fuck me
when we get back to the house, and he doesn't like it to be all stinky."

   He never hesitates to do his duty, and although he'll never be as good
as Charles was, his efforts are arousing.  When I sense he's finished, I
ask, "Do you want me to call you when we're finished fucking?" He always
looks up at me with an expression of overwhelming love and devotion, then
replies, "Yes!  Please, Mistress!"

   Life is good.



   The End