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Martin is brutally tortured by his wife and her lover to turn him into a mindless slave and steal his fortune. Unfortunately for her, she is the instrument of her own failure and Martin's revenge.

A story with a happy ending in two parts. CHAPTER 1 I'd had a long Friday, beginning early before eight as was my habit and running straight through until after six without even a single break, mostly because of one asshole client. I would have told him to take his business and shove it if it wasn't a multi-million dollar contract. I was really beat when I finally opened the door just after seven.

I'd tried to call my wife three times, but she'd obviously been out so I left a message on the machine. That was the best I could do. Dropping my briefcase on the floor I walked into the kitchen. "Hi, honey—sorry I'm so late. It was that damned Henderson. That man can be impossible sometimes.

I wonder, too often, if his business is worth all the aggravation he gives us." I leaned down to kiss her cheek and noticed the table was only set for one. "Not eating?" "No, dear I had a big lunch around one with a friend. I doubt I could eat even a single bite.

I'm trying something new. I hope you like it. It's a variation on the stew I usually make." I removed my jacket and tie, pulled a beer from the fridge and sat at the table. "Why don't you tell me about your day," I asked as I dug into the bowl.

"I will, but after you've finished. How is it?" "Okay, I guess, but the taste is kind of strange. I appreciate your thoughtfulness and effort, but I don't know if I'd want it again." Dana sat next to me so I leaned over for a kiss. Surprisingly, she turned her head so my lips landed on her cheek. I continued to eat and when I was about two-thirds through I asked her, "What's in here, anywa…?" I never finished the sentence.

I was out cold, my head crashing onto the table. I was cold when I woke up—shivering, in fact. I was still groggy and as I looked down in the darkness to barely see that I was naked. Looking up I saw my wrists were locked onto chains that hung from ring bolts in the huge beams that supported the old house.

My legs were secured the same way into the floor—screw eyes securely drilled into the hard stone. I knew where I was—the root cellar, an area in the basement of our house that we rarely used. There was but a single bare bulb in the center of the room. It was cold and damp, completely below ground with stone walls more than a foot thick, the thick wooden ceiling covered with four inches of reinforced concrete and the garage.

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I couldn't understand how I had gotten here or why. What the hell was Dana up to? The light went on and she walked in a few minutes later. "Well, well, I see you're finally awake. It took you long enough.

I'm sure you're wondering why you're here. I'll tell you—I know you're cheating on me." "That's not true. I've never cheated. I've never even thought of cheating! You know that." "Do I? I have it on good authority that you are, probably with that young secretary you hired." "Rita? You've got to be kidding. She's engaged and even if she wasn't I'd have no interest in her." "I totally expected you to say all those things. I would if I was cheating, but I know how to get the truth." She walked over to a small table on the other side of the room, returning with a small white box.

It was about eight inches long, four wide and an inch and a half deep. There were two long wing bolts extending from the top. "Any idea what this is--no, of course not. It's the mechanism by which you'll tell me the truth among other things." She held it up in front of my face.

I could see the oval hole on one end. Dana unscrewed and removed the top. "Notice the interior--these ribs will hold you in place so there no slipping around. These sharp points will just hurt you even more. I think we should get started." I watched in horror as she pulled my ball sac down and fitted the box over my scrotum.

I thrashed around, but a hard squeeze of my balls paralyzed me. It was but a harbinger of things to come. She replaced the top and began to screw the wing bolts down. It wasn't long before I felt my balls squeezed. The pain was terrible. I screamed in agony. "I thought about gagging you, but nobody will hear you down here and I find your agony amusing.

Care to change your story?" "No," I gasped, "I'm telling you the truth. Hurting me won't change that. Oh God…please!" "Gee, only a minute and you're already pleading.

My friend was right—four or five days of this and you'll be completely destroyed. By the way, I know you're telling the truth. I was only playing a game with you. I'm the one having an affair. I could just divorce you, but then I'd only get half of your fortune, maybe even less if my infidelity was made public.

This way I'll destroy you and get it all. I'll be able to sell your company and make billions. Have fun…I'll be back in an hour to tighten the screws again." She laughed, walked out, and locked the heavy door.

In seconds I was in total darkness—just me and the excruciating pain. It was unending; the pain cut through my body. I couldn't imagine it being worse, but I was terribly wrong. Dana returned—she said it was an hour later; I had no idea being totally in the dark.

She gave each screw a half turn.


The points penetrated my scrotum, sticking straight into my tortured balls. I felt as though the pain had doubled. I screamed and screamed in my agony, thrashing wildly in my chains. Dana turned to go, but laughed and returned. "I'll bet you thought it couldn't get worse, didn't you? That's exactly what my 'friend' told me.

Now watch this!" She brought two eyebolts from the table and screwed them into the bottom of the box.

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Dana made a show of picking up two weights at the end of short cables. I thought my balls would be torn from my body when she dropped them onto the eyebolts. I screamed even louder, if possible. She reached out and gripped my chin as she continued, "I'm having so much fun…how about you? No? Well, that's life—some things we enjoy and some we don't. At least one of us is happy." She grinned wildly than leaned forward and kissed me, her tongue penetrating my throat.

"I'll even tell you what's going to happen. This process will take an entire week. You'll know when it's over although I doubt your brain will be able to process it.

It will end when your balls are completely crushed and ooze out of the cracks in the box. In case you're wondering, this is made from the highest quality aircraft aluminum. It will withstand more than ten thousand pounds of force without breaking—more than enough to completely crush you into dust. It's constructed so the top and bottom will meet perfectly with not even a single millimeter of space left anywhere inside.

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There are spaces and holes in the bottom that exactly match the ridges and points in the top. Your brain will be nothing but mush by the time that happens.

Your intellect will be reduced to zero. My 'friend' is a psychiatrist and when I'm done with you you'll be a eunuch slave who will fill your mindless days with the drudgery of housework and laundry—day after day, year after year until you finally die. I think I'll even give you a nice set of boobs so you'll look the part—a cute she-male maid.

Isn't that great?" I could barely speak with all the pain I felt, but I struggled, "You're out of your mind. You're insane to do something like this. I swear I'll get you and your asshole lover, too.

I'll get you if it's the last thing I do!" She laughed then spit in my face. "You're such a fool, Martin. I've been working on this for months and months—almost an entire year, planning everything to the nth degree. While you've been so lovey-dovey I've been plotting your downfall, meeting my lover every day—fucking him two or three times and developing my plans for you.

That unusual taste in the stew…that was the drug I used to sedate you. It took us a week to figure out just how much to add so we could knock you out and get you down here, but not kill you. Then we designed the box." She gave it a slap with her hand. "It was hand-made by a machine shop in another city and another state. I gave them a false name and paid cash—several thousand of your cash, by the way--so there's no way it can be traced to us if you die.

That's a possibility, but we're hoping you won't. It will be so humiliating for you to be my slave—the high and mighty financial genius reduced to being my slave-- although you won't realize that you're even being humiliated. The pain will wash your consciousness away." She left again and I wondered if what she said was true. Would I lose my ability to think--to reason? Would I become a robot doing nothing but follow her orders, handling the mindless tedious work around the house.

I swore then to resist her with every fiber in my body. I was sure she'd destroy my balls, but I resolved that she wouldn't destroy me. Dana had always talked too much. I knew now who her lover was—that Swiss doctor Rolf. He was smart—that I had to hand him--but I thought of him as an effeminate and wimpy little turd.

I couldn't understand how he could satisfy my wife if I couldn't. My cock was almost eight inches long and fairly thick, too.

I'd seen him in the locker room at the golf club one day and thought he couldn't compare to me. I thought he had probably brainwashed my wife with his psychiatric mumbo jumbo. I'd get him, too. Dana returned periodically for several reasons; first and foremost, to increase my torture, but also to clean me and the room.

I had pissed and shit during the last day and both the room and I stunk to high Heaven. She used a hose to wash the wastes down the floor drain into the cesspool below. Then she'd wash the entire area with a bleach solution. I rebelled when she tried to give me water and some liquid food so she clamped my nose shut and forced my mouth open.

This was my first opportunity to see Rolf in action. It was clear that he was running the show. He gave Dana instructions then assisted her, forcing a narrow rubber tube down my throat. He held my head still with a yank of my hair while Dana poured the liquid down into a funnel and ultimately my stomach. I suffered that indignity once a day for the next week.

Not only was the pain continuous, but it increased every time Dana tightened those infernal screws. It filled my brain until there was room for nothing else. It literally pushed all thought from my consciousness. It ended suddenly when my testicles were crushed to nothing but bloody pulp. Then Dana removed the box and Dr. Rolf cauterized the wounds with a solder gun. My sac hung empty from my abdomen when he stitched the broken skin back together.

I was finally removed from my bondage. I didn't struggle or fight. I just stood there devoid of my humanity. "Who are you," the small woman standing in front of me asked. I had no answer so I stood there dumbly.

"Your name is 'slave.' Do you understand me?" "My name is slave," I responded without emotion. "I am your Mistress. Your job is to follow my orders and nothing else. You will obey me without question and without hesitation. I will whip you for no reason other than I can, but I will whip you much worse if you disobey." "Yes, Mistress." "You are filthy and you smell. Walk through the door. You will see a cell with a small cot. Take a shower and put on the clothes on the bed.

Sit there until I give you additional orders." I followed her through the heavy wooden door. She held it open for me, closing it with a thud. I was in a small caged-in area with a bed on one side and a shower with a combo sink/toilet on the other.

There was no provision for privacy, but I expected none so I walked directly into the shower while my Mistress slammed the door behind me. I knew it was locked immediately. I stood under the water; it was cold.

There was only the one valve. I applied the hard soap to my body and in less than five minutes I was done. There was no towel so I wiped the water from my body and stood in the chilly cellar until it evaporated then I found the clothes on my bed. There were only three items there—a pink elastic top with puff sleeves, a skintight black set of spandex shorts, and some black canvas slip-on slippers.

The bed was just a steel-framed cot with a thin mattress, a pillow with no cover and a thin cotton blanket. I sat patiently by the door for additional orders.

I was there for some time. I had no idea how long, but I was at peace so I waited until I was summoned. Finally, Mistress appeared with the short skinny man. "Here he is, Rolf—my big husband…the wizard of the financial world…the giant of Wall Street. Ha ha, what a joke! Now he's just a mindless slave exactly as you predicted. Well, big bad husband I'm going to leave you here in your cage while I go up and fuck my lover. And what will you do? You'll kneel here and wait for us to finish.

You ball-less freak. How could anyone ever think of you as a magnate of business again? You're pathetic! Now, kneel and wait. I hope your knees ache by the time we return. We're not going to hurry, that's a guarantee." I knelt as she and Rolf laughed and laughed at my plight. My mind was a blank, but I could feel a tiny "ping"—like a miniscule shock in my brain--when Mistress spoke about my former life.

She did it every day—numerous times a day, in fact—and I felt a "ping" every single time. Sometimes, if the jibe was really severe, it would be a really big one. I began to feel the cumulative effect. I had been dusting and cleaning the house for hours every day when Mistress led me to a door.

"Open it," she commanded. I tried to turn the handle, but I couldn't. "You have to put in the combination, loser. You were a loser even when you were the big shot (ping) genius (ping) and you're an even bigger loser now.

Punch in the numbers and open it." I stood numbly at the door. Using my fist I punched the lock to no avail. All I had accomplished was to hurt my hand. "Geez, what a fucking loser you are.

Okay, we'll try every day until you get it right. Get back to work!" She brought me to the door every day and every day I failed to input the combination. Every day she insulted me and every day my brain "pinged." This continued daily for several months. I realize that looking back, but at the time I had no conception of time or date. Dana fucked Rolf every day, sometimes making me watch. It had no impact whatsoever on me, one of the few benefits of my torture.

She also required that I clean her cunt and his cock after sex. Once again, the torture had removed any societal boundaries or inhibitions.

I did it with the same approach I used when vacuuming or ironing—unemotionally and unenthusiastically, but completely. Finally came a day when Dana's insults were almost non-stop. She began at 6:00 a.m. even continuing in the shower while I waited silently to dry her.

She told me about her big day when I had finished drying and dressing her. "Today's the day, genius (ping); today's the day I sell your company (ping). I'll have everything done by two o'clock this afternoon and then I'll be the billionaire (ping) and you'll be even a bigger nothing than you are now. Now get back to work. I want this place to sparkle by the time I return." She walked out of the bedroom and out the front door, driving my new BMW M6 convertible down the street.

I continued to dust, removing each piece from the shelves as I had been taught. I vacuumed once that was done and walked down the hallway to put the vacuum away.

I passed the door and stopped. Turning slowly I pressed the numbers---6-8-7-3-1-9. The tiny light changed from red to green and a hidden panel slid down. Automatically, I pressed my left thumb against the glass.

The door clicked open. I walked in tentatively only to be PINGED repeatedly as I entered what had been my inner sanctum. This had been my safe room, walls, ceiling, and floor constructed of half-inch thick steel before being covered with rich Brazilian rosewood paneling and a thick mauve carpet.

I had all of my top secret financial and business information as well as a small fortune in cash here—more than $25,000.

On the walls were photos of me with presidents, governors, and senators. My brain was pinging non-stop until it all came flooding back—everything---not only my identity--but also what Dana and Rolf had done to me.

I walked over to an original Renoir, pressing the secret latch and revealing the safe behind. It was open just seconds later. Looking at the clock I realized I had only a bit more than two hours to stop Dana.

I removed $4,000 from the safe and used the phone to call a cab. Fifteen minutes later I walked into Milton's Menswear. Handing the cabbie two hundreds I told him, "Wait for me." If he had been shocked by my apparel the money convinced him to keep his mouth shut.

Milton himself came to the door just as he did with almost every customer. "Milton, I don't have a lot of time. Get me some boxers, khakis, and a decent golf shirt. You may have to measure me. I've lost a lot of weight." "I can hardly believe my eyes, Mr. Bellamy. I heard you had a stroke and were confined to bed." "Just goes to prove you can't believe everything you hear.

Now, let's get going; I have an important deadline." Milton was an expert so actual measuring wasn't needed. He selected a blue and gold shirt by Ashworth—size large--and a pair of 34 x 34 khaki microfiber slacks along with a pair of grey silk boxers. A brown Coach belt, tan socks, and cordovan loafers by Gucci completed my outfit. I dropped $1,800 on the counter as I ran out, telling Milton I'd cover any shortfall the next time I was in. Back in the cab I told the driver, "Stan's Barber Shop—Third and Main--and step on it." I dropped another hundred in his lap.

Ten minutes later I walked through Stan's door. There were four men ahead of me. "I'm in a life-or-death emergency. I'll gladly pay for everyone's haircut and give you each a hundred bucks if I can go now." They all agreed instantly, even the man in Stan's chair.

"Shave and haircut, Stan. Don't wash it and don't style it.

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I'm in a terrible rush." I sat back while Stan first clipped my beard short then shaved it with an old-fashioned straight razor, something few barbers use these days. It was a relief to feel and look clean again. "A crew cut would be the quickest, Mr. Bellamy." "Good—just do it. I'm not kidding about the emergency." I was done ten minutes later. Dropping $500 into Stan's hand and a hundred into each of the five men's I was out the door.

"400 Bellamy Circle," I told the driver, "the Bellamy Building." My Omega watch said 1:17. I began to relax for the first time; we weren't even five minutes away.

I tipped the driver another hundred and walked to the revolving door.

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Security stopped me just inside. "Hold it, sir. You'll need proper dress to enter this building." "Glad to see you're on the ball, Roger." "Mr. Bellamy! I'm sorry, sir. I wasn't expecting you. Mrs. Bellamy told us you were terminally ill." "Who else is on duty today, Roger?" "Elkins and Samuels, sir." "Good, I assume the big meeting is in the Board Room?" "Yes, sir; they're all here—the buyers and Mrs. Bellamy and their lawyers." "Let me use your elevator card.

Send Elkins and Samuels up to the Board Room. Tell them to be armed and they'll need several pairs of handcuffs, too. Right away, please, Roger." "Yes, sir." He already had the radio in his hand as I stepped into the express elevator, inserting the computerized card and pressing "8." I leaned back to take a deep breath. I stepped out less than a minute later, striding with purpose toward the Board Room at the end of the hall.

The receptionist at the door was about to call out my name, but a finger to my lips silenced her. I listened at the door, hardly amazed at what I heard. "I assure you, gentlemen, that I have my husband's power of attorney.

Here's the document; please review it and you can see his signature at the bottom. He is deathly ill and has asked me to sell the business before he dies." There was silence for a few minutes while I waited for Security to reach the floor. I assumed that the lawyers were reading the so-called power of attorney. My hand on the knob, I pulled the heavy wooden door open as my men stepped off the elevator. "You'll be a party to several felonies if you sign that sales agreement, gentlemen." They looked up in shock, but no one in that room was more shocked than my wife.

"You'll be participants in a massive fraud and I'm sure there would be at least a dozen other charges, too. I neither wish to sell Bellamy Investments nor does my so-called spouse have my permission to sell. That document is a sham." I turned to Elkins and spoke, "Handcuff her and take her down to the basement.

Cuff her ankles and gag her if necessary. Lock her in one of the storerooms until I get there." They moved quickly to Dana who was too shocked to flee. She was carried bodily out the door a minute later.

"I'm sorry to spoil your day. As you can see I am neither ill nor at death's door. My wife has been having an affair and decided she wanted everything instead of half which should have been enough to last most people three or four lifetimes.

Rather than having a stroke or being ill I've been tortured terribly. I'm not exaggerating when I state that I will never be the same. Now, please leave. I have business to conduct before I collect my lying bitch whore wife." I turned out the door and walked up the wide carpeted stairs to the next floor where my executive offices were located. My secretaries eagerly awaited my arrival. "Mr. Bellamy! We couldn't believe it when Roger called. We're so glad to see you. I hate to say this, but dealing with Mrs.

Bellamy has been hell." "You don't know the half of it, Rita." I explained how I had been tortured by Dana and her lover, omitting his name because I had plans for him, too. "I'll omit the details of the torture because I'm afraid you'll throw up if I tell you. It was so bad it wiped my ability for conscious thought from my brain, leaving me a mindless slave." I could see them cringe at my words. I explained that I was still recovering and would return to work a week from Monday—twelve days from today.

That was really more of an explanation than I needed to give. I owned the company totally. I was accountable only to myself and the investors. Elkins was waiting when I opened the elevator door in the basement/garage. "I've already heard the scuttlebutt, sir. Did she really torture you? I could kill that bitch." "Yes, she did and no, I don't want you to. I plan to let her go on Sunday—after I've had the chance to get even a bit." He smiled; Elkins was a big man—6'6" tall and a muscular 250 pounds.

He was perfect for the job as a security guard. He owed me big time, having been unemployed for more than a year when I had hired him. He claimed that I had saved his life and his marriage.

The man was totally loyal. He carried Dana easily to my car, dumping her ingloriously into the trunk. The handcuff keys were placed into my hand a second later. It was reassuring to sit in my Beemer again. The keys had been in a pocket of Dana's purse; in seconds we were en route home. Once in the garage I removed Dana from the trunk, carrying her down the stairs to the root cellar. I threw her onto the floor, locking the door while I ran a few errands.

It was tempting to use the same implements that they had used on me. The only problem with that was that their DNA would be on the chains instead of mine. I had given some thought to phoning the police after I'd disposed of them.

If I did that I'd want the evidence to be intact. Instead I'd use a strong braided nylon rope to secure her hands. Moving the handcuffs to the front of her body I tied the rope to the short chain connecting the cuffs using a special knot that was tied above where her hands could reach.

I pulled the rope tight, forcing Dana onto her tiptoes. That was just one of the items I'd bought this afternoon. I was about to leave her, but turned back, gripped a corner of the duct tape that covered her mouth and pulled hard. Dana howled in pain. I laughed. "You have a lot more to look forward to, my dear. Your pain has just begun." "You'll never get away with killing me." "Kill you? Not me! Actually, I plan to let you go free—you and your lover both.

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It'll be either Saturday or Sunday, but I doubt you'll tell anyone about me, not by the time I'm done with you. I'll be back soon, just in time to deal with good old Rolf." I walked out, again locking the heavy door behind me.

I left to do some more shopping, buying what I needed and returning by 5:30 knowing that Dana and Rolf had a celebratory dinner date at seven. By now he was no doubt wondering why Dana hadn't phoned him with the good news.

Nonetheless, I was sure he'd show up for his big date, the culmination of their planning. Unfortunately, I'd be the one celebrating. I opened the root cellar door, my arms laden with bags. I was back out into the basement for my drill and a small ladder.

Five minutes later I had drilled pilot holes in the heavy wooden beams above and was threading in two heavy-duty screw eyes. I had to use all my strength to get them in the final inch—the inch that would ensure that a puny Rolf would never escape.

A special rock drill bored holes deep into the thick blocks of schist that made up the floor where special anchors were sunk to hold the eye bolts that would secure his legs. Four lengths of braided nylon rope were attached and I was ready.

I stretched Dana even more and left her hanging in the cool cellar. She screamed at me, cursing me, but I'd get the last laugh. I could barely hear her once the door was closed. I poked my head back in. "So long for now, Dana; I have a big date with your lover-boy. I just need to change into my uniform one last time then I'll be back and the fun will begin." CHAPTER 2 Dressed in my pink blouse and black spandex shorts I opened the front door with my left hand, hiding the baseball bat in my right behind the door.

I didn't speak. I never spoke to Rolf, only to Mistress. "Aha, I see she's cleaned you up for the occasion. Seems like a waste of money seeing as how you won't be around much longer, but I'm sure she can afford it now. Two point four billion dollars goes a long way." I stepped aside, my face blank and devoid of emotion, and Rolf strode confidently into the hallway. I had just closed the door when I brought the bat down onto his head.

He dropped like a rock. Rolf was a lightweight; I carried him down the stairs to the basement and the root cellar easily. First I secured his ankles then holding him up I tied his wrists to the rafters.

Once vertical I stretched him out by loosening the rope in the screw eyes and pulling it tight before tying it off once again. I taped Rolf's fingers together so he wouldn't be able to untie or loosen the knots. Layer after layer of tape covered his hands.

Once I was satisfied I retreated to the rear of the cellar for a bucket of water I'd left there earlier. I drenched Rolf awakening him in an instant. "How sweet—lovers right next to each other eagerly awaiting their torture. I'll get you started first Rolf then I plan to change my clothes into something a bit warmer and more comfortable." I held the white box in front of him.

"You're lucky—I plan to finish your balls and be rid of you by the weekend, but I'm not going to use this. I'm saving it for later when I call the police." I began to cut his clothing from his body, destroying an expensive suit in the process. Unwilling to touch his revolting equipment I donned a pair of examination gloves, the same kind my doctor uses when he checks my prostate, sticking his finger up my ass.

I wondered now if that would be necessary in the future. I left him naked and cold while I retired to my work bench. I'd make my own ball crushers, preserving the DNA in the box.

Once the police had matched that to me and taken even the quickest peek at my bruised and destroyed sac they'd believe anything I told them. I made two plywood plates that I lined with brass tacks. I pressed his balls, somewhat smaller than mine had been, between the wooden sheets less than a minute later.

I twisted the C-clamp until I felt resistance then I twisted it another three complete turns savoring the pain I had induced on my one-time tormenter; his screams of anguish filled the root cellar. "Don't worry, Dana I haven't forgotten about you." I moved to her, carefully cutting the expensive designer gray woolen suit from her body.

Her silk blouse, bra, and high-cut panties followed. I left her stockings on her legs for now. "Too bad you don't have balls to torture, but that's okay.

I'll just have to find something else. In fact, I think I have just the thing for you." I opened a bag from Home Depot to reveal three medium-sized vise grips—all with needle-noses. Holding one in front of her face I teased and worried her nipple. Once hard I adjusted the vise grip and clamped it onto her tit. It hung from her breast as she screamed, matching the efforts of her lover.

I soon attached another vise grip to her other nipple and shifted my attentions lower on her body. She really did have a wonderful body with decent sized tits over a slender body with flaring hips. I noticed today that she had shaved her pussy, something I had requested without success over the past few years.

A few flicks to her clit brought no results, but that was okay. I pulled back on the hood to reveal the tiny bud. I clamped it tightly a moment later as her shrieks reached a still higher level. Slapping at the vise grips caused them to swing back and forth as they hung from her body, the jaws firmly biting into her tissues. Returning to Rolf I twisted the C-clamp again before taking my leave. "See you later; all this work has given me an appetite." I laughed loudly as I left, locking the door behind me.

Their screams could not be heard through the thick walls and door. I changed my clothes back into the only non-slave clothes I had and drove back to Milton's in Dana's SUV. He showed me four suits that I ordered with plans to buy another dozen once he had replenished his stock. He promised the first suit would be done by Friday, the others by Monday. I also ordered two dozen dress shirts and several dozen ties. Then I ordered a whole new casual wardrobe including jeans, sneakers, and hiking shoes.

Dana had given all my clothes to Goodwill when she had captured me. I had to start all over from the beginning just as I had to do with my life. My credit cards had been destroyed, but Milton knew I was good for the almost $28,000 purchase. I brought in a pizza and a six-pack around ten before a quick trip downstairs to tighten the C-clamp again, hang the weights from the lower edges of the wooden plates, and remove the vise grips from Dana's body.

The flow of blood back into those tender areas caused more pain than the actual clamping besides now she'd have something to look forward to tomorrow morning. I slept in my bed for the first time since that fateful evening more than five months ago. I slept extremely well, better than in years.

Their torture continued over the next two days, but I had deliberately not crushed Rolf's balls. I was holding off on that for another time. Dana's nipples were so swollen they were more than four times their original size. That just made them easier to grip. I laughed when she cursed me. "I don't recall you having any sympathy for me when I was there. In fact, I plainly remember your extreme cruelty—the same cruelty I saw each and every day since. It's so ironic to hear you beg for mercy.

However, there will be mercy of a sort coming up tomorrow." The following morning I released Dana's hands, telling her to put on the pink top she had forced on me.

I handcuffed her hands behind her back once she was done. Then I took her legs and forced the spandex shorts up her body. I tied her ankles together again leaving her lying on the floor while I followed the same procedure with Rolf except that I didn't remove the clamp or the boards, choosing instead to cut the front of the shorts so the entire apparatus could hang free. I gagged both with a sock and duct tape then carried each up to the back of Dana's SUV.

Once there I placed each into a hogtie so they couldn't move too much. I covered them with a heavy blanket and drove away.

The sun hadn't yet risen so the likelihood that I'd be seen was virtually nil. I was on the interstate for more than three hours before pulling off in the mountains upstate. Then it was another two hours on secondary roads before coming to the trail that led deep into the woods. I knew this area quite well having hunted here years ago with my father.

The road ended and still I drove on over the meadows and through the woods. It was more than fifty miles over rough terrain to the nearest civilization by the time I stopped.

Rolf was the first one I tied to an overhanging branch. Dana followed a few minutes later. Once she was secured I returned to the SUV for a bag of supplies I'd purchased yesterday at the market--cold cuts, some rolls, and water. I leaned against the tree trunk and made myself several sandwiches that I washed down with a bottle of cool water.

Once I was refreshed I had to take a leak. Standing in front of my wife I unzipped and relieved myself over her body. When I was done I returned to the car for the vise grips. I had no trouble attaching them to her badly swollen body parts, but this time the jaws weren't more than a sixteenth of an inch apart.

She screamed into her gag—on and on for more than twenty minutes. It was music to my ears. Rolf was almost unconscious when I moved to him so I poured some of the remaining water and rubbed it over his face. His expression was one of hate, but that was okay; nobody could hate someone more than I did him. Once he was aware I smiled sweetly then twisted the C-clamp all the way down until the wooden plates stopped, meshing together with the tacks now holding the wooden pieces together.

I could hear his balls as they exploded into pulp. Blood and tissue leaked out the sides and bottom as I removed the clamp. He had cauterized my wound, but that was a courtesy I had no intention of giving him.

I didn't care if he bled to death, but I doubted that would be the cause of his demise. Returning to the SUV I retrieved two quart-sized bottles. I poured the viscous liquid slowly over Dana's head. It took almost ten minutes for the honey to completely drench her hair. Then I poured another bottle over Rolf's head. Try as they might they'd never get all the honey out of their hair or the telltale odor from their bodies. I removed the grips from Dana and pried the wood from Rolf using the needle nose on a vise grip before carefully placing them and the spent bottles of honey into a plastic trash bag.

I placed it into the rear of the SUV. The ropes were removed and they fell exhausted to the ground. I hadn't fed or even given them water in more than two days. "Here's what's going to happen. I'm leaving you here. If you can reach civilization in one piece you'll be free to go your own way. I'm going to drive the SUV away and about forty miles down the road I'll run it over a big rock we passed to destroy the oil sump. All of your suitcases are in the back seat, Dana along with a bank check for five million dollars—settlement in our upcoming divorce.

Of course, you would normally be entitled to much more, but there's plenty of evidence that you tortured me to sell my business. Then, of course, is the issue of your adultery. I have a private detective looking into your activities over the past year. His preliminary report is pretty graphic. You weren't very careful or discreet.

One should always plan for the worst, just as I've done with you. "When the police find your vehicle they'll assume you took the wrong road and left the car once it was disabled. Being disoriented in the dark you went the wrong way. Now, I'll admit to stacking the deck against you; there are bears—blacks—as well as coyotes in this area.

The bears will smell the honey and come after you. If you make it until nightfall the coyotes will smell Rolf's blood. It will be a miracle if you make it until this time tomorrow." I walked over and removed Rolf's handcuffs and slip-ons then pulled Dana's from her wrists and feet. Saying not another word I walked slowly to the car and drove away. Dana slowly rose to her feet, pulling Rolf up to join her.

Slowly they trudged in the direction I had driven. That was exactly as I had anticipated. I had driven a good ten miles into the woods before turning and taking a circuitous route as I doubled back—they were walking deeper into the woods—farther and farther away from any possible help. I put them out of my mind as I drove away, retracing my earlier steps until I turned back toward the distant town. I stopped more than ten miles away near a small stream where I carefully washed the wood and tacks of Rolf's balls.

I could see small fish gobble up the remnants of his reproductive glands. Driving another mile brought me to a small glacial lake. My dad and I had sometimes fished this lake so I knew the water was deep.

Now it was part of a nature preserve belonging to a big national organization. I was trespassing; there was no hunting or fishing allowed. I heaved the clamp and the vise grips I had used into the deep water where I doubted they'd be found for another ten years. Even if found I doubted there would be any connection to the disappearance of Dana and her lover. The large rock was exactly where I expected it to be. It rose up from the ground almost two feet, but was barely visible in the tall grass.

Bracing myself I sped up onto the rock, relying on my seat belt as it tore the thin steel pan out from under the engine. Turning, I ran the big vehicle under a group of tall pines where it would be hidden from a plane or helicopter flying overhead.

Dana's suitcases full of her clothes and jewelry were moved from the back seat into the rear of the SUV. I left the rear hatch and the windows open knowing that birds and animals would destroy the vehicle's interior.

The final things I pulled out of the car were my backpack and the ropes. I hadn't been much of an athlete in my youth although I played a fairly decent game of golf now. Instead of sports, I was involved in theatrics all the way through graduate school. Now I used my experiences with makeup to advantage. There was no way that Martin Bellamy would be recognized anywhere near here.

Instead, a wizened old man, a person who could never be found or seen again would walk out of the woods. The small mirror was leaning against the backpack as I applied the spirit gum that would hold my fake gray beard in place. It was long and matted. Once that was done a gray wig covered my recently trimmed hair. Thick salt and pepper eyebrows and a reddish brown liquid makeup that I applied over my exposed skin completed my head. After removing my shirt, shorts, and sandals I replaced them with a black and red checkered flannel shirt and badly worn overalls.

I covered my feet in woolen socks and what appeared to be badly worn hiking boots. In fact, they were almost new, one of the few items Dana had missed; I'd soiled them in the back yard last evening.

My clothes and the ropes replaced my costume in the backpack. My final move was to pull a small hunting knife and a sweat-soiled ball cap from the backpack's pocket. I used the knife to cut a six-foot walking stick from a sapling then began my sixteen-mile trek down to the highway. It was just after five that afternoon when I reached the road. People in the wilderness almost always stop for hitchhikers, especially when one appears to be a bent and broken old man—like me.

I had only hobbled down the road a few steps when the beat up panel truck slowed and stopped, "Need a lift, old man?" "Mighty kind of you, young feller; seems I been walking more than a hundred miles.

Truth is, I been walking a damned sight farther than that. I been on the go for the past three months, living up here in the woods on my own." I threw the stick down and climbed into the seat. "You haven't really been out here that long, have you?"   "Yes, I have; seems I made the mistake of my life when I moved in with my daughter.

She's a bigger nag than my wife ever was. I'm only going back now for my granddaughter's birthday then I'm out of there permanently. I think I'll even go back to work. Think McDonalds would hire me?" He laughed. "I'm Ned; how far you going?" "I'm Peter…other side of the city." "I can take you down to the interstate--maybe even drop you off at the rest stop down there.

Then you'd have no trouble getting another ride." "That'd be great." We chatted for the next two hours and when we stopped for gas I insisted that I pay, using an old and worn fifty dollar bill. He dropped me just in front of the restaurant. We shook hands and he drove away. I hobbled into the men's room, taking the stall at the far end. Once my hair, eyebrows, and beard were removed I used alcohol to take off the remaining spirit gum and the makeup I no longer needed.

That was flushed down the toilet. The gray wig was replaced with a red one, the long gray beard with a reddish brown goatee and mustache. My clothes and hair went into a plastic bag to be dumped into the trash.

I wore a polo I'd picked up at the Salvation Army earlier in the week along with my shorts. I wiped the hiking boots clean and strode out of the men's room a different person. Hanging out along the exit just past the gas pumps proved a good idea. A trucker stopped after only a few minutes. He drove me back down the interstate to Tuckahoe, a small town only about twenty miles from New York City. A few blocks away I found the train station where I purchased a ticket to Penn Station.

Once in the city I bought a ticket on the Long Island Railroad to Great Neck. I changed again in the men's room, emerging as myself. I found a nearby tavern where I walked in for a drink. "Wild Turkey—a double," I told the bartender as I took a seat at the far end of the bar. The place was almost empty. Even Sunday night pre-season football hadn't brought in much of a crowd. Ten minutes later I asked for another and over the next hour I'd managed to drink four more doubles.

"Man…you drink like a man who wants to forget." "I do…on both counts. I explained how my wife had an affair and, rather than just divorce me, had tortured me, almost destroying me in the process.

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"I hope you fuckin' killed that bitch." "No…I got away, but so did she. I'd phone the cops when I get home, but I'm really beat. Call me a cab, will you?" I dropped a crisp new hundred onto the bar. The cab was there five minutes later and twenty minutes after that I had given him one of my last hundreds as he pulled up into the driveway. I staggered into the empty house, walked into the bathroom and showered, letting the hot spray ease the tension in my muscles.

I dried myself and walked naked to the bed. I fell asleep quickly. CHAPTER 3 I was terribly hung over the next morning. It was the first time I'd gotten drunk since my wedding reception. I thought it was the happiest day of my life. Now I looked back wondering how it had all gone wrong.

I cried for more than an hour that morning over the death of a relationship I had thought would endure until the day one of us died. The more i thought about it the more I realized that was exactly what would happen—if it hadn't already.

The deep woods were dangerous even for an experienced hunter or woodsman. Dana and Rolf were neither. Dana's idea of roughing it was any hotel other than a Ritz Carleton. I knew from Rolf's visits to the country club that he couldn't walk even nine holes without breathing heavily.

Lack of water and lack of blood would make him as useful as a baby. I knew that a bear's nose was as sensitive as a shark's. I also knew that they would have no defense against the coyotes that roamed the low mountains and their thick pine forests. A single coyote could kill the two of them in a minute. I wasn't kidding my staff when I told them that I needed time to recover.

I had both physical and emotional problems to overcome, and then I still had to run my business, something that hadn't taken place for more than five months, but couldn't continue for much longer. There were billions of dollars invested my Bellamy Funds. Those investments required the buying and selling of stocks and bonds on a daily basis.

That was something Dana never understood, but the prospective purchasers obviously did. My business was worth triple what they had offered. Once I had finished breakfast I did what I had to do—what any citizen in my circumstances would do—I phoned the police. "My name is Martin Bellamy. I live at 37 Marlboro Circle in Sands Point. I need a policeman.

I have a story to tell. I've been tortured and maimed by my wife and her lover." I ended the call and waited silently for the patrol car to arrive on that quiet Monday morning. A patrolman arrived about fifteen minutes later. I explained what had happened step by step.

Later I took him down to see the root cellar and the cell that had been my quarters. He told me not to touch anything. The crime scene techs and two detectives arrived about an hour later. I went back over the story, repeating all the details and then going over it all again and again.

Then they wanted the details of my torture. I dropped my pants and my boxers. My empty scrotum was still bruised—purple and yellow and black—even after all these months. There were scratches and scars from the numerous tears as my testicles were forced through the sac. I thought one of the detectives was going to vomit when he saw the damage. Finally, I explained how I had let them get away, even giving them five million dollars.

"That doesn't make sense, sir." "Actually, it does. I wanted them to be looking over their shoulders every single second. I couldn't torture them physically although—God knows—I would have loved to, but this way they'll experience psychological torture and—best of all—they'll be doing it to themselves.

They have a check for five million, but they can't cash it. That kind of check would draw a lot of attention. If they do they'll give their location away and risk being arrested. It was the most effective revenge I could think of." "But…five million dollars?

That's an awful lot of money." "Yes, it is, but I can afford it and it's worth every penny, besides I'll get it all back if the check isn't cashed in six months." "We'll be in touch, Mr. Bellamy, once the lab results are in. The DA will take all the info to the grand jury, but I'm sure they'll be indicted. Have you given any thought to suing Dr. Spengler?" "No, but I do have a private investigator researching his involvement with my wife.

So far he's turned up plenty, including the fact that Dana always paid for the hotel rooms. He has told me that the good doctor is almost broke. He was in a professional partnership, but was kicked out for selling roughly a hundred improper and illegal prescriptions involving narcotics, including some to undercover DEA agents.

I've also learned he's looking at losing his license. That would give him plenty of motivation even if he hated Dana, which I doubt having seen them fuck several times when I was their slave." "Well, I'm personally glad you're okay; I have money invested with you and I've been worried about it over the past few months. Now I know it's as safe as can be expected." I thanked him for his confidence then sat back while they continued to gather evidence. The police were there all day taking the white box, the chains, and everything else they could think of to the police lab for analysis.

Virtually every wall and floor was swabbed for samples. Almost all the sheets and the blanket off my bed were bagged for the lab. My cheek was swabbed for a DNA sample and I was fingerprinted then I was alone again—at last. I used the time to relax. I slept almost half the day every day until the following Saturday when I had an unexpected visitor. The doorbell rang just after ten that morning. I was surprised; we never had many visitors.

I worked so many hours I preferred to spend my evenings and weekends relaxing and making love with my wife—the best stress reliever I'd ever known. Now I doubted I'd ever have a sexual relationship again. I opened the door. "Rita?

What…?" "I thought you might need some company. I hope you don't mind." "No…c'mon in; care for some coffee?" "Thank you, but no, I try to limit myself to one cup a day otherwise I'm too wired and I have trouble sleeping." She sat on the couch, her hands visible in her lap. "I thought you'd be spending your time with your fiancé." I had noticed her ring was gone from her finger.

"We broke up…no, actually I broke it off. I realized I'm in love with someone else." She moved closer to me and looked up into my face, her intentions clear.

"You mustn't, Rita. I'm damaged goods. I'll never be able to&hellip." I broke down and cried. I couldn't help myself.

I bawled and bawled, my chest heaving as I gasped for breath. Rita pulled my head to her chest. I didn't argue or fight as she held me, her fingers running through my short hair. "I'm pretty sure I know what they did to you, Martin." It was the first time she had ever called me by my name. "You told us that they had damaged you, but there was no obvious impairment. That only left a few things and the most obvious was that they castrated you." I reacted strongly, confirming her remarks.

"I spoke to my brother-in-law yesterday. He's a urologist. There's a lot that can be done for you. I'm taking you to see him Wednesday afternoon at four. You need help and I'm going to do it for you. I cleared your calendar yesterday afternoon after I spoke to him." Eventually, I stopped crying—wallowing in self-pity was never my thing.

I moved back and looked down. Our eyes met and she pulled my head down to her. Our lips met; hers were plump and sweet, and oh so inviting especially after my months-long period of total abstinence. Her tongue found its way into my mouth, demanding that I respond. I felt more alive than I had since this whole mess began. I broke the kiss. "Thank you, Rita—that was lovely, but I don't think we should get involved. I can't offer you what a vibrant woman like you needs." "I think you should wait until you see my brother-in-law.

I think you'll be surprised." As if to emphasize her point she reached up and kissed me again. If anything it was more determined than our first effort.

We kissed for more than an hour until my stomach began to growl. Rita laughed. "Is that some kind of message? If so I'll allow you to take me to lunch." She pulled me up as she stood then led me down the hallway, turning when she found the lavatory. She washed and dried my face then hers and led me to the front door. I grabbed my keys and wallet, punched in the alarm code and led Rita out the door. Twenty minutes later I escorted her into the dining room at the Sands Point Country Club.

We were greeted at the entrance by Stanley Greene, the maitre d'. "Good afternoon, Mr. Bellamy. I heard you were ill. Will Mrs. Bellamy be joining you?" "No, and if you ever mention her to me again you'll be looking for a new job." "Yes, sir…table for two?" He picked up some menus and led us to a table near the kitchen.

I gave him a look that could have frozen him solid. He moved us to a table overlooking the eighteenth green. Rita and I enjoyed our lunch as we watched the golfers finish their rounds. Well, Rita enjoyed looking out the window. I enjoyed looking at her. I was surprised at my lust. I'd hired Rita to be my personal secretary fourteen months ago after interviewing more than two dozen applicants. She had all the skills and she was the only one who knew steno. Most of the time I used a machine for dictation, but having the ability to dictate directly to her was a bonus.

She could do it on the fly, while I was between meetings or in the hallway. Sometimes I even used her while in my private bathroom, shouting out of the shower or while I was sitting on the toilet. Rita also had an incredible memory—she could often remember appointments without checking her book even though I had dozens every week. She was tall--5 feet, 10 inches with a slender athletic body. Rita had smallish breasts, maybe B-cup at the most with narrow hips and extremely long legs. Rita's hair was jet black and short, framing her oval face perfectly and offsetting her green eyes beautifully.

Her olive skin showed her Mediterranean heritage. I thought she was extremely appealing physically, but I was happily married (I thought) and she was engaged to her college sweetheart. She was the company's only clerical employee with a college education. I'd asked her about that when I interviewed her. "I know I need a lot more experience before I get the kind of job I want.

I don't want to do sales; I know I don't have the right kind of personality—I could never handle all the rejection I'd get doing cold calls although I think I could handle selling to referrals. I think this position would expose me to all facets of the company, plus I'd be able to work closely with you. You're a legend in the world of finance." I hired her immediately in spite of her ingratiating comments.

Her work had always been exemplary; she'd become my right arm. Now she was doing even more for me. I broke the silence by asking, "Tell me about your fiancé." "There really isn't much to tell, Martin. He never progressed beyond college.

All he wants to do is party and get drunk. He wasn't much of a student and he hasn't managed to get any kind of a job in the past three years. Worse, he doesn't even try. He hits his mom up for money every week and, like a fool, she gives it to him. I just got tired of waiting for him to grow up, besides I learned that I was in love with someone else. I think we both know who that is, don't we, and don't tell me you're not a man any more." She lowered her voice so she was merely whispering. "Brian—that's my brother-in-law—told me that a man's testicles have two primary functions—to produce sperm and generate testosterone.

There are plenty of men with low sperm counts and there are plenty of ways to have a family if a couple really wants one—adoption, in vitro fertilization using a sperm donor, even foster children. Also, there are probably millions of men with low testosterone levels so there are lots of medication options.

Brian told me he would discuss them with us at your appointment." "Us?" I was shocked. "Yes…us; I'm going to the appointment with you. It's obvious that you need help and I'm going to give it." She crossed her arms, nodded her head for emphasis. I knew when to give up. We relaxed and got to know each other better over an excellent lunch.

Rita had worked for me—closely with me—for more than a year, but I realized that I barely knew her. She knew much more about me, but I thought at the time that was to be expected. I was a celebrity in Nassau County, Long Island where I had our corporate offices.

I hated to commute into the city—New York—and with computers and networking it wasn't necessary. I lived in a large home in exclusive Sands Point; she lived in a one-bedroom apartment in nearby Manhasset.

We left the restaurant around two and Stanley never mentioned Dana again. I drove back to my house and led Rita to the living room. "Uh…were you planning on leaving anytime soon?" "As a matter of fact…I'm not!

I'm staying the weekend, but only if I can pick the place for dinner. Really? The golf club? Talk about stuffy and those prices; that place is ridiculous." "Exactly what did you have in mind?" "Gino's in Manhasset—great Italian and pizza. I'd treat except for the fact that you make like a thousand times as much as I do." "Pizza, eh?

Any idea how long it's been since I ate pizza? Probably not since I've been married, speaking of which&hellip." I found an envelope in a pile of mail, opened it, and dialed the phone number inside. "Lawrence," I heard him say in response. "Martin Bellamy here; I'd like to get together early next week.

Hold on a second." Then to Rita I asked, "Got my schedule handy?" She gave me a look that said it all—DUH! She had her smart phone out in a flash and pulled up my schedule for my review a second later. "I have an hour free Tuesday afternoon or we could meet at my home Monday evening at eight." He opted for Monday evening and I ended the call.


"The private detective I hired to get the goods on Dana," I explained. "I'll want you to schedule an appointment with Dave Barney for Tuesday. I don't care if we have to move something else.

I'd like to get this whole mess over with as soon as possible." Dave Barney was my personal attorney; he was a bear. I would have continued, but Rita covered my mouth with hers. "It's great to have you back, Martin," she whispered in my ear. "Now I have something else to prove to you. Come with me, and no arguing. I'll just ignore you so save your energy. You're going to need it." She was off my lap and pulled me up. Seconds later she was leading me up the stairs toward the master bedroom.

I tried to protest, but she ignored me, exactly as she had promised. "I think I should fire you." "Go ahead, but that's not going to stop me." She pushed my shirt over my head as I stood by astonished. I began to protest again, but she kissed me again. She spoke again once she broke the kiss. "I know you're self-conscious. I know what to expect so I'm not going to be turned off and I'm definitely not going to faint.

You need to relax." "But…I don't think I'll be able to&hellip." "Care to bet? I'll bet dinner—loser buys." I laughed. "That's not much of a bet. You already told me I was buying." She had by belt open and my pants down by the time I'd finished. She sat me on the bed clad only in my boxers while she slowly began a sensual striptease. First she flipped her shoes across the room. I laughed, but all that did was encourage her.

She twirled around, stopping occasionally to kiss me as first her blouse and then her Capri's found their way to the floor. She made a big production of losing her bra, jiggling her breasts, and even throwing it at me. She finished with her panties, a pair of rose-colored boy shorts. They clung to her body like a second skin.

Her pubic area was as bare as the day she was born; I couldn't take my eyes off of her luscious body. I was shocked to find that I was hard. I hadn't had an erection since before that fateful Friday evening, but then I'd had no stimulation—sexual or otherwise-- either. Rita pushed me back onto the bed, pulling my boxers down past my ankles. Knowing how sensitive I would be she kissed me again as she moved her hand down my abdomen to find my cock. It pulsed with desire.

I didn't know if I'd be able to cum, but Rita was determined. She straddled my hips and slid down my meaty pole. "I usually enjoy a lot of foreplay, but this is to prove a point—that you're still a sexual being." She began by placing her hands on my shoulders, her pointy nipples just inches above my face. Her face showed the rapture she was feeling as I stretched her tight cunt walls. Rita rocked on my cock and I had to admit it felt great.

My hands found their way to her hips as I began to drive into her. That was exactly what she wanted—to prove to me that I was still a man! Soon I was lifting her almost a foot with every thrust. We rutted like animals, but not for too long—I was hornier than I could have believed. Even more incredible--I ejaculated! I actually came in Rita's hot pussy. I sagged back into the bed. I was exhausted, but so thankful. Looking up into Rita's eyes I asked her, "How can I ever thank you?" "You can do it again after dinner and then you can play with me before, during, and after.

It may be your testicles that make sperm, but it's your prostate that makes the juice. Brian told me your libido will be up to normal after a few weeks of hormone replacement therapy. Then you'll really have a good time." I looked up into her eyes before responding. "Don't you mean we?" "I didn't want to be presumptuous. I'd love that, but you have a lot to say about it—at least as much as I do." I said nothing, but pulled her down into a long spit-laden kiss.

It went on and on, but neither of us complained. Our faces were a mess when we finally broke it. Rita laughed. "Do I look as bad as you do?" "No…I doubt you'll ever look bad. You're a beautiful woman and I can't believe you're interested in a washed up dishrag like me." She caressed my head then leaned down for a quick kiss. "You're hardly washed up and you're no dishrag, either.

You're a good looking man who's in good physical condition." "Yeah, all that dusting and laundry." Rita gave me a stern look. "No joking now…Brian will explain everything Wednesday. He's a great doctor. He says you'll need regular exercise and I'm going to see that you get it." "You mean like this?" "Sure, five or six times a week, plus you're going to join a gym.

Maybe you should put one in the office. I'm sure it would get a lot of use." I leaned up to kiss her cute little nose. "That can be your first chore Monday morning. Find a place for it and get some estimates on what kind of equipment.

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You might want to poll the employees…you know, to see what they'd want to have. Now, do you think we could have a nap? You wore me out. Thank you." "Do I have to move?" No, I love you right where you are." I wrapped my arms around her, closed my eyes and found sleep easily. Rita woke me up around six and led me into the shower. She could sense my nervousness. "C'mon, Martin—there's nothing to be afraid of.

I've already seen your penis and I've seen your sac, so now I'll wash it. It's not a big deal, okay?" She turned on the water and led me in once it had warmed. Grabbing the soap she began with my chest then my arms and back. Of course, there were plenty of kisses that I welcomed along the way. All the same I tensed up when her hands found my cock and then my empty sac. It was a lot of anguish over nothing. She was tender and loving, paying it no more attention than either of my arms.

She handed me the soap once she was done. I must say washing her sexy body was one of the best things I'd experienced in my life. We dried each other, dressed and I drove her down to Manhasset and Gino's. We stopped by her apartment later for some clothes, cosmetics and a comb and brush. I'd already given her a spare toothbrush. NEXT: Rita helps Martin come back to life.and then some!