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Chapter 3 the Dungeon
����
���� Screams of agony blasting through the
headset drew Christine�s attention to the television.� The scene had changed.� The same two men were stretching a different
woman on a torture rack.� She was
younger.� Close ups of her pain ravaged
face reinforced Maurice�s assertion the DVD was for real.� �
���� Christine used the remote to study the
girl�s face.� They had placed a small keg
in the center of her back causing her body to arch obscenely as her spine was
curved and stretched.�� Christine�s hand
stroked her wet sex as she recalled how it had felt when Maurice and his
brother had racked her.
���� She looks like me realized Christine, same
color hair and eyes.� My God, they�re
about to pull her arms out of their sockets. One of the men maintained the
tension while the other one climbed on the rack taking a position between the
woman�s legs.� Christine watched
fascinated as the man spit on his large cock then placed it in the woman�s
opening.� Speaking in what Christine took
to be one of the Slavic languages she was begging the men to stop.� Instead one man turned the windlass
increasing the tension as the other penetrated her.
���� Immediately, Christine knew what Maurice
had meant when he said there was a part of the DVD that would bring back fond
memories of an event that occurred during her first visit to the chateau.� She had been terribly excited and
apprehensive about meeting Maurice�s family.
���� Fortunately, everything had gone
well.� The fact she was a full professor
with a well-received book on macro economics to her credit impressed the family
who had the French appreciation for intellectuals and thinkers.� Still it had been tense and when Maurice
offered to show her the dungeon as a diversion she eagerly agreed.
��� It turned out to be one of the most erotic
days of her life.� Afterwards, Christine
was certain that marrying Maurice was the right decision for her.� They had both been in a playful mood when
they entered the oldest part of the castle.�
On the way, Maurice had repeatedly stopped and taken her in his arms,
pressing her against the wall, forcing his tongue in her mouth as his hands
squeezed her breasts.� By the time they
reached the subterranean area, Christine felt overwhelmed by lust.
��� �This is part of the original edifice,�
said Maurice as he switched the lights on.�
�Of course, we�ve modernized certain things.� Torches were incredibly expensive so we had
to switch to electricity.�
��� �Your mother said the chateau was burnt to
the ground in the Revolution,� said Christine looking around at the furnishings
of the stone walled dungeon they�d descended three steep flights of stairs to
reach.
���� �It was but we are several meters below
ground.� When the chateau collapsed the
entrance to the underground passageway was covered.� After
��� �Who restored it,� asked Christine?
��� �My great grandfather began the
restoration.� It was something of a hobby
plus a way to recapture the family heritage.�
��� �And was great grandmother involved,� asked
Christine putting her arm around Maurice�s waist and pressing her sex against
his.
���� �Only when she displeased the old man,
then he would bring her here, strip her naked, and whip her senseless before
giving her to the servants,� said Maurice placing his hands on Christine�s hips
and pulling her hard against him.� One of
the gardeners had an enormous cock and grandfather made sure he took her
anally.� When her sphincter gaped open,
everyone pissed in her ass.�
���� �Sounds very Chernier, what happened to
him?� asked Christine.
���� �He died in battle during the Second World
War.� The family never speaks of him. He
was a Colonel in the Charlemagne Division.�
���� �Why? He sounds very heroic, fighting to
liberate his countrymen from Hitler and the Nazis,� said Christine.
���� �Not quite the way it was.� The Charlemagne Division was composed of
fanatical French fascists who had sworn a blood oath of loyalty to Der Fuhrer
and National Socialism.� The surviving
members of the Charlemagne Division were assigned to defend Hitler�s Bunker to
the last man.� On the day Hitler
committed suicide, my grandfather lead his last four hundred thirty five
soldiers in a suicide attack on the Red Army.�
None of them survived.� If they
had, they would have been tried and executed as war criminals.�
���� �How horrible, I�m sorry I asked,� said
Christine.
���� �It happened a long time ago.� Besides in two months, you will be a Chernier
so you should know the good and bad of our family history,� said Maurice. �My
parents continued the restoration.� Jean
Paul and I added to the collection of torture implements to make it more
interesting. �
��� �What�s this?� It�s heavy,� asked Christine picking up the
three-pronged iron tong without first realizing the weight of the cast iron.
���� �That my dearest is a breast ripper,� said
Maurice casually draping his arm across Christine�s shoulders.� He reached down and placed his hand over her
breast and squeezed it.� His strong
fingers found her braless nipple through the lamb�s wool sweater.� He smiled as his thumb and forefinger slowly
flattened the flesh causing Christine to recoil in pain.� She turned to kiss him wanting her tongue to
intertwine with his as she suffered.�
After several seconds, he removed his hand allowing Christine to
experience the sensation of blood flowing back in the capillaries.
��� �We should behave.� I�m acting like a bitch in heat.� You mean it was actually used to rip off a
woman�s breast?� asked Christine wishing her fianc� had not stopped.
��� �Frenchmen never behave when they have a
beautiful woman in their dungeon.� But
yes, first, it was heated until it was red hot.�
The Dungeon Master would capture the breast in the tongs then twist and
pull.� Off it came for the Dungeon
Master�s supper.�
���� �You�re kidding me of course.� They practiced cannibalism?� asked Christine.
���� �Such tales are handed down but only if it
was the tender breast of a beautiful young girl like yourself.� They were said to have magical restorative
powers, like Viagra,� said Maurice lifting Christine�s sweater to expose her
chest.� He pressed her back against the
stonewall forcing her mouth open with his tongue.
��� �These are not for supper,� said Christine
pushing her sweater down once Maurice stopped.�
She stepped over to a nearby table and picked up a small metal object.� �I recognize this.� It�s a thumbscrew.� I saw one used in a movie.�
���� �Bailiffs carried them because they�re
light and transportable.� They were used
to extract confessions on the spot.� A
few turns and even the most determined criminal would be begging for
mercy.� Not everything in here is
authentic.� My parents participate in a
local charity that permits the good citizens of
���� �Show me how it works,� said Christine
handing the thumbscrew to Maurice signaling her willingness to engage in the
kind of sadistic role-play that made them a well-matched couple.
���� �Suppose I wanted you to confess to having
sex with the Queen of England,� said Maurice slipping Christine�s thumbs into
the device and rapidly turning the small handle.
���� �It�s unbearable,� said Christine surprised
at how quickly it created an agonizing pain in both her thumbs.
���� �You haven�t confessed,� said Maurice
rotating the screw a half turn.
���� �And I shall not.� The Queen is an honorable lady of the highest
moral caliber. She is old enough to be my grandmother.�
���� �Yet, whore that you are, you have stolen
into her bed and placed your mouth on her aged sex.� The two of you pleasured one another in
countless sinful acts.�
���� �No, I am falsely accused,� said Christine
falling to her knees.� Her eyes were
beginning to tear from the pain. She could feel the studded surface crushing
her nails.
���� �Confess,� said Maurice as he performed a
quarter turn.
���� �No, sir, please stop I am innocent,� said
Christine barely able to suppress a scream.
���� Maurice looked down at his beautiful bride
to be.� She was obviously in terrible
pain. The thumbscrew�s platen was bending her thumbnails.� �Confess now and the pain will cease.�� Maurice turned the handle a full turn
wrenching a pitiable scream from his bride-to-be.
���� �I confess.� I have lain with the Queen of England,� said
Christine.� �Please stop, sir.� I can bear no more.�
���� �Just a little more to punish you for
being so stubborn,� said Maurice moving the handle slightly causing Christine
to scream again.� Seeing blood seeping
from under her nails, Maurice quickly loosened and removed the thumbscrew.� He raised a sobbing Christine�s hands to his
lips and licked the blood off her thumbs.
���� �You should have confessed sooner.� You�ve ruined your manicure,� said Maurice
observing the cracked and wrinkled nail lacquer covering her thumbs.
���� �I know I should have but I didn�t want to
give in too easily,� said Christine nursing her sore thumbs.
���� �Most women would have confessed to
sucking the Pope�s dick several turns ago,� said Maurice once again kissing
Christine�s thumbs.
���� �But you�re not in love with most women,�
said Christine. �Or going to marry them.�
���� �Shall we continue with our tour,� asked
Maurice?
���� �Yes, what are these,� said Christine
picking up two of several odd shaped metal globes?� Each had a short handle with a turn knob on
one end.� The other end of the globe
contained sharp points and the sides were covered with an inscription
definitely not French.� �Ah, it opens,�
said Christine turning the handle several revolutions causing the globe to
separate like the pedals of a blooming flower.
���� �Pears, they were inserted in the orifices
of witches and opened until they confessed to consorting with Satan,� said
Maurice.� �They�re Spanish not French in
origin.� But they were used by the
Inquisition in both
���� �Are they lethal,� asked Christine turning
the handle rapidly imagining how it felt for a young girl unjustly accused of
witchcraft to have such an object inserted inside her then slowly
expanded?� Others would be present to
observe her ordeal.� There would be the
learned men of the church, the Inquisitors, watching closely as the dungeon
master slipped the Pear inside her vagina and turned the knob.� After a few turns, he would no doubt look to
the Inquisitors to begin their interrogation.�
How long before the pain became too great and she told them what they
wanted to hear.� She would implicate
innocent others.� Christine had read
where during the height of the persecution of witches, the entire female
population of certain European towns were tortured then burned at the stake.
���� �They usually were when opened to the
maximum extent.� But if used carefully,
they only produce agonizing pain,� said Maurice.
���� �And the inscription?� asked Christine.
���� �Latin, quotations from the official
manual of the Inquisition, the Malleus Maleficarium, I recall the English name
is Hammer of the Witch.�
����� �Were any Cherniers involved in the
Inquisition?�
�� ����According to
���� �Some of them must have gone mad before
confessing,� said Christine examining the Pear closely.
���� �No one was allowed to leave a dungeon of
the Inquisition without first confessing or dying,� said Maurice.
���� �And after they confessed?� asked
Christine.
��� �Some were taken to the square in front of
the cathedral and burned alive.� Others
who recanted witchcraft were allowed to resume their normal lives.�
���� �Not exactly an incentive to tell
all.� This looks newer,� said Christine
standing in front of the large rectangular table in the center of the room.
���� �That is called a rack and the reason it
looks new is Jean Paul and I restored it when we were boys as part of a school
project.� said Maurice.� �It had rotted
out and fallen in disrepair.� Only the
iron parts are authentic.�
����� �Really, a school project,� asked Christine?� �They taught classes in torture where you
went to school.�
����� �No, Medieval History, we got the highest
mark in the class. Would you like to try it?�
It would be something few experience these days,� asked Maurice looking
down on the sixteenth century instrument of torture.
����� �Perhaps, how does it work,� asked
Christine sensing another erotic spark one very much to her liking.�
����� �The witch�s ankles were placed in these
round holes formed between those two boards at this end of the table.� That held her feet in place.�� These iron manacles were attached to the
wrists.� When you turn the windlass like
so the chains wind around this take-up spool and the arms stretched
overhead.� Stretch a person too far and
they�re a cripple for life.� It�s quite
simple, really.� But it�s highly
effective. Being boys, Jean Paul and I had to experience it once we got it
working.� It is truly hell on earth.�
���� �And the round barrel thing in the
middle?� asked Christine feeling a more powerful spark of excitement as her
hand touched the stone cylinder in the middle of the rack
���� �Referred to as the Pillow.� It goes under the small of the back elevating
the abdomen toward the ceiling.� The
victim is stretched across the Pillow.�
It adds greatly to the agony.�
That�s unique to a French rack.�
English racks allowed the victim to lie flat.� The Spanish had a dual windlass version that
stretches in both directions at the same time.�
However it required two persons to operate, a waste of manpower,� said
Maurice.
���� �Good dungeon help must have been more
plentiful in Medieval Spain,� said Christine before kissing Maurice.� Ending the kiss, Christine pulled her sweater
over her head.� �You know I have never
made love in a dungeon.�
���� �There was also another advantage to our
use of the Pillow,� said Maurice.
����� �Yes,� said Christine slipping off her
casual shoes as she unzipped her slacks.
����� �The Pillow elevated the sex organ making
it available to the Dungeon Master.� He
could choose to slowly remove a male�s testicles over the course of several
hours or in the case of a female relieve his sexual tension before excising her
clitoris.� I am told vaginal intercourse
while being racked is a truly unique experience that only the most extreme
masochist can enjoy,� said Maurice.
����� �You are making it sound enormously
attractive,� said Christine stepping out of her thong panties.
���� �Legend has it that the Burgundians
stretched Joan of Arc on the rack the night before she was executed.� A local superstition held that bad luck came
to those who burned a virgin; so her jailers solved the problem on the
spot.� Once she was stripped and
stretched, the Messenger of God was mounted by a succession of her
jailers.��
���� �How enterprising of the French.� Did she enjoy it?� said a now naked Christine
climbing up on the rack and placing her feet through the wooden half circles?
���� �Who knows, perhaps,� said Maurice
adjusting the placement of her feet and lowering the top board to capture them
completely.
���� �Am I the first woman to test your
restoration,� asked Christine moving the Pillow slightly to place it in the
curve of her back?
���� �Sorry but no,� said Maurice inserting the
iron pin to lock the foot restraint into place.�
���� �I never knew history could be so
interesting.� Please show me what the
Burgundians did to the Maid of Orleans,� said Christine reclining over the
Pillow extending her arms toward the windlass.�
���� �We have a historical discrepancy to deal
with.� Joan D�arc by all accounts was a
virgin and you are a whore,� said Maurice placing locking pins in the iron
manacles circling Christine�s wrists.
����� �True, tis a problem, Milord.� Maybe you should punish me doubly for my
whorish ways,� said Christine her libido responding to the situation.��
������ �I will punish you for being a whorish witch
who consorts with Satan,� said Maurice grabbing the spokes of the windlass and
turning it rapidly to take up the slack.�
When he reached the point Christine�s arms were fully extended, he
paused for a moment took a deep breath then turned the windlass slowly causing
two loud clicks of the ratchet.
���� �Please sire, I�m an innocent maid,�
yelled Christine as the slack disappeared and the Pillow pushed hard against
her spine.
���� �No, you are a whore from a nation of
whores.� You are a witch known to have
lain with Lucifer himself.� Women in the
village witnessed you applying your tongue to his ass,� said Maurice giving the
windlass another crank.
���� Christine felt pain in her shoulders,
hips, and ankles as tension was increased.�
One more crank and Christine sounded a small cry of pain.
����� �My God, it�s like being ripped apart,�
said Christine.
����� �I have something else to otherwise
occupy your mind,� said Maurice walking over to a locked cabinet in the far
corner of the room.� Maurice carefully
selected a key from the ring he had brought when they had first begun their
tour of the chateau.
����� �What is it,� asked Christine straining
to see?
����� �Patience, medieval torturers were known
for the attention to detail and skill.�
They were patient men who didn�t rush things.� Their subjects stayed alive for weeks or
months. They�d torture their charges right to the very edge of death and
madness then allow them to rest for a week or two before starting again.� They were very serious about their
profession,� said Maurice approaching Christine with a shiny brass contraption.
���� �What�s that,� asked Christine eyeing the
ornate brass object?
���� �Manchu breast crusher, I said that not
everything here was authentic.� In our
travels for the bank, Jean Paul and I have added some exotic devices of other
cultures,� said Maurice fitting the device over the top and bottom of
Christine�s breasts.� �These are so
lovely.� It�s a pity they have to
suffer.�
�� ���It�s beautifully made,� said Christine
watching as Maurice turned the wheel in the center narrowing the space between
the top and bottom.
���� �I paid a small fortune for it at an
antique dealer in
���� �Oh my,� said Christine with a hiss.� �It feels like my nipples are being ripped
off.��
���� �It pulls the breast forward until the
base is between ten rows of sharp metal spines.�
It�s quite ingenious,� said Maurice locking the rings around Christine�s
nipples then pulling a small handle on each side to extend her breasts outward.
���� �It�s intense,� gasped Christine feeling
the pinch as the clamps tightened further.�
The metal edge pressed painfully against her breast bone.
���� �Now that your exquisite tits are ready to
feel the pain of a thousand sharp needles, I will ask you a question,� said
Maurice.� �Do you want me to close the
press?� It will be horribly painful.�
���� �Yes, close it.� I love you,� said Christine her eyes tearing
with emotion.
���� �I love you too, darling,� said Maurice
turning the large center knob narrowing the distance between the top and bottom
of the device.� Christine�s screams
reverberated off the dungeon walls as hundreds of spines penetrated the top,
bottom, and sides of each breast.
���� �It�s horrible,� said Christine taking
deep breaths attempting to control the pain.�
She could feel the sharp points contact her skin, slowly push inward
then puncture her flesh.
���� �Having fun with your fianc� without your
dear brother, I should be offended,� said Jean Paul entering the dungeon.� �I imagined I would find you here when Mother
said you had taking her for a tour of the castle keep.
���� �Jean Paul,� said Maurice rushing to
embrace his younger brother by one year who had just arrived from a trip to the
���� �And this must be Christine,� said Jean
Paul when the embrace ended.
���� �Yes, Christine Winston, this is Jean
Paul,� said Maurice.
���� �My pleasure, I see Maurice has been
showing you our school project,� said Jean Paul stepping to the side of the
rack.
���� �Yes, it�s very painful.� This is terribly embarrassing. Maurice, would
you mind letting me up so I can get dressed,� said a red faced Christine
conscious of her nakedness.
���� �Who does this remind you of, Jean Paul,�
asked Maurice ignoring Christine�s request?
���� �Agnes Langue,� said Jean Paul.� �That was four, no three years ago.�
���� �Have you seen her recently,� asked
Maurice?
���� �Yes, in
���� �Who was she,� asked Christine?
���� �The last woman who occupied the same
position as you do now,� said Jean Paul reaching down to touch Christine�s bare
leg.
���� �Jean Paul thought he was in love with
her.� He brought her home at Christmas to
meet the family,� said Maurice.
���� �I was in love with her.� When I brought her to the dungeon she was
intrigued with the rack and wanted a demonstration,� said Jean Paul.
���� �Just like you have done, Christine.� She removed her clothes and allowed Jean Paul
to place her in this horrible instrument of medieval torture,� said Maurice
taking hold of the post and tightening the windlass slightly.
�� Christine groaned in pain as the round bones
in her shoulders strained against the sockets.
��� �Christine and I were playing a game.� She was pretending to be Joan of Arc and I
one of her Burgundian jailers.� I imagine
she would enjoy the game even more if you joined us.� Wouldn�t you, Christine?�
�� �Yes, Jean Paul should join us.� Is that what happened to Agnes?� said
Christine realizing what was happening.�
Role-play of a rape while being tortured excited Christine beyond
anything she had experienced.� There was
no question in Christine�s mind that Maurice was the perfect husband for her.
��� �Poor Agnes was not the gamester, you
are.� She screamed and begged us not to
rape her but like good Burgundians we both took her, several times as I
recall,� said Jean Paul unbuckling his belt to step out of his trousers.
��� �She particularly objected to our taking
some photographs of her with semen oozing out of her asshole,� said Maurice
taking a small camera out of his jacket pocket.
��� �Of course, we didn�t have this little
apparatus at the time, a recent acquisition,� said Jean Paul reaching down to
turn the small wheel that further narrowed the gap between the two spike lined half
globes crushing her breasts.
��� Christine screamed in anguish at what was
happening to her body.� She could feel
every joint separating as the rack lengthened her frame.� Her breasts were blood red and swollen to the
point the veins were visible.� They
looked hideous.
��� �She�s magnificent,� said Jean Paul
touching her sex allowing his fingers to slide down and enter her vagina.
��� �Take her.�
She�s a familiar of Satan,� said Maurice.
��� �Then we should begin with the Devil�s
Kiss,� said Jean Paul who had finished undressing.�� Jean Paul nimbly stepped onto the rack,
positioned his buttocks over Christine�s face then lowered himself to the point
he felt the tip of her tongue touch his sphincter.
���� �Lucifer taught her well,� said Jean Paul
reaching back to separate his buttocks as he felt the warm tongue explore his
anus.
���� �Christine is an apt student in all
matters of the flesh,� said Maurice maintaining a constant tension on the rack.
���� �Did Maurice tell you he planned to let me
have you,� asked Jean Paul turning around to offer his cock to Christine�s
mouth?
���� �No, but if it is what Maurice wants then
I agree with his decision,� said Christine before placing her lips around the
mushroom head.
���� �I think you have made an excellent choice
in a wife, dear brother,� said Jean Paul as he felt his cock descend into
Christine�s warm mouth.�
���� �I knew we were kindred spirits the moment
we met,� said Maurice pushing hard enough to cause the ratchet to click twice.
���� �Join me, Maurice,� said Jean Paul.� �It�s been too long since we shared a woman.�
���� �Of course,� said Maurice removing his
sweater.
���� Moments later, Christine felt Maurice
pressing his cock into her vagina.�
Between the French Rack and the Manchu Breast Crusher she was in
incredible pain.� Her arm and leg joints
were on the verge of dislocation.� The
slightest movement caused the thousands of needles stuck in her breast to shift
position causing her to scream in agony.�
The Pillow tightened her abdomen to the point that Maurice�s cock had to
force its away down a narrow passage.
���� �There is nothing more erotic than a cunt
stretched over a Pillow,� said Maurice as he began a slow thrusting motion.
���� �Let�s swap,� said Jean Paul after a few
minutes.
���� After what seemed like forever, Jean Paul
climaxed in her vagina.� Maurice took his
place and finished moments later.
���� �Now for her other side,� said Maurice
removing the Breast Crusher.� �Jean Paul,
help me turn her over.�
���� �What are you doing,� asked Christine
thinking her ordeal was over.
����� �Jean Paul wants to fuck you in the ass,�
said Maurice as he rolled Christine onto her stomach.
����� �Satan preferred to sodomize his
familiars,� said Jean Paul helping Maurice secure Christine face down on the
rack.
����� �Such a tempting sight,� said Jean Paul
running his hand over Christine�s upturned bottom elevated by the Pillow.
����� �What do you have in mind, dear brother,�
asked Maurice?
����� �A good English caning would turn her
bottom red.� It would also be amusing to
watch her sit calmly and listen to Father�s boring stories at dinner tonight,�
said Jean Paul.
����� �Twenty five with a Malaysian bamboo cane
should do it,� said Maurice.
����� �All together or twenty-five each,� asked
Jean Paul?
����� �Each of course, we�ll stand on opposite
sides and take turns,� said Maurice removing two flexible bamboo canes from a
nearby display case.
����� �I forgot how nasty these are,� said Jean
Paul cutting the air with the whip like cane.
����� �You want us to whip you?� Don�t you Christine?� asked Maurice.
����� �Yes, I deserve it,� said Christine.
����� Twice they stopped to give Christine
water when her voice started to crack. �It took fifteen minutes for the punishment to
be administered.�
����� �Her bottom is certainly warm enough to
be fucked,� said Jean Paul running his hand over the whelps covering
Christine�s backside.
����� �Go ahead, she loves anal,� said Maurice
putting his shoulder against the post increasing the tension causing Christie
to scream from the pain in her shoulders.
����� �I congratulate you, brother, on finding
such a wonderful match,� said Jean Paul as he pushed his cockhead past
Christine�s sphincter.� �Welcome to the
family, Christine.�
����� �Harder, Jean Paul,� said Christine
reacting to the dual pains of her ravaged bottom bearing his weight and his
large cockhead forcing open her anus.
����� �Spoken like a true Chernier,� said Jean
Paul slamming his cock into his future sister-in-law�s bottom.
����� Moments later, Maurice added his semen to
Jean Paul�s.
����� �Is there anything more beautiful than
the sight of a well fucked vagina and ass slowly leaking cum,� asked Jean Paul
admiring Christine�s orifices as he helped Maurice remove her from the rack.
����� �Caravaggio should have painted such a
scene,� said Maurice pushing three fingers into Christine�s not quite closed
anus.� He removed the fluid coated
fingers and presented them to Christine�s lips.�
She signed with pleasure as she greedily licked them.
������ Christine recalled how the two brothers
gently rolled her over and placed a rolled up blanket under her head.� They used their mouths to bring her to an
incredible climax.� They took their time
slowly licking her sex and breasts until she sensed the onrush of an explosive
orgasm.� Screaming her pleasure, she
shook and writhed as her sex assumed command of her body.� She almost fainted at the intensity of her
orgasm.� The French refer to the female
climax as la petite morte, the little death.�
That afternoon, Christine learned the accuracy of the phrase as her
climax took her to the edge of nothingness then slowly allowed her to retreat.����
***
����
���� Flashes of light awakened Christine.� �It was
morning in
���� �Don�t,� said Christine starting to get up
without realizing she had fallen asleep with the black dildo inserted in her
vagina.� Only the realistic ball sack
that served as the base was visible.
���� �When did you buy that,� asked Maurice
continuing to capture images of his naked wife spread over the couch as he
pointed to the black dildo?� A collection
of clothespins, dildos, vibrators, and an inflatable anal plug were lying on
the carpet by the couch.� A plastic
container labeled, �Wet�, stood open on the table.���
���� �Please stop, Maurice,� said Christine
starting to cry as she tried unsuccessfully to remove the dildo.� Her lubrications had dried sealing it inside
her.� Pictures of any kind had been a non
starter since she gained weight.� Images
of her with an oversized dildo stuck in her cunt horrified her.
����� �Having difficulty,� asked Maurice smiling
as he grabbed the base of the faux cock and pulled dragging her off the sofa
onto the floor.� �Sorry, it seems to be
stuck in your fat cunt.��
���� �Don�t pull. It hurts too much,� said
Christine realizing that while she slept her fluids had dried causing her
vaginal walls to adhere to the object.�
Only a good soaking in the tub or generating additional lubricants would
permit its removal.
���� �Here,� said Maurice turning on a small
vibrator and handing it toward her.
���� �What,� asked Christine not understanding
what he meant?
���� �Get yourself wet or it will never come
out,� said Maurice placing the plastic end against Christine�s clit then
pressing the point into her soft flesh.
���� �Not so hard,� said Christine.
���� �You do it then,� said Maurice handing her
the vibrator then lifting the camera to capture another image.
����� �Stop, please,� said a sobbing Christine as
she worked the hard plastic around her clit.
����� �No, it�s not everyday a man finds his
wife sound asleep with a black man�s cock in her cunt,� said Maurice.
����� �It�s a dildo not a cock.� I bought it the other day.� Black was the only color they had left in
this size.� I had to have something.� We haven�t made love for months.�
���� �And we won�t until you�re exactly the
same weight as when we first met.� My
limo�s waiting,� said Maurice slipping the camera into his briefcase. He leaned
down to kiss Christine on the forehead then turned to leave.
��� �What are you going to do with those
pictures,� cried Christine?
��� �Show them to Jean Paul.� They should be good for a laugh,� said
Maurice as he stepped out the front door.