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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 fiancé 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 fiancé 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.
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