It Happened in France

IT HAPPENED IN FRANCE

Chapter 1

My husband and I returned from our trip to the south of France late last summer, and it has taken me this long to come to terms with what happened while there. I think I've at last accepted all that happened, as well as what was implied for the future, and now I'm going to try to relate the events of that wonderful vacation.

We had intended to spend the entirety of our stay in France traveling from city to city on tour buses, taking in the sights and scents of a foreign country, and learning everything we could of the ways its culture differed from ours. That plan was changed, and changed radically in the very-first city, actually closer in size to a town than a city, where we spent our first night.

It was the second day in that town that we met a woman and her husband who soon came to be very important in our lives, and I'm going to attempt to tell you everything I can about them, and how they changed us.

We slept late that first morning in our room in a small hotel, then after asking for directions to a cafe that served breakfast, spent at least two hours sitting at our sidewalk table eating the meal that was served us. After that Glenn and I began a walking tour of the area, our eyes filled with the local architecture, which featured homes that had been painted in a riot of colors, in stark contrast to the usual shades of white that are so often found in the States.

We had been walking around the area for more than an hour when we passed in front of a home that had a small retail shop on the ground floor, with the living quarters above. That same style could be seen seemingly everywhere, and I don't know what it was about this one that caught our eyes, but something did. Maybe it was the attractive combination of colors on the walls, the shutters, and the gingerbread trim, or maybe it was the sign on the fence that named the business within.

The sign read "BIJOUTERIE,' which our travel guide told us meant that it was a jewelry store, and the sign was artfully crafted and painted, which caught my eye. Glenn, though, was more drawn by the chance that he could find an excuse to buy me another set of earrings, or a necklace, or a ring, all of which I have more than I'll ever be able to wear. I've never been able to say no to his gifts, because I actually do love to receive them, even though I certainly don't need them. Of course, every time he gives me another present, it's a good excuse to get in his pants as my way of thanking him. In other words, both of us love to fuck, and we've always done so when given the slightest excuse.

We walked through the gate, then up the sidewalk to the front of the house, where we saw a sign beside the door reading, "ENTRER." Since we didn't need to consult our guide to understand that word, Glenn opened the door for me and we both walked in.

I was immediately struck by the tasteful design and arrangment of the shop, and was pleased that the merchandise had been carefully selected and displayed, rather than there being so much "stuff" that it was difficult to find what I was looking for. That part alone put me in "buyer's mode," and when I saw how attractive the jewelry was presented, I knew we wouldn't be walking out empty-handed.

There were two women standing in front of one of the display cases as we entered, and when one of them turned to us and said something in French, I was sure she was either the owner or a salesperson. In reply I asked, "Do you speak English?" and she smiled as she shook her head and held up her hand. I heard her call out "Jean-Marc!" and in just a few seconds a man walked through a door in the rear wall of the shop.

The woman said something to him, and as he approached he held our his hand to Glenn, saying, "Welcome to my wife's shop. I'm her husband, Jean-Marc, and I speak barely enough English to get by, so I can help you find what you need."

Glenn gave his own name as he shook hands with Jean-Marc, and then when he spoke my name, the man took my extended hand in his, leaned over it, and gave me the Gallic kiss. That means he didn't slobber on me like so many American males tend to do when trying to appear suave, but rather lightly brushed the back of my hand with his dry lips.

It was at that moment that the other customer left the shop, and the lady who had summoned Jean-Marc approached us. She stood there as he introduced the three of us, giving her name as Anne-Claire, and then she took my hand in hers in greeting. When she also extended her hand to Glenn, he did his best to imitate the way her husband had kissed my hand, which made her smile as she looked at me and said, "Your . . ., uh, your mari, . . ."

That seemed to tax her knowledge of English, and she turned to Jean-Marc for help, which he supplied by saying, "husband."

She then tried again, and completed her thought by saying, "Oui. Your husband kisses like our men. Tres bien. Very . . ., uh, good, non?"

I returned her smile as I replied, "Yes. My husband is very good, in all the ways a woman requires."

Jean-Marc supplied the translation for his wife, and then the two of them laughed with us at the double meaning of my words.

I was sure Anne-Claire had better things to do than stand around engaging in small talk with two American tourists, so I told her I was interested in looking at some new jewelry. I suggested earrings, but instead of replying she took both my hands in hers and then stepped back as she looked my body over from head to foot. At last she shook her head, then said, "Non. Nothing so, so . . ., uh, simple. Your . . .," but at that point the words wouldn't come.

She spoke rapidly to her husband, and I turned to him as he spoke.

"Anne-Claire says your body is simply too delicious to stop with earrings. She says your eyes are the embodiment of the finest-quality obsidian, and you need jewelry that will enhance them. She asks that you put yourself in her hands, and allow her to select something for you."

What else could I do but agree, so I turned back to her as I said, "Oui. I'm yours to do with as you will."

Jean-Marc's translation must have said, or at least intimated something more than I had meant to say, because I saw her eyes open wide as she returned my gaze. Then, in complete silence, her eyes dropped to where my boobs were hiding under my blouse, which was chastely buttoned above them. As she stared at that part of my body, I knew exactly what she was thinking, because it was undoubtedly what I always thought when I looked at another woman in that manner. And that was, "I wonder what she looks like naked. I wonder how big her tits are, and how hard her nipples will be when I suck them."

I know that, you see, because I've been bisexual since I entered puberty, and my older sister and I became lovers. Ever since that time, I've never hesitated to have affair after affair with other women, although that doesn't mean I have no time for men, too. I guess the fact that I married one of them should speak to that, shouldn't it? Actually, I've always thought that about 60% of me is lesbian, while the other 40% is straight. Whatever, I love having sex with both genders, and do so whenever the opportunity presents itself.

Anyway, that's why I was sure I could read Anne-Claire's mind when she was looking at my boobs. I did my part to encourage her by checking out those parts of her own body, and sure enough, my nipples began to grow by leaps and bounds. Since I've never made a practice of wearing a brassiere, the expanding bumps under my blouse must have been easy for her to see, and the way her eyes opened even more widely just confirmed that her interest in me was a great as mine in her.

At last she cleared her throat, then dropped one of my hands and led me to a display case at the rear of the shop. Everything displayed in it was either a set of earrings or a necklace, and right in the middle-front of the case was a head-and-shoulders bust that contained a matched set that had both.

The earrings were fashioned of gold, and the stones were the blackest, most-shiny that I had ever seen. The necklace, had a matching stone mounted in a gold finding, and it was attached to a gold chain that would be fastened around my neck. She indicated them as she said, "These were . . ., uh, made for you, Sharon. They match your eyes, oui? You make them more, . . ., uh, more beautiful, and they make you more beautiful. Yes?"

Before I could even begin to reply, Glenn spoke for the first time in so long that I was actually startled to hear his voice. I guess I'd been so entranced with Anne-Claire that I had forget all about him.

He said, "They're beyond beautiful, and if Sharon wears them, they'll be even more so." He then turned to me as he asked, "Honey, will you let me get them for you. Anne-Claire's right when she says they were made for you. Let's take them, okay?"

"Well, I think maybe you should see them on me before spending so much money on them." Then, turning to Anne-Claire I asked, "Would it be acceptable for us to see them in place before we make our decision?"

Jean-Marc translated that for her, and her face absolutely lit up as she immediately replied, "Certainement! Permit me, si vous s'il vous plait." I guessed what she was saying, given the situation, and smiled at her as I replied, "Of course."

That was all the encouragement she needed to unlock the glass case, pick up the bust, and carry it to a nearby desk with a large mirror in front of it. After placing the bust on the desk, she pulled out the chair sitting there, and as she indicated it with a pointing finger, said, "Please." As I seated myself she took one of the earrings off the display model, and as I pulled my hair back to help her fasten it to my ear, she pushed the tiny stud through the piercing and snapped it in place. The second earring was soon in position on my other ear, and she gave me time to turn my head from side to side as I looked at the jewelry.

I expected her to then place the necklace around my neck, but instead of doing that she spoke to her husband, and he translated her words for me.

"Anne-Claire says the chain on the necklace is too short to display the stone in its proper position. She asks if it would be all right with you is she adjusts your blouse so you can see how French women would wear it."

Of course I gave my permission, and was then shocked as she moved to stand behind me, reached around my body and opened the top three buttons on my blouse. Before I could even think to stop her, her hands were pushing the garment over my shoulders, and then almost halfway down my upper arms. That caused the top half of my boobs to be entirely exposed, with my engorged nipples the only things keeping the blouse from falling further. And, yes, they were not only still hard from Anne-Claire's earlier appraisal of them, but probably twice as big as before.

She never stopped to give me a chance to protest, but instead took the necklace from the bust and held the two ends of the chain low enough that the beautiful stone nestled between my boobs, looking for all the world as if that's where it was always meant to be. All I could do was sit there in silence as I gazed at the entrancing sight in the mirror, loving the way the glistening highlights from the black stone drew attention to not only the exposed half of those parts of my body, but also to the two huge bumps barely concealed by my low-hanging blouse.

There was complete silence in the shop for several heartbeats, at last broken by Anne-Claire's voice murmuring in my ear.

"When Charles VII was king, the . . ., uh, the femmes, wore their, uh, their tops even lower. May I . . ., uh, show you, s'il vous plait?"

I'll never know why I nodded my head in answer instead of just jerking my blouse back where it was supposed to be and walking out of the shop, but I didn't. I've thought many times how different the next days would have been if I had done that. But, I didn't. Instead I just sat there as she slowly lifted the top edge of my blouse over my rock-hard nipples, then slowly pushed it even lower, until at last every bit of my tits had been exposed to the eyes of everyone in the room.

I heard Jean-Marc gasp, then in a ragged voice whisper, "Dieu au Paridis! My god, Glenn, how are you still even sane, after being given that vision every night of your life?"

His wife added her own appreciation as she said in halting English, "Oh, Sharon, even . . ., even without the stone your seins are . . ., are tres belle, but now they are magnifique!"

Glenn added his own assessment when he said in a strained voice, "We want to buy them. I've never seen anything more beautiful."

That seemed to seal the purchase, but I was more than a little hesitant, because unlike Glenn I've never gotten a thrill out of spending money. I had seen the discreet placard beside the bust that noted the price of the matched set as 800 euros, and while I didn't know the exact rate of exchange, I was sure the price in U.S. currency would be almost $900. That seemed an awfully high price for nothing more than something that would be worn very rarely. Still, Glenn was insistent that he needed to buy them for me, so I at last agreed.

After the sale had been agreed upon, Anne-Claire reluctantly, or so it seemed to me, pulled my blouse back up where it had been. She spoke to Jean-Marc, and he translated her words.

"Anne-Claire says that I am to extend the chain so the necklace stone will be held in its rightful place, as we just saw. It will take me no more than an hour to do so, and if you would return after that, it will be ready for you. Is that acceptable?"

Glenn said that it was, and then he asked if there were a bank nearby where we could get a cheque in the correct amount to bring with us when we came back. Jean-Marc gave him directions to the bank where they had their account.

I reluctantly removed the earrings and placed them on the desk, then pulled my blouse over my shoulders and buttoned it. As I stood up, ready to leave, Anne-Claire said, "Sharon, please come with me," and walked toward the door in the back of the shop. Not knowing what else to do, I followed along behind her, still bedazzled by memories of the sensation of her hands as they pushed my blouse over my tits.

She stopped as soon as we had both walked through the doorway, then with nothing being said, took me in her arms and gave me the most-erotic kiss I'd ever had. Our arms were wrapped around each other; our lips were pressed so tightly together that they hurt. What I remember most of all, though, is the way her tongue insistently pressed against my mouth, demanding entrance to my body.

Given no choice, I relaxed my lips and opened myself to the invader.

I've been kissed, and had kissed another woman like that many, many times, but never, never had I become so instantly aroused as happened to me when Anne-Claire forced her tongue deep into my mouth. I could think of nothing but how it would feel if it were in my pussy, instead, and how she would taste if mine were deep in hers. In short, I had already become her lover in thought, if not in deed.

At last she released me and pulled back far enough to allow her to gaze deeply into my eyes. She must have found the confirmation there she was looking for, because her only words were, "Tonight you will come to me. You and your . . ., your . . . husband will come to dinner, and then we will see . . ., more, non, all of you. Oui?"

All I could do was nod my head until at last my throat would work, and I could answer.

"Oui. Yes. I'll come to you. I want it to happen."

Her only reply was a curt, "Bien. We dine at 7:00. Don't make me wait for you."

She then turned away and walked up the stairway leading to what I assumed was their living quarters above. As for me, I returned to the shop, where I told Jean-Marc that his wife had invited us for dinner that evening, and we would have the cheque ready when we saw him then.

We said our good-byes and walked to the bank where they confirmed our credit, then printed the cheque. After that, we made our way back to our hotel room, where we spent the time aimlessly talking. I know my mind was on only one thing, and that thing was what seemed intended to happen that night when we returned to Anne-Claire's home.

It was almost more than I could do to wait.





IT HAPPENED IN FRANCE

Chapter 2

We were approaching Anne-Claire's home about ten minutes before the appointed time, which meant we would undoubtedly be early, and I didn't want us to appear rude by doing that. So, we slowly circled the block, checking our watches every few seconds. Then, precisely as the huge clock on the tower above their City Hall was chiming the hour, Glenn knocked on the side door we had been told to use.

Jean-Marc must have been waiting right inside the door, because it swung open almost before Glenn had a chance to lower his hand from the knocker. We were invited inside, and again the greeting ritual of handshakes and the kiss on the back of my hand was repeated, just as before. We were told that Anne-Claire was upstairs taking care of the last-minute preparations, and then our host escorted up the stairway.

The home we entered was just as tastefully furnished and decorated as the downstairs shop, and it was as Glenn and I were complimenting the decor that our hostess entered. She was wearing a simple dress, similar to the one she'd worn earlier that day, but not as formal. Her blouse, unlike mine, was open almost all the way down, revealing more than half of her breasts, and the ruffled bodice was draped off her shoulders.

This time her actions were not as reserved as they had been when we entered her shop, and rather than extending her hand to me, she pressed her body against mine, held me tightly, and kissed me in a reprise of the kiss we had shared a few hours before. This time my own tongue was ready for the invasion, and it seemed we spent an eternity with hers exploring the farthest reaches of my mouth, and mine doing its level best to respond in kind.

When our lips at last parted, we were both breathless to the point of almost gasping for air. As my eyes cleared, I turned toward our husbands to see how they were taking our wanton display, and was pleased to see that both of them had noticeable bulges in their trousers. I was sure Glenn would respond in that way, because he had always been turned on the most by watching me make love to another woman. His arousal at seeing another man fucking me was nearly as great, but I had known from the first that he would always choose to see me locked in love with another of my gender, rather than with a man.

Oddly enough, I had the same reaction when it came to seeing him making love to another person; I always preferred to watch him sucking a cock, or being fucked in his back door, rather than watching him fucking someone of my own gender. I don't know if that's strange or not, but I do know that many other women in the swingers' club we belong to feel much the same way.

As Anne-Claire took my hand and led me toward a large, glass door, she spoke to her husband. He then told us, "Anne-Claire has given me the responsibility of completing the dinner preparations, with Glenn's help. Our ladies will take in the view from our balcony while they wait to be served, which is as it should be."

Then, taking Glenn's hand in his, he led my husband through another opening in the back wall, which I assumed led to the kitchen. For her part, our hostess continued to the glass door, then slid it to the side so we could step onto the balcony.

To say the view from there was striking would be an understatement, because it was simply breath-taking. The region of France we were in was near the city of Ares, which was built on the shores of a large bay that is filled by the waters of the Atlantic Ocean. Anne-Claire's home was situated on a slope that fronted the bay, and given that the balcony faced the water, the view was magnificent.

It took me a long time to soak in the sight of all the sailboats making their leisurely way across the bay, as well as the spectacular sunset that cast orange light across the waters of the Atlantic beyond a peninsula on the opposite side of the bay. To a girl who was raised in Southern Mexico, then later lived in Texas and Colorado, the view simply had no equal.

Anne-Claire gave me as long as I needed to see everything, and then at last led me to a table sitting nearby, with four chairs around it. Saying nothing, she pointed to what was lying on the tabletop, and as my eyes dropped, I saw the two earrings and the lengthened necklace. The last rays of the setting sun illuminated the three stones, and the rainbows coruscating from them seemed to my eyes, at least, to be the equal of the spectacular scenery.

She took one of the earrings from the table, and my hands automatically responded by pulling back my hair so she could attach it to my left ear. Then, I turned so my other ear was toward her, and the other was soon in place.

Then, instead of placing the chain around my neck, she whispered, "This stone . . . demands the proper . . ., uh, . . . setting. It would be . . . sin to hide it. Oui?"

I had no idea what she meant, until, that is, she began to unbutton my blouse. At the touch of her hands on the bare skin that was being exposed, my nipples began to harden, and the eroticism of the moment coupled with the explosion of arousal that engulfed me kept me frozen in place, unable to even lift my hands to stop what she was doing.

She continued to release the buttons, not stopping until every one of them had been freed. Then, never hesitating in the least, she pushed my blouse off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

As she stood there smiling as my nipples kept growing more and more under her gaze, she whispered, "This is how . . ., uh, . . . your body was always meant to be . . . displayed. Non?"

She apparently didn't need my acquiescence, because she never hesitated in the least as she picked up the necklace from the table, and then fastened it around my neck. The shock of the stone settling in place between my tits, seemingly ice cold, made me gasp in shock. Her only reaction was to smile as she stepped back so she could have a better view of my head and chest.

The silence was complete as she reached out with both hands and caressed my tits, and it was only when both nipples were bigger around than my thumbs and were standing out more than an inch that she at last sighed. Then she whispered, "My lovely Sharon, you will . . ., uh, . . . never again cover them when . . . when you are here in my home. Comprendre?"

I don't know if it was because I agreed with her, or simply that my brain was by then centered between my legs, but whatever it was, my answer was nothing but a tiny nod of my head followed by the single word, "Oui."

That did nothing but encourage her efforts to arouse me, and she then concentrated on my nipples, which by then had reached their limits of growth, or so I thought. What she then started doing proved me wrong.

Apparently satisfied that her caresses had produced the intended effect, she moved her fingers to my nipples. Gripping each one with her thumbs and fingers, she began to tug on them, and then when I didn't protest that sort of treatment, she twisted them as far as she could. Even that wasn't enough punishment for them, apparently, because in an instant she jerked them as far away from my body as possible, and I was simply lost. I could feel my pussy juices begin to flow, and knew the crotch of my panties would be soaked if anyone thought to look at them.

I didn't even realize I had thrown back my head and pushed my chest toward her as far as possible until I heard her voice coming from far, far away. Her voice was ragged as she struggled to say, "You like, Oui? You like . . . douleur. . ., uh, pain, don't you? Tell me, Sharon!"

I opened my eyes far enough that I could see the expression of high arousal on her face, and how her lips were parted as she gasped for breath. At that point, I was completely incapable of lying to her, and my only answer had to be, "I love it! I always have."

She gasped out, "Bien! In days . . . ahead I give . . . more . . . much pain. All of body . . . every part to hurt . . . Is . . ., is what you want, oui?"

From somewhere deep inside my soul came the only possible answer.

"Please. Please do that to me."

As my words of acceptance penetrated her haze of arousal, her eyes cleared and she whispered, "Mine . . . now." She then released my pain-wracked nipples, took me in her arms, and kissed me with more passion than I thought possible for a woman to possess. My only response was to hug her equally as tight, and as I did so our lips met again, and our tongues welcomed each other, and we kissed, although that word is entirely inadequate to describe what was actually happening.

At some point long afterwards, my eyes struggled to open as I heard a noise from behind me. When I turned my head I saw Glenn pushing a covered, metal cart onto the balcony, followed by Jean-Marc, who was pushing a similar cart stacked with dinnerware and silverware, as well as a wine bucket and four glasses.

As soon as our husbands saw the two of us standing there, they came to a halt. I heard a tiny whimper from Glenn as he began to understand what had been going on in his absence, and his attention was directed mainly to my upper body, which was completely bare. Then, as I unconsciously turned to face the two men, my poor husband's eyes opened wider than I'd ever seen them and he uttered a tiny "oh" as he saw my exposed boobs and their engorged nipples.

For his part, all Jean-Marc said was, "Well, I see our wives have been getting acquainted in our absence."

Anne-Claire smiled at that, then replied, "Oui. Sharon is plus interessant. She is . . . most . . ., uh, . . . Jean-Marc?"

He answered her implied question by saying, "My lovely wife is saying that the equally-lovely Sharon is most interesting. I think that means we'll have to devote more time after dinner to investigating all the possibilities that implies, don't you, Glenn?"

Glenn reluctantly drew his eyes from my exposed breasts and nipples before he could turn to look at the other man, but at last he was able to answer, "Definitely."

Jean-Marc smiled at my husband's evident agreement with what the future held for us, and then drew our attention to more-immediate matters.

"And now, let us share this dinner."

He opened the lid of the metal cart, releasing the delicious aromas that wafted from the food inside, then as Glenn passed him one of the plates, he began filling it. He handed the filled plate to Glenn, who carried it to the table, and placed it in front of one of the chairs. As he filled the second plate, he said, "Sharon, Anne-Claire, please be seated and let us serve you."

And so we did, and as the other plates were filled and brought to the table, she and I sat there with her right hand clasping my left, and her thumb caressing its back, just as mine was caressing hers. I know I don't need to explain what that meant to those of you of my own gender, but for the other readers, I can tell you it's an age-old signal women send to each other when they are sexually interested. Given how far our relationship had already progressed, I know our signals were redundant, but since it felt right to give them, we did.

At last the four plates were on the table and everyone but Jean-Marc was seated. He pushed the other cart close to the empty chair, then opened the wine bottle that had been cooling in the bucket. As he poured wine in each glass and sat it in front of us, he said, "And now, if I may, I will propose a toast to the four of us, and what the evening promises."

Raising his glass head high, he said, "To new friends and lovers: May they become one and the same tonight."

That sentiment must have been as agreeable to the others as it was to me, because we each raised our glass, touched it gently to the others, and then drank the wine to seal the toast. Just like that, our fate was sealed, although I wouldn't have put it in those terms at that time.



IT HAPPENED IN FRANCE

Chapter 3

I won't bore you with details of the dinner party, other than to say that it was delicious to the extreme. Most of the food was one type of seafood or another, which was very fitting, given that we were dining within sight of the Atlantic Ocean. The wine flowed freely, of course, which seems to be a given when eating anything in France.

In other words, all of us were a tiny bit tipsy, if not even more, by the time the final course of cheeses had been presented and eaten. Following the final toast, which was merely an affirmation of our desires to spend the night in bed with each other, all four of us cooperated in piling the dinnerware and silverware on the two carts. We then wheeled them to the kitchen, rinsed everything before putting it in the dishwasher, and then walked out of the room, hand in hand. That is, my hand was in Anne-Claire's and Glenn's was in Jean-Marc's.

Anne-Claire announced that the two of us had been given far too much wine, and we needed to pay a visit to "the toilette."

She led me down the hallway to one of their bathrooms, while Jean-Marc and Glenn went to another part of the house, probably with the same intention. We entered the small room, which was appointed with all the usual and expected facilities, and in utter silence she reached down and unfastened my slacks. As she pushed them down my legs, then did the same with my panties, she said softly in her husky voice, "You . . ., uh, sit first. You piss first."

Well, that was direct enough, so I raised the lid and sat down. I had certainly done that many, many times in the company of other women, and lots of times I was with a woman, or women, who were my lovers, so it was nothing new. What was new, however, was the new slant to our relationship that Anne-Claire had introduced when she asked me about my need for pain to be closely associated with pleasure. There had been two other women in my past who had discovered that part of my personality, but it had taken then many days, if not weeks, to learn that about me. Anne-Claire, though, had known immediately that I needed that sort of thing, and not only that, but she had at least implied, if not promised, that it would be an important part of what happened that very night.

As soon as I was seated, she dropped to her knees in front of me and immediately began pinching and pulling my still-engorged nipples. She almost growled as she said, "You piss now, or I . . . I pull off . . . your mamelons. Do it!"

I'm sure it's a very-good thing my bladder was so full of wine, and I needed to pee badly. Otherwise, I have no doubt my nipples would be lying on her bathroom floor in less than a minute. Nature saved me, though, and in a heartbeat the sound of water splashing in water was loud, and I was sighing in relief as much as in arousal at the pain my tits were being given.

When my flow stopped, Anne-Claire tore off a short length of toilet tissue, then reached between my legs and wiped my pussy. I have to confess that I had been hoping she would do more while her hand was down there, but she seemed to have the same pressing need as I had earlier. So, she regained her feet, pulled me to mine, and then placed her hands on my shoulders to indicate she wanted me on my knees.

I knelt in front of her, and no coaching was needed to tell me what needed to be done. I unfastened her own slacks, then grasping both them and her panties, pulled both down and off her body as she lifted her feet in turn. Then, oh, then! All I could do was stare transfixed at her crotch, marveling at how much hair surrounded it. I knew that meant that her delicious scent would be trapped there, unlike my own completely-bare crotch.

I was utterly unable to stop my head from leaning forward, almost as if a chain connected my nose and lips to that wonderful part of her body. I know I whimpered in frustration when her hand push me back, but rather than remaining disappointed, I became ever more excited as she whispered, "Not yet, Sharon. My vagin taste more . . ., more good after I piss for you."

And then, as I knelt there trembling with desire, she seated herself on the toilet. She spread her legs far out to the sides, then pulled my head down until my nose was buried between them. From many miles away, I heard her sigh of satisfaction as her stream began, and then its pungent aroma found its way from my nose to my brain, and I was lost is fantasies that would disgust many, if not most of you. In my defense, I can only say that I have always loved anything and everything that is associated with that part of a woman's body, and when Anne-Claire held my face so tightly against her crotch as she peed, I was literally in heaven.

At some point in time I felt my head being pushed away from its rightful home, and then heard her whisper, "Wipe my vagin, Sharon. Be my body slave."

Before my hand had barely moved toward the tissue roll, her sharp command came.

"Non! You not waste my piss! Use your langue . . . your . . . tongue."

Before I could respond in any way, she had placed both hands on the toilet seat to steady herself, then lifted her legs one at a time and placed them on my shoulders. I knew exactly what was expected of me, and as I'd done so many times before with other womens, I placed my hands under her bottom and lifted and pulled her delicious pussy to my mouth.

I was lost in the wonderful taste of her wet slit, and licked it with every ounce of my strength. Over and over I swirled my tongue deep inside her, then brought it back to my mouth so her essence could be delivered to its rightful home in my tummy. I would probably still be doing that if not for her pitiful cry of, "My clitoris! Hurry!"

All on its own, my tongue moved up her slit the short distance required to find that part of her body that so desperately needed it, and I licked and sucked and licked and sucked it with every fiber of my being. At last, my efforts were rewarded as she pressed her crotch even more strongly against my lips, and then she cried out in a wordless expression that was part agony and part pleasure. It's a sound I've loved to hear since the very-sfirst time I helped another woman achieve orgasm, and I believe I'll love it for the rest of my life.

Both of us were frozen in that position for a long time as I gently licked her pussy, helping her recover from the huge orgasm she'd just had. At last she came back to reality, and as she lifted her legs off my shoulders and placed her feet on the floor, she looked deep into my eyes as she whispered, "You are a pissoir in America, Sharon?"

I recognized the first part of that strange word, but wasn't sure what all of it together meant, so I shook my head a tiny bit as I said, "I don't know what that means."

She reached out to tenderly stroke my lips with her fingers, and as she traced their outlines, she explained, "It means . . ., it means other women . . ., use your, your mouth . . . as their . . . their toilette. For their piss. You do that, non?"

The only possible answer was one of total honesty, and I replied, "I do that, oui."

She smiled in a self-satisfied way that told me she had been merely confirming what she had already suspected, and then she added. "Bien, we will . . ., use you, Sharon. Many women will use you."

After that, there was nothing left for us to do but flush the toilet, turn off the lights, and make our way to the bedroom, hand in hand.

We had barely turned back the covers and climbed atop the matress when our husbands came into the room. They, too, were holding hands, and the goofy expression on Glenn's face told me he was just as in love with Jean-Marc and I was with Anne-Claire. I recognized the source of my husband's fascination as soon as both men removed their clothing, because Glenn's monster was standing at attention, undoubtedly as big and as hard as I'd ever seen it.

In contrast, Jean-Marc's own organ was, while definitely not shrunken, not anywhere near being fully-erect. That was all the evidence I needed to know that what was now flagging had been standing proud just moments before, and undoubtedly buried in Glenn's mouth as he sucked his reward from the balls hanging between our host's legs.

That must have been the first time Anne-Claire had any idea that Glenn's penis was so large, because I heard her gasp in surprise as she stared at it as he walked toward the bed. She said something to Jean-Marc, and in his answer I could make out the words, ". . . vingt-six centimeters." That was how I knew Jean-Marc was telling her Glenn's measurement, and although I didn't recognize the first number, by thinking back to my arithmetic classes, I knew that his length of more than 10" would be greater than twenty-five centimeters.

Her response to that information was also in French, and drew a mysterious response translation from our host.

"Anne-Claire says your husband will be a great trophy, Sharon."

Before either Glenn or I could think of a response to that, the four of us were soon entwined in the bed, everybody kissing everybody else, and fingers, lips, and tongues busy giving each other as much pleasure as possible. Believe me, when four aroused people are doing their best to turn each other on, it's "possible" to get very turned on, indeed.

By the time Jean-Marc's hardon had been restored, Anne-Claire's own libido had been stoked once again. She took charge of us as she said, "Now we make . . . collations . . . Jean-Marc, what word?"

His single-word answer of "snacks" was easily understood by both Glenn and I, especially when it was coupled with her rolling to her back and beckoning to my husband. For his part, Jean-Marc breathed, "Merci!" and needed no further invitation to push me onto my own back, pull my legs apart, and hover over me while guiding his penis inside my pussy.

In less time than it takes to tell, Anne-Claire was whimpering as Glenn's huge dick was working its way inside her, and her husband was kissing me on my lips, my ears, my neck, and everywhere else he could reach, while interspersing his kisses with romantic words about my beauty, my desirabililty, and the tightness of my pussy. I knew the last part was complete fabrication, of course, because years of fucking Glenn had left me permanently stretched. My lover was certainly not small, by any means, but his organ was easily two inches shorter than Glenn's more-than-ten-inch monster. Not only that, but Jean-Marc could never hope to fill me in the way my husband did with his weapon that was three inches across.

Still, the fucking was well done, and not much more than two minutes following Glenn's climax, Jean-Marc was imitating his example.

When Anne-Claire saw that her husband had done his duty, she told the men to get on their backs, and then as she mounted Jean-Claire's face, I did the same with Glenn. I had been doing exactly that for more years than I care to count, some of the times with the cum of three men inside my pussy, and it was just as exciting the last time as it was the first.

By the time our husbands had licked and sucked us clean, we were all so exhausted that the bedroom light was barely turned off before we were all asleep. I don't know about the others, but as for me, I never awakened even once during the night, and was surprised to see it was full daylight when my eyelids at last parted to welcome the day.

_______________

That night set the pattern for those that followed, and I won't bore you with the gory details, other than to tell you that I was fucked more during the next four days than I would normally be in the course of a full month. When Jean-Marc wasn't inside me, it was Anne-Claire doing the honors with her strapon. Between the two of them, there was something buried in my pussy seemingly continuously. That didn't include Glenn, in case you were wondering; he had been forbidden from fucking me because our hosts didn't want him stretching me so much Jean-Marc wouldn't be able to receive any enjoyment. And that was fine with me; I knew my husband would make up for lost time when we returned to our home. Actually, to tell the truth, Jean-Marc was a much-better lover, and I wanted to enjoy his attentions just as much as possible.

What was different from the usual fuck-and-suck routine you're probably envisioning was that Anne-Claire held me to my agreement to not wear anything above my waist when I was in her home. I truly didn't mind, because I knew it excited her to see my tits sticking out, and my nipples hugely engorged. And anything that excited her was great by me, because it meant I would get more sex from her, and I loved that part dearly.

During the day, I would be told to accompany Anne-Claire to her downstairs shop so I could help with cleaning and arranging the displays. Anytime I heard the chimes that signalled the gate had been opened, I would hurry to the back room and remain there until the customers had departed.

That routine changed during the third morning I was in the shop, and the change introduced even more excitement into my already exciting life.

When the chimes rang that morning, I fled to the back room and waited in silence until I heard the customer leave. That time was different, because less than two minutes after I heard voices in the display room, Anne-Claire called out, "Sharon, I need you here."

I walked back into the shop, expecting to find her alone, and was dumbstruck when I saw two other women standing there with her. I must have frozen in place, because it was only when she said angrily, "Get over here! Now!" that I was able to make my legs work again, and take me to her side.

The two strangers were staring directly at my bare tits, and I remember thinking that I was glad that at least my nipples had shrunk until they were lying almost flat against my flesh. That must have made Anne-Claire even more angry at me, because she looked at the women as she said, "There, you see? I say how big they are, and she shames me."

One of them looked at me in sympathy, then said in good English, "She can't help it, Anne-Claire. I know from living in their country that women there are taught to be ashamed of their bodies and the responses they make." Then, turning to me once again, she said softly, "Let us help you, Sharon."

She and the other stranger then moved closer to where I was standing, and before I even knew what they intended, their hands were caressing my tits and pinching and tugging my nipples. I was helpless to prevent the inevitable from happening, and in just seconds those two parts of my body were once again standing proud, and when they then began to punish them my head fell back and I pushed my chest out as far as it would go.

As if from a million miles away, I heard one of the visitors say, "My god, Anne-Claire, you were right! They're huge!" Then the other woman added, "And not only that, but she really does love it rough, doesn't she? Fuck, I think we could make her cum just by working on her tits." She then shocked me by asking, "Have you whipped them yet, Anne-Claire? I'll bet you could make her cum continuously if you really worked them over with your whip."

I barely heard my lover when she replied, "Non. We plan to do that to both of them Saturday night at the meeting, so you should be there to help."

They both spoke at once in their enthusiasm, and the sense of their words was that they wouldn't miss it for the world, and they couldn't wait to see my tits covered with red stripes, and they were hoping Glenn would stay hard for them when it was his turn in the stocks. To say that I was on the edge of passing out would have been an understatement, because I was so far done by then that I would have fallen over backwards if not for the tight grips they had on my nipples.

When I regained my sanity enough to understand what was being said, I could tell they were saying their good-byes, all the time promising to be at the "meeting" on Saturday night. Then the door was closing behind them, and Anne-Claire was holding me against her so tightly I could barely breathe, and then she was kissing me and I was kissing her, and then I was being led to the back room where I was pushed to my knees and she lifted her skirt over my head and I licked her to orgasm.

Since that happened on Friday, it was the next night that Glenn and I were to be whipped as other people gathered around and either participated or watched. I didn't know at the time that Jean-Marc had already warned my husband to expect that to happen, and I was so ashamed that I couldn't force myself to talk to him about what I'd heard. Instead, I made the decision to let nature take its course, and what would happen would happens, whether we wanted it to happen or not.





IT HAPPENED IN FRANCE

Chapter 4

The next day, that fateful Saturday, dawned bright and clear, but my brain was so befogged that it could have been a rainy day for all I knew. All I could think of was being taken before a group of strangers, forced to strip, and then placed in "stocks," whatever they were. I had seen pictures of the stocks the Pilgrims used to punish those who broke the rules, and guessed the same sort of thing would be used to punish Glenn and me.

Believe me, the visions that ran through my fevered brain as I tried to imagine being restrained in that manner, and then being viciously whipped by one and all, simply cannot be described here. I imagined being paraded to the stocks, and then my naked body being forced to bend over backwards until my neck and wrists would be placed in their respective openings.

But, most of all, I fantasized about the way my naked body would be displayed to every eye in the room, most especially when my ankles were drawn as far apart as they would go, and then tied there. That would be when the whipping would start, and as everyone in the room gathered around my helpless body, they would whip me and whip me as I cried out in pain and agony, and they would make me beg them to whip my tits as hard as they could, and then when those parts of my body had been torn to shreds, to beg them to whip my cunt until the same thing had happened to it.

In short, I was lost in fantasy for most of the day, and remember very little of it until we all went for a ride in the countryside late that afternoon, up the hill behind the house. The view from there was even more breath-taking than it was from lower down, but as I said, it made little impact on me at the time.

It was only when we had reached the top of the hill, and Anne-Claire began talking about a mansion that was very beautiful that I took note of my surroundings. We were at the time driving alongside a high, stone wall, and Jean-Marc explained that it surrounded the entire grounds of the mansion. He said in passing that the wall was topped with broken glass, and in addition to that, there were several strands of barbed wire above that.

I remember Glenn saying that he couldn't see the wire, and Jean-Marc responding that it had been installed so that it leaned in at a sharp angle. My husband thought that was strange, since if the purpose were to keep people out, the wire should lean to the outside. Both Jean-Marc and Anne-Claire laughed as he said, "It's not for keeping people out, Glenn. It's to keep them in."

He then continued talking about the people who lived in the mansion, filling in details that did nothing to ease my mind.

"The place is owned by the Count and Countess de ________, and they call it 'Le Chateau.' They are known to be direct descendants of the Marquis de Sade, a person I'm sure you've heard of. Non?"

Glenn answered for both of us, because my throat was completely locked closed by then. I had read every de Sade book I could find in my high school years, and I have no doubt it was his descriptions of torturing women that helped develop my own lust for pain. I especially remembered his story, "120 Days of Sodom," for its grisly descriptions of tortures that were applied to both boys and girls, and how I used to masturbate furiously as I pictured them in my head.

I guess I was not surprised when just about then, the car began to slow, and as Anne-Claire took a small device out of her purse and pressed a button on it, an ornate metal gate began to swing open. The car hesitated until the gate was wide enough to admit it, and then we proceeded down the driveway toward the mansion. As I turned to look out the rear window, I saw the gate swinging shut, and in my head I could imagine the solid "click" as it locked itself in place. I knew at that moment that we had come to the place where the meeting would be held, and where Glenn and I would be stripped, secured in stocks, and whipped as sadists laughed at our writhing bodies and screams of agony.

There were other cars parked around a large circular driveway in front of the house, and soon ours joined them. As the four of us got out, Anne-Claire took my hand as Jean-Marc took Glenn's, and we were led to the door. At the press of a button, the door swung inward to reveal a man wearing the fanciest uniform I'd ever seen. He said in French, "Bienvenue, s'il vous plait entrer." The meaning was plain enough, and the four of us walked into the front room.

I barely remember the room, other than it had a pair of magnificent, curving staircases leading to the second floor, and the whole of it looked to be fashioned of marble. There were many paintings hanging on the walls, but since they were of scenery, I don't recall much of them.

That changed, though, as we were led down a hallway, which was also lined with paintings. Those, in contrast, are sharp in my memory, because every one of them depicted a scene of women and men being tortured. Jean-Marc told us in a soft voice, "Every scene on these walls is based on the Marquis' books. If you've read them, then I'm sure you recognize what's being done to the victims."

I don't know about Glenn, but I did recognize almost every scene, especially the ones showing girls and women being tortured. They had been etched in my brain by the emotions they aroused in me when I had read those stories as a teenager, and I just wished we could have paused before each one so I could relive it once again.

However, the butler didn't have time to indulge my unvoiced wishes, and continued to lead us further down the hallway, past scene after scene of naked people being tortured with red-hot irons, horribly-long needles, or whips of every description. The effect was that by the time the butler opened a door in the side wall, and then announced, "Madame Anne-Claire et Monsieur Jean-Marc, et leurs invites Sharon et Glenn," I was literally insane with my overwhelming need to climax.

There must have been eleven other couples already in the room, and every eye turned our way. Then, a man and woman detached themselves from the group and approached, both of them staring intently at us. He was the first to speak.

"Sharon and Glenn, I am Count ________ and this lovely creature is my wife, Countess ____________. Welcome to our humble home. It was so good of you to come all the way from America to entertain us, and it was good of our beloved friends to find you and bring you to us."

The woman then came closer and took my hands in hers, and as she stared directly at my face, and then at the lumps of flesh on my chest, she echoed her husband's welcome to us. Then, to my utter shock she added, "We've all been waiting breathlessly for you to arrive, and we simply cannot be kept waiting another moment longer. Please remove every article of your clothing and place them in the box by the door. You won't be needing them for many hours."

That brought a general chorus of agreement from the others, but it left me so stunned that I had no ability to even blink my eyes, let alone get undressed. Luckily Anne-Claire took charge at that moment, and she spoke in her harshest voice as she ordered, "Sharon, strip yourself this instant! And you, Glenn, do the same!"

It took the sight of Glenn unbuttoning his shirt to make me once again capable of responding to the order I had been given, and my own hands moved to the top button of my blouse and unfastened it. After that, force of habit took over and the other buttons were quickly released, and then my hands were pushing the thing over my shoulders.

After that I think I next stepped out of my shoes and took off my socks, but I'm not sure. I do know that when I opened my slacks and pushed them down, my feet were bare, so I guess that's what happened. The last remaining shred of my dignity fell to the floor along with my panties, and then I just stood there until Glenn picked up his own clothes and dropped them in the box, reminding me of the remaining order.

The Count and Countess then took our hands and led us to the center of the room, where the others gathered around us. I could hear them all speaking at once, calling attention to the size of Glenn's penis, or to my engorged nipples (which they certainly were by that time), or to my bare pussy. I overheard several comments about which parts would be "dealt with" first, but by then I was gasping for breath so hard that I couldn't hear much else.

The Count and Countess were the first to begin fondling our naked bodies, and then there was a rush to see who could pinch my nipples the hardest, or pull my pussy lips apart the farthest, or whisper in my ears the particular torture that most appealed to them. Glenn was the center of another circle of admirers, and I assume he was receiving the same treatment, although I knew he was being driven crazy by all the fondling of his penis, because I heard many times a sharp cry of, "No!" followed by the sound of his erection being slapped very forcefully. I had seen others do that to him, in the swingers' club, and I knew it would have the effect of cooling his ardor a tiny amount, and thereby preventing his ejaculation.

After we had endured several minutes of that, the butler entered the room from a side door, and although I couldn't understand what he said, he must have announced that dinner was served, because everyone headed through the door behind the man, and I saw a huge table already set with fine dinnerware and silverware. Glenn and I were led to one end of the table, where we were seated side by side, as, so the Count said, their "honored guests as well as that night's entertainment."

That brought a general bedlam of ribald comments and applause, which was silenced only by the entrance of several naked servants, each bearing filled plates. As soon as everyone had been served, the Count stood, then held his wine glass high as he said, "To our lovely Sharon and handsome Glenn. From the bottom of our hearts we thank you for wanting this night just as much as we do. I know all of my friends join me in hoping you depart tomorrow with all the things you brought with you."

Again there was a round of laughter and several comments alluding to "excisions, removal, severing, trophy-taking, etc., etc." which both horrified me and excited me far beyond any sane response. I knew my pussy was gushing by then, and somehow I found room in my brain to be horrified that someone would discover my condition. A discreet glance at Glenn's crotch showed he, too, was excited, and his penis looked so distended with lust that I thought it would surely peek over the top of the table if he couldn't be distracted.

Thankfully the Count sat down again, and the meal began. I'm sure the food was delicious, but I don't know that I tasted any of it. Not only that, but I couldn't name even a single thing I ate, if I did ever actually eat anything at all.

And then, as I knew must happen, the Count and Countess both stood, and in the complete silence she announced, "Now, my dear, dear friends, we have waited entirely too long. Shall we repair to the chamber beneath us, and initiate Sharon and Glenn into the further joys available in the House of de Sade?"

That brought a general chorus of approval, and everyone else stood as our host and hostess walked around the table. The Countess pulled my chair back from the table at the same time as the Count did the same with Glenn's, and then when we had gained our feet, they took our arms in turn and escorted us from the room. I have no idea how I was even able to walk, because my brain was entirely consumed with the need to run from the mansion as fast as I could warring with my need to beg the Countess to please hurry.

It was but a few steps from the dining room to a large door inset in the wall, and once there the Countess pushed a button. A set of doors slid back to the sides, and I could see a very-large elevator car waiting for us. She led me into the thing, then stood beside the control panel as the others filed in and squeezed together so that all could find a place. At last the final person was inside, and at the push of a button the doors closed together, and the car descended. I was filled with dread as I realized we were being taken to what was undoubtedly a torture chamber buried deeply beneath the home of people who were directly related to the infamous Marquis de Sade, and once there we would be endlessly tortured in all the ways he had described so lovingly in his books.

Just when I thought I was going to pass out, the car came to a halt and the doors opened. The Countess walked out first, with me in tow, closely followed by the Count escorting my husband. A panel of switches was affixed to the wall nearby, and as the Count flipped each in turn, overhead lights came on, each a dim red in color, further adding to the sinister effect created by all the devices and machines randomly placed throughout the large room.

We were led to the center of the room, and when I saw there two devices that were exactly like the stocks of my memory and imagination, I began to whimper in fear, and yes, more than a little lust. The Countess was the first to speak when we had come to a halt in front of one of the stocks.

"Sharon, we always offer women the choice of having their back or their front whipped. Which do you choose?"

I was quite literally unable to utter even a tiny squeak in answer, but then my memories took control of my body. Completely without any command from my brain, it walked toward one of the stocks, then stopped when my feet were on the imaginary line that extended from one of the iron rings embedded in the floor all the way to the other, at least six feet away.

My body then turned until its back was toward the stocks, and then it began to lean over backwards, not stopping until its neck was nestling in the larger, center half-circle and its wrists had found their respective homes in the smaller half-circles to each side. As the Countess lowered the top half of the stock into place, then padlocked it closed, she looked directly into my glazed eyes as she said, "Sharon, I promise we'll make it very, very good for you. Everyone in the room will use every ounce of their strength to give you the pain you need this night. Thank you for needing this as much as we do."

With that, her head left my line of sight, and the next sensation I felt was of one of my ankles being pulled far out to the side. The sensation of a rope being tied around that part of my body was all the confirmation I needed that my cunt would soon be getting what it had always needed.

The second ankle was soon secured to the other floor ring, and then I was treated to the sight of Glenn being placed in the same position as I. The stocks had been placed side by side so that my crotch was visible to him, and his to me. I was fervently wishing that I could see all the hidden parts of my body, so I could watch it being whipped when my eyes looked upwards and my prayers were answered.

The ceiling was completely covered with mirrors, and I could see a woman's naked body stretched out from the stocks that held her in place, and her legs so widespread that every part of her crotch was not only visible, but also available to whatever tortures anyone cared to visit upon it.

Beside the woman's body was that of a naked man, and he, too, had been stretched out by his own stocks and floor rings. I could see his huge organ throbbing and jumping in anticipation, not only in the mirrors but also by turning my head to look directly at it.

And then all of them gathered around our naked bodies. As I watched, Glenn's penis was tied off at the base, with the explanation that everyone wanted him to remain hard while he was tortured. That was the first time in my life that I envied his organ, because I knew that unlike him, when my own body had reached its limit, it would climax, rather than be driven to higher and higher levels of excitement.

I heard the Count announce, "They're ready for whatever you choose to do to them, friends. Give your imaginations free rein, and inflict upon their willing bodies whatever you will. Enjoy."





IT HAPPENED IN FRANCE

Chapter 5

Less than a second later, I felt hands caressing my cunt and heard the women exclaiming at how wet it was, and what a useless whore I was for being excited by the prospect of being tortured by them. Then one of them said, "Here, pull her lips out so I can get these clamps on them. Pull hard so she's opened up all the way."

The exquisite sensation of fingers touching my cunt lips and then pulling them to the side as far as possible swept through my body in an instant. Then, in the next instant I felt the touch of freezing-cold metal as something was placed along first one lip, and then the other. I heard one of them say, "Screw them down as tight as you can, because she's going to be trying to pull out of them when we start whipping her. Make sure the teeth are as deep in her as they'll go."

And then I felt the horrible, searing flash of pain as the sharpened projections on the spreader clamps sank into my tender flesh, and then were driven even deeper as the screws were turned to embed them in me. I had never in my wildest fantasies even thought of such a thing being done to my cunt, and was completely unprepared for the agonizing pain. My scream burst from my lips, but was soon silenced by the naked woman who appeared above my head. As she moved her body forward and over my face, she lowered her pussy to my mouth, then whispered, "Sharon, eat me with everything you have. If you don't make me cum, I promise I'll personally cut off both your tits and make you eat them raw."

She settled in place, and then force of habit took over and my tongue began laving her pussy. Her other opening began pushing forcefully against my nose, and I saw her hands reach behind her body and spread her cheeks as much as possible, and then as she continued pushing against my face, my nose was inside her, and I breathed as deeply as I could and in an instant forgot about the horrible pain in my cunt lips.

As I serviced her with my tongue and my nose, I felt a new sensation from my crotch. I knew some huge object was being forced inside my cunt, but until I felt it vibrating and heard someone say, "Get it all the way in so her cunt ring will hold it there. That'll force her clit up so we can get the noose around it so it'll be ready for whipping," I had no idea why they wanted to do that to me.

And then the thing was pushed deeper and deeper inside me, and the vibrating just drove me out of my mind. I tried to make myself cum, but there was no way I could do it without help, and it was impossible for me to ask for that since there was a pussy and a puckered opening on my face that needed all my attention.

At last my ring closed behind the invader, and I knew it was inside me to stay, and all I could do was thrust my crotch up and down, hoping someone would take pity on me and do what I so desperately needed. That wasn't to be, though, because they were all busy exclaiming over how my clit was extending more and more as it hardened, and then when one of them called for the noose, I just abandoned all hope of rescue.

I felt the rough fabric of the noose being tightened around my clit, and then when the command, "Pull!" was given, what I felt then overshadowed what I thought was the supreme pain from the cunt lip clamps. I forced my crotch higher and higher, trying to find some relief, but the only result was that they then pulled the rope higher and higher in turn.

It was at that instant that the woman on my face groaned and writhed, and I knew she was climaxing on my tongue, as so many others had before her. Even the intense pain in my clit and cunt lips couldn't keep me from feeling again the satisfaction I always had when I helped another woman experience that joy.

She had barely stepped away from my head when I heard Glenn cry out in pain, and as my head turned toward him I saw there was a noose around the head of his penis, and it had been pulled toward the ceiling with such force that I was sure his thing was twice as long as ever before. That wasn't the cause of his cry, though, because just at that moment the needle one of the men was pushing through the head of his dick was breaking through the side nearest me, and I lay there listening to the sound of his whimpering. That soon changed to another scream as a second needle was forced through his glans, that time from top to bottom, rather from side to side.

As I watched in fascination, four other men pushed needles through the head of his penis, and then they stepped back so the remaining six could approach his crotch. That time his screams of agony were twice as loud as before, because one by one, the men pushed their needles through his balls, until at last there were six in his dick and three in each of his balls.

I realized I hadn't heard him screaming when the final three needles were pushed through his balls, but as I looked upward at the mirror, I could see the reason. One of the men was standing above his head, with his cock buried in my husband's mouth. Given how much Glenn has always loved sucking another man, I was sure he was distracted by that, and felt the pain much less. Much the same way I had been distracted by servicing another woman, I suppose.

Just as I was sure the man Glenn was sucking was on the brink of cumming, another woman straddled my head to take my mind off what was being done to my husband. As her body settled in place against my face, and my nose entered her bottom, she said, "Would somebody give me one of the single-tails, please?"

I had no idea what that meant, until, that is, I saw her hand holding the handle of a vicious-looking whip that had just one lash. As I watched in mindless fear, her hand raised the thing almost to the ceiling, and then it disappeared from my sight for a split-second before I felt, for the first time in my life, what it meant to have my cunt whipped when it was being held widespread.

The only thing I remember is how I writhed as I tried to escape the terrible lash, and how the woman torturing me was laughing as my body plunged back and forth so wildly. And then, oh, then, all of them began whipping me and their blows fell on my tits and my cunt and my abdomen and my legs and every other place they could find to whip.

And then I blacked out.

Only to be awakened by the sensation of being burned.

The woman who had been riding my face was gone, giving me the opportunity to look above me to see what they were planning to do to me next. As the Countess bent over my face, she said, "Welcome back, Sharon. You're just in time to feel what we're going to be doing to you next. I hope you enjoy it as much as we do."

And then she was handed a steel rod, which she spat upon so I could hear it sizzle. She said, "It's just barely hot for your first time. The next time you visit us for punishment, all the tools will be red-hot so you can enjoy them more fully."

Then, as the other women laughed at my terrified cries, she lowered the rod out of my sight, and then my throat was literally torn ragged by my screams as she held the thing against one of my nipples. That was evidently the signal the others were waiting for, because I then lost consciousness once again as the other nipple, then both breasts, and then every part of my cunt were burned.

I awoke to the sound of Glenn screaming just as I had, and I turned my head his way. I saw that his penis and his balls were covered with black spots, and when I thought to look in the mirror, I could see that my tits and cunt were displaying the same marks. There was no doubt that he had been suffering the same treatment as I had been given.

That seemed to mark the end of that part of the "entertainment," for both of us were released from the stocks and the floor rings. It was simply beyond our abilities to walk, and two of the men draped Glenn's arms over their shoulders and almost dragged him away to a nearby chair, which he collapsed into as soon as they released him.

I was helped to the chair beside him, and then we were handed pills and ordered to place them in our mouths, then take a drink of water to help us swallow them. It was only then that I thought to look down at my crotch, and saw that the spreader clamps had been removed. I couldn't see my clit, but I was sure it was still in place, although the horrible throbbing from that part of my body could certainly have masked what I would feel if it had been cut off.

It was only then that I remembered my husband, and as my head turned to him, I saw that the needles had been removed from his things. I'm sure the burn marks and red stripes I saw on his body were duplicates of what he was seeing on mine, but beyond that I simply lacked the ability for further thought.

We were allowed to sit in the chairs for a few minutes, and then as I took a deep breath I realized that I didn't hurt nearly as bad as I had so shortly before. The lessening pain made me smile, and when I looked at Glenn I saw the same goofy smile on his face, telling me that he'd been given the same medication as I had.

There was one other effect the drug had on him, and it was that his flagging penis was starting to stretch, although it certainly couldn't yet stand on its own. It was right then that a burning sensation in my tits and cunt told me the same thing was happening to my body, and that we were both regaining an interest in sex.

The Count must have judged us ready for the next "treatment," because he took charge of me while his wife did the same with Glenn. We were pulled to our feet by our host and hostess, and then led to the far end of the torture chamber, and I could hear my husband struggling to breathe, just as I was. The thrill of anticipation that spread throughout my entire body was obviously filling his, also, but at the same time the twin emotions of dread and fear were equally strong.

There were two odd-looking tables attached to the floor that were evidently our destination, and when I saw the four cuffs attached to their opposite edges, I knew the two of us would soon be secured to them, ready for whatever tortures were intended for our bodies.

The tables were constructed in the shapes of turtle shells, being gently rounded from edge to edge. Each edge rested on the floor, and as I said, there were handcuffs attached to each edge. I stood there watching as the Countess led Glenn to one of the tables, then ordered him to face it and lean over. I was only then that I saw the hole in the top, about four inches in diameter and placed at the exact spot where his penis would be if he were to lie across the thing face down.

As he leaned farther and farther, the Countess took his once-again-erect organ in her hand and guided it into the hole. When his crotch was touching the surface of the table, she pressed a button and in the stillness of the room I could hear an electric motor humming. A split-second later, he whimpered in pain which caused the Count to say, "Better stop there, my love. You can close it all the way later, if he disappoints us."

I had no idea what he meant by that, but the image formed in my brain of something being forcefully closed around his cock, trapping it in its grip.

The final part of his restraint came when the four cuffs were used to secure his ankles and wrists, and that must have meant he was ready, because the Count led me to the second table. Unlike my husband, though, I was helped to lie back with my front side up, as it had been when I was in the stocks. Since I had nothing to put through a hole to secure me, the four cuffs had to suffice, and they were soon in place, just as his were.

This time, no attempt was made to stimulate us, which would have been superfluous, anyway. I've never known what drug was given us, but I do know that it had to have been what researchers have been trying to find for centuries: a powerful aphrodisiac. It had the effect on me of making my tits and nipples ache with need, while my cunt was dripping so much that I could feel my juices pooling beneath my body.

That the drug was also affecting Glenn was evident in the way his body kept humping the table where he was secured. I have no doubt he would have been ejaculating strongly if his penis had not been clamped so tightly in the hole.

And then I gave that no further thought, for the Count said in his commanding voice, "Bring them in!"





IT HAPPENED IN FRANCE

Chapter 6

As the stocks had been, the two tables were arranged so that Glenn's crotch was beside my head, but about six feet away from me. My own crotch was beside his head, and that meant that we could watch whatever was about to happen to those interesting parts of our respective bodies. Whether by design or happenstance, my head was facing the rear wall, and the door there. That was why, when the door opened, I knew before my husband did exactly what would be done to further humiliate us.

I watched unable to even breathe as a naked man walked toward us, but it wasn't him who shocked me so much. Instead, it was what he was leading through the door, holding in one hand a leash that was attached to its collar.

I've never been a dog person, so I had no idea what kind of dog it was, other than it was absolutely huge. Glenn was born and raised on a cattle ranch in Eastern Colorado, and we visit there several times each year. In the course of those visits, I've seen many cows of all sizes, and the animal that was being led toward us right then was at least as large as what ranchers call "yearlings," which are calves that are one-year old. I was told later, following our return to Anne-Claire's home that the dogs who bred us were Great Danes, so that might give you some idea of their size.

As the first man walked closer to me, heading for my husband's table, a naked woman walked through the same door, leading a second huge dog. That was when I knew both of us would soon be experiencing the humiliation and shame of being bred by dogs while people gathered around us and laughed.

I didn't give her any more thought right then, though, because just then the man was right beside me as he walked toward Glenn. That was when a lightning flash exploded in my brain, and the words, "HIS CROTCH IS EMPTY!" echoed inside my head.

And yes, that was exactly the case. As he passed by me, less than three feet away I saw no evidence of balls on his crotch, and even more, nothing to indicate he ever had a penis, other than the tiny hole where it must have been attached to his body at one time.

Then, when the woman approached me more closely, and I could see her body more clearly, my mind just went totally blank. I don't know how I could possibly have missed it at first glance, but I did, and when I saw what had been done to her, I knew that what had been done to that pair was going to be done to my husband and me.

The man had been tortured by having his penis and testicles removed, and the woman by having her breasts removed and her slit sewed shut. There was no doubt in my mind that before these people were finished with us, Glenn would look like the man and I would look like the woman.

Just as I was trying to force my throat to open so I could beg for mercy, the eunuch must have been close enough for Glenn to get a look at his crotch, and in the stillness of the room I heard his sharp gasp, followed by his ragged whisper, "Oh, god!" What I heard in his voice was not fear, not horror, but rather such ardent longing and desire, that I understood in a flash what he was seeing had an entirely different effect on him than it did me. Where I was terrified, he was aroused as much or more than I'd ever known him to be.

Before I even had time to say anything, the first dog was brought to a halt as its head reached the location of Glenn's vulnerable bottom, and when I thought to check by raising my head, I saw the second dog was standing facing my widespread cunt. I could hear both animals whimpering in anticipation and excitement, and I knew the horrible display was set to begin.

Both handlers said "Lick!" at almost the same time, and I saw "my" dog lower his head to my crotch, and then felt a sensation like no other in my life. His tongue laved my crotch from bottom to top, and it was the softest, wettest, fastest-moving thing that I'd ever felt licking me there. In a flash my embarrassment, my dread, and even my terror turned to arousal, and then a split-second later, to lust. I began to thrust that part of my body toward the questing tongue, desperate to release the orgasm that was building within me.

I knew I was crying out to anyone, anyone at all, begging them to help me cum, but there was no way my throat would keep silent. Over and over I cried, "Please! Please! Help me do it!" Even when I heard the others laughing and calling me whore and slut, I couldn't make myself stop, and it was only when I heard the twin commands of, "Mount!" that I ceased pleading and started moaning and whimpering as the dog's organ penetrated my cunt in a single, frantic thrust.

My eyes saw Glenn's lover thrusting his organ violently in and out of his puckered opening, and at the same time my cunt felt my own lover doing the same thing to it. Most of all, though, I felt the stiff hairs on his belly rubbing against my stiffening clit, and then I just blanked out and could think of nothing but how wonderful that felt, and how close to cumming I was, and how much I needed that to happen.

And then he gave one huge thrust as he buried his organ as deeply as possible inside me, and every part of me screamed in unison with his moaning as we both experienced the orgasms we needed so much.

By the time I had regained enough control of my senses to understand that both dogs were being led away by their handlers, half the men and women were gathering around Glenn and the others were encircling me. And then it started, and while one man ***** my cum-filled cunt, a woman sat on my face and ordered me to lick her to orgasm, which she quickly reached. As she moved aside so another woman could mount my tongue, I saw that Glenn was being forced to suck a penis while a woman was whipping his balls.

And then as the next woman moved off my face, I saw that another man's cock was buried in my husband's mouth, and a second woman was shoving a huge dildo up his butt.

And so it went until all twelve of them had been satisfied, and every woman and man in the room, except my poor husband, had climaxed in one way or another.

I was released first, and as I was helped to my feet by two of our new friends, I watched my husband also gain his freedom. I was amazed to see his ejaculation start just as soon as his organ was free of the hole where it had been secured, and even the sound of everyone else laughing at him was not enough to distract me from the humiliation I felt at having been bred by a dog.

As soon as Glenn was able to walk, we were both helped onto two gurneys that had been brought up to our sides by two other members of the staff, both intact males. I heard the Count announce that the "fucking room" was open for use, and as the others rushed toward an open door in the side wall, the gurneys were pushed to the elevator, then taken upstairs.

We soon found ourselves in a room where our bodies were washed, then liberally coated with a cooling salve to quiet the burning we were both feeling from the whippings we'd been given. After that had been accomplished, we were lifted into a nearby bed, and as for me, I was asleep before the sheet had even been drawn over my body.

_____________

The next morning, which was a Sunday, found both of us still asleep when Anne-Claire and Jean-Marc shook us awake. She told us it was almost noon, and that it was time for us to get dressed so we could return to their home. It was only when I was almost fully awake that I remembered the events of the night before, and I jerked my head up and threw the sheet aside, convinced that I would see that my tits had been cut off and my cunt had been stitched closed.

That was not the case, though, and the only things I could see to testify to what had been done to my body were the hundreds of glowing-red stripes that covered it. I hurt all over, of course, but not nearly as much as I thought should be the case. It seemed the drugs we'd been given, coupled with the ointment, had effected miraculous cures. They certainly did nothing to make me horny again, as had been the case the night before. Maybe that was because I had reached total saturation when it came to my sex urges.

As soon as we were dressed Anne-Claire and Jean-Marc led us to the front door, where we were met by the Count and Countess. They both kissed us and thanked us for the "wonderful entertainment" we had provided, and then the Count said something that I've remembered many times in the days since then.

"Sharon and Glenn, you gave all of us a night we'll remember forever. Surely the only thing that can ever exceed the sublime satisfaction you gave us will be what you will give to us the next time you visit. Please hurry back to us."

It was his emphasis on us giving something to them that caused me to almost collapse on the floor, because it brought back in a flash the sight of the eunuch male and female I had seen just a few hours before. There was no room for anything else in my fevered brain, and over and over the images of first Glenn's body, and then mine having their sexual expressions removed paraded through my fevered imagination.

And with that the butler opened the door and escorted us to the car that awaited. I assume that Jean-Marc drove us to their home, but I have no memory of the trip, because as soon as I was seated and Anne-Claire had put her arm around my shoulders and pulled my head against her own, I was once again fast asleep.

________________

My next memory is of awakening in Anne-Claire's bed, with Glenn still fast asleep beside me. My only thought was on my bursting bladder, and its overwhelming need to be emptied, and I got out of the bed and hurried down the hallway to the bathroom. Then, at last satisfied in that respect, at least, I got in the shower and turned the water on full blast, as hot as I could stand it.

Several minutes later, I felt refreshed enough to face the day, and after toweling myself dry, I made my way down the stairs as fast as my pain-filled body would allow. As I approached the door leading into the shop, I heard something that is guaranteed to catch the attention of any woman in the world: my name.

I could hear two women speaking, and immediately recognized the voices as those of Anne-Claire and the Countess. Surprisingly enough, it took me a second or two to understand they were speaking Spanish, which given my early years in Mexico as well as the fact my ****** spoke it most of the time at home, I could understand very well.

And then, as I listened to their words, I knew what was being planned for my husband and me.





IT HAPPENED IN FRANCE

Chapter 7

It was the Countess who was speaking when I first heard their voices, and as I stood just outside the doorway listening intently, I heard her say,

C: "We just can't thank you enough for bringing Sharon and Glenn to us, Anne-Claire. The Count is already planning the meeting when they return to us for their next visit. He is excited beyond belief by the size of Glenn's equipment, and even though he hasn't yet measured it, we're both convinced it'll be by far the largest in his collection."

Anne-Claire replied, also in Spanish which I hadn't known she spoke,

A-C: "We knew he'd be happy, Countess. Both of us thought from our first glimpse of Glenn's things that they would be the greatest trophy in the Count's display."

C: "I have no doubt you're correct on that score, and I know my husband will be very generous when he rewards you for your trouble in finding Glenn for him. I, too, have special plans for Sharon. My original thought when you first discussed her with us was that it would be fitting for her to have all her sexual characteristics removed, given that she's so beautiful. I've always thought such a torture is the best way to punish a woman who's been given such great beauty.

"After seeing her in person, and having fallen as much in love with her as you have, Anne-Claire, I've changed my mind about her ultimate disposition. I have decided that she is to join my herd of vacas humana, and given the present size of her breasts, I fully expect her to soon be the best producer of all of them."

You'll notice that I typed that strange phrase in its original Spanish, because at the time I first heard it, I had no idea in the world what it meant. I did know, of course, that the first word was the plural form of "cows," and the second word meant "human." When they were combined, though, it meant nothing at all to me. Later, after we had returned to America, I researched the phrase 'human cows,' and that was when something that had been completely beyond my knowledge and experience suddenly became the entire focus of my life.

As I'm sure most of you know, there are thousands of women who love the thought of becoming cows, and having their tits stimulated to produce huge quantities of milk. I actually read descriptions of some of the women that claimed they were producing more than one gallon of milk from each tit daily, and they were regularly connected to milking machines so their output could be bottled and sold for the astounding price of $3.00 per gallon! Not only that, but there were perverts who would actually pay $100.00 to be allowed to nurse from the cow's udders, which is the term that is used when referring to the tits of women like that.

Keep in mind that at the time of the above overheard conversation, as well as the conclusion to it below, I didn't know what was in store for me.

A-C: "I think that would be the perfect solution for her, Countess. Breasts like that could surely be made to produce several liters of milk each day. Have you designed the schedule she'll follow?"

C: "Yes, I've been talking it over with the Herdmaster. He thinks she should receive the injections every week, rather than monthly as the other cows do. Also, he wants to try milking her every six hours, rather than twice a day. After seeing her breasts at close proximity and examining them when she was asleep, he's sure he can confidently predict she'll be giving eight liters from each during a 24-hour period. A new record, of course."

A-C: "I know that'll make you very proud of her, Countess, and I will be proud, too, since I've helped in a small way to make that happen."

C: "We could never have found her without your help, Anne-Claire. And that's why your reward will be very great. And now I simply must go. Adieu."

With that she left the shop, leaving me standing there torn between the desire to rush out and demand that Anne-Claire tell me what was being planned for me, and wanting to run back upstairs, wake Glenn, and flee to the safety of our home in Colorado.

I did neither, but merely quietly crept to the top of the stairway, then hurried back down, trying to make so much noise that Anne-Claire couldn't help but hear me coming.

_________________

The next day Glenn and I were recovered enough to resume lovemaking with Anne-Claire and Jean-Marc, and we did so with a frantic fervor that surprised all of us. I'm sure that was mainly due to the knowledge that we were scheduled to arrive at the airport in Dordogne just a couple days in the future. From there we would fly to Paris, and then back to the States. That meant the few precious days that week were all we would have for the many months that would elapse before we would once again see the woman and the man who had so quickly become so very, very important to both of us.

And now you know: Yes, we had already agreed to return in the spring of the following year, and we made that decision in full knowledge of what would be done to the two of us at that time. My own decision had been voluntarily made the day following the one during which I overheard the Countess' plans for me, and that decision was never in doubt after Anne-Claire explained the procedures that would be applied to my tits to force them to begin to lactate.

She first told me of the bovine growth hormone that had been developed by French scientists several years in the past, and how it was soon learned that it was also effective in stimulating human breasts to produce milk. She described the drug trials that had been conducted at Le Chateau, and how it had been discovered that the effectiveness of the drug could be increased fourfold if a woman's tits were subjected to heavy whipping along with high-voltage electrical stimulation.

Most of all, though, she told me how proud she would be when I became the top producer in the herd, and how she had no doubt my milk would soon become famous not only in France, but also throughout all of Europe. That was when I pledged that I would return to her in less than a year's time, and give my body to the Countess to do with as she may.

As for Glenn, his own decision was made the night before we were to depart Anne-Claire's home, and ride the bus to Dordogne. I know I'll never forget what Jean-Marc told him as the four of us lay there in their bed, and most of all I'll never forget how shocked I was to learn that my dear husband, who I was sure could never surprise me, confessed his lifelong obsession with what had been proposed for him.

As Jean-Marc fondled Glenn's monster, and Anne-Claire did her best to drive me crazy by doing the same to my tits and cunt, he began by asking, "Glenn, what was your favorite part of the night we spent in Le Chateau?"

I could immediately sense that Glenn was very reticent to answer the question, which I thought very strange. If I had been asked that same question, my only answer would have been to say how much I had loved being fucked by the dog, and feeling the way his belly hairs stimulated my erect clit as they rubbed against it.

Glenn, though, either had no favorite part or he did have one, but was ashamed to admit to it. It took Anne-Claire's command of, "Talk! Now!" to make him struggle to form the words that began the tale of a part of his life that I had never known about.

"I . . . I liked it when we were on the breeding tables," he began. "The way my penis was clamped in the hole, and the feeling of the dog breeding me, . . . well, it was all really good."

I had no doubt that Anne-Claire and Jean-Marc knew, just as I did, that my husband was trying to avoid the question. So, Jean-Marc demanded in a stern voice, "You haven't answered me. I asked for the most-exciting part, the point when you became the most aroused. I ask again, 'When did that happen?' "

The way my husband took a deep breath, coupled with the expression of resignation on his face, told me he was no longer able to resist answering, and so he did.

"It was when the man leading my dog stopped in front of me. That was when I saw what had been done to him, and that he'd been made a total eunuch. I'd never in my life seen something like that, and it just about made me pass out."

Jean-Marc said softly, "I see," then after a pause continued, "How long have you wanted that same thing for yourself, Glenn? How long have you dreamed of having your own cock and balls removed? How long have you wanted to be a total eunuch?"

Again there was a long pause, but just when I was ready to order him to answer those questions, he began to tell a story that I had never heard, let alone even dreamed could be a part of his past. It seemed that, even though we've been married more than 15 years, there are still many things I don't know about my husband.

He started talking in a barely-audible whisper, but soon regained enough courage that he could speak normally, and I just lay there in silence as his story unfolded.

"I don't know when I first started playing with myself, but it had to have been at a very-early age, because nearly all of my first memories are of me giving myself that sort of pleasure. I do know that by the time I was eight years old, I would lie awake in my bed at night, fondling my penis until it had become as hard as it could get, then squeezing it with as much strength as I could. I would slap it really hard, until I was almost in tears from the pain, but even that didn't stop me from abusing myself.

"It was in the summer when I was eight that I began to climb up to the hayloft in the barn, take off all my clothes, and then squeeze and slap my erection until I felt a sort of pleasure I'd never even dreamed could be possible. By the middle of the summer I was breaking branches off trees to take up to the hayloft, where I'd get on my back on one of the bales of hay, then use one of them to beat my penis until I couldn't stand the pain anymore, and I'd grab ahold of what hurt so bad and pump it until I felt the pleasure I just had to have.

"It was something that happened to me later that summer that gave me the fascination with becoming a eunuch, and I've been like that ever since.

"I was up in the hayloft as usual, lying across a bale and beating my penis, when I heard my sister's voice yelling at me, asking me what I was doing to myself. I'd never in my life been so frightened as I was right then, and when I saw her head peering at me over the top of a stack of bales, and her best friend's head right beside hers, all I wanted to do was just die of shame.

"They climbed down from the stack, and as they walked toward me I knew my penis was shrinking smaller than I'd ever seen it. That was when Sis' friend asked something like, 'What's the matter, can't you even keep it up when you see a girl?'

"They sat down on the bale beside me, and to my everlasting embarrassment, both of them started fondling every part of me between my legs, and even though I still wanted to die of shame, I could feel my dick growing. As they kept playing with it, my sister told me they'd seen me heading for the barn almost every day, and they decided to spy on me to see why. That was when they began watching me abuse myself, and decided they wanted to help me do that.

"I had no idea what they meant, and when they pulled me to my feet and led me to one of the posts that held up the roof, all I did was go with them, still crying because I was so ashamed. When we got to the post, they made me stand with my back against it and tied my hands behind it.

"They were each holding one of the branches I'd been using on myself, and when they told me I had to beg them to whip my penis, Sis threatened that if I didn't, she'd tell our mother what I'd been doing. All the time she was telling me that, both of them kept fondling me, and at last I did what they wanted.

"They kept whipping my penis and then playing with it to get it hard again, until finally it stayed that way. That was when they told me that if I didn't make it squirt like they'd seen it do before, they were going to go get a knife and cut it off. Then, while one of them masturbated me, the other one ran her fingernail around the base of it, telling me all the time how much she wanted to make it fall off.

"That was when I lost every bit of control I ever had, and my hips started bucking and I could feel my climax building higher than it ever had before, and then the tiny bit of juice I had way back then jumped out of the end and they laughed at me and I started crying again."

He paused again, giving himself a few seconds to recover from reliving those intense memories, then after a few deep breaths continued.

"Every day after that, the girls would meet me in the hayloft, and after I undressed, they would think of something fun to do to my penis. Their favorite was to make me stand on a hay bale that had been placed on the floor directly under a pulley that was mounted to the roof. After tying the pulley rope around my penis, they'd pull the other end so tight that I had to stand on tiptoe to relieve the strain. They'd then tell me to grab ahold of the rope, and when I had a good grip on it, they'd move the bale away from my feet, leaving me dangling. After that they'd laugh at how I would cry as my arms got tired and my penis had to take more of my weight.

"After they got tired of that part, they would whip my little erection until it was covered with red and it was hurting so bad that I begged them to stop. They always laughed at me some more when they told me the only way it would ever stop hurting was if I'd beg them to cut it off. They would always make me promise that someday I'd let them do that to me, and when I did, they'd push the bale back under my feet to take enough of the pressure off that I could cum, and then I'd get dressed while they talked about what they were going to do to me the next day.

"I used to beg them all the time to let me see them undressed, but they wouldn't ever do that for me. If I begged hard enough, they'd tell me I could take off all their clothes and touch them wherever I wanted if I first cut off my penis. I wanted to do that so bad, but some tiny part of me wouldn't let me do it, and I never did see them naked.

"That went on until I was twelve years old, which was when they discovered that older boys were lots more interesting than a little kid like me, and they never again met me in the barn. But I never did lose my obsession with becoming a eunuch, and I've wanted that done to me ever since."

The four of us lay there in silence for a long time, caressing and kissing each other, and I'm sure the other three were thinking about Glenn's story just as much as I was.

It was Jean-Marc who broke the silence when he said, "Glenn, I'm going to tell you something now that must remain a secret between us. You and Sharon must both swear to never reveal what I'm going to tell you. Will you do that?"

Of course, both Glenn and I swore ourselves to secrecy, and then Jean-Marc began to tell us something that was even more exciting than my husband's story had been.





IT HAPPENED IN FRANCE

Chapter 8

"The story starts with the Count's father, who has long since passed on. He, too, was a direct descendant of the Marquis de Sade, and he was just as much a sadist as the Marquis ever was. It was early in his life when he developed an obsession with the male organs, most especially their size, and with the encouragement of his own father, he began to subject male slaves to various tortures of their penises and their testicles.

"He was especially fond of testing the limits of growth of penises when they were subjected to stretching combined with certain drugs and whippings with various instruments. And then one fateful day, when the slave he was torturing had been hanging by his organs for several hours with no noticeable increase in size, he made the decision to begin a collection that would illustrate the size differences among men. The decision made, he severed the organs from the slave, dropped them in a jar of formaldehyde, and, voila, his display had its beginning.

"After that, he began to add to it over the years, collecting only those organs that were larger than the ones that came before. By the time the Count joined him in the effort to find ever-larger organs, the jars on display numbered in the twenties, and by the time the Count inherited the collection many years later, more than 100.

"The Count has continued his fascination with learning the upper limits of male size, and is still very interested in adding to those displayed in his museum at Le Chateau. That, of course, brings me to the man you saw handling the dog that bred you Saturday night.

"Anne-Claire and I discovered him about two years ago, and as soon as we saw how large his length and girth were, we knew the Count would want to collect them. So, we took him with us to the castle on our next visit, and when the Count expressed an interest in adding the man's organs to his display, we arrived at a mutually-agreeable price. That night the man was tortured to his very limits in the basement chamber, and after he had endured as much as he could stand, he begged the Count to remove his male equipment and put an end to it.

"The Count obliged the request, of course, and after the preparations had been completed, the penis and testicles were severed from the slave's body and placed on display. At that time, they had pride of place by more than one centimeter [less than half an inch, for my American readers], and they have remained the largest in the collection since that time.

"Which brings us to the present, Glenn."

Jean-Marc paused for a long time, as if collecting his thoughts. When at last he continued, he looked deeply into Glenn's eyes as if willing my husband to give him the answer he wanted to hear.

"I ask you now, in front of our wives and with God as your witness, to answer me truthfully: Do you want the Count to remove your penis and your testicles and add them to his collection?"

Again the room grew quiet, other than the sound of my husband's ragged breathing. Then, as the three of us held our breath, as if afraid even the slightest sound from us would change his answer, Glenn gave voice to all the frustration, all the excitement, and all the longing he had lived with for so long.

"Yes! Please let him do that! I hate them, and always have! I don't want them on me any longer! Please ask him to cut them off and do anything he wants to with them!" Then, after another deep, ragged breath, he added, "Please. It has to happen."

Jean-Marc leaned over Glenn's body, then kissed him full on the mouth, giving him a kiss that was easily the equal of any Anne-Claire had given me. Then, when their lips parted, he whispered, "I promise that it will happen, Glenn. I promise that when we next take you to Le Chateau, your penis and your testicles will be stimulated to their greatest extent, and then removed for display so other men will forever see how small their own cocks and balls are in comparison to yours. I promise you that with all my heart and soul."

After that, there was nothing else to be said, and the four of us started making love to each other in such a frenzied manner that there seemed to be no limits to what we would do in order to give and receive our orgasms. Every time Glenn's huge erection was inside me, I couldn't help but think that maybe this time, or maybe the next time, would be the final time, forever and ever. Given how popular he was wilth Anne-Claire and Jean-Marc, I have no doubt they were thinking exactly the same.

_______________

Our hosts and lovers took us to the bus station when it was time for us to leave, and amid tears and last kisses, Glenn and I promised them we would return the following spring, and then give ourselves to the Count and Countess for modification. For their part, Anne-Claire and Jean-Marc told us how much they loved us, and how much they were looking forward to watching us being tortured, and hoping they could be a part of the process of helping me become a human cow, and Glenn to become the eunuch he'd always needed to be.

And then it was time for us to depart, and we climbed aboard the bus, where the two of us fell asleep as we sat there with Glenn's arm around me. A few hours later we boarded the commuter flight in Dordogne and were taken to Paris, where we were barely in time to board the airplane that would return us to Atlanta, and then home to Denver.

We have been spending the past several weeks arranging our affairs and saying goodbye to all our friends in the swingers' club. Our house has been sold, along with all the furnishings and personal possessions we will no longer need. We have reservations on a flight to Paris that will depart Denver in less than two months, and then events will no longer be under our control.

Anne-Claire and Jean-Marc have been exchanging e-mails with us on a daily basis, and they have promised to meet us in Dordogne and drive us directly to Le Chateau, where we will be taken to the basement chamber immediately upon our arrival. The schedule is that Glenn's torture will begin immediately and last as long as he can bear it.

When he begs to have his penis removed, the Count will begin the process of injecting liquid plastic inside it, and also inside his balls. Then, when those parts have been inflated to their maximum sizes, they will be removed and placed in the pressurized tank where more of the plastic will be forced into the skin. After that, they will be preserved for all time, and will immediately be placed at the head of the display in the Count's museum.

Glenn is already so excited by anticipation of that finally happening that he seems to be hard every minute of every day. My own excitement, while not quite as great as his, is stoked daily by the human cow websites I visit, and the letters I get from women who have already been converted.

In short, both my husband and I want it to happen just as soon as possible, as do so many of our friends. We hope none of us will be disappointed with the results.



The End



Questions or comments? Please write to me at: sharon_smif@gmx.com.