Days of Wine and Agony -- Day One

DAY ONE

Wendy had a minor preoccupation: the capture, sexual torture and castration of men.

It was so easy, she almost felt sorry for them. Wendy would visit a bar and allow a young man to pick her up. She would suggest they return to her place and once there, his fate was sealed. The drink she handed him was drugged, of course. When he came to, he found himself in Wendy's specially equipped basement, stripped completely naked and tightly bound to an X-cross, his legs spread wide to expose the exquisitely sensitive genitals.

Only his eyes could express his sudden confusion and fear: a ball-gag filled his mouth, duct tape was plastered across his face. Wendy would have greatly enjoyed the screams of pain and pleas for mercy, but then the unsuspecting neighbors might discover her hobby. One day, she thought, she would have to have the basement soundproofed.

There was no limit to Wendy's cruelty, or her imagination. The most unspeakable tortures that the human mind could conceive of to inflict upon the male genitals, she had performed. Some of her victims had actually broken their wrists and ankles straining against their bonds; many had ripped their vocal cords from screaming as their manhood was slowly destroyed. Around the wrist restraints, the wood was deeply scratched where men, and occasionally women, had clawed the surface in their agony.

She was not a serial killer. She never killed her victims. Wendy believed, rightly, that the ultimate torture was making them go through life with their sexuality ruined. While no man had ever left her dungeon with his penis still attached, she often let them keep their bruised and battered testicles. It amused her to think of all these men going through life with their intact testicles aching for sexual release, but with no penis to relieve their suffering. She would not have been surprised, but would have been disappointed, to learn that these men sometimes eventually committed suicide.

Invariably, during her days-long torture sessions, Wendy dressed in revealing dominatrix gear or wore nothing at all, the better to further torment and ridicule the victim with her magnificent, lightly tanned body. Her face, she knew, was beautiful and cute at the same time. Her short hair was dirty blond. Her arm muscles were hard and supple from years of swinging her many whips. Her breasts were ample and firm with nipples as pink as the inside of a sea shell, and her buttocks were muscular and shapely. Her dark blond pubic hair was neatly trimmed, her sex shaved bare as an infant's.

As Wendy considered her present victim, her mind wandered. How many men had she broken this way? It must be at least fifty or sixty, she thought. She had persued her cruel hobby for fifteen of her thirty-five years . . .

The young man now spreadeagled before her pleased Wendy immensely. His genitals were magnificent, the circumsized penis long and thick, the testicles large and heavy in a low-hanging scrotum. She smiled. There was nothing, nothing on Earth that Wendy loved more than torturing a large set of cock and balls.

Her victim was slowly regaining consciousness. As he struggled to focus his vision, he saw before him a naked Amazon, her arms crossed, an amused smirk on her beautiful face. She was sipping a glass of red wine.

"Hi there," she said. "Have a nice nap?"

He just stared at her.

"No? Well, that's too bad, because your life is about to become decidedly unpleasant."

She straddled a kitchen chair backwards, resting her chin on its back.

She laughed as his eyes roamed over her naked body. She took a sip of wine.

"Like my pussy? Just nod if you like my pussy."

He continued merely to stare at her, confused and afraid, slowly becoming aware of his own nakedness, and his helplessness.

Wendy pouted girlishly and looked down at her splayed, pink, glistening sex. "You don't like my pussy? That's strange. Most men do, unless they're fags. Are you a fag?"

He shook his head, no.

"Oh, so you DO know how to answer me." She slowly began to play with herself and inserted two fingers into her vagina. "Well, in that case I'll let you have a whiff."

She stood up and shoved her slick fingers under his nose. "Smell it, Sucker. Smell what your aching for and never will get!"

He couldn't breath through his mouth and was forced to inhale the musky scent of her womanhood. In spite of himself, he was aroused by her. His penis twitched.

She wiped her fingers under his nose and stepped away. Her beautiful, nude buttocks undulated deliciously, taunting him, just as she intended. She bent over and inspected the pink polish on one of her delicate toes, and as she did so her cheeks parted, revealing a darkly pink and hairless anus.

She let him study her splayed buttocks for a moment, then rose and placed her empty wine glass on a small table. It was covered with various objects whose purpose he could only guess at. She turned around and faced him.

"Okay, Sucker, here's the deal. I get off on pain. Real pain. I don't know why, and I don't give a shit, I just do. And I have discovered through the years that my passion for cruelty is limitless. I just never get enough. Nothing personal."

She stepped closer. "This isn't some sort of bondage game, with furry paddles and soft, sensual whips." She paused. "I'm going to torture you, Motherfucker. And when I say torture, I mean TORTURE."

She moved still closer, until her face was inches away from his. She looked into his wide, uncomprehending eyes. The mental torture had begun.

"You have no idea of the pain that I can cause you," she whispered, "no idea of the agonies that await you. One of the worst parts of being tortured, I think, must be the waiting . . . the awful, endless anticipation of the agony to come. After just one night with me, I've seen grown men and women piss themselves in terror at my approach. I'll have you begging to eat my shit before long."

She smiled sweetly and clapped her hands together. "Okay, let's get started."

From the table she picked up a thin object. It was a clear glass tube, the size and length of a drinking straw. She showed it to him.

"I know you don't quite understand what you're in for. They never do. So I'm going to give you a little demonstration."

She knelt before his dangling genitals, and looked up at him. He was staring down at her. "What do you suppose I'm going to do with this?" she asked, holding up the glass tube. "Well, I'll tell you. This particular torture was invented by the Japanese during the Second World War. First, I'm going to shove it up inside that big, beautiful cock of yours, and then I'm going to smash it into little pieces. How do you think that's going to feel, Sucker?" She smiled wickedly. "Or maybe you would prefer that I didn't. Hmm?"

He shook his head slowly, his eyes filled with pure terror.

"Well, I'll tell you what. If you can keep from getting an erection, maybe I'll reconsider. For now."

She put down the tube and reached for his penis. It truly was beautiful, she thought. She gripped it at the base and on the shaft with both hands, and still the head protruded through her fist. It began to stiffen uncontrollably.

"You men." She shook her head. "It never fucking fails."

She stroked him gently, lovingly, watching his penis reach its full length and hardness. She cupped his large testicles and fondled them as would a lover. "Man," she said, "I am going to LOVE torturing these big bastards."

She looked up at her victim. He was still staring down at her, bug-eyed. She took the engorged head of his penis into her mouth as she continued to stroke him with both hands. He closed his eyes and moaned softly. Wendy looked at the now fully erect and throbbing penis. "God," she said in frank admiration, "you must be at least ten inches."

She licked the slit in the head of his penis, lubricating it, and picked up the glass tube. Slowly, delicately, she inserted one end of the tube into the slit and began to slip it inside, humming a happy tune. He whimpered as the smooth glass slid against his sensitive urethra.

It took a few moments, but finally Wendy managed to insert the entire length of the glass tube into his still-throbbing erection. When the tube had disappeared entirely inside his penis, she looked up at him. His whimpering had increased. He looked down at her, pleading with his eyes, every muscle in his body tense.

Still holding his gaze, again she took the fat head of his penis into her warm mouth, caressing it with her tongue. His breathing increased. "You like THAT, don't you Sucker?" she mocked. "Well, remember it, because it's the last pleasure you're going to know for a long, long time -- unless you like performing analingus, which you're going to be doing a lot of in the next few days."

With that, she firmly gripped his hardness in both hands and twisted sharply, shattering the glass inside.

A dozen blowtorches went off inside the entire length of his penis. He slammed his head back into the wall and shrieked in agony through his gag.

Wendy began pumping her hands up and down his waning erection, twisting and bending, further splintering the tube and driving countless glass shards deep into his flesh.

"What's the matter, Motherfucker?" she shouted above his muffled screams. "Don't you like a good hand-job?"

His mind was a fireworks display of pain. He howled at the top of his lungs. Spittle oozed out from under the duct tape across his mouth, and his body was suddenly bathed in sweat.

She released him finally and his penis, now flaccid, dropped free.

As small drops of bright red blood formed slowly at the tip of his penis and dropped to the floor, Wendy sat back, spread her knees, and began to masturbate as she watched him writhe in agony. In no time she brought herself to a shattering climax, moaning with pleasure.

When her orgasm had subsided, Wendy stood up and reached for a fine, thin chain. She looped it around the neck of his scrotum and fastened it tightly. To this she attached a ten-pound lead weight, and then let it drop free.

Again his head slammed back against the wall. His screaming was now continuous, and tears poured down his contorted face. His penis was on fire, and he felt as though his testicles were being slowly crushed and sliced off at the same time.

Wendy grabbed his damp hair and forced him to look into her cruel, blue eyes.

"You see what I'm like now, don't you?" she said softly. "And that's just the beginning. Tomorrow morning I'm going to start off by whipping those great big balls of yours, and then I'm going to use them as pin cushions. Think about it."

She walked away from him, humming her happy song. Suddenly she stopped and looked back.

"I'm going to bed now with my favorite vibrator. Thinking of you down here in agony should be good for at least ten orgasms or so. Have a nice night."

Through a red haze of pain and a blur of tears, he heard a door open, and then Wendy's voice came to him through the dim light.

"Oh, and by the way: I know your poor cock stings a bit now, but don't worry -- before I'm through, I promise I'll cut it off for you."

The door closed, and he heard the sound of soft, bare feet padding up the stairs. He groaned in pain and defeat, and collapsed against the restraints. Hot tears dripped onto his tortured genitals.

To be continued . . .