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He awoke to Wendy slapping him across the face. To his surprise, the ball-gag had been removed. But his tormentor knew exactly what she was doing: he had screamed so much in the last two days that his vocal cords were raw and burning. He could barely speak above a whisper.
The spikes had been withdrawn from his testicles and replaced with a vicious vise-like contraption that imprisoned his testicles between two flat steel plates that were joined by a pair of wingnuts on either side. He saw that Wendy had taken off her dildo harness and was once again completely naked. She took a sip of her red wine. "Hi, there, Loser. I just couldn't sleep thinking about you down here all by yourself, and besides, I had to take a crap. Remember I told you I could make you beg to eat my shit? Well, watch this." She cupped his aching testicles in her warm hand. This small gesture caused tremendous relief in his groin. But not for long. Wendy began tightening the bolts on the vise. He closed his eyes and braced himself for the terrible pain he knew was inevitable. The cold, steel jaws of the vise touched his outstretched scrotum. Wendy kept turning the screws until his testicles began to flatten. A deep, mind-numbing pain began to inch its way up his gut. Wendy stopped and looked at him. "Anytime you want me to stop crushing your balls, you know what to do," she said. She gave a quick twist on the screws, and he screamed a hoarse scream. "Please," he croaked. Please . . . I can't stand it . . . I'll eat your shit if you stop." "Oh, I KNOW you will, stupid. But I want to hear you beg for it." She cranked the screws again. "Please!" he cried. "Please, I'm begging you! Please . . . let me eat your shit." She let go of the vise. "Okay," she said in a cheery voice. She climbed up onto the table and positioned her magnificent buttocks over his face. "Open wide, Loser," she commanded. He did as she told him. She spread her buttocks with her hands, positioned herself, and defecated into his open mouth. He swallowed everything she gave him as quickly as he could, trying not to think about his pain and humiliation. "Now it's cleanup time. I don't have to tell you how THAT's done, do I?" He extended his tongue and lapped at her puckered, soiled anus, licking her clean. His mouth tasted of death. She got down off the table and swallowed the last of her wine. "I think I could sleep now," she said matter-of-factly. "But here's something for you to think about." She picked up a gleaming hunting knife, grabbed his penis, and held the blade against the tender base of the organ. He gasped in sudden terror. "Remember how this knife feels against your cock," she whispered. "Because tomorrow I cut it off." She rose to leave. "Why are you doing this to me?" he wailed in his barely audible voice. She looked at him. "I told you already, Motherfucker. Because it turns me on." She reached for the tesicle vise and gave the screws a few sharp turns. His hoarse cries suddenly filled the room. She turned around and headed for the door. Through his tears he watched her naked buttocks walking away from him. "Oh, and one more thing," she called back. "Don't you dare piss on my nice clean bondage table. If you do, I'll cut your cock off in wafer-thin slices." She hopped up the stairs, leaving him to contemplate his fate. To be continued . . .
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