The Watcher, Chapter 1

Chapter 1

This story is as much a confession as it is a warning, I guess. I had intended it to be a warning to other wives who think it would be exciting to watch their husbands being tortured, but after reading what I've written here, it seems to be even more an attempt to justify what happened to us.

Please bear with me while I start at the beginning.

Jeff and I had been married for just long enough to become frustrated with our sex life, which in our case was slightly less than seven years. I was thirty-three years old when we walked down the aisle, and he was just barely twenty-two. He had graduated from college about two weeks before the ceremony, and I was one of his teachers during his time as a student. We were able to keep our affair secret, and even our marriage was unknown to most of our acquaintances, since we didn't announce it, and it had been done at a wedding chapel in Las Vegas.

I don't know if Jeff saw me as a mother figure, or he was simply attracted to older women. It really didn't matter, since the outcome was the same. During our "courtship" I was always in charge, seemingly continuing the teacher-student relationship in our private lives. I always decided when he would come to my house, which was the only place we could meet in private, and when I decided it was time for us to initiate sexual intercourse, of course I was the one who took the initiative.

When Jeff's graduation was a sure thing, I told him that it was time for us to get married, and that we were going to drive to Las Vegas for the ceremony and our honeymoon. He was not at all shocked by my announcement, but merely said, "I'm glad".

Since I knew there would be problems, in the social sense as well as the professional, with me marrying a former student who was eleven years my junior, I decided to resign from my position at the college and seek a similar job in another state. That proved to be the simplest part of the process, since there always seems to be a demand for qualified teachers of Business Administration, especially if they helped the college meet the "quota" of females who are also Hispanic.

Following the ceremony at the wedding chapel, we hit the hot spots in Vegas for about a week, and then drove to our new city in north-central California. Jeff would be working for a communications company there, and I would be teaching in the local college. We had decided that he would state his age as 28, which was certainly believable, since he looked much more mature than his actual age of 22.

Like many Hispanic women, my appearance suggested that I was actually younger than my true age, and we did nothing to disabuse people of that notion. All in all, there were probably some of our acquaintances who thought that my husband was a couple of years younger than I, but it was certainly not worth noting.

Our sex life was varied and interesting during the first two years, and Jeff was never reluctant, and in fact seemed almost eager, to experiment in that arena. Given his submissiveness to me, it was only natural that we gravitated more and more toward a sex life that featured bondage and discipline. Many were the times when he was tied to the bed, with various sex toys being used on him. Far from feeling reluctance or pain during our sessions, he was always eager for more. His cock was always at it longest and hardest when I was attaching the clamps and stretchers to it, and on many occasions he would beg me to "punish" him even more.

As is usual in this sort of situation, we became more involved with our chosen lifestyle. By the fourth year of our marriage, he was being routinely suspended by his wrists in our garage, with clamps attached to his nipples and balls, and the weights suspended from them becoming heavier and heavier. He had begun bringing home S&M magazines by the time we had been married for five years, and they seemed to cause him to become even more entranced by the thought of being sexually tortured.

It was during our sixth year of experimenting with this lifestyle that we ordered a mean-looking black leather whip, known as a "cat", from an advertisement in one of the magazines. As soon as it was delivered, Jeff almost demanded that I use it on him. He was soon once again hanging in the garage, with clamps and weights attached to his nipples and genitals, and I was "threatening" to whip him if he didn't behave. Of course he didn't comply with my demands, and his punishment was soon underway.

It was then that I seemed to meet some sort of mental barrier. Everything we had done up to that point had been just as arousing for me as it had been for him. The whipping, though, was another matter altogether. I think it was the sight of blood seeping from the stripes on his butt that turned me off, but I'm not completely sure about that. Whatever it was, I lost my ardor. Jeff sensed right away that I was no longer as aroused as he was, but the fire in his ass was driving him to new heights of passion. He begged me to please whip him in front, and as I reluctantly did so, his ejaculation was probably the most intense he'd ever had.

It was my usual practice to lower him to the floor and then sit on his face so he could eat me to climax. Even though I was not nearly as hot as before, I did that, and soon his tongue was eagerly licking my pussy. I was sitting on his mouth, facing his crotch, as usual. Normally I would either slap his cock and balls or jerk on the clamps and weights to further arouse myself. Since he had already ejaculated, his penis would be only semi-hard, but that never seemed to reduce his attentions to my crotch.

Following the whipping session, his cock was still rock hard, even though he'd climaxed only a few minutes before. The thought of how aroused he was, combined with his tongue work, began to restore my arousal. When I was close to cumming, I again visualized him being whipped, but for some reason, in my mind the person wielding the whip was a neighbor woman. It seemed that just the simple thought of Jeff being whipped by someone else, while I watched, was all it took to push me over the edge, and I ground my pussy into his face with the intensity of my orgasm.

That experience set the pattern for our love play for several weeks. I would stretch him, clamp his nipples and balls, and then attach heavy weights to them. I would then drape the thongs of the whip across various parts of his body (use your imagination). That would always drive him to new heights of arousal, and he said one time that it seemed to do the same for me. What he didn't know was that I was fantasizing about sitting in a nearby chair, watching him being tortured by another woman. By the time the whip was actually used as intended, I was completely convinced that I was merely an observer, and not a participant. The simple fantasy allowed me to become just as aroused as my husband, and it never took more than a few flicks of his tongue to bring me off.

The real turning point in our relationship entered our home with another magazine that he brought. That one was the most extreme of any we'd read so far, and some of the tortures described in it were so far beyond what we were doing that they boggled my mind. Far too many of the stories and pictures were concerned with females being tortured, as neither of us had any interest whatsoever in that part of sex play. There were a couple of the stories, though, that had the "proper" orientation of women torturing men, and those were the ones we read immediately.

The story that changed our lives forever described various punishments being inflicted on a man. It started out with descriptions of things that were very similar to what we had been doing for a few years by that time, and then escalated to the next level, where the punishments became tortures, and the marks left on the man's body were permanent.

Jeff and I were lying side-by-side on the bed as I read the story aloud, with both of us undressed. That was the usual way we began our sessions, and by the time I would take him to the garage, we were both very aroused. This instance seemed to be progressing as usual, as evidenced by his erect penis jerking back and forth with a bead of pre-cum on the tip, and my own moistening vagina.

As I turned the page and we began reading the description of what the woman was doing to her husband, Jeff seemed to become almost unconscious with his arousal. He began to moan and move his hips up and down in short movements. As his hand began to stray towards his cock (always a no-no), I had to slap it away more than once. He appeared to me to be deep in some sort of fantasy, and was almost unaware of my presence.

The part of the story we were reading was also making me hot, although it didn't have quite the extreme effect on me that it did on Jeff. In the paragraphs we were reading, the man was hung by his wrists, similar to the way I suspended my husband in the garage. However, what came after that was far beyond anything I'd ever thought of doing. In the story, the woman had used a spreader bar to hold the man's legs far apart. She had then used a razor knife to open his sac by slitting it along one side, after which one of his balls had been forced out. After performing several interesting and bizarre tortures on the exposed nut, she'd used the knife to cut it off.

As I finished reading that sentence, Jeff hugged me as hard as he could and repeated over and over, "Please. Please."

As I pulled away slightly and looked into his eyes, I could tell he was deep into a fantasy, and probably didn't even know where he was. I have to admit that reading about what the other woman had done to her husband made me very hot also, but not nearly so much as it had Jeff. His mouth was hanging open and his breathing was ragged. I knew that he was just seconds away from cumming, and based on past experience, I knew that if I asked him a question then he'd have no reservations in answering it.

I asked, "Do you want that? Do you want that done to you?"

He was barely able to speak, but finally gasped out, "Yes. Please do it."

Even as aroused as I was, it never occurred to me to do such a thing to him. However, the more I thought about watching it being done to him, the hotter I got. Again I fantasized that I was sitting in a chair, watching Jeff suspended by his wrists and undergoing various tortures given to him by another woman. This time, though, his legs were tied widespread.

As the woman approached my husband, holding a razor knife in her hand, I pushed Jeff onto his back and mounted his penis. The thing hadn't even fully entered my pussy before it was spurting its cum. As soon as his spasms stopped, and even though his cock was still rock hard, I moved quickly to sit on his mouth so that he could lick me to orgasm. When, in my fantasy, Jeff's sac was opened and the ball removed, I began to climax, and it seemed to go on forever.

Finally I moved off his face and lay beside him on the bed. His dick was still fully erect, and his hips were bucking. His training never failed, and he was able to keep his hands off the thing. At last I took pity on him and gave him permission to jack off. I'm sure that it required fewer than half a dozen strokes before he was once again spurting.

We never made it to the garage that night, since we were both so exhausted by our orgasms that we fell asleep immediately. It had been our practice to have "normal" sexual relations once or twice during the week, and then have our garage sessions on Saturday night. That schedule was changed slightly over the next few days, since just reading the story aloud to Jeff got him incredibly turned on, and my thinking of watching another woman do that to him had pretty much the same effect on me.

As time went by, the story's effect on us began to lessen, as could be predicted. Even the hottest fantasies will pale with time, and that applied to this one also. It was about that time that we discovered the darker side of the Internet, as it related to sex anyway. While surfing one night, Jeff found a Website dedicated to female domination, and by clicking a succession of links to other sites, soon arrived at one that was concerned with the more extreme aspects of that lifestyle.

Our computer is in my study, and I was in there at the same time catching up on some school work, so that I'd be ready for classes the following day. We had been chatting back and forth every now and then, but after awhile I noticed that he was very quiet. When I looked at him, I could see him staring at the screen, apparently fascinated by what he was seeing there.

I walked over behind him to see what was so intriguing to him, and was stunned when I saw what he was looking at.

The computer was displaying a short movie of a man lying on a table, with his legs held widespread by leather straps. The camera was focused tightly on his crotch, and as I watched, the man's sac was opened and then removed, leaving his balls lying unprotected on the tabletop. Something like string was then tied around the tubes that connected the balls to the man's body, and before I had time to even grasp what was happening, a knife was used to castrate the "victim".

Jeff was moving as if in a dream, and his hand slowly clicked the mouse to start the movie clip over once more. Again we watched as the castration was repeated. By that time, I was very aroused by what was happening on the screen, and I began to fantasize that it was Jeff secured to the table, and his balls that were being removed.

Almost without thinking, I ordered him to get undressed and lie on the floor. I almost bested him in the disrobing "contest", and as soon as he was in position, mounted his cock. Again, no more than the head of the thing was in me before he was cumming. Again, I quickly moved to his face so he could lick and suckle my pussy to cause my own orgasm.

As we lay side by side on the floor a few minutes later, I whispered, "Did you like what you saw on the computer?" He struggled to speak, almost as if afraid to confess his innermost thoughts. Finally he whispered in return, "Yes". After a short pause, I said quietly, "Maybe it'll happen someday if you wish hard enough." That seemed to awaken him from his after-sex stupor, and he turned on his side and hugged me fiercely. I could feel his still-hard cock pressing against my leg, and knew that his fantasy was still uppermost in his mind. My own passion had cooled by then, and as I stood to get back to work, I told him to go to the bathroom and jack off if he wanted. He wasted no time in leaving the room to do just that.

As I sat at my desk trying to get back to work, my mind simply refused to cooperate. I replayed over and over the video we had watched so shortly before. I simply couldn't understand my fascination with thinking of my husband being castrated by another woman, but there was no denying that it was a powerful sexual fantasy. At that time, I was utterly convinced that it would never be anything more than a fantasy.

In the weeks following that incident, Jeff continued to search the Internet for Websites that catered to our shared fascination. He used our credit card to become a member of several of the sites, which allowed us to read stories about, and even see photos and movies of, the subject that had become our fixation. After reading and seeing those things, it was more than we could do to delay our orgasms long enough to give us time to get to the garage. It was probably more than a month after viewing the first movie clip before we again were out there, with Jeff suspended by his wrists, and me using our toys on him. My constant fantasy was of me sitting in a nearby chair watching those things being done to him, and I'm sure his was of me being the one doing them. It didn't seem to matter that we weren't sharing the same fantasy. The result was always the same: our orgasms.

As always seems to happen with sexual fantasies, ours began to pale after a few months. It was taking longer and longer for us to climax while visualizing our wet dreams, and I knew that I was wanting more, and was sure that Jeff was also.

It was that situation that led me to consider responding to an advertisement that had been placed on several of the Websites that we had been using.