Chapter 13 – Part 1, Mr. Unique and Perfect

This is chapter 13, part 1 of the Pleasing María novel. If you are under 18 years of age, or are offended by explicit descriptions of sexual activity or violence, or by strong language, please exit this site immediately. To view the Table of Contents of the novel click here. To go directly to the first chapter, click here. To read the latest novel post, click here. This is a rough second draft.

Chapter 13 – Part 1, Mr. Unique and Perfect

Happiness was not my destiny. María did stumble upon her Mr. Unique & Perfect (U&P). She met him in a gift shop in San Javier. He was drawn to her as all men are, and when she batted her eyes at him, he invited her to the café at the Posada de San Javier. This was the asexual guy María had mentioned several times in her diary. They met for coffee frequently, and just talked, becoming friends as our Castration Game died away. María had given up on finding my replacement, and a male friend with whom she could talk was exactly what she needed at that moment. I saw them together once and thought he was homosexual for no other reason than he didn’t try to seduce her.

María described him as a real nice guy, they talked and hung-out. Platonic. I had platonic girlfriends, but I didn’t believe any man could be platonic with María. She was too provocative. She reported he had passed through an ugly divorce, moved to Guanajuato to escape the ex, and wanted no serious relationships.

I initially ignored him as uninteresting. She mentioned him casually on occasion, but when she first said, “I really like him”, an alarm bell went off. She had never said that before about any man, not even about me. I hadn’t looked in her diary in weeks, so I snuck a peek and I was shocked by what she wrote. They had never fucked, never kissed nor touched intimately. Rather she wrote about how easy and comfortable he was, not full of mañas and quirks. She never wrote once the L-word, but her descriptions reeked of love, in-love, and lust. He had came in under my guard and snagged her.

I immediately investigated him and found he had no family or community ties in Guanajuato. I had no blackmail power. My only options would be to force him into mistakes with María.

I decided to go observe them each time they met. Again and again, they did no touching, only talking, and lots of laughing and easy conversation. María mirrored his movements. María asked me to dress her and do her makeup for these dates. María trembled with nervous excitement as she prepared to go see him.

With him, she was bubbly, sparkling, outrageously flirting with the easy beauty that always melted me. And her eyes shined at him. They had several more coffee dates before he touched her. There was something eerie and unsettling about their interaction, and I remembered it was how María and I began.

I was favorably impressed by his appearance. He was a big man physically, muscular and fit, dark skin, dark brown eyes and hair, ruggedly handsome, a divorced architect with two girls, ages 2 and 4. He owned a giant vibrator, a chopper motorcycle. He had moved to Guanajuato a few months before from Querétaro, and worked at an architectural firm in Silao.

In the house, María was tranquil, mystical, eyes shining when she talked about him. I had seen the signs before – María was falling hard for him. If this guy was a good lover, I was in trouble. At the end of their next meeting, I saw her gave him a deep goodbye kiss. When he called later that night, María carried the phone into another room, emerging minutes later to tell me she had a hotel date with him in three days.

She had told him she was still married but separated from her husband, negotiating a friendly divorce. For financial reason, she stayed in her husband’s house but they didn’t sleep together.

She asked me for special body paint for their first sex date, and I painted her favorite – the vulva-orchid, followed by hot make-up, her sexiest lingerie and a body hugging dress. I trembled as I prepared her, feeling like I signed my death warrant, but didn’t know what else to do.

She returned from her first hotel date glowing with more than her usual post-orgasmic shine – she was positively the mid-day sun. She was in love. She deflected all my questions about what they did or his sexual technique, the first time ever she hid that from me. She also refused to let me clean her vulva or fuck her.

She wanted to bring him to our house immediately, but I cautioned her not to rush. The caution was not for her but for me. I desperately wanted to buy some time and give him a chance to do something wrong. She returned from the second, then the third hotel dates even more convinced, more absorbed by him. She mooned around the house – I almost ceased to exist for her, and now she refused all sexual contact with me.

I panicked. I said I’d like to meet him him before he came to the house. We met him at the Parador de San Javier. He asked about our marriage, and I parroted what María had told him. He made jokes about how any man could leave such a special woman. He was a disgustingly nice guy, well, a great guy. When he showed me the photos of his daughters, I knew I had lost her.

I had sworn to María to help her find my replacement, and I was as sure as María this was Mr. U&P. With only our house dates left, my time remaining as her husband, and with my testicles intact, was now numbered in a few days. I was out of delays, I told María to do one last hotel date, prepare him for my presence at the house dates, then bring him. I had a lot of preparation of my own to do – my life without testicles and without María. I had never believed it could happen, and was both mentally and physically unprepared.

María returned ecstatic from her last hotel date. They had orgasmed simultaneously, then multiple times. Her words were, “They were orgasms of love.” I thought maybe that’s what love is – simultaneous orgasms.

Now scared shit-less, I insisted she slow down for a while, take a couple weeks off without seeing him to give me a chance to work on her. Instead, she packed and left for a week stay with him, it was allowed by our rules. She stayed 10 days, lived with him and the girls, and she returned a new woman with a new life. It was my time to deliver.

María wanted to change the dating sequence. However, now U&P decided he wanted to move slowly, wanted to be sure. We would delay the final house dates until he was ready. I thanked the Sacred Whore Goddess Martine for this reprieve – I would stretch it out for weeks or months – it would give him time to do something wrong, and give me time to subvert their relationship.

One evening as I prepare her for her date with U&P, she asked for something special in the body paint around her vulva – his initials [UP]. Then she announced she was bringing him home. She asked me to clear out my obvious presence in our bedroom to Brett’s room – U&P would sleep over. She presented the night as an extra special torment for me – she promised she would thrash around and make lots of noise so I would hear everything with the man that might replace me.

The evening was awkward for him. When María dragged him to our bedroom, he followed her sheepishly, glancing back at me apologetically. But he was an enthusiastic noise-maker.

That was the first of several sleep-overs for him, and it became twice-a-week. And she slept-over at his place twice-a-week. We began having dinners together at the house, he was a disgustingly nice guy.

One evening she came-in hyper excited. U&P suggested they marry and she accepted. Just that quickly, our relationship flipped over completely – he was her man, I was the outsider. For the first time ever, she went down on one knee for me. She said, “I love you deeply, my husband of so many years, but I’m in love with U&P. I want to marry him. I beg you to renounce our engagement and accept back the ring you gave me.”

I was stunned, but kept my wits. I went down on both knees, “No, I won’t do it. The only way I’ll give up our engagement is if we divorce and you marry him. I still love you, I’m in love with you, I can’t live without you. Please don’t do this. Please give me more time to fight for you.”

“Thanks for mentioning divorce, I want a quick, friendly divorce. U&P wants to set a date for our wedding, a close date. I went to see a lawyer today to start the divorce process. I told him you wouldn’t oppose it and we would decide ourselves how to split our assets with no fight. With a small bribe, we can finalize the divorce within a few weeks. Please don’t fight this, after so many years of marriage, I deserve this much.”

She moved me completely out of our bedroom and some of his clothes and items moved-in. He didn’t like my presence in the house, but had to tolerate it. They had a regular sleep-over schedule, two nights in my house, two in his, and she slept three nights alone in her bed. She came each of those nights to torture me. She wouldn’t let me touch her, she sat on the edge of my bed, nude and beautiful, and talked to me. I knew what she was doing, what we had discussed many times before – she was working on me, getting me used to the idea, breaking my spirit. I should have grabbed and raped her, I wanted to, but I couldn’t.

She described his family, the two beautiful girls, the family she had always wanted. I twisted and cramped and vomited and cried, this was physical pain beyond what I had ever imagined – and I wanted it. I begged her to tell me more about them, and how he and the girls were perfect for her. She was cruel and unrepentant. She did what she needed to do, she crippled and broke me each night, getting me ready for the final humiliation, the one I had been waiting for since I first met her.

I became schizophrenic, bouncing between dread and panic, and ecstatic joy. I squeezed my testicles and masturbated continuously any time she was with him. I couldn’t sleep if she wasn’t somewhere in the house. A death spiral.

I reminded her I had to accept he was the perfect man for her – I had to declare it. And he had to take my testicles. I wasn’t giving-up, I was still fighting for her. She said, “You will because you love me.”

I went to spy on her at a pizza place in Plaza San Fernando. The girls were indeed beautiful, laughing and squealing, running from the table to the play area and back. They pulled María to the slide and tunnels, and she climbed around with them in her mini-skirt, flashing her panty at the diners. Back at the table, she was the happiest I had seen for a long time, talking and laughing with U&P. The girls came back to the table, jumping and squealing and clapping and pulling at her. They loved María. It was a scene Norman Rockwell could have painted – the stereotypical happy family, taking pizza on the family night out.

U&P couldn’t stop looking at her face, like an overwhelmed idiot. She gave him those sideways glances of big brown shining eyes, gave him her INVITATION, puncturing him with barbed hooks. She skewered him, the love on his face and the lust in his posture caused my testicles to ache. She reeled him in as relentlessly as she had done me years ago.

And then I saw it, her brilliant light for him, for the girls. She illuminated the entire room. She wore a new engagement ring, and the glow from her eyes reflected from his ring and blinded me.

He was unique and perfect, the ‘one’, my replacement. I had lost, lost my woman and soon my testicles. My testicles hurt. She was right, I would give her easily to him, because I loved her. A passer-by yelled at me, looking at me with disgust – I had my hand inside my pants, massaging my testicles, and I rushed away.

María had two distinct lives, the wanton whore life she had always lived with me, and the happy wife and mother, her new life. The wanton whore had whored another man for her new non-whore life. I didn’t fit anywhere in this new life.

U&P’s requested delay didn’t last long. María said he was finally ready and she certainly was. She wanted to live with him, to marry him. Now.

* * *

María and I talked every day in the house. Mostly normal stuff, married life stuff, Brett stuff. And memories of our time together. We wandered back into my work triumphs, where I discovered the supremacy of woman, a story I had never told her. So I told her now.

“… and since then I’ve followed you as my life guide, my mentor, and my shepherd.”

She was outraged, “Why didn’t you tell me before? How dare you say it now? You’re just making-up this stuff, a cheap bargaining trick to keep me away from the man I love. I always gave you complete freedom, and now you say I was your shepherd. If you had asked, I would have helped you, guided you, we wouldn’t be here in this situation now. How dare you?”

“After the revelation, I didn’t get a chance to tell you because of … well, you always had other men in your panties, and afterward, the situation was never quite right. So I followed your lead in the Humiliation Game and Castration Game, at the beach with Flacucho, all the time, really …”

“Those other men were in my panties with your enthusiastic approval, how can you say that now? You wanted them to have me!”
She listened, head in hands, exhausted, depressed, no, abject despair, the first and only time I ever saw her that way. She had acted to please me, I acted to please her. We blundered from mistake to mistake, guessing and hoping to please each other. I was free but I wanted her guidance, but I never told her why, never asked for it explicitly.

She said, “If I’d have known, we never would have done those things. Now it’s too late. I can’t be your guide now, I’m in love with U&P, I’m not your woman anymore.”

“Without a shepherd, how will I live?”

We went around and around in these conversations, but inevitably, she always returned to talk about our separation, about my castration. She said it wasn’t necessary. With or without the castration, she would still leave me, so why do it? She was insistent we shouldn’t do it, even though it had always, for several years, been a condition for our break-up.

There was something discordant in her talk, and Bunk finally nailed it for me. He said, ‘She loves you still, she’ll never castrate you’. The light bulb went on in my head. This was my leverage point, my winning strategy. The real reason for the delay was she couldn’t castrate me, her husband of many years, the father of her son, in good conscience. She had to convince me to keep my testicles so she could leave me and marry U&P. As long as I insisted I must be castrated, her leaving would be delayed. I could delay until I broke them apart.

I was jubilant, I was in control, not her. I could stop our separation by insisting on castration. I could refuse the divorce. I was in control.

She must have seen she was getting nowhere, so she tried to force the issue. She said she wanted to start the final house date series, and I played along, knowing at the end, she would back out. She was bluffing and I would call her bluff. That might cause the start of friction between them.

She said she had already started his mental preparation. He had been wary but intrigued by her description of me. She said she pumped up his testosterone, told him I was impotent, like to be humiliated, suck penises, and have my testicles abused. She needed this favor from him to facilitate my willingness for a uncontested divorce. He was desperate for her and willing to try. We agreed we’d get him used to this activity during two house dates, then go for the castration on the third. She’d prepare him for her leaving me and moving in with him after the third date. We’d do the divorce and they’d get married as soon as the paperwork could be processed. We set the first house date for two nights away.

I was confidant and cocky. I knew I would win, and I wanted to dirty her a little. I demanded she let me clean her after each of her dates with him. And to fuck her, since I had only a few days left with her. She refused, but said she’d let me suck him to ejaculation in the house dates, and let me make love to her one more time before she left. She was crazily happy, then said, “why not now?” After so many years of marriage, I deserved it.

It was the best fuck of my life because I did it with total love, and she was a wildcat. As she worked me over, she counted down our years of marriage and many of our important events. We were exhausted when I finally gave out. And I did get to clean her because she wanted that great mouth in her vulva once again. She said my mouth was better than his, but she thought she could teach him.

We rested, ate dinner, then sit down to discuss the house dates and the castration. We knew the whole penis-suck, testicle-squeeze humiliation routine well. Except this time it would be much more intense for us because it was with love and for real. I played along with the charade. I emphasized I’d have to be convinced he was Mr. U&P, or there’d be no castration, and no separation. She agreed, but asked, “Is there any doubt?” I was silent.

We talked about how she’d dress for these house dates: her clothes, hair, shoes, jewelry and perfume. I wanted her to wear Jungle Gardenia, at least for the castration. I suggested she wear those beautiful outfits the Pol gave her. She was OK with that but wanted new lingerie. I suggested she wear the Italian panties from the Mistress Shop, the ones we had saved for our honeymoon. They’d certainly drive him crazy and make him easier to manage. She said she’d think about it. I volunteered to do her makeup, help her dress and style her hair. I suggested extravagant body paint for some extra excitement. She said, “Thank you, I love you.”

We talked ahead to the third house date. When I was satisfied he was Mr. U&P, I´d declare it. She would pump up his adrenaline and testosterone levels to flashing red. Given his temperament, the castration should progress slow and steady. She would guide him to increase the pressure slowly, let me get used to it so I wouldn’t fight, increase the pressure more, until I passed out. Then she’d have him crush quickly to rupture the testicles. He wouldn’t know it was a castration until it was over. I suggested I should be laying flat on the bed on my back, my testicles in his right fist. I thought it’d be easier if I wore my bangle – he’d get a better grip, and the bangle might excite him more. If needed, the testicles could be squeezed against the bangle. She would be on his left side, pumping his penis, and kissing him, telling him what to do, provoking his warrior instinct. She said she thought it would work.

We discussed this coldly, clinically, as if it were an everyday occurrence. But we were talking about my testicles – I was aroused, and the black volcano was eating me inside. I thought by the time we finished this conversation, we would be fucking again.

I got carried away playing my part. I told her I wanted more than testicle rupture, I wanted him to knead the the testicles together, destroy them completely to mush, so there was no chance of saving them. And it would make his victory over me more fulfilling. I craved a complete defeat, and wanted to look defeated. I should be completely naked, stretched out on the bed like a cadaver. That’s how a defeated husband should be. I wanted to give him an enduring image, something he’d never forget, an image he’d always cherish whenever he made love to her, of what he did to win her. I gushed, said I felt like I’d been waiting my whole life for this. I wanted it done right. I told her she should take photos of her castrated husband.

Maybe love is accepting complete defeat to surrender your woman to a better man.

Then they would make love, a celebration of my defeat, of her freedom, and of their new life together. They should dress, call an ambulance for me, then she was his and she’d leave with him.

We’d still see other a lot when I recovered. Guanajuato is a small place and we’d meet many times to finalize the divorce and split assets. Forever friends. And if he was agreeable, maybe I could be a godfather or an uncle to his daughters. I’d be harmless. A eunuch.

I became so hard it hurt. I grabbed her again and she was more than willing, more aggressive than before. She took me beyond what I thought possible in sex, to where my body and emotions melded into her, there was no ‘me’, only María. I realized she fucked me as a whore fucking her lover, not her ‘decent’ husband. And now I knew what she had been giving her lovers all these years. I was astonished her lovers hadn’t killed me for her. Afterward, I realized I should have asked her for the ‘Ride’, she would have done it for Guy, her new lover.

I fantasized about being her regular lover, cheating on her new husband. But I knew my castration would never happen, and I would keep her at the end. Still, it was exciting to fantasize about it.

End of book content.

I welcome all constructive criticism and commentary of any aspect of the story, from grammar and spelling errors to coherency problems within the narrative. If you’d like to comment on the story, use the (moderated) comments form. For all other communication with the author, send a message via the contact link at the top of the page. Please don’t spam or troll, your comments will never become visible.

If you’d like an email notice of the posting of each section of the book, please sign-up on the upper right side of this page. I promise you will never be spammed nor will I ever pass your contact information to anyone else.

If you enjoyed reading this piece of the Pleasing María novel, please share it with your friends.

All the contents of this web site are Copyright © 2015, 2016 by Guy Ordinary, all rights reserved. The contents have been registered as a published work with the U.S. Copyright Office.

Please follow and like us:
Previous Post
Next Post

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *