The White Box - Sex Stories

The White Box

... Bellamy. I live at 37 Marlboro Circle in Sands Point. I need a policeman. I have a story to tell. I’ve been tortured and maimed by my wife and her lover.” I ended the call and waited silently for the patrol car to arrive on that quiet Monday morning. A patrolman arrived about fifteen minutes later. I explained what had happened step by step. Later I took him down to see the root cellar and the cell that had been my quarters. He told me not to touch anything. The crime scene techs and two detectives arrived about an hour later. I went back over the story, repeating all the details and then going over it all again and again. Then they wanted the details of my torture. I dropped my pants and my boxers. My empty scrotum was still bruised—purple and yellow and black—even after all these months. There were scratches and scars from the numerous tears as my testicles were forced through the sac. I thought one of the detectives was going to vomit when he saw the damage. Finally, I explained how I had let them get away, even giving them five million dollars. “That doesn’t make sense, sir.” “Actually, it does. I wanted them to be looking over their shoulders every single second. I couldn’t torture them physically although—God knows—I would have loved to, but this way they’ll experience psychological torture and—best of all—they’ll be doing it to themselves. They have a check for five million, but they can’t cash it. That kind of check would draw a lot of attention. If they do they’ll ...

... give their location away and risk being arrested. It was the most effective revenge I could think of.” “But…five million dollars? That’s an awful lot of money.” “Yes, it is, but I can afford it and it’s worth every penny, besides I’ll get it all back if the check isn’t cashed in six months.” “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Bellamy, once the lab results are in. The DA will take all the info to the grand jury, but I’m sure they’ll be indicted. Have you given any thought to suing Dr. Spengler?” “No, but I do have a private investigator researching his involvement with my wife. So far he’s turned up plenty, including the fact that Dana always paid for the hotel rooms. He has told me that the good doctor is almost broke. He was in a professional partnership, but was kicked out for selling roughly a hundred improper and illegal prescriptions involving narcotics, including some to undercover DEA agents. I’ve also learned he’s looking at losing his license. That would give him plenty of motivation even if he hated Dana, which I doubt having seen them fuck several times when I was their slave.” “Well, I’m personally glad you’re okay; I have money invested with you and I’ve been worried about it over the past few months. Now I know it’s as safe as can be expected.” I thanked him for his confidence then sat back while they continued to gather evidence. The police were there all day taking the white box, the chains, and everything else they could think of to the police lab for analysis. Virtually ...