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I don’t know if it’s true, but I’ve heard that if you drop a frog into a pan of boiling water, he’ll hop right out of it, but if you put a frog into a pan of cold water, then very gradually heat the water, he’ll just sit there until he’s cooked. Well, that’s the strategy I used on my husband.
Roger and I married about 5 years ago, and our sex life was pretty active. Too active for my tastes, actually. I didn’t mind getting fucked a couple of times a week, but Roger wanted it ever day. At first it wasn’t too bad, but before long I started to resent putting out when I didn’t feel like it. No matter how shitty I felt that day, Roger wanted to climb on top and push that big cock up my twat. What’s worse, he got into ass fucking too, something I didn’t like at all. It really irritated me to be Roger’s whore, but I figured that’s part of a wife’s duty. That is, until I started reading the Eunuch Archive last year. That started me thinking, and before long I was spending hours on the Internet researching the subject. When I figured out just what to do, I went out and bought this ball stretcher from a catalog. It was this leather cage that fit around the scrotum, separating the balls and pushing them down and away from the body. One nice feature was that it could be tightened as much as you wanted, just by using the strap. When I showed the stretcher to Roger, he was excited. That big old cock of his was hard and twitching as I strapped that thing onto his sack. It didn’t take him long to shoot his wad inside me. That alone was worth the purchase! I’d put the stretcher on him every time we fucked. At first I kept it on fairly loose, but gradually I put it on a little tighter. Roger would grunt and complain a bit, but when I stroked his dripping cock he quickly forgot about any discomfort. After a month or so, I was strapping that stretcher on nice and tight, and Roger didn’t even notice. It was a real thrill to see those two balls bulging against the sides of his sack. By now they were a deep purple, and I noticed it was taking Roger just a bit longer to shoot his wad inside me. That’s when I suggested to Roger that he wear the stretcher whenever he was home. “It’s so sexy!” I crooned to him, suggesting that it would make me more willing to fuck him. That’s all it took, and soon Roger spent all his time at home wearing the ball cage, even when he showered and slept. I always put it on him, making sure it was as tight as I could make it. After a couple months of this, I noticed a couple of things. It was taking him longer to get erections, and his cock wasn’t quite as hard as before. I reassured him that it was perfectly normal for a man who was married as long as he was to have erectile problems now and then. He believed me, too. Six months into my plan, Roger was having real problems getting it up. It took a lot of sucking and stroking just to get him stiff enough for him to fuck me. I suggested he get a prescription for Viagra, and that really helped. For awhile, at least. I knew from my research that the ball stretcher had been gradually killing his nuts. By leaving it on for hours at a time, it was cutting down on the blood flowing to his balls. Without knowing it, he was letting me castrate him, a little at a time. A year after my “experiment” had begun, Roger was completely impotent. No amount of Viagra, no sucking and no stroking could get his dick hard. One night after an hour of trying to get him erect, Roger broke down in tears. There, there, I told him. It wasn’t important to me if we had intercourse. In fact, I said, it’s really more pleasurable for me if he just went down on me. So that’s where we are today. Our lovemaking consists of my eunuch husband licking and sucking my twat until I orgasm, sometimes several times. It’s quite a thrill during lovemaking when I look down to see my husband’s limp cock dangling over his useless balls. It’s usually enough to push me over the edge to a huge orgasm. I still strap on the ball stretcher every day, even though I know it’s not necessary. I enjoy watching his dead nuts straining against the stretched skin of his sack. It makes me wonder why more women don’t castrate their husbands, too. Believe me girls, you’ll be glad you did it.
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