Yes, You Can Get a Man With a Knife

Yes, You Can Get a Man With a Knife

by

Kortpeel

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We were out shopping in town one morning. It was in the ladies' clothing section ofJolly's, the upmarket department store in Milsom Street. Carol was looking at clothes and I relieved the boredom by perving at the curtains of the try-on cubicles hoping to get a peek of something interesting. Then I noticed she was talking to some chap.

They were getting on well in that comfortable, nostalgic way that ex-lovers have when the relationship doesn't matter any more and they can simply enjoy the good moments from their joint past. They talked for a while, got up to date with each other and then he moved on. Carol looked around for me, saw me walking toward her.

"That was Jake," she said, ever so slightly guilty.

"I take it Jake was a good fuck?"

She blushed and got embarrassed. I thought that was so cute. "When you're ready you can tell me all about it if you want."

She wanted to reply but couldn't think of anything to say. Instead she suggested that we go back to my flat.

My flat was right in town in an old stone building that went up in the 18th century. It was a converted loft, small and cramped at the top of four flights of narrow creaking staircase. It was also warm in winter and had a nice view of the top of the Roman baths. Sometimes you could even hear the tour guides giving their talk to the tourists.

I made coffee and organised a snack while Carol tried on the clothes she'd bought that morning. When she asked me for an opinion I gave her the uncritical approval that she really wanted. Actually they did suit her. She is a slender brunette, just a shade taller than average. In heels she is the same height as me.

By the time I came in with the snack Carol was in her matching bra and white satin panties, folding up her purchases. Apparently a woman should always wear white underwear for clothes buying.

Over the snack, still in her undies, Carol remarked "I suppose I ought to tell you about Jake."

"And the others too?"

"Ok. But Jake was the only important one. At one time I was quite serious about him."

Carol was 25. We'd been going steady for only two months so we were still getting to know each other. I did know that any single girl who doesn't have a past by that age must have something wrong with her.

"It was a few years ago now and you must understand it's all completely over."

"Yeah. I understand. What happened?"

"I cut off his testicles." Carol said in such an ordinary everyday tone of voice that it took me a moment to react.

I choked on my food and the coughing fit gave me time to realise she must have been using the term figuratively. "You mean 'cut off his testicles' in a manner of speaking?"

"No. I literally cut off his balls. There was actual blood flowing."

"Oh."

Carol was speaking in such a matter-of-fact way that I found myself doing the same as if it was a perfectly normal thing to do. "He didn't seem to bear any resentment toward you when you were talking to him."

"No He wouldn't. He's actually quite happy about it."

There was a long pause. I wasn't sure if Carol was playing some kind of game or trying to work out how to tell me about it. After a while she continued.

"He was about 25 or so at the time. I would have been 22. In my naïve innocence I saw him as good husband material so I let myself fall for him. Heavily."

I understood that the textbooks on "How to Get a Husband" advise single girls not to tell their present beaux too much about their past and Carol was aware that she was breaking a cardinal rule here. She looked at me to judge my reaction.

I nodded for her to go on.

"He didn't see himself as husband material and kept stalling. I'm pretty sure he loved me though. Mainly he was too young although I didn't see that at the time.

"Well, I was doing everything I could to get him to propose and he wouldn't. Then a friend of mine said 'work on his kinks'."

"His kinks?"

"Yes." Carol looked a little embarrassed. "You know: men have these kinky traits - like being tied up, or spanked, or wearing women's clothes. That sort of thing."

I grinned. I had a few kinky traits of my own but certainly Carol didn't know about mine.

"My friend's idea was to find out what his weird traits were and then indulge him. She reckoned that if a man was getting what he really wanted you had him. It had worked for her."

Carol had my full attention by this stage.

"So I got Jake to tell me his weird, embarrassing fantasies. Turned out he had this thing about castration and he enjoyed the idea of a woman trying to persuade him to have his balls off." She paused, gave me an embarrassed look and went on: "So that's what I did. He loved it and the more I did it the better I got at it. I got so good that I convinced him. In the end, instead of proposing marriage he proposed castration.

"So I cut them off for him. But it was a mistake. After that he lost interest altogether."

"Well, I suppose he would," I said.

"Yeah. Shows how stupid I was. Of course he would. Mind you, he was quite happy like that, without testicles. It didn't bother him at all."

"It must have done. Surely it meant he was no good as a man after that?"

"The way Jake put it, after he'd settled down, was that his sex drive was gone. But as he had no sex drive, not having it didn't bother him a bit. As he saw it his sex drive was all he lost.. All the rest of him was perfectly normal and he could get on with his life without being bothered by sex."

"I don't see it," I told her. Surely he missed sex?"

"The way he explained it: not having his sex drive was like not having an urge to cock his leg and piss on lamp-posts. In other words he didn't miss it."

I had to laugh at that. It explained it well.

Carol went on "We've stayed friends and I often see him around and we talk. He's still happy."

As I thought about it I had a feeling this couldn't be true. How could a girl persuade a normal man to want to have his balls cut off? Even if it was a fantasy he wouldn't want it for real. I wasn't sure I'd want even my fantasy for real. "You're having me on, aren't you?"

"No. It's the honest truth."

"Well, how did you know how to do it? He could have bled to death or something."

Carol looked at me very seriously. "The actual cutting off wasn't difficult at all. It was like they were meant to come off. "

"Eh?"

" I'd had all that advanced first aid training and I'd given plenty of injections and stitched people up. And I knew about stopping the bleeding. It's much easier and quicker than, say, delivering a baby."

"Yeah. But if he had this castration thing to begin with, that's how you were able to persuade him."

"I've often wondered that," Carol said. "Perhaps he really wanted his testicles out."

"Must have done," I said.

"I don't think so. I think I overdid the persuasion. And by the time he wanted me to do it for real I think there was something in me wanted to do it."

"You wanted to castrate him?"

"Yes. Well, there is something sexy about cutting off a man's testicles. Once when I was on the ambulances we got an emergency call. A woman had bitten off her husband's testicles in a fit of pique and he was bleeding to death. I was able to stop the bleeding and stitch him up. After that I knew I could do it ok."

"She bit off his balls?"

"Right off," Carol said. "Luckily she swallowed them, otherwise he'd have wanted me to sew them back on."

There was a moment of silence between us. I was thinking about what Carol had told me.

"So what weird fantasies do you have?" Carol asked me.

"Er -. None." I wasn't in the mood for embarrassing revelations. I was looking at Carol's slender, well manicured hands and wondering if they really had done what she said.

"Liar. Of course you do. All men do."

"How do you know?"

"Research," Carol said. She came over, sat next to me put her arms around me and gave me a brief gentle kiss on the cheek. Then she murmured in my ear: "Any man who's interesting enough to attract me has to have some dark, guilty secrets."

It's so irresistibly lovely when a pretty girl comes on to you, especially when she's in just her underwear.

"Come on, she whispered. "Tell momma all your dark, dirty little secrets that you have in that filthy mind of yours."

She was giving me light wet kisses all over my face. Her hands were working their way down my front to the belt and zip of my pants.

"So what does Kinky-Poohs think of just before he ejaculates? Is it the pain of the cane? Or fancy panties and stocking tops?

"Tell Momma everything. You know you want to."

Her hand was moving down inside my underpants. It was exquisite as the fingers curled around my penis. She took it out.

"Momma's waitng." Her fingers were lightly teasing my shaft.

"Being nude," I gulped. My voice was unsteady.

"Yes?"

I told her how wicked Miss Striker had blackmailed me into being the demonstration model at her sex education classes for twelve year old girls. I had to endure the shame of standing there nude while Miss Striker showed them a penis and how it worked. Each of those not quite-so-little-girls was permitted to give it a few strokes so that they would know what to do when their time came, and they were encouraged to touch and cup my balls so they knew what every young girl should know about boys.

"And I take it Miss Striker allows one of the girls to bring you off at the end?" Carol was doing with my prick exactly what the girls in the fantasy were doing.

"Yes."

Carol let go of my prick and stood up. "That is absolutely disgusting. I've heard some sick fantasies in my time but that one … With underage girls too." There seemed to be genuine shock and contempt in her voice. Or she was a great actress. "Why couldn't you just want to be spanked or forced to wear panties like any normal pervert?"

"Well, er you did ask."

She bent forward and by pulling my penis got me to stand up. My trousers and underpants slid to my ankles. She took hold of my balls and squeezed. I was scared she was going to hurt me but she squeezed just hard enough to make it feel nice.

"So you want to flash to little girls? And of course it's not your fault 'cos Miss Striker makes you do it. Typical of a man to take no responsibility. Blame poor Miss Striker. Don't you think that's disgusting?"

"Well ?"

She squeezed my balls much harder. Any more and it was going to hurt.

"Yes. It's disgusting."

"With fantasies like that these really should come off." She gave my balls a sudden hard jerk as if she was going to pull them off. "It's unsafe to have a sick person like you walking around free."

After that Carol got all affectionate again and we had sex. That brute raw passion wasn't love making, just fucking.

It was a few days later when we got together again. She came around about mid day.. "Look what I've got." Carol showed me a smallish bag like you put your toilet stuff in when you go on holiday.

"What's that?"

"Get nude and I'll show you."

So I got nude. "Ok. Carol. What have you got there?"

"It's a castration kit. No, don't be scared. I know you aren't ready for cutting yet. I'm just going to show you."

The kit contained the scalpel, anaesthetic in little glass ampoules, the syringe, needle and thread for suturing and stuff to prevent infection. The items were sealed in sterile wrapping. The only ordinary thing in the kit was a disposable safety razor.

"The razor is to remove your pubic hair first," Carol explained. "You don't really need to take it all off but it does look nicer if you do."

She was rubbing her fingers over my pube as she said that. "And in any case, it's nicer being screwed by a guy with a shaved pube. The smooth skin feels better on your clitoris."

One lives and learns, I thought. I hadn't known that.

It was while she was shaving my pube that the real point of all this came out.

"I need a special favour from you, Dave." At that point she was stretching the skin of my scrotum by pressing a ball against it and gently shaving off the ball hairs. It would have been a difficult time to refuse.

"Yes?"

"You know my friend Margaret. You've met her and Ted a few times."

Margaret, about the same age as Carol, was married to Ted and they had two young children. She was a warm, friendly person who loved to talk about her family. She was 5' 6", with dark curly hair, a nice figure and lovely tits to fill a D cup. Ted had a degree in psychology and a career in personnel management.

"Yes?"

"Well, Margaret tells me that Ted is ready for his castration but she's a bit concerned about the actual procedure."

Carol rinsed off the hairs that were clogging the razor and got to work on the other side of my scrotum. "So what I'd like to do is use you to talk her through it. Would you mind?"

She took a long razor stroke across the stretched skin of my scrotum. I could feel the tug on the hairs as the blade sliced through them.

"Er no. Not at all."

"Good boy. I was sure you wouldn't mind helping me."

"Does Ted want to be castrated?"

"Well he's agreed to it. Margaret wants him done too."

According to Carol castration was a good idea in a marriage. It strengthened the relationship between husband and wife and it made a man a better husband and companion. It wasn't necessarily the end of sex for them but at that stage sex wasn't as important as it had been in the first few years of their marriage. And it was perfect contraception.

Carol dried me off after the shave. "You can put some clothes on if you want. Margaret 'll be here soon."

I'd just got dressed when Margaret arrived. There were the usual greetings. Over a cup of tea Carol explained to Margaret that I had agreed to be the patient for a walk through of the procedure so she could get a really good idea of what to expect.

Margaret nodded, looking a shade confused about what that actually implied.

"Dave, would you go and get undressed, please? Come back in a towel."

When I returned Carol was going through the castration kit with Margaret. She was explaining why it was better to remove the scrotum as well. "It heals up with an almost invisible scar and it actually looks rather cute like that."

"I see," Margaret said. "No one would ever call that little bag beautiful, would they?"

"I've always thought it rather handsome," I said.

"You don't have to look at the ugly thing hanging there," was Carol's retort. "Believe me, it is not beautiful."

Margaret smiled. She certainly thought the same way as Carol.

"Ok Dave, if you'd lay down on the floor please we'll do the run through."

I did so, modestly trying not to flash anything, clad as I was in just the towel.

I needn't have bothered. Once I was in position Carol opened the towel leaving me nude. Margaret was too surprised not to get a good look at my hairless pube, and my penis pointing skyward at attention.

Carol thoughtfully propped my head up with a cushion. "Having an erection at this stage is perfectly normal. Men always get a hard on when you pay attention to their genitals like this. He's probably enjoying it."

And I was. This was even better than my Ms. Striker fantasy. Carol had organised it for me. What a girl!

"Noticed he's fully prepped and it's much nicer without that ugly hair in any case."

Margaret nodded. Carol and I between us had her complete attention.

"Now we put disinfectant on his skin in the area we're going to work." It came from an aerosol can and felt pleasantly cool. Carol lifted up my balls and sprayed carefully underneath them.

"Then we inject the anaesthetic here, here and here." Carol indicated the sites for the injections with an actual syringe and at one point she pressed the needle just a shade too hard and penetrated the skin. "Whoops, sorry Dave."

"Ouch" I said on principle. It didn't hurt.

"Now, Margaret, I'd like you to hold his penis back out of the way. I have to mark out where I'm going to make the incisions."

Margaret very diffidently and delicately took hold of my penis with her finger and thumb and held it at an acute angle to my stomach. She was shy to touch it, like Ms. Striker's pupils.

Carol made lines with a marker around the sides of the root of my scrotum where she would make the incisions to remove it. She explained it carefully to Margaret.

Margaret, as she looked at the marked lines and listened to Carol, absently took a firmer hold on my penis and had it in a full wrist grasp. Her wrist began slowly to move up and down the length. It occurred to me that this was a reflex action for women when they have a prick in their hand.

"Now we have to get everything ready for cutting the testicular cords. The thread for tying off the cords, the scalpel for the cut and a little bowl for the off-cuts. I know someone who will bronze them."

As Carol nattered on to Margaret I was feeling delightfully relaxed, too lazy to move. It was so pleasant to just lay there with Margaret's soft hand on my prick.

Carol started to massage my balls. "The aerosol made his scrotum contract but when it's like that it's difficult to get a clean cut. Now I have to work them so that they hang low."

Hell but I was enjoying this situation. It's harder to imagine anything nicer than having one girl massage your balls while another is giving you a slow wank.

"Now there will be some bleeding so it's a good precaution to prevent a mess." Carol took out some sterilised cloths from their sealed bag and spread them around under my balls.

"So you see, now he's all ready for the cutting."

Margaret nodded that she understood and Carol opened the sterile wrapping from the scalpel. She got right down on to the floor as if she were getting into position to make the actual cut.

Shit! Was she making the actual cut? I could feel the blade of the scalpel on my skin. I tried to move back away from it.

My body didn't respond. I was paralysed. I couldn't speak either. Not even a croak.

"Pulse rate's going up," Margaret said. With her hand on my prick she would easily feel that.

"Just hold still," Carol murmured, concentrating on what she was doing.

I could feel that something was happening down there but I couldn't see what. Just Carol's head as she did whatever she was doing.

With her other hand Margaret passed the bowl to Carol. Her right hand was firmly holding my prick.

Despite my fear, horror and shock my hard-on was as good as ever. It was probably the best ever.

Margaret's hand was moving again and, for heaven's sake, I was enjoying it. She got faster until I just couldn't hold back. In an explosion of pleasure great gobs of come shot toward the ceiling and splattered onto my chest and stomach. Margaret worked me right through and then she cleaned up the mess with a spare piece of the sterile cloth.

"Was that all right?" Margaret asked, all sweet and eager-to-please. It had been lovely but I still couldn't move or speak.

"And we finish up with a dressing like so," Carol was saying. That stays there for a few days while it heals." I could just see the strips of plaster that held a padded dressing in place where my balls had been. They came down either side of my prick.

Carol got to her feet with the satisfied air of a person who knows she's done a good job. Margaret knelt by my side and looked at me.

"Is Dave all right? He's not moving or anything."

"He's fine," Carol said. "Dave always likes to rest after he's ejaculated. Let's have some more tea."

Carol collected up all the castration stuff including the little bowl with bits of me in it and went out to the kitchen with Margaret.

I still couldn't move. And I was confused. Was this real? Was it a nightmare or the ultimate sexual experience?

I heard them in the kitchen, both of them nattering away. Then later I heard Margaret leave.

Carol came back. "There's still some tea. Would you like a cup?"

I managed a croak. It must be wearing off, whatever it was. Thank goodness that at least the paralysis wasn't permanent.

"Come on. You can't lie there all day." Carol took my arm and started to pull me up. I thought she was being remarkably cold-blooded about it considering what she'd just done to me. My muscles were beginning to respond but my legs felt like jelly. Must be shock, I thought. Carol held me to make sure I didn't fall.

"So what did you think of that," she asked with a naughty grin. "I couldn't get you any twelve year olds but was Margaret a good Ms Striker?"

I managed another croak.

"So does the idea work? Would you want to marry me now?"

Why not? In my state I was never going to get another woman. Carol could have me for whatever I was now worth.

"Yes," It was still more a croak than a word but Carol understood.

Carol looked delighted. "Look it's still only four. Let's walk up to Gilmer's and look at engagement rings."

Hell! I'd just had my balls cut off and she wanted to look at bloody engagement rings. I wasn't going anywhere.

"You'd better get dressed," Carol said. "And you don't need this stupid dressing anymore. "

She ripped off the plaster and removed the dressing. There were my balls, clean shaven but intact.

"A bit of a walk will help remove the last bit of the curare. Oh heck! I forgot to tell Margaret about that. I use it instead of restraints. Works well don't you think?"

About 45 minutes later Carol picked out her engagement ring. It had two diamonds in a little cluster. We were both happy.

End

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