A guy plans to meet his online friend to cut off and eat his prick.  (Total adult fiction, not suitable for reading by minors.)

Sure, I'll Cut You

by Allen Baker

It's been six months since we first met in the chatroom. I can still remember when you first asked me if I was interested in castration or penectomy. Those were wild thoughts at first, but soon you had me primed to be your cutter. With each email we get closer to our goal. And you are so right: I think of it all the time. And those pictures of yourself don't do anything to cool my thoughts either. I keep envisioning those thighs pumping up and down on that bike as you head into the woods. All that exercise adds juicy muscle tissue. Hmm, I want to taste the milk from those enlarged breasts. That estrogen you're on will activate those glands and cause them to ooze through your shirt as you bike among the trees. I want to plant my lips over your nipples and suck and chew. But most of all, I want to taste your manhood. I want to have you park your bike in the bushes and meet me in the underbrush. I want to cuff your wrists and ankles and bind them to opposing trees, spread tight and straining. I'll build a campfire and while it grows, I'll rip and tear your clothing off you, slowly exposing you to the elements. I'll press my lips against yours, and we will kiss as we listen to the crackle of the fire.

I'll lick down your neck and onto you swelling chest. My tongue will slither teasingly around and around each nipple. Then I will suckle those tits, urging milk from your soft flesh. Suck and chew until your brown points turn raw-red and you squeal from the pleasure/pain of it. Then I'll bend my knees and lick on down through your navel and on to my ultimate goal. I want to taste your ooze on my tongue. Smell your musky fear-sweat in your groin. Listen to you moan with excitement and pleasure as I let your dick slide into my mouth, feeling that wet warmth for one last time. I'm talented with my mouth and throat -- you will soon be moaning with delight and pumping your hips as we both feel your vulnerable balls slapping against my chin, over and over. I grab them and ring them tight with my fingers, pulling them lower into their pouch, stretching it, testing it's endurance. Soon you can't withstand my administrations and I feel your nuts pull against my fingers, trying to retreat up their cords, preparing to trigger your ecstasy. That causes me to vacuum my mouth all the more and trap you down my gullet. You tense and tremble as your cock twitches and suddenly, I feel your wet cream flowing in waves down my throat. You grunt, wanting to experience the fullest possible pleasure for one last time.

It tastes so good. My own breathing quickens as I realize the long anticipated moment is at hand.

I pull off your dick and give it a final kiss. From my backpack, I pull out the large knife I've kept razor sharp for just this event. I grab your cock and put the blade under it, close to the base. Looking in your eyes, I see pleading. But for what? To stop? Or pleading to go through with it? Finally I sense acceptance and permission in your face, and I slowly draw the sharp steel back and forth as I apply upward pressure. Your body tenses and I feel warm wetness flow onto my fingers. Three quick sawing motions and the blade's work is done. In my palm I clutch your still-hard cock. But it no long resists being moved from your groin. I raise my hand and hold it up for our mutual inspection. We both sigh with smiles of accomplishment. But duty calls me to stop the flow of your bleeding. We don't want you passing out just yet. I thrust the blade into the flame. The wood handle protects my hand, but the heat is intense. Soon the metal begins to shine and glow, turning from silver to yellow-red as it absorbs the heat. I rise and turn and lay the flat of the blade against the stub in your crotch. You scream with the pain, but can't escape my pressing it into you. Your skin sizzles and we smell the stench of burning flesh as the knife sears the wound, sealing off the flow for the present. I skewer your dead cock onto a metal rod and return to the fire. Through your tears you watch as I hold what once was yours over the flames, Together we see it slowly brown as it absorbs the heat and begins to cook.

The smell is much different than the stench of burning . . . it is the aroma of roasting that makes the taste buds yearn and saliva to flow. Soon we both have spittle of drool on our chins as we await the fire to finish its task. Finally, it is no longer pink at the center. I fish into the backback to haul out the hotdog bun I had been careful to bring. Gently laying the alurring morsel into it, I pull out the skewer. I step close to you and hold it up to our noses as we deeply inhale our first whiff of man meat. We close our eyes, memorizing the aroma, dwelling on the smell. Then I smile and gently let my teeth glide down onto the treat. I nearly orgasm as my mouth fills with you. I look deep in your eyes as I chew on what once was yours. Chew slowly to savor every moment of this once in a lifetime experience. At last I swallow and tell you how great you faste. Then I hold the stuffed bun up again, positioning an end to each of our lips. Together, we bite into the forbidden fruit. Together we chew, watching the other's mouth.

I lean into you until our lips meet. I can feel the movement of your jaw as you chew. Slowly our lips part and the contents of our mouths mingle, being pushed and pulled in a dancing french kiss with substance. Your masticated tissues burst with flavor and we groan as we enjoy this sublime moment. Suddenly there is an urgency and we cram the rest of you into our mouths and chomp quickly, eagerly, to taste more, to chew more, to swallow more. And then at last we find we are kissing into empty mouths . . . your cock, once-attached to your groin has been relocated, shared, and forever a part of us both.