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The previous parts of this series appeared here: It's worth reading them in order. There is one, possibly two more parts to come.
Tom "Monica isn't as cool and adult as she makes out", I thought to myself as I sat there on the floor with my dick still in my hand and our clothes scattered around the place. The way she had suddenly stood up and run out of the room after I spurted my sperm for her, that was weird. I turned it over in my mind as I mechanically wandered round the room picking my clothes up and getting dressed again. There was something screwy about the whole thing; the way she'd made me masturbate in front of her and pretended it was so she could see if my penis needed to be circumcised or ... or the other thing. Oh God! I didn't want to think about that!
Without any conscious attention, I'd picked up her clothes too. I shrugged and wandered off towards my bedroom. Nothing made sense anymore. Monica's door was shut as I passed it and I left her alone. For once I didn't stop to sneak a look through the key hole. I needed to think. What was going on with her? If she had just wanted to watch me masturbate, why had she ....
No, there was the letter from the school. That was real. She hadn't made that up. Whatever else was going on between us, Monica had to be deadly serious about going through with it. My dick was on the line. And soon too, if I was any guess. Monica is like that; she doesn't mess around and procrastinate like I do, she always gets right on with things.
I could tell that she felt bad about cutting my sex, but feel bad or not, she was going to do it anyway. Probably tomorrow. So why the sudden change in her behaviour? Taking her bra off and letting me see her pussy and stuff like that? And masturbating! I'd seen her in her room doing it to herself! That was so unlike her. I didn't understand.
Maybe she was doing it again right now? Maybe I should go and look through her keyhole again and see if ... No. It was too risky. I'd been lucky she hadn't caught me last night. But perhaps if I thought up an excuse, like - yes, of course, I could be taking her clothes back, the ones she'd left in the TV room and I'd brought back here without thinking. I picked them up, red silk and black lace, paused to remember how she'd taken them off for me. Naturally, I looked at her knickers more closely, sniffed them for a moment. God, she had been horny! I could smell it, faint but sharp, and I laid back down and began to masturbate myself again, thinking of the way she had so slowly opened her legs for me and let me see that little cunt of hers that they had absorbed the fragrance from.
I pulled the covers over me. I might not have a cock in the morning. I had to enjoy this.
Monica It was one thing to decide what I had to do with Tom, to understand that I had to cut his penis off, I mean, and I knew that it was best done promptly, before he got into any more trouble, but working out the proper actual method was a different puzzle. Before I sat down to plan it out, I had already discovered that there were two or three different ways to do it in the book. Now I had to choose which one. There was a chapter to help with this too. I flicked through and found it, read the summaries at the start.
"The catheter method", it said, was "suitable for boys of any age" and was "the safest way to remove your child's penis". That sounded good to me, but as I read on I started to wonder. I'd have to start by pushing a long thin tube up inside Tom's penis for him to pee through after the operation (I picked it up and imagined doing it), and then, using the little sickle-shaped knife, cut all around his penis in a circle. I visualised bending over him, with the little scalpel-thing, slicing away at his dick meat and I had that sudden clenching feeling in my stomach again, fright I guess. And, I have to be honest, something else too. Something further down, in my sex. I tried to ignore that.
After cutting around it, I read, I could just slide the remains of it off along the tube. It sounded complicated though: I couldn't just cut a circle all around the metal tube, I had to try to leave an extra flap of skin and then sew that down around the tube to cover the stump up. I wasn't sure if I could bring myself to do that, thinking about it made me feel a bit sick. I thought of poor Tom lying there having all that done to him for what? Twenty minutes? Half an hour? No. There had to be a better way. I mean, I thought cutting his thing off was supposed to be just a quick snip and then it would be all over and he'd be OK.
What was next? The "blade-clamp", which was "recommended for the smaller penis". That sounded more likely. There was a picture. I rummaged in the box, found the right tool, picked it up and looked at it. It looked a bit like a can opener, the sort where you squeeze and turn. It had a sort of white plastic ring to go over the penis in a chrome-plated wire frame with a handle and a lever. I squeezed the lever shut and watched how it pressed a very sharp, thin metal blade down through the slot in the plastic ring. It looked easy, and quick. But I turned the page and looked to see what other ways there were, just in case.
There was one more, the same little curved knife that you could use for testicles or to cut around the tube-thing. You were supposed to heat it up so that it seared the wound closed at the same time as it cut, and you had to just cut freehand. I didn't like the idea of that much - too easy to make a mistake. Besides, it said it was "not recommended for beginners". That was me. Definitely a beginner.
I picked up the blade-clamp again, snicked it shut a couple more times. This was the best way, I decided. I put it down on the desk and turned the pages till I found the detailed instructions for it, settled down to read them carefully. All I had to do was slide the cutter-thing down to the base of his penis and squeeze. They said it was important to press it right up against the base, not just to make sure of getting the whole penis, but so the special bandage would fit.
Then there was another tool to close off the blood vessels and stop any bleeding. After that I had to push a tube up his pee-hole and bandage his stump. I didn't like the thought of blood and bandages much and I almost changed my mind. But it had to be done.
I woke up very early and for once didn't feel like going back to sleep. It was still dark when I slipped into the shower. On the way back, I peeked into Tom's room, just to make sure he was there. I could hear the blackbirds through his window, singing in the half-light just before the sun came up. (I hadn't really thought he'd run away; I was just checking.)
It took me ages to get dressed. It sounds silly, I guess, but I wasn't sure what to wear. I mean, what do you wear to circumcise your brother? Formal would be silly. I didn't want to wear anything too revealing - I wasn't trying to turn him on, not like last night. Something like a nurse's uniform would be OK, if I had one, which I didn't. So just dress normally? Somehow jeans and a tee-shirt didn't seem right: too casual. I guess I wanted to look authoritative, like a person in charge, and it had to be practical too - and it had better be washable. In the end I found a one-piece dress in pale orange that used to be Mummy's, very plain and the sort of thing you'd wear to work in a sandwich bar. It only came down to mid-thigh, but it was solid and practical - in fact not that different from a uniform except for the colour. That would have to do.
I read the instructions in the book again. It seemed clear enough.
I'm skipping ahead here, but castrating Tom wasn't the most difficult part. I mean, it was pretty messy and not a nice thing to have to do, but at least I'd only ever have to do it once. No, it was the other things that happened on that Saturday morning that still disturb me when I think about them.
In a way, actually cutting his penis off was the easiest part of all. I'd read the directions until I almost knew them off by heart the night before, and I'd examined the tools and bandages and stuff so that I knew fairly exactly what I needed to do.
I don't think I'll tell you about the cutting and the other stuff just yet. Let's just say that I did it and maybe I'll talk about it later.
Afterwards there was a lot of blood. Tom was still doing his best to hold himself perfectly still, except for his heaving chest. He'd stopped screaming, gone into shock I guess, but he was sobbing silently, his mouth open and his breath hissing as he gasped for air. I almost panicked when I couldn't find his pee-tube but my common sense told me that it would be easier if I could stop the worst of the bleeding first. The pistol-thing (I forget the proper name for it) was actually really simple. It has two little flat jaws, about the size of match heads. All you have to do is work out where the bleeding is coming from and clamp that spot between the jaws. Then you squeeze the trigger and there's a sort of sizzle sound and it's sealed. By the time I'd used it six or eight times, the worst of the bleeding had stopped and I could see what I was doing. Very carefully, I slipped the thin plastic tube into Tom's urethra-hole, slowly, slowly pushed it home. I wasn't sure where to stop, I didn't want to push it too far in, but that was easy too, I discovered. It was suddenly dripping his urine out and that meant that the tip was up inside his bladder. Far enough.
Tom was lying quietly now, just watching me as I worked on his manhood (or what was left of it). I knew what I'd done to him and I knew how he felt about it and although I knew I'd done the right thing, I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes. My hands were shaking now as I painted yellow antiseptic cream around the catheter. That stopped the bleeding altogether and he was nearly done. The last step was the Elastoplast bandage. I had to admit the chemist's kit was really neat - the bandage was about two inches across and round, with a hole in the middle for the catheter and a ring of sticky round the outside. It just slipped straight on.
It was done. I cleaned up the mess and he was finished. I looked again at the neat flesh-coloured bandage covering the unfamiliar flat place where his penis used to be and it wasn't just my hands that were shaking now, I was trembling, shuddering all over, and I felt my knees give way as I slumped down with my head on his chest and sobbed my heart out.
Tom Monica didn't have to say anything. She just stood by my bed and looked at me.
"Is it time already?" I asked. But I already knew.
She just said "Yes. You'd better pee first" in a flat, matter of fact tone.
I did that, pointing my flaccid little penis at the bowl for the last time, not caring that Monica had followed me into the bathroom - to supervise, I guessed. When I'd finished she had me sit on it and knelt down with a bowl of warm, soapy water to wash my sex.
I got hard, of course. She made no comment, though she obviously noticed, and she took her time - not actually masturbating me but aware that her touch was giving me pleasure, and not minding that. She seemed to take a long time washing my cock, rubbing the soap in thoroughly, and her touch almost brought me to a climax. She stopped quite suddenly.
"Now, I need you shaved" she said.
She clipped around my penis with a pair of scissors and then started shaving my crotch with her underarm razor. Every time she touched my cock to pull it this way and that for the blade I had to suppress a shiver of delight. She let me dry myself, and dress. My boxer shorts felt strange against my freshly shaven skin. Out of habit, or just to steal a few more minutes before I had to face this thing that seemed inevitable, I cleaned my teeth and combed my hair. I'd used up all my reasons to delay now, and Monica told me to go back to my bedroom, where she efficiently stripped the bedclothes off and put on clean sheets while I stood and watched her, unable to do anything.
"Take your clothes off, please Tom."
She wanted me naked, and even though she'd just seen my privates a few minutes before, it was hard for me. I shucked my T-shirt and my pants off, and then stopped. This time I wasn't just undressing in front of my sister, it was suddenly very different. I was undressing so she could castrate me. It was too late to change her mind now, too late to do anything. Except submit.
I stood with my hands at the waistband of my shorts, unwilling to take that final step.
She had the bed prepared now and turned to look at me, waiting. Her eyes flicked down to my shorts, back to my face, waiting still.
"Please Monica..." I stuttered.
"No Tom," she interrupted, "I've made my decision. It's too late for talking. Take your shorts off and lie down."
"But I don't know what you're going to do!"
She just looked at me, looked straight into my eyes for a long time without speaking. This was the moment,I knew, please, God, don't let her say....
"I'm going to cut your penis off."
Somehow I'd always known it.
Monica Tom went a quiet as a lamb.
He was still asleep when I came into his room, lying curled up on his side facing the door, and looking like he was about eight. He looked so harmless and innocent like that that for a moment I wondered if I had the heart to do this thing to him. But then I noticed what he was holding - a scrap of black lace. Yes. There crumpled up on the floor beside his bed was the red silk nightie I'd worn last night, and my bra, and those were my knickers he was holding. Innocent? It looked to me like he had fallen asleep "innocently" sniffing my panties and masturbating himself. Well then, I needn't let him do it one last time - he already had.
Perhaps it would be kinder to .... ?
Yes. Gently, I took my panties from out of his hand, dropped them on the floor before I woke him up. There was no need for him to know that I knew what he'd been doing with them.
I got him out of bed so he could go to the bathroom and then, because I couldn't trust his to do it properly himself, I carefully washed his private parts in hot, soapy water and shaved the area around it to remove all his pubic hair, like it said to in the book. He was oddly quiet but in a way I think he enjoyed it: his dick stood up stiff and I guess I touched it a little bit more than I really needed to. I didn't say anything, of course, but in the back of my mind I remember thinking that it felt nice, sort of hard and soft at the same time if you know what I mean. My two boyfriends had both been circumcised, so I'd never noticed the silky-smooth feel of a boy's foreskin before, that beautiful softness of delicate skin over the hardness of erection. When Tom finished school and I had time to have a boyfriend again, I thought, it would be nice if he was not circumcised. I could enjoy doing this to a boy.
Tom caught his breath, almost a moan, and I realised what I was doing to him. Much more of this and I would be masturbating him! Careful now to just touch him with the tips of my fingers, I rinsed him off and when I pulled his skin back all the way to rinse underneath it. For a moment, mostly out of sympathy I guess, I had the impulse to rub him again and let him come. But because he'd obviously masturbated himself to sleep last night and I was still angry about the way he'd done it, I didn't.
And yet, although he had abused himself again, I had to admit that his little cock was really rather beautiful. For a moment I lightly squeezed the very end of it, the funny part where his skin came to a sort of wrinkly point, squeezed it with my fingertips one more time, experienced that soft rolling sensation again.
He tool ages to dry himself and dress, his stiff little cock slowly shrinking back and returning to its normal size, and longer still in front of the mirror. He was trying to put it off as long as possible. I let him get away with it for a while, not too long.
Maybe the reality hadn't really sunk in yet for him; because when I had laid out the stuff in his bedroom and had everything ready and told him to take his clothes off again, he started sniveling and pleading with me. He stood there blubbering in his boxer shorts, making all sorts of excuses. It was pitiful. I wanted to be kind to him but I had an important job to do and I couldn't afford to let my feelings for him distract me from it.
Then I realised that he was still asking me what I was going to do to him. I hadn't told him yet! He didn't know! He looked so innocent and defenceless, standing there with only his silly boxer shorts to protect his little genitals, and my heart went out to him. Careful not to let any doubt enter my voice but as gently as I could, I told him.
"I'm going to cut your penis off."
Tom's eyes went to the fresh white sheet on his bed, so obviously prepared for him, back to my face (I tried to look firm and more certain than I felt), to the circumcision kit on his bedside table. I'd laid the cutting tool and the medicinal creams and bandages out in a neat little row: he had to be able to see the chrome and plastic of the blade-clamp, the plastic ring which was so obviously shaped to go over his penis. I should have been more discreet and laid a towel over them, I thought - too late now.
I could have babbled on about his masturbation, about how I'd honestly tried to find a way to let him keep it, I could have talked about the school and the trouble he'd be in if he didn't take his shorts off right away and lie down and submit to my cutting off his manhood. But I didn't. I just looked him in the eye and waited. More than anything, it was a test of will: my mind was made up: I wasn't going to back down now.
Somehow, despite his tears, somehow he knew: knew that this was the crucial moment, and that if he obeyed and took his shorts down now, the ending was inevitable.
Tom pulled his shorts down.
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