My name is Thecia and I’m a 31 year old “cutter.” I’m an engineer and usually work on pipe lines and flow charts but, I do my best work hacking off male gonads. I have a modest house in Dallas and a company maintained home in NJ where I often work.

I was returning from a three week, work related trip to the mid east and arrived at DFW Airport shortly after midnight on a Sunday.

I took a cab home and when I saw my neighbors light on I had the taxi stop there. My neighbor is a life long friend by the name of Lesli. She was still up and alone, so I knocked on her door and we had a glass of wine together to catch up on things.

When I left, I walked to my house and noticed a plastic patio chair under my window and the screen pulled off. I was pissed and my first instinct was to run in and confront the thief if he was still there. As I thought it out, I went back to Lesli’s and told her to give me her gun. I knew that she had a little 32 Caliber automatic in her house (hell this is Texas, everyone has a gun.) She said, “I’ll call the cops.” I told her not to and that I would take care of this myself.

I quietly unlocked the third entrance door to the house, the one that goes into the den. I walked quietly into the hall and on to the master bedroom.

As I turned through the open door, I saw him. He was on his knees happily sorting through my jewelry box. The only sound he heard was the slide on Lesli’s automatic pistol as I slammed a round into the chamber.

He jumped up and began to turn. I said, “Don’t move, I WILL kill you.” He stopped in his tracks. When he saw my 5’7” 120 lb frame, he smiled and said, “Well little girl, you’re not gonna shoot me are you?” With that, he started to walk toward me. I told him to stop and that I wasn’t kidding. He kept coming. While saying a little prayer for my hardwood floor, I fired a round into the floor between his feet. He stopped.

I had him lay on the floor in front of the bed, face down. On my command he placed his hands behind his back. I retrieved a roll of duct tape from my junk drawer and with my foot on his back, I used one hand to wrap one wrist. He started to stir, but before he could move I drove my heel into his kidney. He screamed and fell back to the floor. Still using one hand I wrapped both of his hands together. When he was partially bound I placed my knee in the small of his back and placed another layer of tape around his wrists.

I put the gun within reach on the dresser and began to tape his legs. He suddenly turned and tried to kick me. I grabbed one of his legs and punched him full in the balls. That took the wind out of his sails. I left him there and got a plastic table cloth from the kitchen cabinet. When I got back to the bed room he was trying valiantly to get up. I kicked his knee and he fell like a ton of bricks.

I put the plastic on the bed and helped him up. I made him lay on the bed and to calm him I told him that he could wait there for the police. Of course I had no intention of calling any one.

I tied his bound hands to the head board, taped one leg to the bottom post and sliced the tape between his ankles. When I tried to pull his other leg to the second post he fought me. He must not be too bright because I simply punched his nutsack again. He tried to pull his free leg up in a protective move. I said, “Give me that leg.” As punctuation I punched him in the balls again. He gave me his leg. Nothing controls a man like a smack in the nuts.

When he was fully spread eagled I began to relax. I asked him if he liked my jewelry. He responded by saying, “Fuck you cunt, get the cops here.” I smiled and told him that no cops were coming for him.

Using a box cutter, I gently slit his pants from the cuff up, one leg at a time. I was careful not to cut his package.

When all was removed I surveyed his junk. Nice stuff, slightly larger than normal balls and an adequate cock, not too long, but pretty thick.

I told him that I was nymph and that it was his lucky night. He smiled from ear to ear, fully believing that he was going to get his dick very wet and then just go home. I donned my velvet glove and proceeded to stroke him and play with his heavy balls.

I worked him for almost an hour, just bringing him to the edge and then backing off. I could actually feel his balls get larger as they filled with cum. When I decided to let him shoot, it was a geyser. He shot seven or eight streams, the first two went completely over his head and hit the head board of my four poster. Most of the rest landed on his chest and stomach.

I asked him if he knew the story of the golden goose and he said he had. I told him that his cum was like gold to me and if I could extract so much by just playing with his cock, I should be able to get a lot more by cutting into his meaty balls. He shuddered at that but he still believed that it was part of the game and that he was going to get laid.

Trading my box cutter for my scalpel I brought the blade to his sack. I could see him begin to worry at this point.

I asked him if he liked the diamond ankle bracelet that my father had given me for a graduation present. I saw fear in his eyes with that, he said, “Hey, I’m just trying to feed my family.” As he said that I sliced through the center of his nutsack. No pain killer needle for him, he screamed and screamed again. All of this noise wouldn’t do, so I forced a ball gag into his mouth.

Next I asked him if he liked my Movado watch, the one my first serious lover had given to me. He cringed, knowing what was next, my blade cut the side of his sack from top to bottom. My next comment was, “Do you think you have a right to my stuff?” as the scalpel cut through the other side of his scrotum.

By the time I finished listing my jewelry his ball sack looked like a tattered rag, just pieces of flesh hanging down with blood dripping off of them onto the plastic bed cover. His balls hung almost naked now.

The little swimmers are stored on both sides of a testicle, so I carefully pierced the side of one nut and sure enough a little dripped out. I said, “See, the golden goose.” He was not amused, in fact he was screaming at the top of his lungs into the ball gag.

I pulled his left nut to the limit of its cords and inspected it. I went into the kitchen and got a cereal bowl, as I needed a place to put the severed nuts. I pulled his left ball upwards and asked him if he could see it. He shook his head in the no gesture. So I pulled harder, straight up until he screamed again. I again asked him and again he shook, “no,”

I said OK and with one swing I severed the ball. I held it by its cords and placed it in front of his eyes and said, “Can you see it now?” He passed out.

While he was unconscious I cleaned the wounds and dropped the severed ball into the cereal bowl, it hit the bowl with a satisfying plop, music to my ears.

Later I woke him with ice water on a dish cloth. He tried to talk and had a pleading look in his eyes. I pulled the ball gag away a little and he said in a Childs voice, “Please, please, let me go. I’ll never come near you again.” I did think about it, I knew that without a scrotum his remaining ball would die anyway. On the other hand I was having too much fun.

I pulled his right (and last) ball to the limit of its ducts and cords and touched the cords with my scalpel. I said to him that I might just spare his last baby maker. As I uttered the words, I brought the scalpel through the meat and ducts, his last ball and the end of his manhood fell into my hand. I dangled this last one in front of his eyes and said, “Next time you rob a house, you should make sure that a “cutter” doesn’t live there.” My words fell on deaf ears, he had passed out again.

My friend Lesli is the only person in this world that knows both sides of my life. People usually only know the engineer or the cutter, with Lesli being the exception no one knows both at the same time.

I had to do something with this bozo, so I walked toward les’s house; she was outside with her fathers shot gun. She told me that she wasn’t going to let me face a robber alone.

I bandaged the robber’s open wound as well as I could and took his truck keys from his pocket. We found his van about a block away and brought it to the house. With Lesli’s help we managed to get him into the truck. We drove him to an area frequented by gays and left him there. My last words to him were,

If anyone ever hears about this, I’ll come back and take your cock.”

Using a pay phone, I called Mercy Hospital and told them where the van was and that a man was bleeding. I didn’t call 911 as I know that they record the calls.

As we drove home, I suggested that we stop at Dodie’s Cajun Diner for a bite, I had crawdad stew and Lesli had jambalaya.

By the time I got to bed, I was smiling. I have his balls on a shelf in my laundry room.

Respectfully submitted,

Thecia