After several embarrassing stalking incidents, I had no reason not to take her at her word when she offered me the choice of her going to my corporate CEO, the police, and competitors with the evidence – or letting her cut off my scrotum. She gave me exactly one week to consider it.

I canceled my appointments and essentially went into seclusion during that time. She ignored my first few calls, but finally picked up. I tried every angle, believe me. She was a rock, completely immovable. Again I called; again she recited the mantra, balls or prison, balls or prison. “They really are such a … little thing, when you think about it, right?” she said almost consolingly. “You’ll live. You just won’t do this to any other girls. But you’ll be fine.”

“What if I get them cut off and give them to you, will you then leave me alone? I mean who’s to say you won’t kill me; you’re an E.R. nurse, not a surgeon.” She had really thought through every possible argument from me I could tell.

“I know you’re rich and you can just buy a set. I’m not that stupid little teenager you conned,” she said, calling me named not worth repeating. “I would need to see you naked one last time before we call this thing settled.”

That was our last phone call. Her final words echo in my head, awaken me from a dead sleep. “By midnight Saturday, your balls are mine. Bring ‘em, preferably attached, but separate is good too.” She had me. From this moment on, the realization that one way or another my balls literally belong to Melissa, closed around my spirit like falling into a deep crevasse of blue ice. Clutching my doomed sack, acceptance flooding me, I cried like a baby. After I don’t know how long, I sat down at my desk and started to sketch.

I wanted it to be quick, and definitely I did not want Melissa to have the satisfaction of neutering me, nor did I trust her to do it safely. I must have fallen asleep and when I came to, I thumbed through the drawings. Each was a more accurate version of a four-foot tall guillotine, one that might have been used on cats instead of people, with a small hole where the head would go and a slanted weighted blade only four inches across. The drawing was of sufficient quality to use as an actual building guide. Over the next two days, I built a scale model of an actual guillotine, even grinding down a shiny new axe head to the point where it held a slanted edge that could cleanly slice paper.

I masturbated until it hurt, and no further ejaculations were left in me. Naked, I painted my sack with iodine and triple antibiotic ointment, used two small nylon quick ties to cinch my sack both high and low, leaving about a half inch of tightly compressed skin in between, where the blade would do its work. I cannot begin to tell you how scared I was. I smoked some really strong weed, drank some fruit juice mixed with vodka, and straddled my infernal machine. My balls hung down the other side of the hole, and my right hand clutched the release cord that, with a gentle tug, Melissa would soon win her awful demand. For the life of me, I just could not pull the cord. I cried with frustration, and utter hopelessness as I cut the nylon ties and fell into bed.

When I awoke Thursday morning thinking more clearly, I remembered a girl I had once met for a few dates who had mentioned this website. My discretion is absolute; I know how to keep secrets, and so for purposes of this writing, I will call her Liz. I had lost her phone number but searching through archived emails I did find her address. I found stories she had written here about her cuttings; she didn’t use her real name for the stories, but the pen name and her writing style clicked. I knew it was her. So I emailed asking for her phone number.

She hated the circumstances of Melissa, and took my side. We talked of taking both legal and illegal action against her, and after a circular discussion that always returned to the same logical conclusion, she agreed to meet with me and help me out. She refused to cut me herself. All she said on the phone was, “I’ll send you off with proper memories and help you, but in the end only you can pay your own debts.”

Liz arrived, put some music on the little hotel radio, and walked over to me, resting her hands behind my neck, massaging it while facing me. “We only had our two dates and never got to do this,” she said. “Finally!” With that, she helped me out of my clothes, and I out of hers. Liz was perfectly “my type,” and momentarily I thought back to why I’d never gotten intimate with her. It was her, not me. Now I wondered if only my neutering brought us together this night; that this was the ultimate trust and intimacy she required from a lover. You had to lose your balls to get her, was my theory, but I was too anxious to ask.

My favorite position was always six-nine, and Liz was more than happy to oblige. That’s one thing Melissa can never take away from me are my tongue skills; yet she would after a few moments take away my desire to use them. I was so afraid, and I normally don’t cum from oral sex, but I exploded in her mouth pumping in waves that seemed never to dim, and she nearly drowned me as she came, clenching my head between her silken thighs. She rested, nestled again my chest, and when she asked me if I was ready, I rolled on top of her, put her feet up onto my shoulders, and fucked her for all I was worth. I came again and she came again. As she came fairly silently, her inner contractions and writhing triggered my last orgasm. As I pumped my final load into Liz, looking down at her beautiful face, I felt pleasure so acute and so powerful that the memory of it would last me a life time. It had to.

We dozed, and she awakened me with a firm but not painful squeeze of my balls. She’d been up staring at them, immediately I knew that for some reason. She let me take a few hits off my water pipe, take a drink of juice, and then she helped me over to the guillotine. I wrapped my legs around the device, and she pulled my balls through. She used two nylon ties to make my sack tight, closed the wooden stabilizing clamp, painted on the iodine, and gave my balls a playful squeeze. She crawled catlike up to my head, and kissed me hard. I was so afraid, and pot never did lead to great erections for me, nevertheless I felt myself respond, and so did she. Her silky little hand helped to full raging status as she stood up and lightly rubbed the sole of her right foot over my nose and mouth. In our brief time together she had read me so well, my foot fetish and craving for the taste of her pussy.

Next she squatted down naked over my face, and as I craned my neck high, reaching with my nose and tongue, she wrapped the guillotine release cord around my head and tied it like a headband, instructing me to bite down hard. “If you want me to cum, you know that I grind down hard and my legs lock together involuntarily,” she said. “You’ll need to lay your head flat if you want to make me cum.” With that, she took my upside-down cock into her mouth and gently grazed my face with her delightfully musky, sopping wet pussy. I strained to pleasure her! I worked her pussy with everything I had, and she sucked me in and swirled and slurped, until I felt the twinges of an impending orgasm, remarkable as she had so thoroughly drained me just minutes before.

I felt her start to let go, but she prolonged the sex and would not press down with her weight She continued this for what seemed an eternity, and I knew I had to lay my head flat to the floor in order to give her what she so desperately craved. In doing so, I would lose my balls, but that was why we were here. It was what she wanted; it was what Melissa wanted. I was the only one spoiling this for us all. I felt so good, and Liz tasted and smelled and sounded, and felt, so wonderful – that with a groan I lowered my head to the floor and she with me. Unhinged at last, the heavy blade descended its two-feet, gravity doing its work, until she came in buckets and I exploded into her mouth, and just then I felt a brief twinge of pain as though getting smacked in the balls. And then it was over. I felt a little lingering pain but nothing outrageous. Liz showed me by sack and I cried, and she snuggled next to me, soothing me.

Melissa was impressed, and teased me that she wouldn’t really have gone through with the exposure, and that she wished I were whole again so that she could fuck me one last time. I felt the spirit run out of me. Liz however was kinder, and while she had no real interest in me romantically now that I was no longer a full man, she was at least a friend to me from then on. Occasionally at my request, she will six-nine with me and I do still get hard, but the orgasms are less than fulfilling, always keeping me unsatisfied yet somehow, placated, shall we say. I can’t say I miss my balls and all the tail-chasing that went with them. I’m a better man for it in the end. Thanks, Archive, for Liz.