Coming Unscrewed

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Coming unscrewed

A story by Velveteel.

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Marielle serves such wonderful drinks!

I looked up at her from my armchair. She was dressed, as always when I visit her, in a long, flowing, black gown. Nothing else. No bra or panties; no jewellery. No shoes either, which is a delight for me as I love to look at her beautiful, slender feet. Just a loose robe, ; one that clung to her gorgeous form as close as a snake's skin. It flowed around her breasts, accentuating them. And the folds at the front always managed to sneak in between her legs to outline the delicious mound of her cunt, even showing the subtle bulges where her labia and clitoris were. She would make me feel so horny, so erect, so hard as she moved languidly around me, caressing my face, arousing me, preparing me for the evening's fun.

Our nights together had become an erotic ritual. My appointed arrival time was ten minutes to ten - I was allowed fifteen seconds of error either side of this. I had to present myself on her doorstep wearing a formal black suit, shirt and tie, without socks or underwear and with my zip pulled down.

My cock and balls had to be adorned with the two, ornate, heavy gold rings she'd given me on our first meeting. They weren't too tight, but putting them on was a bit of a ritual in itself. Holding them close together I'd pop the right ball through - usually a fairly easy task - then came the fiddly and quite painful job of easing the left one through to join it. Passing the prick through to join them was no problem, provided I was flaccid, but of course I was always in a state of anticipation and excitement by this time! I had to think of cabbages, postage stamps, fence posts, anything to get my eager mind off the delights that were to come!

When I arrived at her house I had to knock twice on the door, and wait. In due course Marielle would open it, and invite me in. She would kiss me, without allowing me to kiss her in return, then she'd reach inside my open zip and clip a slender, black leather dog lead onto the D-loop of the first ring.

"Mine?" she would murmur softly, in that lovely, breathy voice she used when she was claiming some part of me..

"Yours!" I would reply fervently. And she would smile a contented smile.

Holding the lead, she would conduct me to the special armchair in which I always sat while she prepared the evening's special cocktail. It was always a delicious concoction, made just for me. Marielle herself would have a non-alcoholic drink, while I drank two glasses-full of whatever her inventive mind had been able to conjure up. Usually the flavour was a combination of some citrus fruit and something else. Banana, perhaps, or guava. But there would always be a strong alcohol content, and often a faint taste of something medicinal, or illicit. Once I detected cannabis - I'd smoked grass when I was at college, so I was well acquainted with the unmistakeable aroma, and I knew the highs that came from that particular weed. Occasionally I thought I detected other flavours, and I suspected she might have been dosing me up with something stronger than grass.

It didn't matter. I trusted Marielle, and I just went along with the flow.

Always I would find, as I finished my second glass, that I had an erection harder than anything I'd ever experienced since my earliest days of jacking off. Maybe it was something in the drink that caused it; maybe it was Marielle herself who, without removing a stitch of her flowing, glowing clothing, would move around me, her beautiful body hinting at the possibilities and the promises of the night to come. And of course, the two rings round my genitalia would retain every drop of blood that my body pumped into my cock. When my second glass was emptied, she would beckon me and I would follow her to her bedroom, where our nights of delight would come to fruition.

Well, that's not quite true. Fruition it certainly was, but only for Marielle. I was allowed to touch her body with my lips and tongue; nothing else. No bondage was applied, but I was expected to keep my hands off her body at all times. The labia that I had seen earlier, through the light fabric of her beautiful black gown, were to be touched by my mouth alone; the rest of my body had to obtain its pleasure by a sort of erotic osmosis.

I often wondered what it was that took me back to Marielle, time after time. I adored her; I worshippd her. If she had told me she needed a kidney for some research she was doing, I would willingly have donated one.

Ah, yes. I haven't mentioned that she's a surgeon, have I? She's a renal specialist at our local County Hospital. But she's also got a private clinic where she takes care of people with genito-urinary problems. That's how I met her.

I've only ever had intimate contact with two girls before, and they had both said how ugly my scrotum was. I've got - had - a really long scrotum. The balls always hung way below my penis, even in cold weather. Sandra used to put two fists round it and squeeze, but my balls would still roll about loose in the lower part of my sac.

"No wonder you never cum when we fuck!" she declared. "The stuff must have to travel miles to get from your balls to your dick!" The actual reason why I never came was that she was fat and ugly. I hated her, but she was available, and she was the first girl I ever got to screw.

The second girl - Janine - was much prttier. But she never let me fuck her with my cock.. She was obsessed with my long, dangling scrotum. She liked to wrap a soft, cotton cord around it, in long, tight loops, until my balls were scrunched up in the end of my sac, then she'd tie it off. That would leave me with a long, slender ball sac with a great bulge at the end.

"That's better than your prick!" she would say. She'd grab it, and stuff it deep into her vagina. She liked that. For me it was a somewhat frustrating experience, but she loved it when I rubbed her clit with the underside of my dick. I did cum, of course, but the stuff always ended up between her belly-button and her tits, and she'd make me lick it off her afterwards. It disgusted me, but I did it because she told me to. I hated the taste of cum.

Neither relationship lasted very long.

So it was despair that drove me to the little clinic in that tiny side-alley in the shadow of the spire of Salisbury Cathedral. I remember the embarrassment I felt when I explained to the receptionist that my scrotum hung too low, and that I was desperate to have this deformity corrected by surgery.

The receptionist wrote down all my details. I thought she'd need to see my problem, and I started to lower my trousers, but she hurriedly informed me that I'd have to be assessed by the surgeon, and I'd need an appointment. Luckily she'd had a cancellation, so I got an appointment to see the surgeon that afternoon.

I took lunch in a local pub, then I traipsed around Salisbury for a couple of hours, looking in the gift and souvenir shops. At last it was time to return to the clinic, and the receptionist immediately ushered me through to the surgeon's office. The sign on the door said "Mme Marielle Couteau".

The surgeon was a woman. A tall, beautiful woman, dressed in a very formal black suit. I was utterly taken by her loveliness, her powerful, commanding presence. I could tell at once that she would know exactly what I needed, and would be able to fulfil my needs.

"Ah, Mr..."

"Benson," I completed.

"Yes. Mr Peter Benson." She looked at the papers the receptionist had prepared a while ago. "You seem to think you have a problem with your scrotum?" There was a slight trace of a French accent in her voice. I love the French. So sensuous, so sexy!

I didn't reply. Her glance was fixed powerfully on my groin, and I knew I was expected to show her the part of my body that had been causing me so much distress. In obedience to her unspoken command I removed my trousers and underpants. For about a minute she stood looking critically at my genital area. My cock, understandably perturbed by this long scrutiny, began to swell and rise.

"And the rest!" she ordered flatly.

It didn't even occur to me that I should ask why I needed to take everything off. She wanted me naked, and I just complied. Jacket first, then tie, shirt, and vest. My cock rose from half mast to full erection.

"Sorry about that!" I said.

"It happens. Don't worry. Shoes."

I took them off. Socks, too. She looked pointedly at my left wrist, and I took off my watch.

"Good!" she said, pointing to a small, round mat on the carpet, a couple of feet from her executive leather chair. "Stand there, and tell me about yourself!"

I obeyed. I felt very vulnerable as I stood there, totally naked and extremely erect. I started to tell her about my sexual experiences, and gradually I began to feel at ease with her. I told her, in intimate detail, about the disparaging comments Sandra and Janine had made about my scrotum. I told her how Janine had bound me up and used my elongated scrotum as a substitute cock, denying me any real intercourse.

"And so," I concluded, "I decided there was only one course left open to me. I have to do something about this long, horrible, dangling scrotum. It's preventing me from having any meaningful relationships with the women I meet. I thought it might be possible to have surgery that would shorten it, make it more acceptable?"

Mme Couteau stood up and moved towards me. She reached under my flagpost erection and clasped my long, dangling ball sack. For several seconds she held it, first gripping the long, empty part above my balls, then lowering her hands until she possessed my balls.

"There's nothing wrong with your scrotum, Mr. Benson," she said, looking directly into my eyes.

"In fact," she added, "it's a perfect specimen!" She rolled my balls in her hand. It was a struggle to prevent myself from ejaculating all over the jacket of her beautiful, black suit, but I managed.

"I want it!" she murmured.

She looked into my eyes, and I almost died from love of her! If she had had a knife in her hand, I'd have said 'Take it! It's yours!' But then she let go of my balls, and turned back to sit at her desk facing my naked body.

"I can help you!" she said. "But not as your surgeon". She reached into her handbag and pulled out a little card. "Well, not as your official surgeon anyway," she added, a little enigmatically, passing me the card. "Come to me at home next Thursday evening, at ten to ten. Be prompt - I hate it when my subjects can't follow instructions. I want to show you what can be done with equipment like yours. Will you do this for me?"

"Yes, er, oui, Madame Couteau..."

"Call me Marielle," she said. "Mme Couteau is my professional name. Our relationship will have nothing to do with my professional life. I am going to solve all your sexual problems, but in return you must please me on a very personal level. Can you understand that? Can you accept it?"

She was so beautiful, so alluring! Precum oozed from my rampant cock, stringing down to leave tiny stains on her carpet that would probably be there for ever. What could I say? Only ...

"Yes, Marielle! I accept!"

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I was dead on time for our first appointment. It wasn't very exciting, except that when she opened the door to me she was dressed only in the soft, black, flowing gown that I came to know and love. She pulled me indoors, commanded me to strip, and of course I complied without question. She gave me the two rings, told me what I had to do with them, and it didn't even occur to me to question her orders. I put them on.

She smiled contentedly. "That looks so good!" she murmured. "Now show me how far apart you can arrange them!"

Leaving the top ring where it was, I pulled the second one down until my balls were pulled tight in the lower part of my scrotum. Marielle took a steel ruler and measured the gap. "Two point four five inches!" she said. "Excellent! I really want these things of yours!" she announced.

"You mean you want us to f..." I started to say. But she interrupted me.

"I want your long, beautiful scrotum!" she declared. "Your cock too!" she added, taking hold of my fully erect member and stroking it possessively. "Be here the day after tomorrow, same time. Exactly the same time. Ten to ten. We shall have pleasure together!"

She told me how I should be dressed, ordered me to be adorned with the two rings she had given me.

"Yes, Marielle!" I said, love and obedience oozing from every syllable.

"Get dressed and go now!" she ordered.

I dressed and went, my cock still disturbingly erect. It remained so until, at home, I had masturbated three times, all the time thinking of the gorgeous, the beautiful Marielle who had so quickly, so easily taken possession of my soul!

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When I arrived for my next visit I tried, nervously, to take Marielle's hand and give it a chaste kiss of greeting. But she delivered a stinging slap to my face.

"You do NOT touch me with your hands!" she ordered, reaching inside my unzipped trousers to affix, for the first time, her little black leather dog-lead. "Tonight you will learn exactly how to please me. If you want me to solve the problem you have with your genital equipment, you will pay me by pleasuring me in the way I want to be pleasured!"

She led me to her sitting room, where on her command I stripped.

"Now kneel!" she ordered. "And put your hands behind your back."

She stood close in front of me, so close that I could smell the sweet fragrance of her warm, unwashed, feminine groin through the light fabric of her robe. She parted her legs, then reached down and slowly pulled her robe apart, revealing for the first time her perfect, shaven pussy. I stared at it, entranced. The lovely little nub of flesh that was the hood of her clit. Her labia - two delicate fronds of delightful flesh that formed a tracery of pink lace-work along the length of her slightly pouting crevice. My eyes struggled to see round the curve between her legs and observe the crinkled pucker of her anus, but without collapsing onto the floor it was impossible. I lifted my gaze, and looked at the tidy, lightly-indented belly-button at the top of the opening in Marielle's robe.

I was in heaven! Such perfection! And sooner or later I was going to be fucking it! Or so I thought. I suddenly realised I was beginning to drool, and I closed my mouth.

"Stroke me with your tongue!" Marielle ordered. "Reach as far back as you can between my legs, and make one slow pass upwards. Don't stop until you reach my belly-button, and don't break off until I tell you!"

I have a long tongue. This, I thought, was what it was created for! Leaning forward I made contact with her upper thighs, about an inch below heaven. Extending my moist tongue to its fullest extent, I gradually edged it upwards until the tip felt soft, crinkled flesh.

I was there! Unmistakeable! I had her arse-hole! The sweet, musky pucker, the tiny indentation that hid a cavity of infinite delight! I lingered there a second or so more than I ought to have done. One slow pass upwards, Marielle had decreed. Reluctantly I drew my tongue slowly back, zigzagging discreetly as I slowly crossed her perineum to begin the first of many expeditions into her luscious vagina.

Deep I plunged, as deep as I could, my lips caressing her soft, lacy labia as I went. My sensitive tongue felt her warm juices flowing over my taste-buds and I gathered some, encouraging it to flow into my mouth where I could savour it, swallow it.

One slow pass upwards. Reaching the upper part of her vaginal passage, my tongue encountered that curious part of a woman's anatomy that has the feel of a wizened, contracted scrotum, just inside. It's something that always brings to mind the fact that we all carry the characteristics of both sexes within us. A sweet reminder that the difference between Marielle and myself was entirely contained within just two chromosomes.

And then I touched her clit!

She actually trembled a little - the first indication from her that I was pleasing her. Oh, the temptation to linger there and excite it! How I wanted to encircle it with my tongue, to experience it, to know what turned it on - or off! At least I was able to gauge its dimensions, its shape, as I brushed it with my lips, sucking briefly while my tongue traversed that tiny protrusion.

It was long. At least, it was while I tongued it. Plump and rigid too. But the hood that had concealed it from my sight when she had opened her robe for me was long too. I was almost delirious with pleasure as my tongue passed over that wonderful button of flesh, then caressed the softer, labia-like hood as I reluctantly relinquished contact with her most secret, most private part.

The remainder of my journey was an anti-climax. She must have shaved her cunt a day or so before, because I felt her sweet stubble rasping on my tongue as it passed upwards, slowly, as instructed, towards her belly-button.

Still following instructions I remained there, eyes closed, pulling my tongue back to my mouth so that I could kiss her perfect belly with my lips. Her hands were on the back of my head, holding me against her belly for at least five minutes, before she moved away. I remained kneeling, eyes still closed.

"Get up, Peter," she commanded. "Sit in that chair and stay there while I prepare you a drink."

I did so, and watched as she busied herself at the little bar in her living room. I had been rampantly erect during the few minutes of our intimate contact, but gradually the blood that had engorged my penis sneaked back past my two genital rings, and I was allowed a period of relaxation. I wished I had been granted an orgasm, but I contented myself with the thought that it would come in due course

Come? Or cum? No, that's a hackneyed pun, and I didn't want to soil this relationship with old, tired ideas. This was a new beginning, a new love. A new life.

"Drink this!" she ordered, holding a beautiful crystal goblet towards me. It contained a liquid that was pink in colour and had a fragrance subtly reminiscent of the vagina I had just caressed. I took a tentative sip. Alcohol, sure, but a whole lot of other tastes too. It wasn't too strong, so I downed the rest of the goblet's contents in one gulp.

For a few seconds my head swam, but it cleared. I noticed that my erection had returned, with a vengeance.

"That's some drink, Marielle," I said. "What's in it?"

Marielle didn't reply. She just took my empty glass, refilled it and handed it to me. I noticed that the drink in her own hand wasn't the same colour as mine, but it didn't seem to matter. The only thing in my mind was an overwhelming need to please her. I sipped my drink slowly, trying unsuccessfully to work out what she might have put in it.

She sipped. I sipped. Soon, our glasses were empty. My cock was rock hard, and I was filled with an unquenchable desire to give anything to Marielle tha she wanted to take from me.

"Peter," she said softly, "I want your cock. I want your beautiful long scrotum, and the balls that it contains. Will you give them to me?"

I sighed. "Oh, yes!" I responded. "I want to give myself to you!"

"Come with me then!"

She moved - flowed - out through the living room door and went upstairs. I followed, surprisingly steady in spite of the strong drink she'd given me, and seconds later we were in her bedroom. She still wore her black, clinging robe. I thought she'd remove it, but she didn't. She laid herself on the huge double bed, right in the middle, and spread her legs, chastely hiding her sweet body from me.

"I want you astride me, Peter," she said, "with your penis above my eyes and your face above my vagina. You must remain on your knees. I want to see your attributes, not be suffocated by them. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Marielle!" I responded. Soixante-neuf would suit me just fine for now!

"Do it!"

I got astride my beauty. This was beyond all my wildest dreams. My cock was as rampant as it had ever been, harder even than it had been when Jake, my best friend at junior school, had sucked it!

Marielle pulled her robe apart, revealing to me the total delicousness of her nether regions. She removed the little dog-lead that was still attached to my ring.

"I want four orgasms tonight," she said. "You won't touch me with your hands, nor will you lower your groin so that any part of it touches me. I want to watch how your cock and balls react while you service me. I don't object to precum on my body, and if you ejaculate on me I shall accept that too. I like to have my anus stimulated. I like the sensation of a tongue penetrating deep into my vagina. My clitoris loves attention, but be careful to caress it lovingly rather than trying to bruise it into submission! My inner thighs are sensitive, so is the whole area above the clitoris as far as the belly-button. Understood?"

I nodded. She probably couldn't see me nodding but I was sure my prick, inches from her eyes, would have jerked in unison.

"Good. Now start!"

I started. This was a dream come true!

I was tempted to dive straight in, but I wanted to savour the event. I kissed her thighs first, raising my head between kisses so that I could relish the sight of her lightly-protruding clitoris, her fringes of lacy labia, her perfect, puckered arse. I lowered my head to savour the fragrance of her groin. An exquisite, feminine smell, with overtones of the light musky odour that can rise from a bum that is wiped rather than douched.

I was fascinated by her bum, made deliciously available to me by her widely-spread legs. A sweet, tight, pink pucker. It looked clean, but I wouldn't have been put off by the odd fleck of unwiped matter. I wanted to go straight to that bum, but I decided instead to lick her thighs, her lower belly, her labia, before descending on any of the more intimate parts.

I sensed precum oozing from my member. Marielle used a fingertip to remove it, but I never found out whether she put it to her lips or just wiped it on the bed-linen.

My tongue delved deep, deep into her vagina, sensing the heat of her inner body, and I caressed her labia long and gently before going for a teasing lick of her heavenly clitoris. Round and round my tongue went, feeling this sensitive nub rising and hardening, and as I did so she gripped my cock and began to stroke it. I came within seconds, my cum spurting upwards onto my own chest and dripping down onto her belly.

Shit! I had orgasmed myself, but hadn't yet managed to evoke one of the four orgasms that Marielle had demanded!

Marielle continued stroking me all through the ultra-sensitive period that follows an orgasm, and I had to ignore the delicious agony that it gave me. I just carried on, ringing her clit with my tongue, and within seconds I was rewarded by the shuddering, the sharp intakes of breath and the sudden rigidity of her body that signalled the first of her orgasms. My own discomfort was forgotten, and I applied myself more fervently to the task that had been allotted to me.

Now was the time, I thought. I moved my attentions downward, passing her vagina with hardly a lick of her labia, and I began to attend to Marielle's sweet arse. She moved her legs wider for me and lifted her knees a little, giving me access that neither Sandra nor Janine had ever been generous enough to offer! I kissed the darling rosebud and rejoiced, aware that I had recovered from my orgasm and was already regaining a full, almost painful erection.

Hell, I thought, there must be something pretty powerful in the drinks she'd given me. I'd never recovered this fast before.

My tongue caressed her arsehole, lubricating it and teasing it slightly loose, and I gave a gentle push. I must have penetrated to a depth of an inch with that first, quick thrust. Thanking God for my long, prehensile tongue I emerged again and began massaging her rim, using my lips to relax her and ease her more open. Soon I was thrusting in and out, going deeper and deeper. At first I guessed she might have taken an enema to cleanse herself, but one deep penetration of my tongue came into contact with something that I knew was shit! Soft, not coagulated. Something inside me asked why the hell I was finding pleasure in this, but I curved my tongue and withdrew a tiny sample to taste and relish! I'd never tasted shit before, not even my own. But this was a gift to me. A gift from Marielle.

It was delicious!

I took more, teasing that lovely hole, sucking the juices that emerged. Soon Marielle began to whimper a little, and I knew she wanted to rise to her second orgasm. Reluctantly I moved slowly via her vagina to her clitoris, and deftly brought her there. Both her hands were now caressing my cock and balls, and we climaxed at the same time, my second load of cum pulsing out to fall on her sweet neck.

I didn't come again, but I was able to complete my task of providing her with four orgasms. As she subsided from the final one, she closed her legs and ordered me to get off the bed. Naturally I complied, and I stood naked beside the bed while she rested after her final orgasm. She had covered herself with the black robe again, and I knew that the night was over.

"You have a very refined oral technique!" she commented. "I like that. You'll find it most useful when I've dealt with your genital problem. Get dressed, and let yourself out. Go home. Come again next Wednesday."

I did as I was told. It was 3am. I was there again on Wednesday as ordered. And on many subsequent nights.

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Marielle never told me whether she was pleased with my oral ministrations - I was expected to know from her responses if I was doing things right. She would orgasm many times each night, from the services I performed for her, but I was never granted the same relief. She often fondled my cock, and I would always thrill and quiver at her touch, but there was never any indication that she was doing it for my pleasure. No - it was a proprietorial touch. This is mine, her eyes would say, like an overly rich young man resting his hand on the steering wheel of his new Maserati.

"I bet you wish penises were detachable!" I once laughingly said to her as she gripped my taut member while I sat in my chair drinking my cocktail. Marielle had looked very sharply at me when I'd made that little joke.

Alone in my own bed, I sometimes fantasised about having a penis that could be unscrewed from my body, so that I could suck it, rub it against my face, or even slip it along the crack of my arse, perhaps even inserting it in my own anus. Then of course I would screw it back on again, rock hard, and jack off, watching as my cum flew in a long, stringy arc onto my chest.

"Wouldn't you like that?" I continued, unaware of the deep water I was getting into. "I could take it off and hand it over to you before I went home, then you could play with it to your heart's content!"

"And?" prompted Marielle, her fingers still clutching my prick but making no movement that might have taken me close to an orgasm. I didn't care - my whole mind was centred on that point of contact. Three firm strokes, I thought. Just three, and I knew I'd be thrashing about in the armchair, lost in the depths of a superb orgasm, spurting my sperm through Marielle's fist and onto the gorgeous nipples that I could see through the fabric of her black gown.

I got no stroking. Just Marielle's sweet' heavenly grip.

"And it would be yours," I added, so utterly, so innocently out of my depth that the ocean's malign currents could have carried me into storms, whirlpools or rocky shores without my knowing or caring. "It would be your toy. You could play with it in your own for a while, perhaps, then put it away in your own private toy box, to be brought out on special occasions. When someone gives you a toy, it's yours, isn't it? You could do whatever you liked with it!"

For a long time Marielle looked at me, saying nothing. Then she smiled.

"I shall have your cock later," she said. "You will give it to me, and I shall take it!"

"Why not now?" I suggested. I desperately wanted to fuck Marielle. All my masturbation fantasies at home were centred on the first, supreme fuck that I was convinced would soon happen.

"Later!" she repeated. And once we had proceeded to her bedroom I sucked and licked, I tongued and rimmed until she had enjoyed the exact number of orgasms she had decreed for the night. As always, I was left unsatisfied.

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My twentieth visit to Marielle was in mid-July, two weeks ago. That night had been no different from the others, except in one little respect. As my tongue dived and delved deep inside Marielle's delectable twat, she seemed to be gripped by one, five-hour-long orgasm. She remained on a high even during the brief rest periods she allowed me. All the time she was declaring how much she wanted my cock, and every now and then I was able to separate my mouth from her vagina for long enough to declare that it was hers, utterly and completely.

At last she closed her legs and raised her knees, pushing my head away to end the session. I eased myself off her body and sat on the side of the bed. Languidly she moved her hand to my groin and caressed my prick, which was amazingly still erect after my long period of cunnilingual servitude.

"It's nearly time," she declared. "I shall take them soon. Your cock will become mine."

"Do you want it now?" I asked in a throaty voice. My whole mouth was exhausted and raw. But my cock was ready for her. She only had to say the word, and I'd have been astride her, frantically fucking the hole that was still flowing with a mixture of her copious juices and my own, no-less-copious saliva.

She waited a full half-minute before replying. I supposed she was toying with the idea of letting me fuck her there and then. I was wrong.

"No," she replied at last. Her hand gripped my balls, rolling them gently in their enormous, ugly sac. "No," she repeated, releasing my gonads and slapping my thigh to indicate that our session was over. "It'll soon be time, but not just yet!"

This sounded to me like a promise. I took it to mean I'd already proved my love for her, by continuing to deny myself during our sex sessions and being patient, but she wanted our first real, cock-in-vagina fuck to be a special occasion. My heart raced at the thought that, before the month was over, I'd be screwing my darling and our relationship would be cemented.

"Marielle..." I started. But she reached over to place her finger across my lips.

"Peter, do you surrender your cock to me without reservation?"

I had told her so many times that she could have my cock any time she wanted it!

"My darling Marielle, you know my cock is yours!" I replied exasperatedly. "I want you to have it! I'm living for the night when you finally receive it!"

"I really want your cock, Peter," she declared. "Your balls too. I want your cock hard and engorged! I want balls that are heavy and bloated with so much cum that your scrotum will stretch lower then ever! Tell me that you agree, Peter!"

And I, besotted with love as I was, replied "Yes, my darling, I surrender my cock and balls to you! Scrotum and all! You can have them whenever you want them! They are yours!"

She stood, and looked hard at me. I could feel her eyes boring lustfully into my naked groin. My body pumped yet more blood into my painfully-erect prick and the heavy gold rings retained it, making the glans huge, tight and purple. My scrotum pulsed in rhythm with my racing heartbeat.

Marielle placed the fingers of her left hand possessively around my swollen member. This time she lightly stroked it, causing my erection to become so intense that a few tiny blood vessels in my glans burst. They left little dark blotches that took several days to disperse.

"I was born," she said quietly, still holding my cock, "on the thirty-first day of July, nearly thirty-eight years ago." This was the first time she'd told me her age, but I'd already guessed that she was about five years younger than me.

"I'm a Leo," she continued, "with Leo as my Rising Sign. When I let you go home, Peter, I'll give you a note with details of my exact birth time and place. I want you to do a little astrological research, and learn something about me. Then I want you to decide what you will give me for my birthday present. You know what I want from you. When you next visit me it will be on my birthday. That will be a special night! Will you bring me a present that will make me happy?"

"Yes, Marielle!" I declared fervently. "I will, I promise!"

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I used to be a sceptic where horoscopes were was concerned, but I did as Marielle had commanded. I looked at books in the local library, and I did a lot of research on the web, giving myself a crash course in both the theory and the mathematics of astrology. I exchanged emails with respected astrologers, not the ones who expound vague generalisations on TV, but real astrologers. Committed experts to whom a horoscope, properly cast, is an insight to the soul of the individual.

It's an art that's misunderstood by most people. I won't bore you with the details, but the deeper I looked, the more intrigued and convinced I became.

Leo is a Fire sign. It is positive, and exudes power. It's fixed and determined. I discovered that Leo individuals are proud, passionate, ambitious, masterful, honourable, irrepressible, delighting in all that is really big in life. It has been said that they are the born commanders, rulers and kings as much in the material universe as in the realms of the heart, this being their birthright gained through loyalty and the mastery of true obedience. Dominance, and an insistence on loyalty, shone brightly in every interpretation of the Leo characteristics that I found.

My own star sign is Cancer, which is submissive, watery, emotional and sensitive. All the sources I found told me I'm intensely romantic, with a vivid and eager imagination, which I had to admit was absolutely true. Cancerians, I learned, are usually more idealistic than passionate, sensual and worldly; though they are apt to be impressed by ceremony and ritual. Sometimes the gaudy trappings and pompous pretensions of temporal power overcome them, and this worried me for a while, but when I took a more precise look at my own horoscope I discovered that there was a Grand Trine in my chart that explained everything. Venus and the Moon are combined with Jupiter to make me very submissive where love is indicated, and Marielle likes to make our little sex games into ritual events that lead me ever deeper into the abyss of total surrender. Wherever she led, I submissively followed.

Superimposing Marielle's horoscope chart on my own, I clearly saw the power she had over me. Everything indicated that she was destined to possess my masculinity. It would be transferred to her, somehow, though she would lose none of her own gorgeous femininity as a result of the transfer. This suited me well. I wanted her to have me, to possess me. I was hers! She was the rightful guardian of my future, the custodian of my cock, the owner of the orbs wherein my seed is manufactured. My own desires came a poor second to whatever plans she had for me.

Suddenly I realised that my eventual happiness depended completely on my relationship with Marielle. I had to give myself to her completely.

The night before Marielle's birthday I suddenly remembered that Marielle was expecting me to bring her a birthday present. Something that would make her happy, she had said.

I knew what would make her happy. I sat at my computer and drew up a document. It said, in somewhat stilted, legal terms, that I agreed to Marielle taking my genitalia and using them in whatever way she saw fit. My mind was full of the prospect of - at last - having full, natural sex with my goddess. A 'special night', she had promised.

I played around with the fonts, and prettied up the document with a fancy border. I added a close-up digital camera shot of the body parts I was dedicating to her. I printed it out on best quality paper. Seeing no inadvertent errors or other implications in the document I had prepared, I knew I would have no qualms about signing it, in her presence, on her birthday.

It had been a long fortnight of waiting. Marielle had insisted that I refrain from masturbating until we met again, and I had promised to come to her with my balls full, ready to overflow. I was as good as my word, but it was a struggle. My cock would twitch to rampant readiness whenever I thought of Marielle, which was often. But I kept faith with her, and though the temptation was strong I managed to keep my fingers off my pulsing cock. As the days passed I was aware that my balls were growing plumper and harder every day.

When, at last, the final day of July arrived, I prepared myself for the great event. An enema first - it occurred to me that Marielle might want a bit of anal play. Then a long, relaxing bath.

Marielle had insisted that I shave my entire pubic area from belly-button to anus, so I did that in the bath. I had angled a mirror so that I had a good, clear view of everything. As I removed the hairs from my long, ugly scrotum, I idly wondered when my darling would get round to dealing with it for me. I still hated it, but over the months it had gradually become less of an obsession in my mind.

A shampoo under the shower, then a shave and a thorough session with toothbrush and toothpaste. Aftershave and body lotion, both courtesy of Yves St Laurent. Then the final body adornment. Passing those beautiful, gold rings over my balls, engorged with two weeks' unspent cum, was a painful operation, but at last it was achieved. Then I had to wait several minutes for my rampant cock to subside from its super-excited, eight and a half inch maximum. At last it went to a semi-soft state that allowed me to squeeze it through the ring to join my balls.

White shirt; white tie. My best Armani suit, zip open to reveal my rings and the underside of my upright prick. Black shoes that I'd lovingly polished a couple of days before. No socks or underwear, of course. At last I was ready.

It was still light as I drove, uncomfortably, the seven miles from my apartment to Marielle's isolated cliff top house. When I arrived, it was the same ritual we had performed on my twenty previous visits. I checked that my zip was down, looked at my watch, waited a few seconds, then knocked twice.

Every time she opened that door my heart sang, and this night was no exception. Her smile of welcome just melted me! As she reached into my trousers and took possession of the things I had already dedicated to her, she asked the usual question.

"Mine?"

"Yes, Marielle, yours!" I replied happily. "I've kept my word - my balls are bursting with the anticipation of pleasuring you! And my cock is eager for everything you've planned for this special night! Happy birthday, darling!"

Marielle smiled softly. "That's good!" she murmured. Normally she left my package confined in my trousers at this stage, but tonight she pulled everything, balls and all, through my open zip. I was so eager for her! So erect!

"Very good!, Peter" she said, as she attached her litle doggie-lead to the gold ring. "Come along!"

I was led, as usual, to the special armchair. I watched as she poured my first drink from the little crystal jug that she always used. She passed the glass to me, and I took my first sip.

Wow! The drink had an immediate, massive, three-stage effect on me. First there was an amazing intensification of my erection! My cock, which had been highly aroused and erect since Marielle's hand had first grabbed it, at once became painfully hard and fully extended. My balls seemed to swell, causing my scrotum to pulse with the rhythm of my heartbeats, and they tingled slightly for a while.

Something like three minutes later a sort of super-relaxation swept over me. I lolled back in the armchair, letting my head and my body get carried away by the sensations. Taking another sip, I rolled the drink around my mouth, trying to discern the ingredients of Marielle's special cocktail. Orange and mango certainly. The alcohol was gin, and there was plenty of it, but there were other tastes I was unsure about. I sniffed the glass delicately. A curiously unpleasant smell, reminiscent of the scent of a male fox, lurked behind the aromas of fruit and alcohol. Urine? If so, it wasn't Marielle's. I've tasted that before, drunk it neat from the source, so to speak, and it never smelt as tangy as this. Maybe it was cat's urine. The thought would normally have disgusted me, but I was feeling so, so relaxed...

I also noticed another taste underlying everything - a sharp, slightly acrid taste. Maybe she'd forgotten to wash the orange before scraping off the zest, I mused. Either that, or she was trying out some drug on me.

I shrugged. No point in asking Marielle - she'd answer my questions, but I never knew whether or not she was giving me the true facts. Anyway, I reasoned, she wouldn't be stupid enough to dose me up with something that could kill me. Would she? I downed the rest of my glass. Marielle immediately topped it up from the jug.

"Come on, Peter, drink up!" she urged. "This is my birthday, and it's our special evening! I made that drink specially for you. You'll need every drop if you want to get the best out of our night's fun!"

"It'sh strong shtuff," I commented. The third stage had hit me. I hadn't intended to slur my speech. Normally I hold my drink well, but now I was feeling so very, very relaxed. My cock was still super-erect, but there was no longer any pain from the constricting cock-rings. My whole groin area was getting numb, and I realised the effect was gradually spreading to other parts of my body. I noticed that the hand holding my drink had started to droop, and I carefully restored it to an even keel.

Reaching drunkenly into my pocket with my other hand, I produced the document I'd printed out at home.

"Darling," I said, "thish is my birthday present to you! I hope you like it!"

Marielle took the document and read it. I saw a smile of contentment cross her mouth, but it was followed immediately by a scowl. Marielle scowls so beautifully...

"You haven't signed it!"

"No, darling," I replied. "I wanted to do that while I wazh - was - here wizh you!" I reached out for it, and tried unsuccessfully to pull a pen from my jacket pocket. Marielle, bless her, was ready with a genuine quill pen. She stabbed my fingertip with it, causing blood to well up and gather at the point of the quill.

I'd never used a quill pen before. You have to hold it at a certain angle to get it to write properly, and it was sheer luck that I held it right and made it write at once. I signed my computer-printed declaration with an inebriated flourish, spattering little blobs of my own blood everywhere, and handed the document back to my darling, double-Leo Marielle.

"There you are!" I said. "All yoursh!"

"I bet you're a Cancer!" she declared. "Domesticated. Dedicated. Submissive!"

I nodded.

"I knew it," she concluded. "And I bet your rising sign is Aries!"

She's so fucking perceptive, I said to myself. Aries. Positive, unswerving in my devotion. Dead right! I wanted her to have my cock. It was already totally dedicated to my sweet Marielle.

"You're so good to me," murmured Marielle. "This is exactly what I want for my birthday!" She stood behind my armshair, stroking my face, watching me as I downed the remnants of my drink. It usually tickles when she caresses my chin, but not this time. I felt nothing.

She caught my near-empty glass a second before it would have dropped from my hand, and held it to my lips. "Drink up," she urged again. "You'll need the full dose." The last dregs of the drink trickled down my throat, and she put the glass down.

"Raise your right hand, Peter," she ordered. Sluggishly my brain sent the proper signals down my right arm. My hand twitched a little, but it just wasn't interested in obeyng. Shit, I thought, I was paralyitic drunk! Pissed out of my mind! Panicking, my mind struggled to find any part of my body that I could still control, but it failed.

"Good," said Marielle. "Peter, darling, you've responded so generously and selflessly whenever I've asked you for your cock. And now you've dedicated it to me! I felt you deserved a little help in giving yourself to me tonight, so I added something to your drink that would relax you a bit."

A bit? God, I thought, my body couldn't be more relaxed than this if all my bones had turned to jelly. My vocal cords seemed to have gone to sleep. I could move my mouth, but no sound emerged any more.

I'd have been perfectly happy to be in bondage for our first full-blown fuck, and I didn't understand why Marielle felt she needed to dope me up like this instead. And how's she going to get me to the bedroom, I wondered. Surely she's not going to try and mount me fully-dressed like this, in the armchair?

Anxiously I looked down at my huge, engorged penis, protruding obscenely through the zip of my trousers. Good news, I thought, for two reasons. Firstly, it made me realise I could move my eyes. Experimenting with my eyelids I discovered I could blink too. Secondly, my cock was twitching, which meant that my erection function was still busily keeping me hard and ready to fuck my wonderful Marielle.

"I see you've discovered you still have control over your over your eye movements, Peter," said Marielle, breaking into my thoughts. It gives us a means of communicating, doesn't it? Let's try one blink for yes, two for no. Understood, Peter?

Blink.

"That's good. Very good. You do understand me! Are you nervous?"

Blink, blink.

"Excellent!" she said, smiling. I love it when she smiles like that! "Now for a little test!" she added.

Gripping the end of my foreskin between the tips of her left thumb and forefinger, Marielle pulled it upwards and slightly away from my glans. She picked up a sewing needle with her right hand, and pressed the point hard against the moist, inside surface of the foreskin. Normally I would have cried out in agony, but there wasn't any pain. There wasn't any sensation at all! And although I could have blinked a panicky 'No!" to try and stop her, she wasn't looking at my eyes anyway. Her attention was on the needle which she was pushing, pushing, until the tiny, gleaming point emerged from the volcano-shaped bulge it was causing in my foreskin.

The needle had been threaded with what looked like black nylon fishing line. She pushed until it protruded a good inch through my foreskin, then she gripped it from the outside and pulled until it was all the way through, leaving the length of line threaded through the piercing. She picked up a small white luggage tag, threaded it onto the line and tied it to my prick.

She held the tag out for me to see what was written on it. "Peter," it said. "31st July, 2002."

"That's temporary," she declared. "It didn't hurt, did it?"

Blink, blink. She smiled contentedly.

"Your drink's just about taken full effect, I think. This, Peter my darling, is where the fun really starts!"

Briefly she bent down and planted a chaste kiss on the tagged tip of my rampant prick. I guess she must have reached under the armchair at the same time, and pressed a little button or something, because suddenly an electric motor started to whirr and the backrest slowly moved downwards, leaving me lying flat on my back with my prick pointing straight up into the air. Then the bench (for that's what the chair had become) gradually rose until my eyes were a few inches below Marielle's black-clad nipples. The arms of the chair sort of folded up under the bench, letting my hands flop down uselessly each side.

"Raise your bottom please, Peter! I need to remove your trousers. Oops, sorry, how silly of me! You can't move, can you darling? Oh, well, I suppose I'll have to go for plan B!"

Plan B turned out to be scissors. Smiling as she did it, she actually cut the trousers of my Armani suit from me, starting at the turnups and gradually snipping all the way up each leg, past my protruding penis and through the waistband. It was a grossly vandalistic act, but I gave no thought to it at the time. My mind was filled with thoughts that Marielle and I were at last about to Do It! Nothing else mattered!

"Well," commented Marielle, neatly folding down the remains of my trousers, "you'll never wear those again, will you? At least the fabric will be some protection for my armchair. What we're about to do could be a bit messy!"

She lifted my hands to my sides and strapped them there. I was grateful for this - if she'd left them hanging down they'd have ached like hell when the effects of the drug wore off. She also strapped my ankles and thighs, holding my legs wide apart where I eagerly imagined her impaling herself on my still-rock-hard tool. God, I wanted her! She was so beautiful, so dominant, everything I had ever dreamed of in a woman!

She did something to the chair/bench and my head was tipped up, enabling me to see my cock once again. I could also see Marielle. My eyes feasted on her black-robed body, from her beautiful, raven-haired head down to her gorgeous thighs. I knew those thighs so well - my upper arms had rested against them many times as I gave her my head.

She resumed her detailed examination of my hard, erect penis. I knew there was a tiny mole at its root, and suddenly I feared she might think it was a genital wart and refuse to fuck me. But she made no mention of it. Finally she put her hand possessively around my cock and looked meaningfully at me.

"It's time, Peter!" she at last announced softly, her hand gently stroking up and down along the length of my dick. "I'm going to take your cock! You told me this was what you wanted, and the document you gave me as my birthday gift confirms it! You've made me so happy, Peter my darling!"

Her robe fell open. She shook her shoulders and it fell to the ground, revealing to me (for the first time) the astounding beauty of her naked body. The breasts, that I had only seen before as black-clad forms, were suddenly revealed to me, and my prick became even more rigid than before. My glans swelled and turned dark purple, forcing my newly-pierced foreskin to roll back and leave my little piss-slit visible. A large bead of pre-cum manifested and slowly crept down the upper side of my cock, finally dribbling down to leave a long transparent string linking it to my shaved belly. I wanted to blink several times, say "YesYesYesYesYes!" to her, but I was afraid my signal might be misinterpreted so I limited myself to one blink.

"Your balls too, my darling. Your little contract note gives them to me, and I want them. I want everything that's in them. I want them tonight! Now!"

She looked questioningly at me, and I blinked once again. Come on, Marielle, I thought. Get up on this bench, sit astride me and impale yourself on my eager cock. Take all that I've got! Pump me until my balls - your balls - release all their semen inside you. Take my cock and my balls!

Then I saw the knife in her hand.

Ah!

It was a handsome knife. A big kitchen knife, and obviously an expensive one. It had a thick, dark wood handle and I could see, from the way Marielle held it, that it was a favourite knife, one she had used often. If I could have moved my body I would have shuddered. The blade was about ten inches long, slender as a stiletto and slightly hooked at the pointed end. That pointed end looked wickedly sharp.

My mental images of hot, energetic sex with Marielle began to fade. I suspect my cock would have liked to fade too, but but the special drink, and the constricting effect of the cock rings, were conspiring to keep everything rock hard and very, very available.

It didn't need a giant leap of imagination to know what the knife was for. Like she said, she was going to take my cock. My balls too, it seemed. My manhood. The parts of me that marked me out as a man.

Oddly, though, it didn't seem to be a big deal. Words like mutilation, assault, eunuch, slave passed swiftly through my mind, but I ignored them. I knew I was Marielle's slave, and the rest seemed just a natural consequence of my slave status.

She put the knife down so that it rested across my chest. The handle was heavy enough to press my erect left nipple down to a flat nothingness, while the tip of the blade pushed a tiny dent in the side of my right tit. I watched, mesmerised, as a little bead of blood formed there. There was no pain. I still felt nothing.

I wondered what she intended to do with my gonads once she had detached them. I suddenly had a brief flashback to the days when I used to fantasise about unscrewing my prick, like a lightbulb that needed replacing, and playing with it. Now it looked as though that fantasy was about to come true!

I felt amazingly cool about it all. Was it the drugs she'd fed me, or was this my true desire? Marielle had demanded my cock and balls, and I was happy for her to take them. The fact that I wouldn't be able to screw the cock back in its place didn't seem to matter.

She leaned over me, inviting me to suck her nipples. They were, it seemed to me, erect, hard manifestations of her love for me, and I opened my mouth to take one, then the other, inside me, sucking her, stimulating her, showing her my unreserved love. So sweet, so superbly generous of my darling Marielle!

But this pleasure lasted only a few seconds. She took up the knife (accidentally, I surmised, severing my right nipple in the process). She climbed onto the bench, kneeling with her ankles each side of my head, facing down towards my penis. Before her gorgeous twat descended on my face I saw her pick up my amputated nipple and place it in her mouth.

"Thank you, Peter," said Marielle.

She swallowed, audibly. I was thrilled. It was like a holy communion. She had eaten my flesh. In a very special way it unified us, made us one. I felt no pain, but I could see that I was bleeding profusely from my wound. She reached back between her thighs with some sort of surgical instrument and touched it to my chest. There was a brief smell of burning flesh, and the bleeding stopped.

"Now I have you inside me for the first time," she continued, "and we can never again be apart! Oh, yes, I know the remnants of that tiny token of your flesh will be excreted tomorrow! But it will be digested first, and the essence of it will be with me forever!"

Down onto my eager face came her moist, beautiful cunt. I could move my mouth, although there was no sensation there at all. I knew her juices were lubricating my lips and nose, running down my cheeks and chin, and I opened my mouth so as not to waste them. I felt so happy that she was sharing herself in this way with me!

My tongue was mobile too. Without the stimulus of sensation I put it on automatic, driving it in long, slow slurps the length of her gaping vagina, knowing that I was licking her all the way from clitoris to anus, prising the labia apart to delve deep into her hole with every pass.

"Oh, yes!" murmured Marielle. "Carry on doing that! It'll keep me in the right mood!"

She pressed down on me. The drugs still prevented me from moving to find a position where I could breathe, and I just concentrated on pleasuring her immaculate vagina with my numb tongue and lips. Fortunately she shifted every thirty seconds or so, allowing me an opportunity to exhale and inhale. I wondered what was going on beyond her body, and I guessed that the knife was being brought into play. I just applied myself to my task of pleasuring the most wonderful woman in the world.

Suddenly she shook with her first orgasm, grinding her sweet hole so hard onto my nose that her labia, dripping with her sweet fluids, provided me with a second pair of eyelids. It seemed to me that I had orgasmed with her, for at the very moment she came there was a sudden, intense feeling of release in my own groin. Later I learned that Marielle, at that very moment, had made made the first cut with her knife. She had slit the skin of the perineum between my scrotum and my anus, about an inch and a half behind the two gold cock rings she had given me.

"Keep going, Peter!" she ordered. I needed no persuasion. I swallowed a mouthful of her sweet vaginal exudations and continued to give her precious cunt the benefit of my attentions.

Over the next hour or so I provided Marielle with numerous orgasms, and each one coincided with a special incision. Marielle knew what she was doing, and later she described to me in full, gory detail exactly how she had proceeded. It involved reaching into her first incision to tie two loops of strong gut tightly around the root of my cock, roughly half an inch apart. There were several details I never understood, about dealing with nerve endings, blood vessels and the like, but I'm sure it was on her fourth orgasm that she cut through the meat of my cock between those two tight loops of gut.

Then she turned her attention to my balls, performing a quick vasectomy and tying off the tubes. I continued to lick and suck, keeping Marielle as close to her peak of orgasm as I could. Finally she cut around the scrotum and pulled. My penis and balls came cleanly away, the loop of gut holding the blood within my cock and keeping it erect. Ten inches of cock, including the length of root that she had taken, plus the two balls nestling in the scrotum attached to it!

She raised her arse high, allowing me to peer between her legs and see my severed manhood in her two bloody hands.

"I have you now, Peter! Your cock and your balls! Aren't you happy for me?"

I knew she couldn't see my eyes, but I blinked once for her. Yes, my darling Marielle! That was my birthday gift to you!

She was busy for a full two hours after that, mostly remaining astride my face and receiving my attentions where she most desired them. In my mind I pictured my gonads - her gonads now - resting in some stainless steel surgical dish beside the bench on which I was lying. I must have been delirious, because the severed end of my prick seemed to have a brass-coated thread on it, like a light bulb waiting to be screwed into a socket.

I faintly felt a needle penetrating my thigh, and seconds later I blacked out.

-------------------------------------------------------------

"Peter?"

It was Marielle's voice. I opened my eyes, and closed them again quickly. The sun was shining through the window directly on me. I wanted to sleep.

"Peter!"

The voice was more demanding. I opened my eyes again, carefully this time. Marielle stood there, dressed once again in her sexy black robe.

"Marielle? Where am I?" My voice was a croak! I knew it was a cliché, but I had to say it.

"You're still in your chair, darling!"

And so I was. It was a chair again. Gradually my senses returned to me. I was naked. There was a dull pain between my legs. In a movement so natural to men my hands went immediately to rest on my cock, but encountered nothing. No cock. No balls. Nothing. I could feel a long, neat suture stretching downwards from where my cock had been, almost to my anus.

There was a circle of hardness at the top of the suture. At the other end, about two centimetres from my arsehole, I could feel a latex tube protruding.

"That's a catheter," Marielle informed me. "It'll have to remain in place until your new hole heals enough for you to urinate naturally through it. It shouldn't take long - I've done a pretty neat job!" she added with a smile.

I returned her smile, my fingers moving back upwards to that puzzling circle of rigidity.

"Ah, yes!" she said, still smiling. "I implanted one of the gold rings under your skin, exactly where your cock and balls were formerly attached to your body. It's twin is still adorning your cock and balls. A nice touch, don't you think Peter? It means there's still a link between you and your genitals!"

She moved to a handsome teak cabinet across the room, took out a glass jar about twelve inches tall and returned to my side.

The fluid-filled jar contained my cock and my long, hideous scrotum. The cock was erect and firm; the scrotum floated loose, bulging with my two cum-bloated balls. At the base, holding the severed end closed, I could see my second cock ring, then about half an inch of flesh before the root disappeared into a cylinder of white plastic.

"This is temporary," she told me. "The jar of fluid will preserve the flesh until I can do a proper taxidermy. And that plastic cap at the end will be replaced with a specially designed gold one. Want to see it?"

I nodded. My mouth still felt sore after its night's work, and I didn't want to speak much. Marielle returned to the cabinet, and came back with what looked like an ornate, straight-sided gold cup. Studying it, I could see it was decorated with a sort of spiral pattern.

"I remembered what you said some time back, Peter. About your fantasy of having a penis that could be detached and used like a dildo. When your cock and balls are properly cured and preserved I'll add this gold ferrule, and it'll look exactly as though it could be screwed back in where I took it from! Every time your fingers touch the ring implanted in your groin, it'll feel like the socket where you unscrewed your genitals and gave them to me!"

She went a third time to the teak cabinet, this time throwing the doors wide open.

On the top shelf I saw a row of what looked at first like dildoes. There were thirteen. Some had balls attached, but most of them were just penis-shaped. Suddenly I realised. They weren't dildoes - they were penises! Real cocks, preserved and mounted with a range of different ferrules, some gold, some silver. She picked up the first one and brought it over to me.

"I got this one on my twenty-fifth birthday," she said, fondling it lovingly. "Tony, his name was. Don't you think he's pretty?"

I nodded. It was indeed a handsome tool. Dark-skinned, about as long as my own had been, but much thicker. No balls, just the erect penis. Marielle reached down and held it over the implanted ring at my groin. It really looked as though I'd suddenly sprouted an enormous black cock, another fantasy of my younger days!

I touched it. Tony was circumcised, and it felt odd to stroke a cut penis after years of rubbing my foreskin up and down. The knob was tight and hard, but the shaft skin felt like soft leather. It all shone as though it had been frequently and lovingly caressed with oils. For preservation, I guessed, but probably also for lubrication. I looked questioningly at Marielle.

"He was my first. And yes, I use him still! I use them all, from time to time." To prove her words, the opened her robe and presented Tony's severed prick to the hole I'd been servicing last night, the night of her birthday. It went all the way inside, leaving just the silver ferrule protruding. She clenched her thighs to retain it there, and closed her robe again. The smile on her face, and her occasional slight shudders, told me of the thrills Tony was still able to give her!

"And I shall use you, once you're ready! About a week from now, Peter, you'll get to fuck me for the first time! I'm really looking forward to that!"

Every birthday, she told me, she'd been presented with a cock. When she reached thirty, often viewed as a landmark birthday, she began claiming the balls as well, and so far she'd never missed a year.

She kept me at her home for the next four days, tending my suture and dosing me up with a range of drinks and pills. At first I had no problems peeing - the catheter did all the work, draining my bladder into a plastic bag. But when the catheter came out, on the third day, my first attempts at passing urine were quite agonising. The fact that I now had to pee sitting down, like a woman, just added to my discomfort and embarrassment.

There wasn't much I could do to help around the house. I spent most of the time sitting down. On the fourth day she took all thirteen pricks from their cabinet and set them out on some sheets of newspaper on the dining room table. Giving me a large can of oil she put me to work, telling me to rub it in carefully, covering every square centimetre. I got to know all her lovers that way. I particularly admired Clark, her lover of a year ago. The soft, cured leather of his neat scrotum, holding hard, oval balls that exceeded mine in size, was particularly delightful to play with. I had never given a thought to gay sex before, but I suddenly experienced a strong urge to stand up, oil my bum and thrust his prick inside me!

"I don't think so, Peter!" said Marielle, who had been standing in the doorway watching me wrestling with these strange new emotions. "You'd get him dirty. If you want a cock in there, I know a man who.."

I shook my head. I was confused and embarrassed by these strange new emotions.

Marielle asked if I wanted hormones, or if I was content to accept the feminine characteristics that would develop after giving her my testicles. I opted to take the hormones, at least for a while, and she wrote me a prescription covering the next few weeks. That, I thought, would give me time to consider my future.

We slept together at night. The command not to touch her with my hands was lifted, and we cuddled each other until we went to sleep. A couple of times she urged me to pleasure her in the old way, and I did manage to give her four, possibly five more orgasms. But something had happened to my sex drive, and I knew our relationship would never be the same again.

On the final day I gave Marielle my keys, and she drove over to my place for some clothes to replace the ones she'd cut up. She brought jeans, trainers and a sweatshirt. Socks too. Another signal that things were coming to an end.

"Wear these," she said, holding out a pair of frilly pink panties from her own wardrobe. "You won't need men's underpants any more - you don't have a bulge to accommodate. Silk is more comfortable than rough cotton anyway."

I put them on, then dressed in the clothes she'd brought me. She was right. The panties felt very comfortable and appropriate.

"Shall I see you again, Marielle?" I asked as we moved towards the front door. She stopped, took my hands and looked deep into my eyes.

"Peter," she said, "You've kept your part of the bargain, and I've kept mine. You wanted the problem of your drooping, unattractive scrotum sorted, and I agreed to help you in return for the particular sexual attentions that I enjoy. You no longer have your problem. It has been transferred to me, and I'm happy to have it. Are you sure you still want to come here every few days and pleasure me?"

I couldn't answer. I really didn't know.

Marielle shrugged.

"It's Monday evening now. Come next Friday afternoon, if you want. Dress casually, like you are now. We'll have a cup of tea and talk about things. OK?"

"OK" I agreed, and started to move towards my car.

"Oh, Peter!" said Marielle, taking my hand and turning me back to face her. She kissed me, and for the first time ever I kissed her back. It was a deep, long, loving embrace.

"Thank you, Peter," she said. "Thank you for the beautiful present you gave me on my birthday! Thank you for all the attention you've paid to me. I shall always treasure the part of you that you're leaving here. You'll be making love to me soon, I promise!"

I kissed her again, hugging her tight.

"No regrets, Peter?" Marielle asked.

I thought, briefly.

"Shall I phone you when I've finished work on your cock? I could give you a running commentary as I slide you into me for the very first time! You could finger your implanted gold ring, your empty socket, as I play with the lovely toy that we unscrewed from it on my birthday! You could breathe in unison with me as your thrusting cock rubs me, and share the joy of my first orgasm with you inside me! Would you like that, Peter?"

I kissed her again.

"Yes, Marielle. I'd like that very much. Thank you!"

I moved to my car.

"I'll be here on Friday," I said as I pressed the key to unlock the car. I got in and wound down the window.

"Thanks for the invite," I added. "I'll bring cakes!" Marielle smiled. Hell, that smile still melted me! I could feel a slight stirring between my legs, as the tiny remnant of my penis root swelled and hardened in salute to the lovely lady who'd governed my life those last few months, and had now changed it completely.

I fired up the motor.

"And no!" I called out as I reversed down her driveway. "No regrets! None at all!"

END

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