I released his balls and ran my finger along the crease of his awaiting anus. I thought he was extraordinarily aroused. I was just gettin to the place where I would tell him that he could cum one more time and then I'd castrate him. He always loved this play-acting at castration. I'd make him beg me to castrate him because it was his desire to reach the "diety" stage in his own evolution and he'd have to be celibate. In the back of my mind, I always knew he could never be monogamous, let alone celibate.

Suddenly, he began to shake, cry out and it wasn't due to orgasm. "No, No, stop it," he screamed aloud. I moved to come along side him, my hands cradling his head. "Karl, what is it?" My eyes searched his for answers. He couldn't speak, so I just held him until he calmed down.

Later that month, as we sat by the small stream behind my home, I delicately broached the subject with regard to what had occurred. "Karl, could you please tell me what that was all about? I want you to feel safe enough with me to tell me," I pleaded. He looked at me directly, pain etched clearly on his face. He opened his mouth to speak but no utterance. "It's okay, Karl, I'll wait." All I could do was hold his hand, while tears dribbled down his rugged cheeks.

He finally began, "Jantje, something I've blocked all these years came forward that day and now I KNOW...," his voice was filled with melancholy. "Okay, well, are you ready to share?" I asked quietly. He stood up and pulled me toward him. "Let's walk," he said. Nodding and feeling slightly sick to my stomach, I awaited his words of explanation. As we ventured downstream, he spoke and I listened in amazement as he revealed a shameful skeleton that would almost seem too much to bear.

When he was a small child, Karl's father was transferred to Germany to head up a new office. His father was a brilliant businessman and very ambitious. The culture pretty much demanded that although his mother was competent, she hire a nanny to care for the boy, giving her the freedom to pursue her own interests, as well as attend various events with her well-renowned husband.

And so, Herta came into Karl's life. She was a big-boned woman, her hair tightly wound and braided at the nape of her neck. Herta oversaw much of the household and cared for, fed, bathed and played with Karl.

Karl's recollection was much that he liked to cuddle against her large, full breasts and would tug at them as he read her stories. As time went on, Herta found herself aroused by this handsome, charming little American boy.

She had been a widow for ten years. Lonliness and desire for pleasure outweighed moral terpitude. Herta bathed Kar and found that he would become hard when she sponged his penis. This intrigued her and made her wet. She would carry him to his bed to towel him dry.

His little penis still hard and his balls shriveled, she stepped over the boundary. Her mouth involuntarily began to devour his penis as shse began to suck it hard. Karl didn't understand what he was feeling, but it was warm and made him want to pee. Little dribbles of cum would eminate from his penis.

"You like? My little Prince?" she asked throatily. He was scared but he adored Herta. "Ja," he whispered. Herta sucked harder, she herself getting almost to the point of orgasm. She stopped and looked at his little, but hard penis. "Come, now, Karl, you must get dressed for bed." she ordered.

Over a year, they played this "game." It would begin at bath time. Karl became aroused immediately when Herta would announce that it was "bath time." Finally at one point, she opened her shirt as she layed over him, revealing her huge breasts. She told him, "Karl, you can put your mouth on them." He suckled her like a newborn, never realizing that it was making her shudder with an orgasm that released her saddness of not being able to bear children. Karl liked her "games" bu didn't know the words to tell his mom.

On a trip to Geneva, Herta did not accompany the family. On the first night, Karl's mother began to bathe him. He took the sponge and rubbed it hard against his penis and balls. His mother noticed his erection and gasped. "Karl! Stop that! What are you doing?" Karl was puzzled. It felt good to him and Herta wasn't here.

While in Geneva, during the day Karl would sneak to the bathroom, take a sponge and stroke himself , missing Herta. He would rub so hard, that he would pee. He dreamed at night of burying himself in her large breasts.

When they returned home, Karl rushed into Herta's arms, and she held him tightly and kissed both his cheeks. "I missed my little Prince!," she whispered in his ear.

Karl's mother called to Herta. "We must talk," she said with anxiety. Something took place that day between the two women. Karl had no definitive recollection, only that things had changed.

That night as Herta bathed him she used only soap and a washcloth - no sponge. Karl wanted to cry. Herta was distracted and cold toward him. "Sponge?" Karl asked. "No, Karl, no sponge." she replied directly.

She lay him on the bed to towel him dry. Herta looked at him, her eyes steel blue. With the towel she dried his bottom and clasped his balls harshly. "Karl, do you know what happens to bad boys?" "No," he said quietly. His tiny testicles were in her weathered hand. "If you are a bad boy, Karl, Herta must take away your pleasure balls." Karl knew what she was saying was scary and he wondered what he did that was so bad.

Herta continued, "You must only use the sponge around me and you can't tell anyone about our little game." "Karl, do you understand me?" "Ja" he said in his childish voice. "If you are a bad boy, Karl, I will cut off your pleasure balls and your little pee-pee won't feel good anymore," Herta said as she pointed to his balls.

Karl loved the feeling when his stick grew and she stimulated him with her mouth and the sponge. He did not to give this up. He looked longingly into Herta's eyes. "I won't be a bad boy, I promise." She hugged him and he pushed his mouth onto her breast, athough she was totally clothed. He wanted to show her he would be a good boy from now on.

She pulled away and got him into his pajamas, turned on his nightlight, handed him his prized teddy bear. "Goodnight, my prince, I know you'll be a good, good boy."

Herta was let go a few weeks after that and Karl was lonely. The family was moving back to the States. As Karl grew up, he became insatiable. He masturbated 8 - 10 times a day. Much of what happened with Herta was pushed back in his memory banks, as he became a star athlete and student. By the time he was 30, he bagan to use rubberbands around his balls and loved the tightness of them. He was powerless over his desire for sexual conquest. He allowed himself to be involved with many women simultaneously, most of them older than he. Karl engaged in threesomes, dabbled with voyeurism, pornography, but could never seem to find the answers for which he continually searched. He married for a brief time, still unsettled, reckless and obsessed with his balls.

We held hands and walked in silence from the stream. Dinner that night was perfunctory and barely a word passed between us. I hurt for his hurt and hoped that he could move forward to a greater understanding of his past and why he had this desire for castration. We hadn't made love in a month, both of us unconsciously pushing each other away. Here we knew there existed love between us, but couldn't express it sexually until he freed himself of the revelations that for the most point charted his course.

Research - that was my department. We took turns perusing the archive, while the other was absent, looking for answers and trying to make ourselves safe and whole in the relationship. Push and pull. It wasn't working.

I knew for a fact that he was seeing other women besides me, but what they knew of his castration fixation I could only guess. He could get it up with them, but not me. Another month went by. Karl was obsessed with his work and just never could find time to see me. We were at the brink of relational decapitation. I myself felt castrated, having been cut off from the lifeblood of my existence. He was all I ever wanted.

Friends have a way of telling you what they think is "good for you." As for me, I prefer to live in denial and keep the gut-wrenching hurt at arm's length. Karl had been seen with various women, mostly older than he, in terms that could not be explained away as "dinner with a friend." Also, he hit on a married girlfriend of mine. I blame her as well.

As I went to bed alone night after night, I would repeat aloud. "Do you know what happens to bad boys?" In my heart and mind no one could have been so bad except for maybe Warren Beatty or Mick Jagger.

Finally, Karl called and said he could fit me in for a night. "Janjte, I'd like to see you. I miss being with you. We can cook dinner," he offered. "Karl, I miss you. Please come up. I'll be here," I responded through misty earts. "I'll see you then on Friday, okay?" "Yes, that's fine - bye." and I hung up.

Five days I had to prepare myself. Part of me wanted to punish my bad boy, but then there was a part that desired to heal the hurt, let it go; so that we could be as we once were - completely open sexually, enjoying our playtime with rituals of castration and feeling free to love without roadblocks and guilt.

After much thought and shopping, I found a matronly printed dress at the thrift shop. One that would look good with an apron tied to it. I braided my auburn hair in a bun on the top of my head.

When he appeared at the door on Friday he was taken aback with my appearance. "Janjte, what is this?" he asked. "Nothing, " I replied. "Just dispelling all the ghosts." I kissed him on both cheeks.

I grasped his hand and took him to my bedroom. "Please take off your clothes, Karl, it's time for a bath." I directed. Instantly I saw a bulge begin to take form in his pants. "Ah, it's working," I thought to myself as I ran the hot water into the tub.

In my matronly dress, a larger bra filled with toilet tissue to give the appearance of something more of a 36D than a 32A, I guided him into the tub. He sat and steeped, staring at me the whole time. I began to lather up a sponge with scented soap and washed his back, his shoulders, the bottoms of his feet, avoiding any genital contact. He was relaxing and quiet, just watching me. I washed his strong forearms and chest, his magnificent legs to just above the kneecaps. I then made the move. It was a make it or break it moment and I was perspiring, hoping this would work.

Slowly, I took the soapy sponge and carressed his penis and balls. Instantly he leaned back against the wall of the tub, his sighs were audible. "Oh Janjte," he breathed. His cock was visibly hard, his balls swelling. "You like, my Prince?" I asked. "Ja, Ja." he replied from deep within his throat.

I continued to stroke him with the sponge until his cock was sticking straight up above the water line. My dress was wet from the splashing of his hands as he tapped into the past, his eyes closed, reliving a pleasant reverie from the past and clutching at my false, tissued stuffed bra.

I could see some pre-cum emit from his cock. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't intensely turned on and wet between my thighs. I wanted so much to lick it away, but I continued to sponge him.

The water was cooling down and so I got an extra-large bath towel, motioned to him to stand up and wrapped him as I guided him to the bed. I began to pat him dry, paying particular attention to his balls and hard cock. With no ability to hold back any longer, I took his cock deep inside my mouth. We both moaned with appreciation. He grasped at the towel and held it toward his face.

Karl was aching inside, all of this coming to the forefront. I sucked harder and harder. His hands holding the towel and his other pushing my head to take him in deeper. "Janjte, Janjte," he whispered.

And so I began, all my little tools hidden under the coverlet that lay at the bottom of the bed. "Karl," I asked, "Do you know what happens to bad boys?" His eyes shot wide open. "No, no," was his little boy voice reply. "Well, Karl, you've been very, very bad. I know who you've slept with, including a girlfriend of mine." I clasped his balls. "Karl, bad boys have to lose their balls. That's the rule." I was disciplining him with my hands and voice.

"They do?" he asked. His arousal was quite apparent. "Yes, Karl, I need you to be a good boy for me and the only way is for me to take away your pleasure balls. (I used Herta's words for emphasis). Again I stroked his cock with one hand and banded his balls with a rubber band with the other.

I was so wet and moist by this time, I thought I'd lose control, my breath becoming short and heavy. "Have you been a bad boy, Karl?" I asked as I tightened the bands to constrict his balls. "Yes, Yes, Janjte, I am a bad boy, " he replied pentitently. I slid my hand under the coverlet and revealed to him my 9-1/2" Elk Hunter knife. His eyes grew wide, his cock rock hard and veined. I licked the knife, running it across my tongue. He had never seen this one in our playtimes. "I need to make you a good boy, Karl. Do you want to be a good boy?" I asked.

I slid the dull edge of the knife around the perimeter of his balls. "Ja, Ja, I be a good boy for Janjte." "Well, then," I said hautily, " I'm going to let you come for me and when that happens I'll cut the things that make you such a bad, bad boy."

"Please, let me cum, I want to cum, " Karl pleaded.

"Karl, your cum is for me, right? It's mine and your balls are mine, yes?" I was so empowered, my own clit enlarged to full proportion, wetness dripping down my thigh. Karl began to convulse as I ran the knife with one hand and stroked his delicious cock with the other. I had no idea how carried away I was becoming because the knife was now turned around so that the sharpened edge was piercing his skin.

"Ohhh, Ahhh, Janjte," Karl let out a bellowing cry. He was cuming and I actually cut him. I looked to see his cum shoot all over his belly an see small trickles of blood running along his anus. It made me cum too..."Oh my God, Karl, I'm so sorry," I cried out. He was breathing heavily, coming back down from his ultimate orgasm. I grabbed the towel and began to swab him and see how bad the damage was. The blood was minimal, just surface cuts that would heal. Nevertheless, I cut him all the same.

I lay in his arms listening to hims breathe, his eyes closed. "Thank you, that was so good....I feel wonderful, " he cooed. It disturbed me that I had gotten so carried away and hurt him, but as I drifted off into a dream state, I cautioned him in my mind... "See what happens to bad boys?"

Epilogue: I understand Karl's desire for castration. We discuss it openly and look at pictures and videos. It is a turn on for us both. Secretly, we are exploring the possibility of having the procedure done soon. I want to make the first incision and also assist. In the meantime, there is no shame or guilt from his long ago experience with Herta. If anything our sexual exploration and castration fascination continues.

Been a long time, folks. Look for my next story - Wolf in Priest's Clothing very soon.