But my testicles are larger than average; about the size of hard-boiled eggs, so it makes my dinky dick look smaller. When relaxed and limp, my penis is only a stump peeking out from my black pubic bush. When erect, it only sticks out about four inches. My balls and ball bag look enormous dangling there behind my penis.

Due to my diminished masculine capacity, I have over-focused on my testicles during puberty and early adulthood. As a result of ridicule in school, in the military and at the gym, I have grown to hate my penis and love my balls. But the joking has also caused me to doubt my masculinity and ability in sexual encounters with both men and women. Once the intensity and weight of someone's scrutiny is given to my small male member, it never seems to want to rise to the occasion and I am functionally impotent as a result. But oh my balls!

This has caused me to seek out sex encounters in what may seem to be kinky venues. One such venue is a club I joined in which the host, a guy into BDSM, had a small guillotine he claimed could "cut off a cock, or balls or both, and even a woman's clit and her nipples!"

This guy claimed that the guillotine worked like a Vegas slot machine: no one ever knew when the "number" would come up and his genitals would be severed. During parties we had a great time with the thing. It was this device that made me begin to think I would like to be penectomized to free me from my small-cocked prison.

When I first started going to his nude parties, this guy said that he had never actually seen his guillotine do "the deed" but that when the blade was released, the poor volunteer strapped onto the thing thought he'd been deballed or unmanned. The way it worked was unique: when triggered, the blade dropped to the shock and awe of the one whose penis and testicles were strapped in. When the blade looked as though it would sever the genitalia, instead it would stop, and then strategically-placed wire bristles would circle the penis or scrotum as they brushed by, giving the victim the sensation that his masculine organs had been excised.

The host always asked for volunteers so that if any thing went wrong, he could claim that the victims had submitted to it.

After a few of these nude parties, I volunteered to place my penile stump into the guillotine. When the host saw my penis, he commented that he understood why I wanted to toy with losing it. But when he saw my low-hanging balls, he fell in love with them immediately, and said he wanted them for his collection. I had already downed a few drinks and allowed him, before an eager audience, to strap me to the guillotine and clamp my shriveled dick into the device. Previously, I had declined his offer to let me cum one last time because of shame and embarrassment over my small manhood. Prior to pulling the lanyard, the host said, "Just so you know, this guillotine works on a sort of electroic docket that randomly kicks in the real cutting completely on its own. I have never actually seen it cut a dick off or castrate a guy, but you need to understand that it could happen tonight. I have sliced hot dogs and carrots with the thing, so I know that it works. Are you willing to proceed?"

To the cheers and jeers of the partiers, I nodded, and took in a deep breath. Then suddenly, without warning, the host pulled the lanyard and the blade dropped. It seemed to go in slow motion. I saw it plunge toward my boyish, preteen-looking cock, and I braced myself for the inevitable severing of my manhood. When it appeared as though the blade had sliced through my penis, I felt a sharp, stinging sensation surround my cock, and believed for all practical purposes that I had been consensually penectomized. At the precise moment the blade stopped with a jolt, I shot a sperm-wad several inches across the table on which the guillotine stood. At that instant, I was not aware of whether my penis had been cut off, or if my "number" had not come up after all. Not until the host unstrapped me and unclamped my cock did I realize I still had it there, sticking out a few inches. The experience was such a rush, I shot another spurt of sperm onto the floor and received a standing ovation from the other partiers.

I witnessed a few of the other men put either their dicks or balls on the line for the sheer thrill of uncertainty, and one of the women even allowed him to clamp her rather large clit into the guillotine for the rush of it. The guillotine swiveled horizontally for this procedure. She escaped having her clit severed when the lanyard was pulled, but each person, man or woman, who submitted to the blade knew ahead of time that this time could be "it." I can't describe how hot the naked guys and gals were who were willing to risk losing "it" for the thrill.

The host asked me if I was willing to go for the ultimate "rush," and offer my beautiful balls to the blade. At first I hesitated because not only was I proud of my nuts, but I actually enjoyed showing them off to this crowd of partiers. Still, I wanted to duplicate the rush of my threatened penectomy, and so submitted to what I hoped would be my mock castration.

"You'd better cum one last time just in case this is the real deal," the host said. "This is Russian Ballette, after all."

With semen starting to ooze again from my penile hole, I eagerly allowed the partiers to stroke me genitals, and one person even inserted a finger into my anus and massaged my prostate. Within minutes I shot what could possibly be my last wad, and the host grabbed my danglers and led me to the small guillotine where I was stapped in and my balls were clamped securely.

Again the host yanked the lanyard and I saw the blade, seemingly in slow motion, begin its descent. I braced myself for my castration. As before, the wire bristles encircled my scrotum, and a small tug at each testicle seemed to signal that I had actually been castrated! The feel and sensation was so foreign and strange, it was as though it was real. It had happened. I was a eunuch with a small dick and no balls! As I stood there believing I had been emasculated, even the host looked in shock and horror at the sight of my testicles on the platform. The audience cheered and I broke out in a cold sweat. It was done. I was neutered.

The host then released the clamp, unstrapped me, and to my utter relief, I saw that I was still a fully-loaded male! The sensation was so real and so convincing, I was sure that I'd been castrated publicly! There was such a thrill in the castration risk, and the rush was inexplicable.

"Give him a round of applause," the host shouted, and I sat down to recoup my composure.

The rush from my mock penectomy and castration was so overwhelming, I begged a party-goer there to jack me off again to that I could get some relief.

In subsequent parties, I submitted to the blade again, and came away with my manhood intact.

But something began to change in my mind about what we were doing at those parties. I began to have fantasies that I was in the guillotine when "something went wrong," and that my penis or balls or both would be sliced off for real. I couldn't get the image out of my mind. Even though I loved my testicles, I was willing to risk losing them for the thrill of the castration rush! I was obsessed with castration and penectomy and imagined all sorts of scenarios wherein my masculinity was severed from my body.

Maybe other men with my fetish can understand this obsession, but my life-long love affair with my beautiful testicles did not prevent me from consenting to have them cut off during a game of Russian Ballette if that so occurred.

The night it happened started like any other party. We were all drinking and partying, and several of the guys and two of the women volunteered to have their "parts" parted from them. No one was injured, though, and the excitment was reaching a fever pitch.

With my bulbous ball bag bulging out from my black pubic hair bush, I walked up to the guillotine, and calmly told the host that I was ready for the rush of Russian Ballette.

As he had before, he secured me in the device. A four inch leather strap across my butt kept me from moving, and a clamp held my testicles in place. All the customary disclaimers were voiced, and I gave my consent to being castrated to the delight and satisfaction of the audience. This time, however, I asked to cum one last time, and a party-goer stroked my dinky dick to its full four-inch length, and I shot a wad of sperm across the table to the cheers and applause of the audience. The host yanked the lanyard and, as before, the blade dropped. I felt the familiar slicing sensation, and the pressure on each testicle, signaling the mock castation, but otherwise, it was the same as before. Except, when the host unstrapped and unclamped me and I stepped away from the guillotine, my severed nut sack lay on the table away from me!

It had happened. I had been castrated publicly. I was now a eunuch and everyone at that party knew my huge balls, about which I was so egotesticle, were no longer mine! And yet, I can't really say that I was sad. My limp penis immediately shot a drop or two of sperm, and I was escorted to another room where my wounds were attended to, and painkillers administered.

The host came in to check on me later, and apologized that I had lost at Russian Ballette. He asked if he could keep my testicles, to which I replied they were no longer mine. He thanked me and turned to leave the room, but before he exited, I called out to him.

"I want to have my penis cut off some day," I said meekly. "Without my testicles, it is useless to me."

He nodded. "That can be arranged."