So. It has come to this. After seven years you are tired of me and want someone else. You took my ass,  my mouth, my nips, everything I had and used it all to suit yourself, as often as you wished, and now you are going to dump me for some cheap piece you found in a bar. I know his type all right. He will use you, take your money, let you fuck him and suck him and use him, and all the time his eye will be on the next poor fool who has just a little more money, a nicer home, a bigger income. What a fool you are.

But if you think I am going to let him get away with it, you are both sadly mistaken. Y ou see, I have made some plans. Tonight, when I cook dinner for you for the last time, there will be a little something extra in your soup. Not to mention the dumplings in the stew. What's in the soup? His last load of piss. In the stew? His balls, boiling away even as I type this. You want him? You got him, or at least the best parts of him. I couldn't figure out what to do with his asshole, so I left that alone.

Killing him was easy. I just phoned him up and asked him to come over so we could chat. I told him I was more that willing to surrender you, that I wanted only your happiness and that if he wanted you, I might be hurt, but I would not stand in the way. He lapped it up like cum on a carpet. When he walked in the door, I bashed him on the back of his head with lamp and down he went.

I had the basement all prepared. Lugging him down was not hard and getting him undressed and tied up took only a few minutes. He was coming around just as I finished and he demanded to know what I thought I was doing. I told him I wasn't thinking of doing anything, I didn't have to think, I was already doing it.

You had some tools down the in the workroom, and I used them. First I took  his balls in my hand, and I have to admit, those balls were big. Bigger than mine, even. I shaved his sack with an old razor I found in the bathroom upstairs and I am happy to say it pulled and cut him a bit. But I really wasn't worried about that. You had a pair of long-nosed pliers that clamped shut, hard, and I used those to cut off the flow of blood to his balls. Can that boy scream! Sheesh, you would think I was murdering him, the way he roared. While I waited for his balls to turn blue, I talked to the fucker, telling him all about us. How long we had been together, what we had enjoyed, how often we used to have sex. I told him that if he thought he was going to have you, well, dead balls would be of no interest to you at all. Then I laughed. His balls were cold and black and dead by then, and I took out a pair of utility scissors and snipped away at his sack. You know the scissors I saw on tv, the ones that cut through metal? The ones I ordered for you? I never thought I would be using them to cut off a guy's balls, and I don't suppose the manufacturer did either, but they sure did the trick. Cut those suckers right off, clean as a whistle. I held them out for him to see, but he had fainted by then. And pissed himself. I used my hands to kind of scoop the piss over to the side of the table and then into a pot, the one I used to make your evening soup. Then I left him to drain away. And as for his balls, well I marinated them for a while, thinking they might be a bit chewy, and then I sauteed them with green onions and crushed garlic and added them to the stew I made for your supper.

See how much I love you, darling? Bon appetit!