Clipping Michelle

I am by no means what you would call a woman-hater...quite the contrary, in fact. But

I have learned quite a bit about nature and human nature, and where the two have wildly

diverged from each other in our technological age. In my case, it seems Mother Nature

needed to plant a few seeds in my head about how to steady the ground my wife and I were on.

The warning signs started all the way back in my college days. Michelle and I met in

a psychology class my sophomore year. I was doing well in the class and she was struggling,

so she asked if we could study together. To my surprise, it didn't take long to figure out

that studying was the furthest thing from her mind. Before we ever cracked open a book,

we were going at it like rabbits--on the kitchen floor, in the shower, on her roommate's

bed, anywhere. Come to think of it, that was pretty much the result of every study session

and every date we ever had. I had never met a girl with such an enormous sexual appetite,

but I could hardly complain. After all, most of the guys on campus would've given their

left nut to find a girlfriend like her. For the rest of our college days, the two of us

were inseparable. It just seemed logical that after we graduated, we would get married and

live happily ever after. If I would've had even the slightest grasp on reality, I would've

realized beforehand that a fairy-tale marriage just can't exist in nature. Mine would prove

to be no exception.

Even though we were both dirt poor at the time, our families insisted that we sign a

pre-nuptual agreement before tying the knot. Michelle and I agreed that it was merely a

formality, but her parents were content (and mine relieved) that the agreement allotted the

typical 50/50 split of possessions in the case of a mutual divorce. I had no idea at the

time that this piece of paper (and the technicalities built in) would eventually turn out

to be my trump card.

The first few years of marriage were tough, as they are with most people. Michelle

had never worked a day in her life, so I had to scrape and scrounge every penny I could

just to keep a roof over our heads. We argued quite a bit over money, but always seemed

to kiss and make up. After all, she was too dependent on me to walk out the door...and I

was too addicted to her ever-wet pussy to simply let her leave.

After putting away enough money, I began pursuing my ambition of starting my own

software company. Before long, my hard work and dedication began to pay off. I often

worked 16 hour days every day of the week, but the growing size of my paychecks kept

Michelle from complaining about the fact that I was rarely home to spend time with her.

I was, after all, doing it to help our marriage. When the .com companies took off in the

late 1990's, my company's stock price went through the roof and I became a millionaire

practically overnight. It was difficult being at the office all the time, especially since

Michelle started to seem more concerned with spending my cash than spending time with me.

The few times a week that I did get to see her, she seemed distant. She rambled on

about her long hard day of shopping, how the maids never quite followed her instructions,

how her chauffer wouldn't stop drooling over her body. When it came time for bed, and I

would lean over for a mere kiss, she simply turned her back to me and turned off the light.

It was demoralizing enough that my oasis of ass seemed to have completely dried up, but it

was incomprehensible to me how she could feel no sense of understanding or gratitude for

the sacrifices I had made. I provided her with every material possession she could possibly

want, and she provided me with nothing but a cold shoulder. It was as if I had become her

financial slave.

One evening I headed up to the bathroom with my Wall Street Journal and made a

discovery that would change my life forever. Laying in the garbage can were three used

condoms--and I knew damn well they weren't mine. I could feel the imaginary knife plunging

into my back, nearly missing my heart on the way through. Her devious scheme suddenly

became clear to me...it was embarassing that I hadn't seen it sooner. Michelle had only

ever had one objective in mind, and that was to fulfill her own desire for pleasure. At

first she used her sexual power to lure me into her web, and I was enough of a fool to dive

in head-first. Once I was able to provide her with her materialistic desires, she no longer

needed me for sex--and she opted to find relief in that area with whomever else she pleased.

Then I realized that the rules of our society are set up so that any man in my position

would've stumbled blindly into the same trap. The law states that men and women are equal,

even in cases where they clearly are not. Divorce laws are set up so that the woman often

gets half of everything accumlated in a marriage, even if she paid for none of it. A host

of discrimination laws make it easy for woman to cry foul in the workplace, even when her

claims are completely unsubstantiated. And the most puzzling part to me was that these

artificial equalities have been approved through the years by predominantly male law-making

bodies. I tried to think of every mammal in the animal kingdom whose males had knowingly

and completely pissed away their claim to dominance, and off the top of my head I could

only think of one species--the human. There are many who would argue that my reasoning was

sexist...myself included. But the more I thought about it, the unbiased truth was that the

laws of nature seemed to support my claim by an overwhelming margin. To hell with the empty

rationale of the rest of the silly monkeys in my species. Nature was calling to me, and it

told me that it was time for me to restake my claim--and as we all know, the ways of nature

are often considered heartless.

I felt as though I, like so many other men, had been handed my manhood on a plate by

my wife. So it was only fitting that I do the same to her--literally. The folds of pink

flesh between her legs were venomous, and I became more and more convinced that the only

way to bring her back under control was to pluck off the flower as though it were a weed.

It was for her own benefit, as well as for the good of our marriage. The problem was that

I was hardly a surgeon, so clipping her myself didn't seem like a valid option. To

compound the issue, I had never been a big fan of blood in mass quantities. I searched all

over the internet for doctors who would consider doing this--no such luck. Then I found a

website that inspired a solution to my problem.

The website was dedicated to male castration, but reading about one of the devices gave

me an idea. I believe the device was called a Burdizzo clamp, whose form was as menacing

as its function. It looked like a giant pair of pliers whose jaws were long and flat. It

worked by squeezing along the base of the scrotum, crushing all of the blood vessels leading

to the testicles. The testes would then slowly be absorbed back into the body or simply

fall off. This wasn't quite the effect I was looking for, but a nasty clamp that could

pinch off blood flow would be just the thing I needed to make Michelle's operation as

clean and do-it-yourself as I wanted.

I started designing my device idea right away. It would be made of stainless steel,

with two curved jaws connected on both ends by bolts (quite a bit of torque would be needed

to completely crush the blood vessels). The jaws needed to be curved in such a way that

they would fit snugly against her, so that the entire length of her fleshy ridge would be

clamped at its very base. Luckily, I still had an old plaster cast of her cunt that I had

made once while playing doctor (even fate seemed to be on my side in this endeavor). The

insides of the jaws would be machined at a 30-degree angle, with the exception of a thin,

flat area running along the very base of the clamp. That way, all of the tightening force

would be directed to the bottom of the clamp's jaws. The flat part would totally squeeze

off the blood supply, and the angles would provide a convenient surface to guide a knife.

I sent the schematics to a friend of mine who could make anything and everything you

could dream of with metal. I tinkered with mechanical devices quite a bit through the

years, and my friend had built so many trinkets and gizmos for me that he put this one

together without even asking its purpose. I played with the shiny metal device, marvelling

at its horrible potential. I put my pinky finger between its jaws and tightened the bolts

with my fingers, envisioning that it was Michelle's love button. I could hardly wait for

her to fall out of line again so the rest of my plan could fall into place.

There was, of course, the problem of getting Michelle to consent. I knew she would

never directly consent to losing the only parts of her body she ever really cared about.

However, our pre-nuptual agreement provided me with just the loophole I needed. Buried

deep in the verbage was a clause regarding adultery. It stated that indisputable proof

of cheating would mean the marriage could immediately be annulled and the rest of the

agreement was null and void. Basically, it meant that I could toss Michelle onto the

street at this point without giving her one red cent. She didn't need me for sex anymore,

but I was sure she couldn't survive without my money. I had her cornered--and the shiny,

banana-shaped clamp seemed to smile at me as it sat patiently on my desk.

A week had passed, and I had collected all of the evidence I would need. I came home

from work at lunchtime and waited in the bedroom. Like clockwork, Michelle came bouncing

through the bedroom door in the arms of her chauffer, one of the five different men I knew

she was fucking. The blood drained from their faces as they saw me standing there. I fired

the chauffer on the spot, then grabbed Michelle by the hair and threw her onto the bed.

Michelle panicked and began yelling, "You can't throw me around, you bastard! I'll

have you arrested on seven different counts of...."

It was right about then that my temper boiled over. I had never so much as laid a

finger on her before, but this time I couldn't help myself and I grabbed her by the throat.

"Now you listen to me like you've never listened to anyone in your life! I just want to

see you TRY explaining your way out of this...." With that, I used the remote control to

turn on the TV and VCR. She sat in silent dejection watching the survaillance tapes I had

made. They showed her spreading her legs and fucking the chef, then the pool cleaner, then

the head groundskeeper, and so on. She fucked them all on a regular schedule, and right on

the same bed that she and I had shared for years. Videotapes don't lie, and she knew she

was in serious trouble--legally and otherwise.

I tossed a copy of the pre-nuptual agreement onto her chest, with the adultery clause

highlighted in red. She started sobbing as she started reading it, and before she could

finish I told her that I wanted her out of my house by sunset. She cried and begged and

pleaded, as I had expected. There were millions of finacially independent women in the

world, but Michelle was certainly not one of them. And for this, she would have to do

exactly as I wished if she wanted to continue benefitting from my bank accounts.

It was time for her to stumble into my sadistic web. "Michelle, I've sacrificed just

about everything I held dear to me, just to provide you with everything you wanted...and

this is how you repay me?! I can't trust you--fuck, I can barely look at you...."

I didn't expect her to fall to pieces like she did, but I started to feel a little bit

vindicated. She literally fell to her knees and started begging, "Please, please forgive

me...you're never home anymore...I just felt so lonely...I gave into my weakness...."

This was turning out to be as easy as scolding a dog. "How dare you claim you were

lonely! I spent hour after hour, day after day in that cold office trying to make a few

extra dollars so that you could be happy. And while I sat there thinking about you, giving

my heart and soul to my work for your benefit, you were home fucking the hired help...on MY

bed, no less! There was a day when I would've given anything to make your life better, and

now I would give anything just to get you the fuck out of my life...."

Michelle started bawling like a baby. "Oh please...I still love you...don't turn your

back on me...I'll change, I promise...."

I pulled her up by her hair and growled, "The only way I could POSSIBLY think about

letting your sorry ass stay under MY roof is if you can prove you are willing to sacrifice

as much for me as I have for you..."

"Yes, anything...I want to change for you..."

"...Shut up and listen for once! As I was saying, there is only one sacrifice that you

can make that could even come CLOSE to making up for your slutty ways, let alone try to

ensure that you won't go back on your promise to change those ways." I paused for dramatic

effect, half-surprised that my plan was coming together so well. "I am willing to destroy

the survaillance tapes of you cheating on me if you sign this contract." The contract was

intentionally as vague as possible from my end, stating only that she would have to endure

whatever physical or psychological pain I saw fit within 2 weeks of signing the contract.

She would have no legal recourse regarding the effects of the punishment, and in return I

could not use the evidence I collected to file for an annullment of the marriage or the

pre-nuptual agreement. On paper it looked rather fair, I thought. "After you have endured

the punishment I have in mind, maybe then I can consider falling in love with you again.

But not until then."

I could see the pain and fear in her eyes, as she had taken it for granted that I would

always love her and never hurt her. She meekly posed the question, "...Well...wh...what's

the punishment?"

"The contract clearly states that you won't be told the punishment until the time

arrives for it to be inflicted. If you want to stay under my roof, you have to trust that

my choice of punishments is sufficiently painful, yet fair, for the wrongs you have done."

Reluctantly, she picked up a pen and signed. She tried to kiss me, but I blocked her

with my hand. "Don't even touch me with that dirty mouth. Now undress." For the first

time in a long time, she obeyed my every command. I grabbed her by the hair and led her

into the bathroom. "I'm leaving you in here until 6 o'clock tonight--that's when your

punishment begins. Don't drink anything, and make sure your cunt is shaved bare. Your

punishment will require it." She looked down at her pussy, and then to me in fear. I

slammed the door shut and locked it from the outside.

I'm sure she could hear me working as I set up all the equipment I would need to give

her an appropriate and memorable circumcision. I had labored all week building the wooden

framework that I would use to restrain her. It fit neatly over the mattress of our bed, as

I felt it was only fitting that she be given her punishment at the scene of her crimes. A

small black box at the edge of the bed hid the tools I would need for the procedure: a few

one-pound weights, some metal cable, three ring-tipped hemostats, an open-ended wrench, a

socket wrench, my special circumcision clamp, and a small scalpel.

My watch hit 6 o'clock, and I unlocked the bathroom door. Michelle was huddled in the

corner, naked, crying and shivering. My feeling at that point almost trivialized the

situation, but I have to admit that I felt deja vu. It reminded me of the day I took my

first cat to get neutered. The cat was nervous, as it could sense something was about to

happen...it just didn't know what. There was a moment when I walked through the doors of

the vet's office that I felt I was betraying my pet, my trusting little friend...knowing

full well that I was solely responsible for having it de-sexed. And then I remembered how

much friendlier and well-behaved that cat turned out to be after it was clipped. It proved

to be for the cat's own good.

And so it would be with my cheating slut of a wife.

She looked up at me with watery eyes, whispering, "...please don't do this...."

My mind was already made up. I ordered her to stand up, and she complied. I placed a

blindfold over her eyes, and I could tell she was getting ready to complain. I warned her,

"Not a word out of your mouth until after the punishment is over, understand?" She sighed,

but didn't have any time to utter a response as I forced a ball gag into her mouth. I

actually would've liked it better had she not been gagged, as I wanted to hear scream. But

I felt it was a responsible measure of precaution--the gag would ensure that she wouldn't

accidentally bite off her tongue in a moment of agony.

I led Michelle to the bed, then told her to lay back. She did so reluctantly, as she

could feel she was laying on a framework of wood and steel instead of a mattress of cotton

and silk. As she held her arms out to the side, I proceeded to strap them down tight. I

could tell she was getting very nervous at this point, as her breathing became faster and a

few beads of sweat glistened on her forehead. I tightened two leather straps around her

waist, and then attempted to pull her legs apart. Her head shook back and forth as she

attempted to scream through the gag, holding her legs together with all her might. Annoyed,

I swatted her tits with a leather strap to gently remind her that she had a contractual

obligation to fulfill. With that, she pulled her knees up and willingly spread her legs. I

cooly went about the business of securing her tightly to the stirrups. I then realized that

she probably wanted to keep her legs closed as much out of embarassment as fear--she was

already dripping wet.

I wanted to test the restraints, so I used the leather strap to swat her a few times

right on her cunt. Michelle yelped in pain, but (with the exception of her her head) she

was completely immobile. The sound of leather smacking her wet crotch was quite soothing,

so I swatted her a few more times. Now that she was worked up into a frenzy, it was time

to break the news to her.

I massaged her clit with my fingers and got close enough to her ear to whisper, "Now,

my dear, do you want to know what your sacrifice will be?" I could see her swallow hard,

and I ripped off the blindfold with my free hand. I stared coldly into her eyes and

uttered the words she feared most, "I'm touching it right now...." She drew a deep breath

and her eyes were wide in fear and disbelief. I moved back between her legs and opened the

black box full of tools, making sure to show her each of the shiny metal instruments as I

placed them on the bed. Her head bounced frantically off of the mattress, and she was

screaming like a banshee through her gag. In her conscious mind, she knew she didn't want

to lose such a precious piece of flesh...but I could tell her subconscious mind had other

ideas. Her body betrayed her true feelings--her cunt was practically gushing, and her clit

stood out like a brave soldier awaiting execution. I wondered if she had wished all along

that this would be her fate...pushing me farther and farther away to see if I had the balls

to give her such a cruel but justifiable punishment...wanting me to prove to her that I was

in charge of the marriage. If this was her thinking, I wasn't about to disappoint her.

First, I took one of the ring-tipped hemostats and opened its jaws around her rock-hard

clit. It was so erect that I barely had to peel back its hood to get a good grip on it. I

squeezed the hemostat to lock it in place, and the reaction of Michelle's body was more than

I could've hoped for. In an instant, her toes curled, her leg muscles contracted, her back

arched, and she let out a haunting wail underneath her gag. I imagine it was the same type

of wail that a wolf would let out as it felt a trap snap shut on its leg...amplified about

50 times, then muffled under a ball gag.

I then locked a hemostat onto each of the quivering inner lips, which brought more

complaints from Michelle. I took out three lengths of steel cable, attaching one end to

each of the hemostats, and a 1-pound weight to the other end. Jutting out from the wooden

framework of her circumstraint was an attachment on which 3 pulley wheels were mounted. I

placed each of the cables in their appropriate wheel; the force of gravity on one end of the

cables caused Michelle's clit and pussy lips to pull outward from her body. I plucked the

steel cables like guitar strings, and the vibrations would've caused Michelle to go into

spasms, were she not immobilized. I wanted to make sure my circumcision clamp would grip

as much of her flesh as possible when it was applied, so I hung a few more weights onto

each of the cables. Her lips were pulled taut, and her clit distented to the point that it

looked like a worm. I had already concluded that these folds of skin and nerve tended to

poison a woman's thoughts and motives; but the more I looked at it, the more I realized that

it also detracted from the beauty of a woman's pussy. I would be relieved to see it gone.

I unscrewed the bolt from the top end of the circumcision clamp, and slid the device

into place around Michelle's outstretched womanhood. I replaced the top bolt, then pressed

down on the device. Michelle howled as the pressure created some extra tension on her clit

and labia, but I was elated to see how perfectly the clamp fit. When I designed the device,

I assumed it would be able to grip only enough of the clit for me to remove the glans; but

whether it was fate or just dumb luck, Michelle's button cooperated enough so that the clamp

would be able to bite into it nearly down to its root.

As I kept pressing with my left hand, I used my fingers to start tightening the bolts.

By the time the clamp was tight enough to stay on by itself, Michelle was grunting and

squealing like a stuck pig. It was time to bring out the heavy artillery. I placed the

open-ended wrench on one side of the bolt that was closest to her ass. Then I put the

socket wrench on the opposite side of the bolt and started to push upward on its handle.

The jaws of the device slowly tightened together harder and harder. Michelle's pussy folds

may have been powerful enough to control my life for a few years, but they were certainly

no match for steel and muscle.

I repeated the process on the bolt nearest her belly. Her body was drenched in sweat,

and I could tell by her dog-whistle screams that tightening this side of the clamp was

quite excruciating. I could see the color fading in her clit as I tightened the device,

a sign that the circulation was being cut off. I felt a brief moment of mercy, as the

river of tears flowing down her faced proved that my invention was far from a picnic for

the woman it was being used on. But then again, it wasn't supposed to be...she had misused

her sexuality and needed a punishment she would remember. Besides, taking the clamp off was

not an option, as it was not only dangerous but would be 10 times as painful. The most

merciful thing I could do for her was to be even more cruel, to tighten the device down on

her with all my might so that the nerves and blood vessels between her body and her agonized

girl flower would be piched off for good.

My body shook almost as much as Michelle's as I put the last ounces of torque on the

wrenches. Her wild screaming quickly dissipated to prolonged moans. I knew my circumcision

clamp had done its job. I unlocked the weighted clamps from her clit and labia, and the

flesh retracted as much as it could. It was quite a sight--the decorative folds of her

once-proud pussy were now a pale white rose, strangled by two hungry strips of shiny steel

and a couple of bolts that had been sitting around my garage for years. I playfully flicked

at the ghostly clit, with no response from Michelle--just as it should be. Knowing how easy

this turned out to be, I wondered why I hadn't thought to do it sooner. I wondered how

much better off Michelle would've been if someone had this done to her when she was in her

teens. I wondered how much better my marriage would be after her circumcision was complete.

I wondered if it would be natural for all marriages to benefit from such circumcisions.

Michelle lay there in her circumstraint, dazed and sweating. I decided it was safe to

remove her gag at this point. She kept mumbling over and over, "...oh I love you...I love

you so much...." Those certainly weren't the words I was expecting out of her mouth, but

I was relieved that she seemed to understand why it was all necessary. The ordeal drained

her quite a bit, and she fell asleep right there in her restraints.

I thought it would be best to leave the clamp on for at least 8 hours to make sure the

broken blood vessels had a chance to clot and heal a little. After four hours, I decided it

was safe to finish her circumcision. I pushed the clit and labia off to one side, and

positioned the scalpel so that it would ride along the inside of the clamp's angled jaws.

The blade easily made a clean cut along one side, then the other. By far, the worst part of

the ordeal for Michelle was appying the clamp; after that, it took only a few mere seconds

to separate her from her womanhood. It was almost a completely bloodless procedure, and she

never so much as flinched in her sleep as I performed the actual circumcision.

The next morning, I was right beside her when she woke up. She moaned a little as she

(understandably) felt quite sore between her legs, but after a short while we were laughing

and joking like kids. I unbolted the clamp, and I must admit the results weren't exactly

beautiful at first. She was quite swollen, and the areas of skin where the clamp had

squeezed left thin, black scabs. Michelle cried a lot those first few days--partly from

pain, partly from the feeling of loss, partly from the feeling of relief. After a few

weeks, the healing was almost complete--the scabs had disappeared, and all that was left

was a smooth, clean slit. It was almost like nature intended for her pussy to look that

way, but waited for me to stake my claim...to earn the right to prune back her flower.

To this day, the mere sight of her cleanly-clipped cunt is enough to drive me wild.

Sex with Michelle is 10 times more intense than before, as she takes time to concentrate on

my pleasure instead of trying to race to an orgasm for herself. We haven't had a single

argument since I circumcised her--hell, now she even helps take care of the house while I'm

at work. She's a changed woman, one that learned how to be a good wife and lover out of the

ashes of her lust. She thanks me every day for caring enough about her to do what I did.

And even though she would've rather done it without all the pain, she'll freely admit that

it was a lesson she needed to learn for her own good--and would endure again to feel the

sense of relief and humility and unselfishness and femininity it taught her.

After all, it's a fact that nature's most valuable lessons are hard-learned.