A Tiny Penis and a Cruel Wife

Written by: Satyre
Synopsis: A woman decides to do away with her husband's small penis.
E-mail: [email protected] -- flames will be kept in my inbox, where they will provide me with laughter for a long time to come. If you want to share your flames, I do check the fora occasionally.

3 Sept 2002:

Angela Rose called the number that a shadowy figure gave her on a business card. After two rings, the phone was answered. "Antorchid Clinic, this is Edina, how can I help you?"

"Hello, my name is Angela Rose, and I want to have my husband Eric castrated."

"Okay, Mrs. Rose, I'll need to take down some information. Name, address, phone number...?"

Angela gave each of these pieces of information to the voice on the other end of the phone, stopping only briefly when she was asked "type of operation." "What do you mean?"

"Well, Mrs. Rose, there are a few different kinds. There's orchidectomy, which is removal of the testes. There's penectomy, which is removal of the penis. Or you could combine the two."

"Yes, cut it all off."

"Okay, reason for operation?"

"Because he's too small," Angela said with some venom. "About three inches."

"Okay, Mrs. Rose, we'll need you to come in for an initial consultation and deposit." She gave Angela an address. "We look forward to seeing you here. Goodbye, ma'am." Click.

Several hours later, Angela was irritated. It would be a month before they could do the job, and they had dinged one of her credit cards for $5,000, with a promise that she would be paying another $15,000 before they finally did the job. Still, she supposed that if her other options were to do the job herself, with the attendant risk of death from blood loss, or trying to persuade someone at his HMO that it was necessary when it really wasn't, she could cope with the expense.

And she did want to see him live through the operation, and even to stay married to him. She had been unsatisfied by his small dick for a whole year, and she intended to get hers back. She fantasized about gagging him in the closet, a captive audience for a never-ending parade of studs she would invite to bed. She wanted to make him suffer.

The phone rang, cutting off her train of thought. She answered it. "Hello?"

"Hey, honey, it's me." Eric seemed rather angry. "I'm going to have to stay late. You know, that promotion I'm bucking for."

"Sure, honey." She thought for a moment. "But I think we should go on vacation soon. Starting with the tenth of next month, to... bring the spice back into our marriage."

"Hmmm... okay. By the first, I should know whether I'll get the promotion. I can afford to take a break then, sweetie. But for now, gotta go. Bye."

"Bye." Click.

That decided her. She needed to go out, and practice her skills in bringing men home. She would decide later that fate had been smiling on her -- she found a gorgeous guy before she even set foot in the bar, and he seemed to want her at first glance even more than she wanted him. And what a bone that boy had...

5 Oct 2002:

A month passed. Eric had just missed getting the promotion, and was continuing to stay late at work, but had secured the vacation time. Angela probably should have been suspicious, but she would be taking away his ability to have extramarital relations very soon. Besides, she was busy honing her skills at bringing nameless hunks home. The first one was an absolutely phenomenal fuck... but he felt bad about having sex with a married woman, and even with her empassioned -- and vitriolic -- claims that hers was a loveless marriage, he became something of an irregular visitor.

[This did not shatter her confidence. The bars and clubs were full of men who wouldn't mind screwing a married woman. And Angela was a beauty; she had no trouble finding other men to replace her first squeamish buck. He did have the biggest dick she had ever seen outside of porn (on the best-looking man she had ever seen outside of gay porn), but a couple of the men that followed him came close.

10 Oct 2002:

On the tenth, Angela awoke to find herself in bed alone. And in the kind of coincidence that usually only happens in fiction, the phone rang just as she was coherent enough to answer it. "Hello?"

"Hi, Mrs. Rose. This is Edina. From the clinic. Remember?"

"Oh, yes. Actually, my husband isn't here, we may be late."

"No, dear, he's already been brought here, and cleaned and prepped. All we need is you."

"Oh!"

"It's part of the service; we take care the target acquisition. All you need to do is show up."

"Oh, thank you! I'll be right there! G'bye!"

Her driving on the way to the clinic would have scared half of the drivers in professional racing, and driven the rest mad with lust. Somehow, she made it without a scratch... a dented bumper doesn't count, and she did that with a bump into the pole right in front of her parking space. (The light flickered as she bumped the pole, but it survived.) She ran in, panting. "Am I too late?"

The receptionist gave Angela her best smile. "As if we'd start the show without you. Down that hall, in theater four."

"Thank you, miss," Angela said, bracing herself to sprint.

"No, Mrs. Rose, there's really no hurry. Just walk -- they'll wait for you."

She entered the operating theater, and found herself face-to-face with... a pane of plexiglas. But behind it, secured very tightly to a table and struggling like mad, was her husband. "Angela! Help me, please, these people are crazy...!"

"Hi, 'honey.' You could never satisfy me with that... that thing. I can't even call it a penis; it doesn't deserve to be called that. So I arranged to have it cut off. It'll be so great... I won't have to have sex with that tiny bump. And I'll own you..."

"Oh god Angela no please god no--"

"Ha ha ha ha hah! Welcome to life without your dick! Kiss your balls goodbye! Cut it all off, doc!"

The doctor grabbed Eric's unit roughly in one hand, and reached for a scalpel. Eric continued to beg in a panic, only to start screaming when the knife went in the first time. The doctor made a quick job of it, and blood went everywhere. "Hemostat!"

A nurse handed him a hemostat. He applied it, and though the bleeding slowed down, Eric's screams got higher. "Hemostat!" And again. In a few seconds, the blood was a trickle, and a few of the hemostats were keeping time to Eric's pulse (which was at breakneck speed). "Antiseptic!" The nurse handed him a spray bottle, and the screams reached a fever pitch as the antiseptic was applied.

After a few minutes, Eric was just moaning; he no longer had the energy to scream. He looked at Angela. "Why?" he asked between moans.

"Because you belong to me. And now you'll never forget it." And without another word, she left.

As Angela left, smugly satisfied, the doctor closed and locked the door behind her. Then, he flipped a switch; Eric stopped bleeding completely, and the hemostats that were moving in time stopped. He turned to Eric, holding a cough-drop an inch from his mouth. "Okay, she's gone. You can stop."

"Thanks," Eric said hoarsely, leaning forward for the lozenge. "Think she bought it?"

"Not a doubt, Mr. Rose. May I say that your acting job is one of the best I've seen? And I've been doing this for years." As the doctor spoke, he pulled a small bottle out of his pocket, and applied it to the base of the bloody stump. In moments, it peeled off, revealing Eric's original equipment. He moved the sheet aside, revealing clear plastic tubes filled with crimson fluid, connected to a pump. Within minutes, Eric was fully cleaned up.

(What? Whaaaaaat? Last I heard, removing healthy testes from a patient over his own objections -- and without anaesthesia -- was a major breach of medical ethics. A doctor who does so risks not only being defrocked, but jail time and a six-figure-or-better malpractice suit. Some of the doctors who live in the Eunuch Archive's fiction might not be troubled by these facts, but this one actually wants to keep his license.)

"So, doc," asked Eric, "does this mean we're finished?"

"Actually, no." The doctor switched on the intercom: "Could you send Kenny in here, please?"

The door opened, and in walked... I'm not even going to try to describe him. The english language is simply not up to the task. Let's just say that he was the most handsome -- no, beautiful -- man Eric had ever seen. "Hi, Eric. My name's Kenny, and I had an affair with Angela. And when you..."

"You what?"

Kenny turned to the doctor. "Amazing how they always seem angrier about the wife cheating on them than they are about the wife trying to get them castrated. Seriously, Eric: were you intending to stay with her?"

"Hell no!"

"Good; you can do better. And if it makes you feel better, I don't want that psychotic bitch either. I've only got nine inches; I don't want to be with a woman who'll consider castrating me the day she meets someone with a foot. Have you ever been to court for a divorce?"

"No."

"I have. You'll be deciding who keeps the house, and dividing up all the other 'marital assets'... and if you have me there, talking about how I was banging your wife day in and day out, and how she had such contempt in her voice whenever she mentioned your name, and how she was such a cruel bitch that I felt bad for you and decided I didn't want to have an affair with her anymore... she'll be lucky to leave that courtroom with a nickel. You won't even have to mention this little clinic in court. In fact, we'd rather you didn't."

Kenny noticed that the doctor was urging him, with his eyes, to get to the point. "But I get ahead of myself. Doc wants me to show you something." Kenny pulled down his slacks, then his boxers, revealing some truly magnificent equipment. "Before I met the doctor, this was smaller than yours is now."

As Kenny pulled up his pants, the doctor captured Eric's attention. "Yes, you heard that right. Your wife paid us about twenty grand for the operation she thought we'd be performing on you. Now, so far we've spent about two thousand for the makeup and appliances -- good special effects aren't cheap, and we use the best. We have to; we don't get second takes, and our audience is less than ten feet away. But... that leaves more than enough for me to perform some genital enhancement..."

"Doc, you make it sound like he's going under the knife." Kenny grinned. "Don't listen to him, Eric, it's more like he adjusts your hormones, and you go through puberty a second time. Your balls grow, too. It's a stem-cell thing..."

"Please, there's more to it than that..."

"And it will take you a week to explain it, and he'll have fallen asleep an hour into it. Save it for JAMA -- they'll actually understand what you're talking about. The whole process takes a week... but you'd have to spend the week here."

By this point, Eric was quite understandably bewildered. "How will I explain that...?"

"Hold that thought," the doctor said as he dialed a number on his cell. "Mrs. Rose? There's been complications. He'll need to stay here for a week. I... damn, she hung up." Beebeebeebeebeep! Beebeebeebeebeep! "Oh wait, she's calling me back."

Kenny smiled ruefully. "No, that's mine." He pulled his cell out and looked at it. "Yep, it's Angela. Too bad my battery's dead," he said, turning it off. "So... does this sound like a good idea?"

Eric thought about it for a minute. "Lemme see, I get to keep my junk right where it is, and get it enlarged; I can sue the bitch who tried to have it taken off for divorce, and I'll get to keep everything... what's that fat guy with the reindeer doing on my roof? And what's to keep her from suing me, later? Or you?"

The doctor grinned wickedly. "The contract obligates us to perform an illegal act. It's therefore unenforceable, and our lawyers are meaner than hers."

"Okay, guys. I guess I'm saying yes."

Epilogue:

A year after the divorce, Angela had to have a complete hysterectomy after being diagnosed with cervical cancer. Eric made a point of going to her hospital room, staying only long enough to show her that he was still intact (and much bigger than she remembered), and mutter some nonsense about karma. Rotten bastard.

The End