PAPER CUTS

Chapter 3

I'm sure our lives would have continued that way for many years to come, except for an unforeseen event that was the strangest coincidence of all.  You see, I had never intended our interest in penectomy to be anything other than a very-exciting fantasy, but as was demonstrated so vividly, David wanted it to progress to its natural conclusion.

The event that changed our lives forever happened one Saturday morning, in the late spring.  We had been married for almost eleven years by then, and had been enjoying our shared fantasy for several months.  It had been a hobby of ours to visit several yard sales in our hometown when the weather was nice, and that was what we were doing on that fateful day.

We had already been to several sales, but as usual hadn't found much to buy.  Like I said, it was a hobby more than anything else, and we rarely bought anything.  I wasn't really expecting to find anything worth buying at that sale either, but then I happened to glance at another table, and when I saw what was there, must have gasped in shock and astonishment.

David was walking closely behind me, and as I stopped suddenly he bumped against me.  He apologized, then asked, "What did you see, honey?"

I was unable to answer, and was almost frozen in shock as I stared fixedly at the object ahead of me.  Finally I was able to take a single step, and then another, until I at last was standing beside the table.  My eyes never left what was there, and I don't recall hearing any sound whatsoever.

My eyes continued to gaze at the thing, sending signals to my confused brain.  After what seemed like an eternity, the vision resolved as a two foot square platform, painted a dark green.  The top surface was covered with cross-hatched white lines, with numbers at the ends.  The most fascinating part, though, was a heavy metal handle that pivoted on one end, with a hand loop at the other.

It was my paper cutter.  Or rather, the one that had been in my sixth-grade classroom so many years ago.  I had seen the thing in my mind's eye for many years, and there could be no mistaking that what was there on that table was the mainstay of my fetish. 

I don't know how long it took for reality to set in, but after awhile I began to realize that what I was seeing could not possibly be the same machine that Ryan had used on himself  20 years before.  I was now living over 1,000 miles away from my childhood home, and even though this cutter looked the same as "mine," it could not be that one.

Still moving as if in a dream, I turned the paper cutter so I could see the back edge of the platform.  As I could have predicted, the stenciled name, " ___________ Elementary School," was not there.  What was confronting me here was not my machine, but an almost exact duplicate.

I was running my hands lovingly over the thing when David's words finally penetrated the fog that had overcome my brain.  He was asking me what was so fascinating about an ordinary paper cutter, and as I finally understood his question, I answered dreamily, "It's our paper cutter, Ryan.  The one that was in Mrs. __________ classroom.  Don't you remember?"

I turned to look at him then, and was again confused.  He was not Ryan, he was David, my husband.  And I was 32 years old, not 12. 

Needless to say, we bought the machine and took it home with us.  I didn't tell David at the time just why I found the thing so very, very intriguing, but couldn't for long keep from satisfying his curiosity.

We placed the paper cutter on a table in our home office, and every time David would ask me about it, I'd put him off by telling him I'd explain that night.  I think he began to make the connection then, because Saturday night was when we always searched the Internet for exciting stories and pictures relating to our shared fantasy.  He seemed content to wait until the time was right for me to tell him the whole story, and so nothing more was said about the subject until later.

That evening, we spent several hours reading stories that detailed how women had removed their husband's penises, and looking at photos showing men who had full sets of balls, but no cocks.  As always, by the time we were ready for bed, we were both so horny we literally tore off our clothes and immediately began to fuck.  Nearly all our foreplay now took place at the computer, and it was always guaranteed to get us in the mood for some serious sex.

As we lay hugging each other after our first orgasms, David asked softly, "Why did you call me 'Ryan' today?  Is he somebody you used to know?"

I hadn't realized up until that time that I'd made that mistake, and it took me several seconds to understand what he was asking.  Finally I replied, "He was somebody I used to know, way back in grade school.  It's funny I'd call you by his name.  I haven't thought of him for many years."

He replied, "You must have been thinking of him today.  Is it because of the paper cutter?  You seemed to be pretty distracted when you saw it.  You said you'd tell me tonight."

It seemed the time had come to share the details of my fantasy with him, and so I did. 

"There was a paper cutter just like that in my sixth-grade classroom.  Ryan was in that class also.  One day when he and I were staying late to help our teacher, and she was out of the room, Ryan cut off his finger with the cutter."  I then paused as I organized my thoughts, feeling the powerful images once again race through my brain.

I continued, "I ran out of the classroom to get help, and found the teacher just outside the door.  We ran back in, and Ryan was standing there with blood on the front of his pants, right at the crotch.  For some reason, I thought that he'd dropped his pants, put his little pecker on the platform, and then cut it off.  Ever since that time, I've had the fantasy of the paper cutter being used to perform a penectomy on the boys I dated.  Of course, as you can probably imagine, it didn't take long before it was me doing the chopping.  When I met you, then you were the one standing there with your little thingy laying on the platform, and me bringing down the blade.  It's always made me hot to think about that."

Obviously, it made him hot also.  His cock had been semi-erect after our shared orgasms, but by the time I finished my story, it was completely hard again.  I reached down and pinched the tender spot right under its head, then asked, "Does it turn you on to think of me doing that to you?"

His only answer was a breathless, "Yes!"  When he began pulling his crotch away from my pinching fingers, causing a painful stretching in accompaniment with what I was already giving him, I knew he was speaking the truth.  It had become noticeable to me that his tolerance for pain in his penis, and his desire for it, was increasing markedly with each passing week.  Where he had once winced and gasped when I pinched and slapped his little thing, now he lifted his abdomen as if to meet the punishment I meted out.

Even the types of photos and stories he favored had become noticeably more extreme in the months since our first surfing session.  In short, it was obvious that my husband was becoming more and more fixated with our shared fantasy.

I decided to test his arousal, and said, "Let's go look at the paper cutter right now."

His only answer was to quickly get out of bed and hold out his hand to help me to my feet.  Still holding hands, we hurried down the hallway to our office, with him virtually pulling me along.

He turned on the light in the room, and we walked directly to the table that held the object of our fascination.  It looked like such an innocent thing, nothing but a very efficient way to trim paper to size.  However, I knew that neither of us was thinking of its intended purpose at that moment.  The visions in my mind were of him standing as close as he could get to the thing, with his cock laying on the platform under the raised blade.  My left hand was holding his dick in place on the table, and my right hand was tightly gripping the handle as I slowly lowered the blade toward its intended target.  I didn't need any words from him to know that virtually the same images were also overwhelming him.

We stood in front of the cutter for a long time, both of us too fascinated by it to say a single word.  He had one arm around my waist, with the other fondling my breasts.  I had one arm around him, with the other viciously pinching and twisting the head of his cock.  I know I was very aroused then, and judging by the amount of pre-cum that dripped from his slit, knew that he was equally so.

Neither of us had spoken a word since getting off the bed.  There was nothing to be said that could make us any hotter, and indeed the very act of speaking would probably have lessened our excitement.  We both knew why we were here, and words weren't needed to explain it.

I don't know if my hand instinctively pulled his cock head toward the machine, or if he made the first motion.  Whoever acted first made no difference, for the end result was the same.  He took a single step forward, and his glans touched the closed blade.  I remember that he gasped at the contact, but that was the only sound in the room.

I released my hold on him then, and grasped the handle of the blade.  Slowly I raised it to its maximum distance, then held it there as I gazed raptly at his penis.  Again, nothing was said, and the only sound was our rapid breathing.

He again moved forward, this time very slowly.  I stared in fascination as his cock moved across the table, and was startled when it came to a stop.  Somehow I had been back in my old fantasy, thinking it was Ryan's cock that was there, and that it was supposed to stretch all the way across the thing.  David's cock was nowhere near that length, and it barely reached the 6" mark when his crotch touched the edge of the platform.

After placing my left hand on his penis, and pressing it to the table, I very slowly began to lower the blade.  At last it rested lightly on the top of his shaft, and once again he gasped at the contact.

I whispered huskily, "Tell me!"

He knew what I wanted, and after clearing his throat several times, gasped, "Do it!.  Please!  Cut it off me!  Please!"

As he said those impassioned words, his cum began to spurt.  He gasped out an impassioned, "Hurry!  Now!"

I'll never know how I resisted the almost overwhelming urge to force the blade downward with all my strength, but I did.  Neither of us was thinking clearly right then, as you can imagine.  However, as we talked about it later as we lay in bed, slowly drifting to sleep, we both understood that if I had done so, he would probably have died of blood loss.  I doubt that consideration was what stayed my hand, but whatever it was, the result was the same.

As soon as his last spurt had joined the pile of cum on the platform, I raised the blade.  Then I placed both hands on his shoulders and gasped out, "Get down now!  Move, damn you!"

He fell to his knees, facing me.  I quickly moved forward, placed both hands behind his head, and pulled it into my crotch.  His questing tongue didn't need any further instructions, and it soon brought me to my second orgasm of that very exciting night.

David had by that time developed a taste for his cum, and didn't resist at all when I ordered him to clean up the mess he'd made on my paper cutter.  He licked and swallowed, and soon the thing was once again spotless.  We then walked slowly back to our bed, arm in arm, stopping a couple of times to kiss and express our love.

________________

We repeated that loveplay many times, and always my brain was able to stop my arm from completing what my pussy demanded it to do.  David continued to beg me to do it to him, and there were times when I pressed the blade so strongly against his cock that there would be a cut visible.  There was never much blood lost, as I knew would be the case if the paper cutter ever did its work.

Along with the fear of uncontrolled blood loss, I also had another reservation about actually giving David the penectomy he seemed to crave with every fiber of his being.  I knew that such a thing would require a visit to the hospital emergency room, and there would be no way to prevent involvement by the authorities.  As exciting as the act would be, I certainly didn't want to spend time in jail, along with all the shame and embarrassment that would accompany the charges of sexual assault being lodged against me.

By that time, we had both come to accept that, sooner or later, I would be unable to stop my arm from bringing down the blade to the bottom of its stroke.  We tried to devise a solution to the dual problems that concerned me, and at last developed a plan that seemed to be flawless.  Neither of us knew when that plan would be put into effect, but we had accepted that before much longer, he would no longer be a complete man.

That part seemed to concern him, and he expressed his misgivings one night as we snuggled in bed after returning from another exciting session in the office.  As we lay "spooning," with the front of my body pressed tightly against his back, and my hand on his "joystick," he said, "I've been thinking about afterwards.  Will you miss screwing?  You always seem to like it, and I was wondering if you'll regret cutting it off me, since that means I won't have a cock any longer."

I had thought of that very thing longer than he would ever know, and said with no hesitation, "Why would you think I'd miss fucking?  You don't really expect me to stop just because you're no longer a man, do you?"

He was taken aback momentarily, but immediately knew what I meant.  He asked softly, "Do you mean you're going to take a lover.  You'll be having sex with another man?"  I could tell by his tone of voice he was worried about that eventuality, but his penis was sending another message.  As he considered the idea of his wife having sex with another man, it seemed to grow quickly to a state of hardness equal to what it was before his orgasm so shortly before.

I chuckled softly before replying, "Of course I'll have other men.  Just because you can't fuck anymore doesn't mean I have to stop, does it?  There're plenty of cocks in this world that would love to get in my pussy."

He then asked, "Do you know who it'll be?"

I answered, "Yes.  Do you remember Chris?  I introduced you to him at the office party last Christmas.  He'd like to get in my pants, and from what I've seen of the bulge in his, I think he could take care of me pretty well.  Of course, if he doesn't work out, there are plenty of other fish in the sea, aren't there?"

He voiced his true concern then, saying, "You don't have to stop having sex.  In fact, the more I think about it, the more exciting it is.  I'm just worried that maybe you won't want me around anymore."

The last words were said with a sadness in his voice that almost made me cry.  I hugged him fiercely, reassuring him that my love for him was very strong, and that he'd always be my husband.  I told him that just because his little pecker had fallen off didn't mean that I'd love him any less.  As a last reassurance, I said, "Anyway, I'll need you around to do your special chores.  You'll be like the fourth batter in the lineup."

He didn't catch on right away, even though we were both fans of the Colorado Rockies, and had attended several of their games.  I could feel the question in the air, and finally answered it by saying, "You know.  I mean I'll need you around as the cleanup man."

He then understood what I meant, and although he didn't say anything, his penis signaled his excitement by growing even harder.

The topic had aroused me, too, and I whispered, "I think you need to practice.  Roll over."

He did, and soon I was riding his cock to its second orgasm of the night.  Shortly thereafter I was riding his tongue to my second.