Thecia’s Dilemma

My name is Thecia and I’m a 30 (31 next month) female cutter.

Since I’ve been writing these stories I’ve received hundreds of e-mails from men asking to be "cut", and many from women wanting men cut. Some to be slaves and some out of revenge. Most of these missives don’t phase me. I won’t take a client from this forum anyway.

That being said, last month I received the following e-mail. "Dear Thecia, I’m 36 years old and being horribly abused by my man. He is often a wonderful guy, but two or three times a week he comes home drunk and beats me. Along with the beating usually comes a violent and painful anal rape. Until about two months ago, I just assumed that I must be evil and was being punished. Well now he’s taken to beating and raping my daughter. She’s just turned 17; she was a virgin and doesn’t deserve to be abused. She came to me last night with blood and his cum leaking from her butt. Can you help? Thank you, Rhonda."

Should I get involved or not?

I’m a cutter, not a crusader. But, my friend Dr. Pann is. She heads up a women’s support group with a lot of backing and political power. She is staunchly protective of women in general. I forwarded Rhonda’s e-mail to her. We got more information from Rhonda and checked out her story. From what we could find out it was true.

We plotted our vengeance. While this happened on various different nights, it almost always happened every Friday night. The man, Mark, cashed his paycheck every Friday night at a bar called "My Father’s Place" in Enid, OK. I made sure that I was there at 11PM. He offered to buy me a drink (not a hard thing to evoke by a woman alone in a local bar.) I told him that I wanted to sit at a booth. I had a drink with him and managed to slip a morphine derivative into his beer.. When he got home he would be a little drunker than usual and ready to fall asleep. I knew that it would take about twenty minutes to get into his blood stream, so I excused myself and left. The bar was almost empty by this time and he tired of it and left for home. I told Rhonda that she would have to stall him for a few minutes until the morphine kicked in. She was OK with that. She said, "I can take one more beating if I have to. Just knowing that it’s the last makes it worth while." Her daughter had been packed off to her sister’s house for the night.

Dr. Pann dropped me off at the house in a nondescript black Chevy and drove away.

Mark stumbled into the house about ten minutes later. He went directly to the daughter’s room and was quite dismayed when he found her bed empty. He stormed into Rhonda’s room, demanding to know where her daughter was. She tried to calm him and told him that her daughter had gone to stay with a friend. I was waiting quietly in a third bedroom and listening. I heard the loud smack as his hand connected to Rhonda’s face. The morphine wasn’t effective yet. This caught me off guard; he should be super tired by now and almost asleep. I’m only 125 pounds and even with Rhonda’s help no match for this 250-pound man. I had a syringe with the right stuff in it, but that would take a few minutes to put him out. I heard another slap and knew that I had to do something. There was a small jewelry box on the bureau next to me. I picked it up and quietly made my way into Rhonda’s bedroom.

He was standing there with his hands holding her hips and his rather large erection poised at the entrance to her tight asshole. As I stepped closer he rammed that huge cock into her un-lubricated hole. She screamed just as I brought the jewelry box down on the side of his head. Only later did it dawn on me that I might have killed him. I sent her to go visit her sister.

I retrieved the nylon line from my kit and securely tied him to the bed rails. I always cut with the subject face up, but this time I had him face down, for my own reasons.

He was rousing some, so I splashed his face with cold water and slapped him. When he was awake, I slipped out of the black dress he had seen me wearing in the bar. I saw his eyes lock on my small but perky breasts. I said "would you like some?" He smiled and in his drug fogged state, seemed to think that this was some kinky sex thing.

I carefully folded my black dress and donned my blue work smock. Leaving it open in the front. Next, I reached into my kit and retrieved the one piece of equipment I’ve never before used in a cutting. A nine inch strap-on dildo. I strapped it on, letting it rest against my light brown pubic hair and my pelvic mound. He turned his head and his silly smirk turned to horror when he saw the huge pink ramrod. I put a dab of Astroglide lube on the tip, not for him, but to be sure it would start. The tip opened his hole just a little and I put all 125 pounds into a thrust. His asshole opened and he screamed. The nearest neighbor was two hundred feet away, but still I worried. I pulled the now bloody thing out and put a ball gag into his mouth. Then I remounted him. This time I fucked him over and over again, all the way to the hilt of that rigid dildo. He screamed/sobbed with every stroke. His big dick was rock hard and I could tell that he was ready. I had already put on my velvet glove and I reached under him, grabbed that huge cock and stroked it. Within two or three strokes it began to spurt, stream after stream. When the shooting stopped, I left him lay in that huge puddle of cum as I withdrew my strap-on and got down to business.

I almost never cut a scrotum, as the risk of complications is too great. This time was to be different. I usually slice the sac on each side, pop the nuts out and snip, sew it up and I’m done. This time I used an elastrator. I put two bands near the top of his sac. He squirmed and tried to pull away, but each time he did I just squeezed those nuts as hard as I could and he stopped. I had a two-foot piece of monofilament fishing line with a wooden handle on each end. I wrapped the line around his sac one turn, between the two bands. I placed the stainless steel bowl under his sac and spoke to him once more. I said, "remember what you do to Rhonda and her daughter?" "Well! You won’t do it again."

I could hear him trying to plead for his nuts through the ball gag. He might as well plead to the wall.

With all of my strength I jerked on the wooden handles. Like a razor through butter the fishing line sliced through his sac, ducts, nerves and all. His big balls fell into the bowl with a plopping sound. It was just a plop to him but it was music to my ears. I put them in my preserving jar. On my next trip to Mexico I would have the woman who does my leather tanning sun dry them and make them into earrings for Rhonda.

Almost as an after thought, I dug out my scalpel and with a little slice into his "taint", I cut the nerve to his prostate. That huge prick would never get hard again, even with hormones.

When Dr. Pann picked me up it was almost daylight. We found a diner and went to breakfast. I had two eggs over, sausage and coffee. Life was good.

Respectfully submitted,

Thecia