First off let’s get this straight, my wife knew I was a freak from the get go…

After everything and everyone we’ve done together, not even she could deny that, nor do I think she would try.  I mean she knows I’m bisexual, not a problem.  She knows I like to cross-dress, and she can live with that.  She knows I keep a boyfriend on the side, she knows I like pain, she knows I like erotic piercing, and all that is cool.  But I don’t think she really knew the extent of my freakiness until about four months ago when I told her about my castration fantasy.

She looked me dead in the eye and asked, “What did you say?”

I told her again, as matter-of-factly as I could, “I want you to cut my balls off.”

GULP! Her cold stare was making me nervous.

She looked at me for a moment, as if considering which insane asylum to call first, and then said, “Okay.”

I was flabbergasted, and more than a little thrilled.  “You’ll do it?” I said, making sure she meant it.

“Yeah,” she told me.  “Maybe it will tone you down some, put you back in your place.”

            ‘Not likely,’ I thought.
            Boy was I wrong.

            The next thing she asked took me a little off guard; she asked when I wanted to do it.  I hadn’t really thought much about that.  I mean I was going to have to take some time off of work; I would need to obtain the necessary instruments, certain plans had to be made.  While my mind was working out all of the equations, my mouth piped up and said, “Tomorrow!”

            “How do you want me to do it?” she asked.

            Again, there were things to consider, recuperation time, pain threshold, limited skills in this area, it was a tough question, one that needed a certain amount of thought.

            “I want you to cut them off,” I said.

So much for thought.

            She smiled sweetly, gave me a little kiss, and again said, “Okay.”

            “HOLY SHIT, I’M ABOUT TO LET MY WIFE CUT MY BALLS OFF!”  With this thought racing through my head all night, and all of the next day at work, I didn’t get much sleep.  Even at work where I can usually sleep like the dead.

            By the end of the day I was so excited I couldn’t have gotten any work done even if I’d have wanted to, not that I ever wanted to.  After work I rushed out to this old country veterinarian’s place.  He’d once given me instructions on how to lance an abscess on my dog’s leg, and he’d given me the instruments to do it.  I told him I needed a scalpel, some forceps, exam gloves, iodine, suture, and a little Lidocain, if he could give that stuff out.  I had no idea what I was going to tell him if he asked what it was for, and the most amazing thing happened, he didn’t even ask.  He threw two scalpels, some forceps, gloves, a small bottle of iodine, a package of suture, and a syringe full of Lidocain into a bag, and while he tallied up the bill, asked me if I needed anything else.

            We live in a fairly rural area of Texas, so I thought I would ask his opinion, “Is there anything else I will need to castrate a-a-a calf?”

            He looked at me over his glasses and smiled.  I thought he had me pegged for sure, “Hell son, you don’t need half of that stuff if you’re just cuttin’ a calf.”

            I looked up at the shelves and saw a skin stapler, and told him to throw that in as well.  He did so without comment.  I paid him cash and started to walk out of the door.

            “Good luck,” he was saying as I shut the door behind me.

            When I got home my wife met me at the door and asked if I’d gotten the stuff, she seemed almost as excited as I was, it made me wonder if I should let her do this or not.  I kissed her deeply, showed her the bag and proceeded to the bedroom.  She followed me right on my heels, eager as could be.

            I washed my hands, then took my clothes off while she spread two or three old towels across the bed and removed her own clothes.  I’d seen calves castrated before, and I’d seen a few dogs neutered, so I had an idea of how I wanted her to do it, the question then was, could I give her the instructions mid-castration.  I keep myself clean-shaven, so without further ado, I applied the iodine scrub liberally to my groin area.

            Once I was naked and orange from about mid belly down to my knees, I dumped the content of the bag on the bed, rummaged through them until I found the Lidocain syringe.  My hands were shaking by then.

            “You want me to do that?” my wife asked after she’d washed her hands, she seemed awful eager to help out.  I shook my head and after a deep breath plunged the needle into my left ball.

            YEOUCH!  THAT SHIT HURT LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER!

            But once the burning sensation subsided, I found I could slowly move outward with the injections until I had numbed all of my scrotum, my left ball, and the spermatic cords.  Only the right ball left to do.  I took a deep breath then looked at my wife.

            “I wanna do it,” she said, a look was in her eyes I’d never seen before.  I wasn’t sure about it, but I handed her the syringe.

            She didn’t even wait for me to take my deep breath before she plunged the needle into my right testicle.

            DAMN THAT HURT!

            When the burning subsided, I took my deep breath and squeezed the tears out of my eyes.  When my vision cleared she had already put on her exam gloves and was taking the scalpel out of the package.  I began to wonder who the freak really was here.  I put on a pair of exam gloves while she eagerly waited for further instructions, and tested my balls for feeling; nothing, not even pressure.

            ‘Ready of not, here they go.’

            I nodded to her, and she smiled.  I spread my legs in front of her and lifted up my semi-hard penis.  With her scalpel poised over my scrotum, I traced out the mid-line cut she needed to make just below the junction of the penis and the scrotum.

            Seeing her enthusiasm, I pointed out.  “Don’t cut too deep, you’ll cut my urethra, and I’ll be peeing into my ball sack.”

            With an astonishingly steady hand she lifted the scrotum off of the penis shaft and made a precise two-inch cut in the thin soft flesh.  I involuntarily grimaced, but there was no pain.  The entire area was numb as dead meat.

            “That hurt?” she asked.

            I shook my head “no”, not really trusting myself to speak.

            “Want me to take the right one, or the left one first?” she questioned me.

            Her smile was making me more and more nervous.

            There was very little blood at this point, and the Lidocain had worked like a charm, so there was no pain, but I was still sweating bullets.

            “Get the left one,” I told her.

            I picked the left one because it had some scar tissue from some previous hard play, and was frequently in pain and giving me trouble.  I figured if I decided to only go half way, at least I would be rid of that pesky thing.

            She reached down under the ball and squeezed it up towards the slit in my scrotum.  I watched fascinated as the fishy white ball appeared in the hole, strained at the slit, then popped out onto my scrotum.  There was very little bleeding, not even enough to wet the towel beneath me.  I could see the ball was imperfect, scared, and it had a lump on the side.  It was inevitable; it would have had to come out sometime anyway.

            “Far out,” my wife laughed, yes she was actually giggling at my exposed testicle.

            In my hand my cock was throbbing.  Deep in my belly there was a tugging sensation, and a small dull pain, like being a couple of hours removed from being kneed in the nuts.  Not an entirely unpleasant sensation.

            “First cut the membrane on the outside of the nut and push it up.  Then take the suture, right where the cord is coming out, go through the cord once with the needle, then wrap it around twice and pull a square knot down, triple the square knot, then cut the suture.  Leave enough so if it slips it won’t come totally untied,” instructed.

            It took her a minute to get the suture pack open, and I made her change gloves.  While she was fiddling with all of that, I kept my eyes firmly focused on my naked testicle.  After a moment I realized I was softly stoking my fully erect penis.

            “That’s it baby, jack that fucker off,” my wife said with her now familiar eager grin.  “It’s the last time you cum for real.”

            My heart had finally settled down in my chest, and the sweat was cooling on my neck.  My hands were still trembling, but I felt somewhat in control of myself at last.  I didn’t feel a thing when she ran the needle though the cord and pulled a generous amount of suture through.  My hand was gliding faster and faster on the shaft of my penis.

            “Now tie it off,” I instructed, but she didn’t need my instruction, she was already tying.

            When she was done she clipped the end of the suture and looked up at me, smiling at what a great job she’d done.  There was still almost no blood.  This was the most erotic moment of my life.  I almost came right then, but I held off.

            “Cut it off about one-quarter to one-half inch below the suture,” I told her.

            She picked up the scalpel and said, “Just tell me when.”

            I pumped my cock about three times, bringing myself to the verge of orgasm.

            “Now,” I told her between gritted teeth.

            With a flash of the scalpel, it was off and onto a plate next to her on the bed.  I let out a shaking breath.

            Our eyes met, and without thinking I leaned in and kissed her for a long time.

            “Thank you,” I breathed into her ear.

            “You’re welcome.  Wanna get the other one now?” she asked a little too eagerly.  “We’re already here, and I notice you haven’t cum yet.”

            I looked down right as the stump of cord slithered back into the sack and straight up into my belly.  A small trickle of blood ran down my open sack.

            “We can take it out and look at it,” I told her.  “But I don’t think I want to cut it off.”

            But I did want to cut it off, and she knew it.  She nodded and squeezed my remaining ball at the bottom, sending it slithering out onto my scrotum.  There it lay, perfectly shaped, firm, and white, the absolute picture of health.  I pretended to examine it.

            “It doesn’t look like there’s anything wrong with this one,” I told her, mainly to gauge her reaction.

            She laughed.  Not the reaction I expected.

            “I didn’t know this was a medical procedure,” she giggled, nodding at my penis as it slapped my belly repeatedly, seeking attention as it always did.

            I swallowed hard, as my hand went almost involuntarily to my throbbing cock.

            “Go ahead and tie it off,” I told her.  “Just don’t cut it off yet.”

            She smiled knowingly and said, “Whatever you say.”

            I stroked my penis while she tied my last testicle off; I was on the verge of orgasm several more times before she was ready with the scalpel in her hand.  She waited patiently while I made up my mind.  She knew what I was going to say before I did.

            Our eyes met again, and held each other for a long time.

            “When I cum, cut that fucker off,” I finally told her.

            She just smiled and nodded.  Her eyes moved down to my penis, waiting for the first drop to hit my belly. 

Three more times I came right up to the edge of orgasm, and stopped myself.  I was agony, but not in my balls, or ball I should say, it was still numb.  My eyes rolled up into my head.  I meant to stop as I came up to the edge of bliss for a fourth time.  I even told myself to stop.  Then I let out a grunt, and hot cum splashed on my naked belly.  I felt a tug, and knew it was over.

            When I looked back down there were two testicles on the plate next to me, and my wife was taking the skin stapler out of its package.  She was smiling like a cat that had just eaten a canary.  I lay there for a long time while she professionally stapled the slit in my scrotum shut.  I lay there just looking at my testicles on the plate before me, and thinking about how my whole life had just changed.

            When she was done my wife climbed up on top of me and we had sex, but the Lidocain was wearing off, and the dull throbbing pain left behind it didn’t allow me to cum again that night.

            I’d always been the dominant one in our relationship, but now she was taking charge, telling me what to do, and how to do it.  It was a refreshing change, if awkward.

            When we were done, or should I say when she was done, she climbed on top of me and we just lay there, staring at my balls floating there in a small mason jar filled with vinegar.

            “Guess, I’m a eunuch now, huh?” I said, not really knowing what else to say.

            She smiled the most evil smile I’d ever seen on her, “You’re not a eunuch, you’re my eunuch now motherfucker.”