by Oralonly Wife

Dear LHPJ,

This is an absolutely true story of how I made my husband into a dickless, oral only slave. I will use false names for the participants, but the events are absolutely true, and anyone really wishing to identify us could probably look up the newspaper articles and figure it out. The statute of limitations has long expired, but I am trusting on the sisterhood of sexecutioners to keep this quiet. You see, hubby still doesn’t know that I did it. I’m saving that secret for now, at least until the kids are grown, and I have my divorce.

I was a young bride back in 1993 when Loreena Bobbitt first put the idea in my head. Along with so many American women of my generation, I found myself married to an arrogant, lousy lover. Despite David’s above average cock, he rarely if ever made me cum, and had little interest in foreplay for me, although he insisted on ramming that big cock of his down my throat every chance he got. I could have lived with that, even. Like most horny, red-blooded women, I liked sucking my man’s meat. And I have always had a nice toy collection and can vibe myself to orgasm easily. But on top of his other inadequacies, David was so immature, always spending time drinking with his buddies, leaving me home with two small children, and coming home drunk insisting to fuck. So when I heard Loreena’s solution, I felt sympathy for her. My girlfriends were all abuzz with the story, and how suddenly frightened the men around them had become.

“Wouldn’t it be amazing,” said my good friend V., of her unfaithful husband “for him to wake up without a cock? I mean, it would actually be crueler than killing him.”

“Wow,” I stammered, shocked at my own reaction, “It’s sort of a rush to imagine taking total power over his sex.” I felt a flush which I slowly realized was sexual arousal.

“You mean to end his sex,” chimed in P. “Sexecution! All she had to do was destroy the penis. No reattachment! He could probably never get off again.”

“Well,” said V., “I bet he’d become a good pussy eater, poor guy.” My panties were soaked. I felt my nipples jutting through the thin cloth of my sun-dress. “Looks like somebody has a kinky side,” V. called out.

“I…” I felt mortified that my friends had noticed my arousal almost as soon as I had myself.

“Look babe. No one here would blame you,” said P. “we all know he’s a jerk.”

“P!” snapped V., “easy girl.”

“It’s true,” I said softly. “I married a jerk, but his cock’s not worth going to jail over.” A vision of David’s heavy balls dangling uselessly on a cockless crotch filled my mind. “But it is exciting to fantasize about.”

Over the next few weeks, I masturbated, sometimes three or four times a day, while imagining David, whimpering with lust, kneeling cockless at my feet and sucking me to orgasm after orgasm. I even imagined bringing home other lover’s. He would have to understand that just because he was cockless, didn’t mean I didn’t need cock in my life. Of course, if I cut off his dick, I could never trust him near my big clit, even if he said he was willing. But following the legal consequences of Loreena Bobbitt’s actions, I quickly dismissed the idea of pruning David’s fat seven incher. There was no way I was going to go to jail, and miss my children’s formative years. I never entirely let go of the fantasy. Poor David still might be able to cum today if it wasn’t for the affair.

That’s right. His affair probably went on for years before I discovered it. Ironically it was because of being seen by V. and P., my who knew about my penectomy fantasy, that I discovered him. They saw him out with a woman, and followed him to her house like real detectives, even taking photos of her license-plates. I was in a rage. The idea of ending his arrogant manhood, once only fantasy, became an obsession. But I had to figure out how to do it so I’d never be to blame. In fact, I’d be the sad victim, the woman whose husband “lost everything.” My frequent affairs would be “natural”. After all you can’t expect a woman to stop making love because her husband loses his penis… But how to plan this perfect crime?

I want to take a moment to thank the goddess for sending a little newspaper article my way just at the perfect moment. It was headlined, “Spider bite leads to amputation.” It was about a poor little old lady, and a spider called a Brown Recluse, which has venom that basically eats the flesh. Only antivenin will stop the spread of necrosis. The spider is small, and its bite is relatively painless, so unless the victim knows it has happened, antivenin is usually too late. This poor old lady had been bitten in her gardening gloves, and lost two fingers before they discovered the cause. The article was in an abandoned paper I wasn’t even really reading, as I sat sipping coffee in a diner, trying to get my head around the idea of David’s affair.

To be honest I didn’t immediately make the connection. I was more thinking about how I needed to wear gloves when I cleaned the garage. The article came with a picture of the spider, said to be common locally, in places like closets, and attics and unused clothing. An image which had bothered me lately, the imagination of David’s pretty cock thrusting into the pussy of that skanky young blonde he was fucking crept into my mind, even as I was reading, “Locals should always check their boots and gloves…” Bingo. The image of David’s cock thrusting into a spider-web filled boot. My breathing quickened. Brown recluse bites could necrotize skin and soft tissue to form a wound “…as large as ten inches in diameter…” and according to the paper, there is no known treatment for the necrosis other than “…excision.” It was too perfect. Someone else would cut his penis off for me, and it would be perfectly legal. In fact, a tragedy for a sexy young wife who would stand by her disfigured man (for a while). I paid for my coffee, and took the paper, as I went home to “clean the attic.”

Even in the heavy gloves I bought for the occasion, I was a little paranoid at the idea of handling the spider if I did find it. But once again fate intervened. As I tipped up an old pair of gym shoes, a small spider rushed out. Naturally I screamed, it ran. But not before the flashlight showed it to be a brown recluse. “Damn,” I said. I slid my hand into the heavy Ziploc baggie I had brought to “catch” the spider in before gingerly probing into the tangle of webs in the shoe, finding nothing more. But when I withdrew my hand, the baggie stayed, and again my goddess rewarded me with a perfect idea. I carefully replaced the shoe in its exact original position with the baggie in place. It was a week until David’s 29th birthday. If I was lucky, it would be his last birthday as a man. The last thing I did in the attic was retrieve some old home movies of the two of us.

I lay down on the bed, slowly masturbating my sopping pussy as I watched his proud arrogant cock thrusting hotly into my mouth, cunt and asshole, the way I imagined it was now thrusting into his slutty little mistress’s body. “Enjoy it while you can asshole,” I grunted through clinched teeth, my breath hissing as my ass ground into the huge wet spot beneath my ass, “before your special surgeryyyyy….uuugh, Godddeeesss. Ungh!” My orgasm was shattering, timed perfectly with the video of David’s super-swollen member spurting jet after jet of cum. His cock was as good as dead. He just didn’t know it yet.

David had no idea I knew of his affair. By his birthday night, the whole plan was in place. The Spider, who I had named Elvira was in the drawer of my bedside table, snug in her gallon sized Ziploc, along with a pair of scissors to cut a “David-sized” hole in the bag. I had considered simply drugging David, and dumping her on his crotch. But there was always a chance she might not bite, or even worse, she might disappear entirely, only to bite me later. Besides, I wanted to see the actual moment, and I wanted it to be when I was bringing David the greatest pleasure possible, so he would always remember how it was the “last time.” It was shockingly easy to get him to go along with the plan which would doom his most precious flesh. So I settled for splitting a bottle of good champagne with him, making him both compliant and horny.

“Come on baby, I just want to show you that I still have what it takes to blow your mind.”

“Okay. Okay. Hey does it have to be that tight?” he asked as I pulled the last strap snug, spread-eagling him helplessly on the bed.

“Yes, because I’m in charge now.” For the coup-de-gras, I pulled a hood over his head, completely blinding him. I then turned on the video cameras borrowed from V. and P. and placed them around the room. I know, I know… evidence, but I knew that I would want to relive this moment for the rest of my life. He started to complain, but I squatted over his face and said “Lick, slave…”

To my surprise, he responded well to the bondage. I guess the excitement of something new. Anyway, he lapped away like there was no tomorrow, and whether it was his eager tongue, or the way I was watching his doomed cock pulse through his last sexual act, he actually made me cum orally for the first time in our marriage. I almost decided not to do it. But then I thought of HER. Maybe that’s where he learned finally to give head.

David was trembling and struggling at his bonds as I traced patterns all over his body with my tongue, and tickled him with my nails, and then with a feather. I know the brown recluse bite is painless initially, but I didn’t want him to detect the tickle of the legs as strange. I laid the bag and the scissors noiselessly on the bed between his spread legs, and indulged myself by deep-throating his cock until it was at its hugest. He was moaning, thrusting his hips off the bed. It was time. I turned to a sixty nine position and steadying myself as his tongue went back to work, I trimmed a corner off the bad just big enough to accept his swollen manhood.

Thoughts rushed through my mind as his mushroom head slipped inside the bag…. No treatment…necrosis…excision…. And the work my friend P. had coined, “Sexecution.” I held the baggie tightly at the base of his cock, jacking a little, as Elvira dropped down onto the head of his cock. I tapped her, watching in fascination. I could see, as I threatened to crush her against his cock, the little fangs flicked out, biting again and again, at the head, the shaft, and satisfyingly at the base. I then, mercifully crushed her in the midst of her last bite, trying to express the maximum amount of venom. As she died, I cried out in orgasm, the thoughts rushing through my head, “Your cock is dead, your cock is dead!”

I tossed the bag and scissors over the bedside to dispose of later, and began giving David the hand job of his life. The last hand job of his life. I massaged, trying first just to distribute the venom, then with a dollop of lube, trying to give hubby a send-off to remember. I turned around between his legs, and suddenly was inspired to strip off his hood. “Watch me,” I said, pushing a pillow beneath his head. And I looked my husband in the eye as I pumped his massively swollen member, leaning forward to slide it between my soft round titties, before returning to a slow jerk off, fondling his heavy balls in the palm of my right hand while my finger tapped at his lubed up asshole. I felt a chill come into my belly, as he began to arch his hips, my wetness derived now not from sexecution, but from enjoying his sexy gyrations. With his proud cock jutting, he looked beautiful, and I felt a little tinge of regret. I would miss his cock. But there was no way I was going to share it with that little whore anyway. Once I knew, I couldn’t even take advantage of one last fuck. I leaned forward to tongue his swollen balls, greasy finger snaking up his asshole as I pumped. I put my lips against his gorgeous head for one last kiss, mumbling “goodbye” with their softness against his frenulum, his cock head now deep plum and nearly as big as a racquetball. His scream rattled the windows as his helplessly bound body arched against the bonds, with massive jets of semen shooting all the way up to his own face and hair. I shuddered, my own orgasm overtaking me, panting “good bye, goodbye…”

With my lips and tongue, I rode him through what he always describes as the best orgasm of his life. I almost wished he could have had the added incentive of knowing it was his last. I freed his wrists and poured him a big glass of champagne which he gulped down. He did get nauseous in the night, chalking it up to champagne, but not much else. Had I imagined the bites? I drifted off, having noticed he was beginning to regularly scratch his cock. By morning, his dick was noticeably red when he dressed for work, but still working, as I purposely teased him every way possible in my dressing. I felt his swollen organ grind between my cheeks as he encircled my waist, kissing me and saying I was the greatest lover ever. I almost allowed him a “goodbye fuck,” but I put him off until the evening. This is something that has brought genuine tears to my eyes, as I know it was truly his last opportunity.

He came home on time that night, but with a worried look on his face. “Honey, could you look at my cock?”

“Gladly,” I said in as flirtations voice as I could manage.

“No I mean, there’s something wrong I think…” His voice trailed off nervously as his shaking hands undid his fly. His beautiful cock did not emerge. Instead he swung a hot red sausage out of his fly, the skin tight and shiny, and much abused from scratching.

“Oooh, looks like somebody has a case of jock itch,” I said, wrinkling my nose as I leaned in close, making sure my hot breath stirred his pubes. His penis began to respond.

“Stop stop please. When it gets hard, it hurts worse!”

“Oh poor guy,” I said with honey in my voice, wickedly planting a little kiss on his cockhead and giving his balls an unnecessary tickle as I let go of his shaft. As usual, this was enough to bring him to half mast and he began whimpering as he scratched. “Look, why don’t you go take a hot shower, and I’ll fix us a drink.” Of course, that made the itching ten times worse, and I finally gave the poor guy some cortisone cream, before clinking martini glasses with him. “Here’s to the end of the itching,” I said, hoping this itch would be solved surgically.

Three days passed, with David slathering in cortisone cream with my help. I noticed coldness in his penis, and on the third day, a darkening patch on the underside of his cock, which seemed to follow a vein up. The end was beginning. I didn’t mention it until the end of the day.

“Have you been with anyone else?” I asked suddenly, implying venereal disease. It was a master stroke which kept him from the doctor for another two days, which I comically nagged him to go, and insisted on going with him, holding hands, his sweating with nerves, and mine with pure arousal. I had actually had to put on a panty liner before leaving home and I could feel it was soaked through to my panties. I watched anxiously as the young blonde female the urologist (who I had specifically chosen from the web) handle his dying genitals. I thought as a surgeon, nothing would be better than to have his cock removed by a beautiful woman. Little did I know that once again, the goddess had guided me to the perfect choice. Her eyes clouded with sadness as she surveyed the ruined crotch.

“Can you get the clap from a toilet or something? I mean…” poor David. Still worrying about his alibi, instead of his cock.

“It’s not a venereal disease Mr. C_____”

“Thank god…”

“Actually that’s not good. We have a treatment for venereal disease. What you have here is necrosis of at least half of the penile shaft.”

David’s eye widened in horror, and to my surprise I let out a sob, although it was more of joy than sadness. “That means…?” I began

“That means that at least half the penis is already dead.”

“Oh no, god no, not my cock, no, no no….” David wailed. I walked to his side, the dutiful wife.

“Please there must be something we can do Doctor B______,” I said.

“It’s emergency surgery I’m afraid,” said the young woman, her gray eyes shining wetly. “And immediately. We may be able to save some functionality. “Nurse,” get him into the outpatient surgery room, and start a drip for antibiotics. “I am so sorry Mr. C_____. And also to you Mrs.C_______. When we get inside, he’ll need to be put under. Do you have power of attorney?”

As the anesthetic took effect, my ex-stud pleaded with me. “Please baby,” David burbled, “don’t let them take it. My cock, my cock….”

“We’ll do what we can Mrs. C_____, but honestly, to prevent it from spreading to the testes and other organs, outright amputation would be the only safe way.”

“Oh god,” I said, my knees buckling as the shudder of a small orgasm racked through my body. I thought I had concealed it from her, but once again, my hard nipples betrayed me. A strange look passed over her face. “Mrs. C______, could you step into my office for a moment to sign the release.” Her hand encircled my wais almost familiarly as she led me into her office, closing the door behind.

“I saw your reaction to the idea of my amputating your husband’s cock.”

“It’s just shock….”

“More like excitement?” I blushed, cheeks burning with shame. “It’s okay. A lot of women feel that way. He sure had a nice one. He must be some kind of jerk.” I felt another tingle go through my cunt, as she referred casually to my husband’s cock in the past tense. As if it was already dead to her too. Somehow, she must have figured out my plan. Only the truth might save me from trouble now.

“He’s a cheater, and he forces it on me. He goes out drinking and leaves me with two young kids, then comes home and practically rapes me. Plus for years, he’s been running around on me. ”

“Well, I spoke direly about the condition of your husband’s penis in front of the surgical nurses, because I have sensed your excitement from the moment we shook hands. I brought you here to make your choice clear. I believe I could save three-quarters of your husband’s, cock. Debride the skin and give him drip antibiotics. He most likely would maintain functionality, and be able to have intercourse as before, with about a third less girth….”

“What? But you said it was dead! You said…”

“Calm down Mrs. C_____” I’m the surgeon, and I’m only telling you what can be done, not what I’m going to do. My jaw dropped open. She stepped closer, so close that her high firm breasts grazed my arm as she whispered into my ear, “Say the word, and I will amputate your husband’s cock, so he doesn’t even have a stub to pee with.” Now the full length of her body was pressed against mine. It was electrifying. I had never even considered a woman as an erotic partner, but as she planted a gentle kiss on my ear I melted into her.

“Do it. All the way to the root. Leave him nothing but balls.” Our hands were traveling over each other’s bodies. She reached deftly beneath my skirt, pulling my soaked panties aside to rub my clit.

“Do you want hubby’s cock all gone bad girl?”

“Yessss.” I hissed, hips rolling under her touch.

“Just sign here, saying you understand that the surgery discovered complications which made the entire removal of the penis shaft necessary.” I took the clipboard, and scribbled a sloppy signature, my husband’s sexual death warrant, hearing the squish of her fingers on my clit. “You know once we start, there’s no putting it back. I’m going to completely destroy his manhood.” I dropped the clipboard, and my eyes rolled back in my head. I let out a silent scream as the most powerful orgasm of my life swept through me. When I recovered, she helped me adjust my hair and make-up. “Now, let’s go scrub. That is, if you want to watch.”

The surgery went by in a flash, from the first incision, to the closing flap in an hour and a half, leaving his battered crotch with his huge scrotum intact, and only the pale rubber tube of the catheter leaving his pubic mound where his cock proud cock used to stand. She did beautiful work, and it would be hard now to look at his unscarred mound and know that he ever possessed that huge, beautiful cock.

Somehow (actually I know how, my good friend V. blew a kid reporter to get it in) the story showed up in the local paper, giving just enough information about the victim for everyone to know it was David. His humiliation was complete. He adjusted slowly at first, and I watched with sad amusement as he tried in vain to get a hold of his little slut, who was so not interested in a dickless man. As for me, I started dressing as sexy as possible all the time, both around the house where it makes David crazy, and when we go out, where I tease him like mad, and encourage all flirtation. Since our hot little surgeon took it all the way to the root, David has yet to find an alternative method of stimulation which will allow him to orgasm.

I have publically “stood by my man” giving him favors other husbands only dream of. Watching our old homemade porn, and masturbating for him “Remember how good that felt baby?” I have “allowed him” to go down on all my friends, and even allowed them to go down on him. One wicked night V., P., and I gave him head, licking his ass and balls for over an hour until he begged us to stop. “Oh I am sooo, sorry baby. I thought this would finally get you off. Ironically he made us all cum easily, knowing that we had been the architects of his destruction as a man. On his first birthday after the penectomy, I presented him with an edited video of out “last night as man and woman.” Of course I cut out the part with Elvira delivering the bites that would seal his fate as a man. Maybe after the divorce.

And since the incident in the doctor’s office, I have expanded my repertoire to include lovemaking with women “as a favor” to “to cheer my poor sweetheart up.”On this, the seventh anniversary, I have a special treat. I have contacted my dear friend and surgeon Dr. B_______ for a reunion of sorts. I expect it to be an eventful week.

It seems that V.’s poor, unfaithful husband has an appointment with V., P., and me. We’re planning for a five-way, with his famous nine-inch cock. Oh not hubby. He’ll be watching from the dickless slave chair in the corner, getting worked up to lick us all clean. But we’ll have to blindfold him too when out fifth, eight legged partner enters the room. We like to call her, Elvira II)