Memoir of a Student Teacher

Special thanks to an unnamed correspondent who supplied the inspiration for this story. I never would have though of it without you.

While pursuing my doctorate in anthropology at the State University, I often lectured to the undergraduates. My favorite lecture topic was emasculation customs. I loved to see the male students squirm as I described the different cultures that castrated or penectomized

men, the methods they used, and the reasons they did it. I confess I found the lecture arousing, imagining the techniques as I described them in detail. Afterwards, I would notice a dampness in my intimate garments that was not there before. Though tempted

to masturbate immediately, I usually contained myself, letting my arousal build through the day until night when I could enjoy a particularly satisfying self-fuck or a tryst with my lover.

One afternoon while I sat at my student teacher desk (I had office

hours when students could ask me for help), a student I recognized from the morning lecture came in--one of my favorite students. I didn't interact much with any of the students, including him, but I liked to look at him more than the others. He had a crisp, clean, almost androgynous look. I began undressing him in my mind the instant he walked in.

I had chosen to wear my most flattering clothes that day--slacks that showed off the curves of my ass and legs and a blouse that hugged my D-cup bust. I had removed my blazer for office hour, leaving my upstairs well displayed.

He shut the door behind him and sat down across from me.

"Can I help you . . . Michael?"

"Uh . . . I came to see you about this morning's lecture, Ms.

Charles." He fidgeted.

"The one about castration and penectomy, Michael?" I could have just said "emasculation," but I liked the sound of "penectomy" and

"castration" on my tongue.

"Uh . . . Yeah." He blushed. "You mentioned something special about the Sudanese."

I smiled. "Well, Michael, the Sudanese have paid more attention to the penis than most other peoples. In addition to circumcising their men, the Sudanese taught their boys methods of penis enlargement. The most important technique, called jelqing, was similar to the most popular way for men to masturbate." I rose from my chair and illustrated by stroking an imaginary penis rising from my crotch. I continued speaking: "To top it off, they would cut off the penises of their enemies." I walked around my desk toward him and caught a glance of the tent his hardened member had made of his jeans. I lowered my voice as I continued to address him: "Sometimes they would penectomize a man your age . . . in public . . . in front of women. How would you like that?"

His eyes had glazed and his breathing become shallow. His eyes kept

darting to my breasts, which pleased me very much. "Michael, are you okay?" I asked, a note of concern in my voice.

Brought back to reality, he licked his lips and spoke with a cracking voice: "I-I-I'm sorry Ms. Charles--it's just that . . ."

"Is all this talk of cutting off penises making you uncomfortable,

Michael?" Oh, I was enjoying this.

"Yes," he rasped.

"Are you getting uncomfortable . . . down there?" I asked, directing my gaze to his crotch, eyeing his erection with pleasure. His face burned. He knew he'd been caught.

"Oh God, I'm sorry Ms. Charles . . ." He stood up visibly agitated.

"Ssh," I whispered, putting a finger to my lips. "I'm not offended.

Many male students find that speaking with me about this

subject-excites them."

"I'll go now," he started.

"You can't go out of here like that," I said, pointing to the obvious outline in his crotch. "And if you wait until it goes down your testicles may hurt for hours." Looking into his scared eyes, I

unbuckled and drew off his belt, then unzipped him. To my delight, he wore no underpants and his engorged member thrust through his fly

toward my belly. In my adult life, I have seen many erect penises of varying shape, size, and color. I remember each one distinctly and fondly. Michael's hard manhood stood proud--a purple, vein-ribbed thing swollen with longing. I caressed it lovingly, gazing into his eyes, which watered with hunger and anxiety.

I reached for the ruler on my desk. Clutching it, I brought the wooden shaft up and laid it across my bust line, at which he was staring.

"Pretend this is a knife," I told him. He nodded.

I lowered the edge to rest against his turgid shaft. I drew my other palm up the underside of his sex and caught the bead of pre-ejaculate on his tip, then I wrapped my fingers around the knob and drew my hand down his heated member to the root. Masturbating him in earnest now, I moved the edge of my "knife" back and forth across his sex, sawing his penis, then I did the same to his scrotum. My ministrations provoked whimpers and sighs: "Ms. Charles . . . Oh, Ms. Charles . . ."

Before long, I sensed his impending crisis. "I'm going to castrate you now," I whispered as I struck the base of his scrotum with the metal edge of my ruler. No doubt it stung, but it left no mark. He moaned low and deep.

"And now," I continued, "I'm going to cut off your penis." I struck the same metal edge at the very root of his obstreperous organ. Had the ruler been a knife, it would have sliced off his entire manhood leaving no trace.

He gasped. His face contorted in ecstasy as five odorous bursts of semen shot from his sex. Gouts of his thick seed landed on my desk, my clothing, the floor. As the salty aroma wafted into my nostrils he slumped back against the desk. I couldn't help but snicker at his posture.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Charles. I didn't mean to make a mess," he sighed.

"Don't let it bother you-it can be cleaned up," I replied.

"You're not going to tell anyone about this, are you?" He asked, looking nervous.

"Not if you don't," I answered with a wink.

"I won't say a thing to anyone, Ms. Charles," he assured me as he turned to go. "Thank you-Thank you so much."

"It was my pleasure, Michael."

I smiled as he left, savoring the moment, enjoying the moist heat in my nether regions.