Piercednine
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Joined: 12/8/2016
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Man encounters mysterious woman – who suffers from the same obsession as he does: fantasies about penis removal. One thing leads to another ...
“Doesn’t it seem strange that things that could hurt your penis – do it damage, even remove it – should make it so hard?” She was watching him curiously. He wore only a white T-shirt and old sneakers; the front hem was bunched up where it draped over the base of his erection, hanging down loosely on both sides.
They wandered through the storeroom, examining equipment. The top surface of the bench was just the level of his erect penis.
Each tool hanging on the wall, or bolted to the bench – clamps, pliers, a meat cleaver, a huge ratcheting limb-lopper – had been designed for a specific, conventional purpose – yet in their eyes, each acquired a new function, never intended, probably never imagined, by the original designers. Any piece of equipment with an opening large enough to admit his erect cock – anything with a cutting edge, jaws for squeezing, leverage for bending – she had applied, again and again, to his rigid member, threatening its destruction or complete removal.
Their meeting had been an erotic coincidence. Before a visit to the hardware store – made weekly, whether he needed to go or not – he had made a poor choice of clothing. Eschewing underwear (he liked the airy, hanging-down feeling of genital freedom), he had put on his oldest puttering-around-the-house khakis, a loose and baggy pair of pants whose fabric had been reduced, by repeated washing, to exceeding thinness. He had let his mind wander, along with his feet, and found himself eventually in the gardening aisle, gazing absently at the limb-lopper on display there. In his imagination, the brightly-shining new steel jaws were slowly closing over the shaft of his doomed but fully-erect penis, its handles relentlessly driven together by the strong arms of a woman. He couldn’t make out her face, as she was – as usual – in the shadows to one side.
Unbidden, his penis began to respond to the erotic vision, in spite of its destructive theme. In a minute the impudent head was pushing hard on the front of his pants, making the fabric tent outward and leaving no doubt about his degree of arousal.
Coming to his senses, he recognized the embarrassing potential of his situation. He had to think about something else – and stay out of sight until his erection subsided. He looked down the aisle in both directions; to the left, toward the center of the store, an intermittent stream of shoppers passed by the end of his aisle. The right end, on the other hand, appeared deserted – intersecting an aisle of mops and cleaning equipment that was attracting no customers. He turned to the right, an attempted casual saunter taking him slowly down the aisle, with one last lingering look at the limb-loppers – and she came around the corner, right toward him.
He felt his face flush, at the same time trying to present a non-committal friendly smile. His brief look into her eyes told him the worst. Her gaze swept downward, focused momentarily on a specific point below his belt, and then, astonishingly, moved from there directly to the wall of merchandise from which his own attention had just been diverted. His instinctive reaction was to turn from her, feign interest in the tools again – however, turned at right-angles to her, the projection in the front of his pants was even more obvious than before. Furthermore, he once again was looking at the limb-loppers, and the recent vision of its blades, closing around the base of his hard shaft, sprang unbidden into his mind.
She was still approaching him. Knowing she was looking at his erection, knowing she might actually guess its motivation, was suddenly intensely arousing. He did not care what she might think about him. He sensed her moving past him, behind him; felt a twinge of relief at the prospect that this embarrassing encounter would soon be over, and forgotten. Abruptly he heard her stop – directly behind him. And she spoke, in a low voice intended for only him to hear.
“If that thing isn’t down in 30 seconds, I’m going to call the authorities. Either that, or I’ll take those limb-loppers down from the wall – and chop it off.”
Her voice electrified him; for a second he thought he might panic and run. He tried to regain composure. He could not have misunderstood her; there was no doubt she was talking about his quite visible erection.
He turned his head slightly, cleared his throat carefully.
“Hey easy, lady … sometimes a guy can’t help it. This isn’t exactly indecent exposure – it’s not like I dropped my pants or something.”
His continuing arousal gave him a sort of reckless courage. He turned a little more, looked at her over his shoulder. Her dark eyes held his, a hint of – anger? disgust? amusement? – playing across her face. He could not read her.
“Believe me”, she said – softly, firmly – “if I decide to charge you with indecent exposure, I will make it stick. You are in deep sneakers, mister. You should know better than to walk around stores displaying yourself like that. How many others have seen you?”
“Just you,” he said, a hint of anger in his voice.
He resented her threats, but didn’t know if they were empty or not. He felt his erection wilting.
“Well, lucky me” she shot back. “You look ridiculous like that. Here, hold this…” and she handed him the canvas shopping bag she was carrying. He mechanically took the straps, emotionally off- balance again. “In FRONT of you, silly” she continued, pulling the bag around so it shielded his midriff. “You need a cover-up.”
Her hands free, she carefully took down the limb loppers from the wall. “Stay behind me”, she said, not even looking at him – and headed for the checkout counter. He felt a confusing mix of resentment, arousal, curiosity, and apprehension – and so, quite unable to make a decision on his own, he followed her. His erection faded to an unobtrusive bump behind the canvas shopping bag while she paid for the tool at the checkout counter. He followed her out of the store, and a decidedly unconventional relationship was underway.
He did not ask a lot of questions – he had tried, and she only gave him silence and amused looks. She lived alone in a modest home in the country, with few neighbors. The concrete-block storeroom was in back. She was more than a little obsessed with male genitals, he concluded. On her bookshelves were urology textbooks, anatomy manuals, books on urological surgery, books on male sexual response.
His first few visits with her were what he might have described as “conventional sex, with some clinical aspects”. She was definitely the one in charge. He suspected she was gently testing his limits, confirming her original intuition.
She was fascinated by his erections – often seating herself so his penis was at her eye level, stimulating him very lightly, and watching his penis swell, lengthen, and finally rise to rigid arousal. Like the Pavlovian dogs, he soon responded to her interest with a rapid and full erection, whether she touched him or not. Sometimes she took pictures of his erections; once she videotaped the entire process, from flaccid to completely hard, then stroked him to ejaculation while the camera documented it all.
After a few visits, her attention to his genitals seemed to require his confinement to a chair she had somehow acquired from a urological surgeon. Preferably, he was strapped down while she, standing between his wide-spread thighs, went to work on his fully- exposed penis and testicles. Eventually she brought a variety of toys and tools into play, watching his responses – both emotional and genital – as she applied them.
Often she demanded nothing of him, except his absolute submission. She would bind him in a position that completely exposed his genitals, then work him over for an hour or more, her own arousal becoming more evident even as she expertly kept him at the edge of ejaculating. Her eyes would get brighter, her breathing shallow and fast, voice a little husky. Finally she would take him over that line, launch him into his own private Nirvana – and, with one hand firmly grasping his spurting erection, she would bring her other hand under her short skirt, high up between her legs and bring about her own gasping, shaking climax.
Other times, long periods of real and fantasied penis abuse constituted a sort of extended foreplay. An hour into the session, she – her own sex dripping with arousal, aching for his touch – would release him from his bonds, lead him, feverish and trembling, to the low bed nearby, and pull him down, into her.
The testing took some twisty, dangerous, scary directions. She watched him closely the first time she brought out one of her large kitchen knives, while he was bound in the urologist’s chair. She did not fail to notice the surge in his penis, the erection rising to meet the blade, as she brought it closer to his hardening member. Her intuition about the nature of his relationship to the limb loppers had been quite accurate, and he found himself repeatedly living out the hardware-store vision, as her strong hands brought the new steel blades pressing deeply into the base of his erection. Penis removal, penis destruction, in a myriad of ways, became their mutual fantasy play. And he never quite knew if it would become real, one of those times, and such was his lust and addiction to their play that he didn’t care.
She never failed to surprise him with an ingenious new twist, a new way to apply equipment to his hard cock that he would have never thought of. She was smart, scary, and wonderful, a woman he thought could not possibly exist. And finally, she took him to the storeroom out back.
* * *
She found what she had been looking for. A polished steel post rose from its base, bolted into the floor, and on top – at an adult man’s crotch level – was the machine. Its form was that of a square-edged, stainless steel doughnut, standing on edge. About ten inches in outside diameter, it was just two inches thick. Through the center was a circular aperture, just two inches in diameter. On the far side he could just make out a lever and several switches. The whole assembly was positioned about three feet from another bench. Several wide belts and straps hung from fasteners to the front edge of the bench.
She pulled him toward it, towing him by his erection. When he was right in front of it she moved to one side, and, still holding his erect penis, guided it gently through the opening into the machine. The abrupt coldness of hard steel against his glans was electrifying. She pushed lightly against the small of his back, and he pressed forward, thrusting his penis deep into the mechanism. The steel corners of the aperture scraped against the taut, overheated skin of his rigid shaft; the hole was just large enough. The tip of his penis emerged through the other side, and she reached around the cylinder and grasped it by her fingertips, pulling on him, while still pressing lightly against his buttocks. When three inches projected through the hole, she wrapped her hand around it, gripping it firmly and pulling harder. He pushed, his penis thrust forward another three inches, and he was in as far as he could go. The cold flat surface of the cylinder, pressed against his pubis and lower belly, made him gasp. Five inches of his erect member now protruded through the mechanism and out the far side.
She raised the wide straps dangling from their attachment to the bench in front of the machine. Pulling them around behind him, she positioned them over his buttocks and then secured the free end back to the other side of the heavy workbench. She ratcheted down a lever near the catch and the strap tightened, forcing him harder into the mechanism, completely immobilizing his pelvis. Then she ducked under the straps and went back to the far side of the machine, so she was facing him, the equipment rising up between them to waist level.
She looked into his eyes, searching. Her hair had fallen down over one side of her face, and she pulled it back. He thought she had never looked more beautiful, more coolly erotic, more threatening, more unknowable.
She activated a control on her side of the machine, and he felt an internal metallic band touch the base of his penis, lightly wrap around it, then tighten slowly with a series of ratcheting clicks. She grasped the projecting length of his penis with one hand, squeezed down on it firmly, released it again, gave it several strokes up and down. He groaned softly, shivered slightly in pleasure and anticipation.
The inner sleeve of the machine pressed lightly against the shaft of his penis. She swung out a small crank handle on her side of the central cylinder and slowly turned it clockwise, around and around, watching his face closely. At first he noticed no change; then he felt the cool contact of more steel touching his overheated skin, pressing down on his shaft from all sides. He realized the mechanism was reducing its internal diameter, clamping down, slowly but relentlessly, around the section of his penis inside. With one hand holding his protruding length, she monitored the increasing rigidity of his erection. His glans swelled visibly, turning a deeper red. Veins surfaced from under the skin, darkened.
“The sleeve doesn’t compress all of your penis”, she explained. “There’s a channel on the underside so your urethra isn’t compressed. When the moment comes, your ejaculation will be unrestricted. How does that feel now? I can tell your corpora cavernosa are being compressed; you’re a lot harder now.”
In her cool hand, the hot rigid shaft of his penis was harder than any man’s natural erection. It felt like a wooden dowel under the taut skin.
“If you want, I’ll make you come. But I’m going to do this at my own speed, because I know – we both know – this may be the last. If you ask me to cut it off, I will. I can do it with the machine, and that will cut it off at the base. Or I’ll cut off any length you want from what’s sticking out through the machine… just the head, or two inches, or three… or right back against the front of the machine, that would be about five inches.”
“We have a choice of knives here” – she waved her hand to indicate the bench behind her, and the utensils on it. “I have a straight razor, a surgical scalpel, a regular steak knife, and a very sharp serrated knife – quite good on tomatoes. Or, if you really want, I’ll use my teeth on you. It’s messy and leaves a pretty ragged stump, but for you, I’ll do it. That can take off one to four inches – you decide.”
She reached for the crank again and turned it a few cycles back, reducing the pressure a notch. "I want you to feel everything I do to it,” she explained. “At too high a pressure your sensitivity is reduced, you may start to feel numb.”
She knelt down, putting her mouth around the length of penis projecting from the machine. With the cylinder between them, he couldn’t see everything she was doing, but he could feel it all. Her tongue slid forward and back along the super-sensitive underside of his penis, bringing him at one point to pre- ejaculatory spasms. She felt them coming, and backed off slightly. He felt her teeth grazing the skin ever so lightly, then pause an inch past the swollen head. They pressed lightly into the skin, and slowly, relentlessly, closed down on his rigid shaft. Her teeth pressed more and more deeply into the hard flesh. He stifled an impulse to cry out, a strange combination of pain and approaching orgasm; his legs trembled, but his genitals were held immobilized. She was biting, harder and harder… The straps around his body, and the machine clamped down on the base of his penis, put him entirely at her mercy. The simple knowledge that, if she chose, she could bring her teeth together, easily bite through his tormented flesh and pull away with three or four inches of it in her mouth, was a dark mesmerizing vision. He groaned, in a frenzy of pain and feverish arousal.
She let up, before her teeth penetrated skin, but leaving deep, dark indentations to show where they had been. She admired the damage for a moment, then moved a centimeter farther out on his shaft and repeated the exercise. Again, and again, until only his glans filled her mouth. The pain was strong; when eventually she took her mouth away, he half expected the head of his penis to go with it. A latticework of dark indentations trellised the upper surface of his shaft, making a contrasting pattern to the protruding veins.
“You do understand now, don’t you? If you say – maybe even if you don’t – I can and will bite it off. We don’t really know, do we? I might get carried away with this.” She gave him a roguish grin.
He felt the steely bite of her steak knife press into the underside, where it exited the machine's grip; her other hand clamped around his shaft and pulled, ready to remove the severed organ after the blade completed its passage through his flesh tube.
“What do you say?” she asked. “This is the full five inches. Or should I cut downwards, from the top?” She stroked the taut, straining skin with her blade, pressed it into his shaft in half a dozen places, bounced it lightly against his hardness, sawed it carefully back and forth – holding back just enough to avoid a deep cut. Microscopic beads of blood welled up from the skin in the track of the blade, like paper cuts. She bent down, licked them off gently. He thought, oddly, of a mother cat, licking kittens.
“The machine will cut your entire penis off, very cleanly, about a half-inch from the base. The metal band you feel around the base now is just inside the cutting plane, as close to your body as possible. It will clamp tightly about five seconds after severing, to minimize blood loss.”
“Why five seconds?” she answered the question in his eyes. “We want you to complete your ejaculation, then we clamp. You won’t lose much blood in five seconds. The machine cuts during your ejaculation. The band around the base of your penis also functions as a sensor, to initiate cutting. Any abrupt expansion of your penis, an increase in pressure – which is what happens when you start to come – will trigger the mechanism.”
“Once I arm the machine, and it’s triggered, a sequence begins that we can’t stop. You have to be sure that you want this. The cutting itself takes about four seconds. Two rotating disk blades – like vegetable slicers, but smaller – converge on your penile shaft, one from each side. They cut into the corpora cavernosa – the two upper cylinders of your penis, that give it rigidity – from both sides at the same time. One’s a little forward of the other, a microscopic offset, so they can overlap, almost touching. They meet in the center of the corpora, so your penis is cut through in the center first but there’s still a connecting bridge of corpora and skin on the top, and your urethra is still intact on the underside. Your semen will keep spurting through it, even though most of your penis is severed by then. The rotating blades meet and overlap, moving past each other. Finally they cut through the last skin on the top, and sever the cylinder on the underside, through the urethra. I’ll be pulling on your penis as you come, watching you come, and I’ll pull it free from the machine as soon as it’s completely severed.”
“Now, tell me: Is this what you want?” She pressed a button on her side of the cylinder; he felt, more than heard, a low vibration from the machine. His unnaturally hard erection conducted the rising frequency deep into his body, through the hidden root of his penis. It increased in pitch, becoming audible, until it was a low but steady whine. The vibration made his whole penis tingle, and he was suddenly and acutely conscious of every centimeter of its length – from the glossy, purplish-red head to its roots, deep in his body.
“The blades are rotating at full speed”, she informed him. “They are just a millimeter away from the base of your penis; should you begin to ejaculate, they will converge on it, and into it. Your penis, as hard as it is, will present no resistance to the inward movement of the blades. Now tell me: do you want to come?”
“Please,” he gasped, through clenched teeth. “Do it. I want this… now!”
She looked at him for a few moments, head tilted slightly, an unreadable expression – sadness? resignation? – flitting across her face. Then she went to work on him again. She dribbled oil on the protruding five inches of his erection, and began long slow strokes. Her hands were quite strong, and she used her strength mercilessly on his distended member. At times it felt like she was crushing it between the palms of her hands as she squeezed down on it, fingers clasped together for leverage. Sometimes she bent it hard, and he thought it might fracture or rupture. His erection began to ache, from the prolonged hardness and her manipulations. The discomfort began to distract him from arousal.
As if reading his mind, she changed tactics. She knelt down again, taking the head and some of his shaft into her mouth. She began sucking hard, and he could feel the suction pulling the whole length of his penis toward her. Her tongue slithered out, licking the underside repeatedly, while one hand began fast light strokes on the remaining exposed length of his penis. His legs trembled; deep inside a boiling frenzy worked toward climax. The deep root of his penis began to throb uncontrollably, then spasms began shooting up and down the length of his organ. She gave him some more long tongue-strokes, then moved away and to the side, still stroking him fast and hard, still on one knee and viewing him from the side so she could see it all, close up.
He cried out and the first long, pearly-white jet spurted from his glans, shooting high and far, out into the darkness. She expertly synchronized her strokes to the violent spasms of his penis, stroking hard and squeezing between spurts, then releasing to let the next gush fly. Absently she heard a tiny “click” coming from the mechanism a second after the first spurt, but she kept stroking.
He felt more than heard it, and didn’t care about what was to come – emotionally he had accepted it, long ago. The intensity of his orgasm buried it in a landslide of sensation, as his second and third spurts were launched, undiminished in force. Even the simultaneous bites of cold, surgically-sharp stainless steel, into each side of the base of his throbbing penis, went almost unnoticed as it fired off jets of semen. They shot past the woman, who continued hard stroking and pulling on his member.
He felt the blades moving into erectile tissue, a penetrating pain sliding deep into the base of his shaft from both sides, and the simultaneous sting of the edges advancing through skin, top and bottom. It didn’t matter. His pleasure seemed to explode endlessly, over and over, spurt after spurt. She pulled harder on his throbbing shaft, and suddenly it seemed to extend, an inch longer in her firm grip, as layer upon layer of connecting tissue parted before the spinning blades. Only the tight metallic grip of the machine held his blood in, and the growing length in her grip did not soften. In another second the blades met, then passed each other smoothly, relentlessly. Only a thin band of skin at the top, and the still-pulsing urethra on the underside, attached his member to his body.
He gasped as the blades bit into, then cleanly severed, the lower cylinder of his penis. The last shred of skin on the top parted at the same instant. Suddenly her hand moved away, bringing the whole organ with it, out of the maw of the machine. A gush of blood and semen splashed out after it, spilling down the stainless steel face and onto the floor. He felt the metallic band suddenly constrict around the base of his penis, right against his body. There was a snapping sound as the band was released by the machine, and a second later the wide canvas straps around his buttocks loosened. He staggered back several inches, away from the machine. He looked down. A slim steel band was wrapped tightly around the half-inch stump protruding from his pubic hair. Blood and semen mixed, and dripped intermittently to the floor from its cleanly-cut end.
She held up his long, pale penis between them. “There,” she said. “We’ve done it. This time it’s for real.”
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