I woke up with a headache again. In some motel room with a guy whose name was either Dave, or Greg. I'd been with both of them, but there was only one in the bed now, and he was face down under the pillow. Did it really matter?

Probably not as I sighed and stretched and pretended it was okay. But I knew it wasn't. My first ritual of the morning told me that. I went into the bathroom, quietly, and turned on the lights and then examined my body. Bruises, cuts, bites, hickies, whatever...Why was it always like this? In the morning I had no interest. If anything my memories were repulsive to me and I only wished to forget what I'd done. I could barely stand to see myself in the mirror and when I sat down to pee, a long night of sex washed out of me as well.

I bit my lip and just sat there. I was done, but I didn't want to move. Many, many mornings I'd told myself never again. Like an alcoholic, swearing off the bottle with the sunrise, but damn! That sun was hot around noon, wasn't it? And by mid-afternoon the thirst was terrible. By midnight, it was a living thing, writhing under my skin...wanting it, needing it, and morning was so far away.

But alcohol wasn't my problem. When I was growing up the popular word was nympho. "Oh, she's a nympho..." people would say, not understanding the word at all. “She has a different guy every night." And men would smile, and boys would laugh, and decent women would cross the street, just in case it might be contagious. Or worse, they might be seen as being sympathetic, if not downright friendly. Slut was another good word, and whore, I suppose. I'd used them, letting the words slip from my catty tongue like venom.

Oh, look at me now. But I couldn't. 

I wasn't a nymphomaniac. I know because I'd looked the word up. I was just a woman who liked sex. And not even sex, maybe, but the feelings down there, between my legs. I read in Cosmo once a comparison of women who were 'orgasmic' versus those who rarely achieved orgasm. They were in the minority, those lucky few, and I was one of them. Orgasmic. When it started feeling good, I would start to cum and it didn't stop. Just one after another, like a freight train rolling over my body. On and on...How lucky I am.

But I didn't have normal relationships. I fucked like a man would. I hunted for it, picking up guys for no other reason than my clit was buzzing and I'd fuck his brains out. Being just twenty-two and reasonably attractive had its advantages, after all, and one of them was that a man never said no. As if he would anyway, right? Yeah, right. 

And let me tell you, I didn't like it. I didn't like this power my body had over my mind. 

I'm liberated though. It's the 21st century, I'm an adult and responsible and all I want in life is a good job, a nice house, a few credit cards that give me frequent flier miles, and a man to share it with. I didn't need or especially want children. I'd had pets growing up and they'd all died lonely painful deaths. I just wanted to be...dependable. 

My body enjoyed it, as I've explained, but my mind, perhaps even my soul, was fed up with it. I didn't even want sex. I'd had enough fucking for two lifetimes and it was unsatisfying. Pleasure left me sitting on a toilet with cold sperm dripping from my cunt. Do you understand that? Is there anyone who really could? I didn't think so, not at the time, and that just made it worse. How do you fight depression? You be with people and relax and laugh and sooner or later, end up on your back in some motel room. 

I'd tried the modern cures. I went to the gym, trying to exhaust myself with aerobics and Stairmasters and everything else. I went to counseling. I took some funny little pills that should have made me happy. But they didn't. I read books, listened to tapes, and even tried a long term lesbian affair with one of the secretaries in the pool at work. She liked it. 

My husband didn't. He loved me and he put up with me, but mostly I think because he was busy with his own career. We complemented each other nicely. Both of us hard working, wanting to get more and more, to climb the ladders. I fucked every swinging cock I could get my pussy around and Steve, my husband, had fucked every girl that caught his eye. We hated that about each other, but that was the only thing. Otherwise, we were perfectly mated. A match made in heaven, as they say. 

=-=-=-= 

"Rachael?" My husband had just fucked me hard for the third time that night. He was taking off his condom. I'm not sure if he wore it because he was afraid of catching something from me, or if he didn't want to give me something of his. He was the only man I fucked with a condom on, unless the stranger I was with happened to have one, and that was rare. 

"Hmmm?" I was rubbing my clit a little, she was still buzzing. 

"I was watching some TV the other day, Discovery Channel, and they were talking about girls who get married in some country in Africa." He wrapped his condom up in a Kleenex. “And they did something called a clitorectomy. You ever heard of that?” 

"No." I shrugged and rolled over, looking at him. He is a good looking man. I love him a lot, I just hated cheating on him...and I blamed my clit for only part of that. The rest I put on him for cheating on me. But I'd started it, I had to admit. But he'd known he was marrying the biggest slut in college too...I sighed. So much blame, more than enough for both of us. 

"They were interviewing people and this guy was saying they did it so the wife wouldn't be distracted by wanting sex." Steve smiled at me. "They remove the girl's clitoris and I guess it doesn't feel good anymore. 

"Oh yeah?" I thought about that. "That would sort of...suck!" I laughed. 

"Well, yeah...I guess so," Steve said, but he didn't sound so sure. 

"What did you think of it?" I asked him. 

"Um, well...it was sort of sexy. In a way, I mean these girls...some were only like 12 or 13, they'd never feel anything, you know? Never have an orgasm." 

I stared at him. "And you think that's sexy?" 

"Yeah, I don't know. Kind of." 

"Ever heard of castration?" I grinned at him. "That's pretty sexy too." 

He laughed like I was kidding. "Yeah, okay...I just thought I'd tell you about it, you know." 

I did know, and so did he. I was looking for a way to control myself. Maybe Steve was too, thinking if I'd finally settle down and stop being the local sperm bank, he might be able to spend more time with me then. We could actually have some semblance of normalcy even. I found some stuff about it on the internet, but not very much. I needed to talk to someone. 

=-=-=-= 

I went to my regular gynecologist, a few days after waking up with Greg or Dave, and I dodged the questions about my recent sexual history. Her name is Dr. Naismeth, and she's old. She knows about bodies and she knows about me. She's treated me for a few minor STD's and some irritations, and a little yeast infection that sort of came and went at random for awhile. But this time I was clean at least, so she only gave me a 20 minute lecture, rather than the full blown 45 minute trip to the verbal woodshed. 

And then, as if by magic, it was my turn to talk. 

"Doctor..." I wasn't sure how to start, actually. 

"What is it, Rachael?" she asked, busy writing in my file while I dressed slowly. 

"I was wondering about something I read the other day." I waited until she looked up and asked, "Um, it was about...female circumcision." 

"Uhhhh..." She put her pen down and sat back a little in her chair. "And what were you wondering about?” 

"Well, um...I think it was called a clitorectomy?" I gestured, wanting to know if I had that right.

"Yes," Dr. Naismeth replied slowly. "There are clitorectomy procedures and infibulations, generally considered part of the broader female circumcision topic." 

"I was reading an article about uh, some place in Africa where they do it to girls, you know? And um, one of the reasons they did it, according to the article, was to remove the desire for sex." 

She coughed a little. "Well, uh, that might be part of the rationale, but largely I think it's more a tradition that just hasn't been overcome by common sense." 

I looked down. Well, I knew what her opinion of it was now, anyway. "But would that really work? I mean removing the clitoris? Would a woman uh...would she lose desire for sex?" 

"No." Dr. Naismeth shook her old gray head. "I don't think so; the desire for sex largely comes from your emotions, from your mind and mood. The clitoris isn't producing any chemicals, like uh...like the male testes for example. Your clitoris is only a responder, it reacts to stimulation and that triggers a release of chemicals of course, but it's a result...not an actuator." 

"Are you sure?" I looked up at her. 

"Well, I'm reasonably sure, yeah." She chuckled a little. "Look, Rachael, your problem isn't with your clitoris, it's with your head. Have you been to Dr. Keller? 

Keller was my psychiatrist, a sexual therapist. "Yeah," I replied. "But I just, I don't know." I shrugged helplessly. "I just think that for me, my clitoris is like...making me do stuff, you know?"

"No dear." Dr. Naismeth insisted. "Your clitoris is doing what it's supposed to do, but you," she tapped her head, "are not doing what you're supposed to do. You're not thinking. If you don't start thinking, start changing those thought processes, you'll come in here one day and I'll have to give you some very bad news...And I do not!" She stared at me hard. "Do not want to give you bad news. Do you understand me?" 

Yeah." I nodded and took a deep breath because there was another 20 minutes where that came from! 

I was pretty sure though that Dr. Naismeth was wrong about me and my clitoris. I mean, just getting on the elevator after I left her office I could feel my pussy throbbing. The guy on the elevator was average, middle aged, balding, slightly overweight. I felt no attraction for him. His face looked dull to me and I doubted we'd have much in common. My heart didn't race, my mind didn't wander to the things he'd like to do to me. I felt nothing inside. 

But my clit was hard already, aching and as I stood there I could feel it, like a fire spreading between my legs. Masturbation wouldn't do it for me, it never did, even if I could have found a place. I needed a cock inside me, that's what my clit was telling me. A big fat hard long piece of prick to slide between my nether lips and make me feel good. 

I stared down at my feet because I knew that fire would spread. My belly would start churning with it, my nipples growing hard and stiffening. My lungs would labor and my heart palpitate. And trapped in that squirming 5'4" body would be me, helpless and protesting until even that was lost. No. I shook my head and the guy must have thought I was a little crazy. Dr. Naismeth didn't know, she couldn't know. Somehow my wiring had gotten messed up and it wasn't my head that was wrong, it was my clit. I had to fix it. 

Back at the office where I worked as a realtor, it wasn't long before I told my boss I was going out to look at some property. But the property I was looking at was 9 inches of hard cock belonging to the manager of the local Denny's, if you can believe that. We'd been fucking for years and I never got tired of it. But I was unhappy with myself afterwards, feeling his cum running down my thighs as I walked back out to my car. Clitorectomy, I thought... 

=-=-==-=-= 

"Steve?" It was the first time we'd seen each other in a couple days. I was full of sperm from another man, but I was too tired to take the shower I needed. I just laid down next to him on our bed and stretched a little. "That clitorectomy thing, do think it really works?" 

He turned to look at me. "I don't know. That's what they seemed to be saying on that TV show, but they didn't make it sound like very much fun for the girls." 

"Yeah." I nodded. "But if it meant...well, if it meant I wouldn't go out and...do stuff. Would you uh, I mean could you be home too? Like a real husband?" 

I just couldn't bring myself to flat-out ask him if he'd stop fucking other women. It humiliated me to bring it up, the same way Steve generally refused to discuss my relationships outside our marriage. We really were just roommates, more than anything else, and that suddenly made me feel very sad and lonely. 

"I think so," he said after a minute. 

"You...think so?" I closed my eyes. 

"Well, I can't really know until it happens, Rachael. Be reasonable. I...well, we've been living like this a long time and uh, if you got a clitorectomy...or whatever, if you changed suddenly, then...it might take some time for me to adjust." 

"So you're saying no." I shook my head slowly. 

"I'm not saying no. I'm saying maybe, given some time...Yeah, I could change." Steve was reaching. "Why? Do you think you want to do that?" 

“I don’t know.” I reached down and felt my sex, soaking in the sperm of a total stranger. I didn’t even remember his name, or if he’d even given me one. “I just know I don’t want to live like this.”

=-=-=-= 

I called every gynecologist in the phone book, each time my first question was, “Does your clinic do clitorectomy procedures?” I was all the way down in the S’s before I got the response I was looking for. 

“Doctor Sandraskat’s office, may I help you?” 

“Hi, good morning. I’m interested in having a clitorectomy performed on myself and…” I instinctively paused, since that was about the time most of the receptionists interrupted me, saying they didn’t do those. 

“Yes?” the woman said, waiting for more, obviously. I felt my heart skip a beat. 

“Yes, uh…and I was wondering if I could make an appointment and maybe speak with the doctor about it.” 

“Certainly. May I ask you some questions first?” 

“Oh, sure. Yeah,” I agreed. 

“You said the clitorectomy was for yourself, right?” I told her yes. “And may I ask your reasons for this?” 

“My reasons?” I thought about it. 

“Yes, like for religious reasons? Or traditional, perhaps?” 

“Oh, no. I’m catholic.” I laughed a little nervously. “I just, um…I have a very high sex drive and uh, well…I just want to lose the temptation, I mean I’m married and…” 

“Oh, I see. Your husband then is also interested in you having this operation?” 

“Yes, oh…It was his idea, actually.” I frowned a little as I held the phone. “Why? Is that…bad or something?” 

“Oh no! It isn’t bad at all. Many women who come to our offices for clitorectomy are married and doing it for their husbands. You said you’re catholic, are you Caucasian then, Miss…” 

“Rachael. My name is Rachael and well, I’m Amerasian, half Filipina actually.” 

“Alright Rachael, well, if you’d like to come by, I have opening tomorrow, at 2pm, or on…Friday at 9am, and most of next week is booked so…” 

“Tomorrow would be great, sure. I shrugged. "Where are you located again?”

=-=-=-=-= 

It was breakfast before I saw Steve again, he was just getting home at 6am, half dressed and smelling like pussy juice. I could taste it, or so I imagined when he kissed me. But I’d only been home a half hour myself so perhaps he could taste the sperm on my breath too. 

“I was thinking dear.” I told Steve as I poured a cup of coffee for him. “If I do get my clit removed, mmmm…well, I was thinking maybe you could do something for me too.” 

“Something for you?” He was grabbing some frozen bagels out of the fridge. 

“Yeah. I mean, if I had my clit removed, just so I wouldn’t be out fooling around, maybe you could do the same thing and then…Well, we would have that to build on, you know?” 

“Okay.” Steve nodded thoughtfully. “But, I don’t have a clit.” He grinned at me. 

“No.” I nodded too. “No, you don’t, but you could always, um…get castrated.” 

The kitchen was silent for a few minutes. 

“Castrated?” Steve looked at me finally and opened the bag of bagels. “You mean get my balls cut off?” 

“Yeah. And then you wouldn’t have to worry about trying to change and I’d feel so much better about getting my clitoris removed.” 

“My balls?” He repeated and rolled his eyes. “I uh, sort of like my balls, honey.” 

“Well, I know that! I like my clit too.” I laughed at him. “But seriously, if sex won’t matter to me anymore…and that’s a good thing, right?” 

“Riiiiiight.” Steve said slowly, dipping his head like he was looking for a trap. 

“Then uh, if sex doesn’t matter to you either, well…that would be a really good thing, don’t you think?” 

“Um…I think I’m going to be late for work if I don’t get in the shower.” He started turning around. 

“I’m serious, Steve!” I grabbed his arm. “I love you and I want to do it for you, for us…but I need you to do it too. Okay?” 

“I’ll…I’ll think about it, Rachael. I will.” And then he was gone, headed upstairs to shower and change. 

=-=-=-= 

The doctor turned out to be a very nice man from Brunei, of all places, although he said his ancestry was Indian. I believed him too. He looked like Gandhi, kind of, or at least Ben Kingsley with a tan. Maybe a little taller, but bald and friendly enough. 

“So, Rachael, how do you do? I am Doctor Sandraskat and you are here about…getting circumcised? Yes?” 

I smiled and shook his hand. “Yes, that’s right. I want to have my clitoris removed, if that’s possible.” 

“Oh, it’s possible.” He sat down in his chair behind his desk, and I sat down opposite him in a comfortable chair of my own, and crossed my hands over my purse. “Perhaps you would explain why you’re interested in it?” 

“Well, it was my husband’s idea initially.” After speaking with the receptionist that seemed to be the easiest way to explain it. “You see, um…I haven’t been exactly…faithful, to my husband.” I blushed a little. 

“I see. So you have a lover?” He looked at me. 

“No, not uh, not a lover…I see men sometimes, strangers and um…well…” I shrugged and made a little face. “I just can’t seem to control myself. I mean it feels so good I just want to…do it. A lot.” 

“I see. So if we remove the offending clitoris then it will not feel good, and you will be faithful and your husband will be happy.” He smiled. “Is that your thinking? 

“Yeah.” I nodded slowly. “I think so.” 

"Uh-huh. Well, it is true that female circumcision can significantly reduce the pleasure you will get from sex. It may even be expected to diminish your interest in sex, as the activity will no longer be so…pleasant. You may find yourself somewhat embarrassed by it, or mildly reluctant to have sex, even with your husband because of a perceived…deficiency in your ability to respond.” 

I just sat there thinking it couldn’t really be all that complicated, could it? 

“I do many circumcisions for my female patients, particularly my younger patients who are marrying in the traditional manner of their family. For instance, last week there was a precious child of 14, a very nice girl from a well to do family. She was marrying a man, a recent immigrant from New Delhi, and he was very concerned you know.” 

“Concerned?” I looked at the man. 

“Yes, about this country. Americans are very…aggressive, you see. Everyone knows this and he had very real fears that his new wife would enjoy the attentions of other men, particularly American boys. The solution was to remove the girl’s clitoris and she was happy to do this for her husband, of course. 

“Of course.” I nodded in agreement. 

“She will be devoted to him now and not so distracted by those feelings, those peculiar sensations between her legs. I did it and the family was very grateful, believe me.” 

“I do.” I said. 

“Ah, and you are wondering why I am telling you this. It is because female circumcision has been misunderstood and misrepresented for years! There are very few women such as you, willing to accept the rightful decision of their husbands, and curb the wanton desires inherent in their own bodies. It has been labeled ‘Female Genital Mutilation’ by people who know nothing of the cultures and traditions which practice it.” 

I nodded and the doctor smiled at me.

“I am telling you this because you may hear things, or see things, which suggest female circumcision is nothing but the rape of innocence by men. The destruction of female independence. And nothing, I assure you, could be farther from the truth. It is an act of love on the part of the husband, even if it is not always obvious to those who do not understand. You would like to save your marriage, yes?” 

“Yes.” I licked my lips. “Very much.” 

“Then, if you would like for me to do this for you, I will do it. My only condition being that your husband must be here also. If you were not married, it would be different, your father, or older brother would be here perhaps, but since you are married…Your husband shall witness your devotion and assist me in this gesture of true love and selfless devotion.” 

“I understand.” I was nodding my head. “And the uh, cost…” 

Doctor Sandraskat shook his head. “The cost is very little. A few hundred dollars, merely to cover the expenses. My own time in such matters is of no account whatsoever.” 

“Really?” I smiled at him. “Thank you…I, that’s very generous.” 

“Ahhh…” He waved a hand and smiled. “Here, let’s get these out of the way then…” He slid some papers across the desk and I looked at them. 

“What are these?” I asked. 

“Oh, just the forms for doing the procedure…I find it’s best to take care of the little things first." 

“But if um…” I licked my lips. 

“If you change your mind?” He smiled paternally. “Then nothing will ever become of them. It’s just a convenience, really.” 

I shrugged and wasn’t totally sure I should be signing anything, but he was a very reassuring man and I couldn’t imagine changing my mind anyway. I was desperate! 

“There we go.” He watched as I signed and initialed them, and he filed them away. “Now, whenever you’re ready, we won’t have to worry about anything but the procedure.” 

=-=-=-=-= 

“Hi.” 

I saw Steve a few days later. He came home unexpectedly during his lunch hour and caught me riding the Fed-Ex delivery man. He’d knocked on our door by mistake, but he did that once or twice a month it seemed. But he had a really thick cock, like 10 inches around or something. I could barely suck it, but it definitely fed my hungry pussy! 

“Uhhh…” Steve just stood in the doorway staring at me. “Why aren’t you at work?” He asked and then, “Nevermind I…see why.” 

“Huh? Who are you talking to, daddy?” I heard a girl’s voice, a real little girl’s voice, and it was Lonnie Ebertowski, the cute curly haired girl who sold Girl Scout cookies at the mall. She was wearing her uniform and I wondered why she wasn’t in school or something. 

“Uh, nobody sugar. Let’s go to the other room and I’ll show you how to earn that butt fucking merit badge we talked about!” Steve glanced at me and I wagged my finger at him as I bounced my squishy over-stuffed pussy up and down, ready to take a special delivery from Fed-Ex right up into my womb at any second. 

Lonnie stared at me and lifted her 15 year old hand, wriggling her fingers and giggling. “Hi Bill!” She wasn’t waving at me at all, and I looked down as the Fed-Ex guy, who’s name I hadn’t even known, waved back. I made a mental note to talk to Lonnie about getting a clitorectomy before she ended up like me…er, I guess it was probably too late. 

=-=-=-=-= 

Later though, I said “Hi again.” 

And this time we weren’t too busy for talking. I was getting dressed to go out. It was amateur stripper night at the Bodyshop and I always had a good time there. Steve was dressing up too, I guess that new waitress at Hooters had finally given him a date. 

“Hi.” He looked at me and whistled. “You look great.” 

“Thanks.” I smiled back. “So do you.” 

It was sort of an awkward moment. “You know I love you right?” He asked me suddenly. 

“Yeah.” I brushed a little black hair back from my eyes. “I love you too, Steve. More than anything.” 

He nodded. “I was um, thinking about the castration thing and…Well, what you said. We can’t live like this. And uh, I can’t live without you.” 

He walked close to me and hugged me from behind, so we just looked at ourselves in the mirror. Two beautiful people, in love with each other, married to each other…and going out to fuck someone else, just because…why? I didn’t really know. Because of our anatomy, I decided. My clit and his balls. They were ruining everything. 

“I can’t live without you either, Steve. But I…I can’t do it if I’m alone.” I looked down at his large gentle hands holding me. “We could be so happy.” I whispered. 

“Yeah.” He swallowed hard. “You...um, you’re right, Rachael. You find a doctor and uh, I’ll do it, okay? For you.” He turned me around and looked into my soft brown eyes. 

“For us.” I said softly and we kissed like we hadn’t in a long, long time and it was so nice. But then it was time to get going. Me to a bar full of horny, middle-aged, blue collar men who cashed their paychecks in one dollar bills; and him to a college coed named Becky who had boobs the size of Kansas. But I was smiling anyway. Steve had told me he’d do it! 

=-=-=-=-=

It was a lot easier finding a doctor to do a castration! I guess they do a lot of those, or something. The very first place I called said they did castrations all the time! Of course the name of the place was Allison’s Male Health Center. I didn’t know who Doctor Allison was, but male health was definitely the issue! 

“Hi, good morning. I’m calling to see about getting my husband castrated?” 

“Oh sure!” It was a chipper young girl whose name, by some weird quark of fate, was Becky. “I’m Becky! Is this a referral?” 

“No, um…I just saw your add in the yellow pages.” 

“Oh great! Cool! Um…Well, sure we castrate men all the time! Lisa, I mean Dr. Allison, is one of the very best ball cutters in the whole country! So many of the men who come in here are first timers, you know. But Lisa, uh…sorry…Dr. Allison really has a way with men!” She giggled. “She has a way with women too, but…oh, uh…Did you say you were married? Never mind…Anyway, would you like to make an appointment? We do a consultation first, of course and then later…snip-snip! And you’ll be soooo happy!” 

I wondered a little at the rather relaxed attitude of the receptionist this Dr. Allison person had answering her phones, but I thought a consultation would be good, even if I ended up looking for a different clinic.

Luckily they were able to get me in that very day and Becky looked just like she sounded. Decidedly sexy and rather rounded all over, but not fat…just…round and curvy and blonde, and trying to pop out of her little white uniform every chance she got. I seriously feared one of the buttons on her straining blouse would hit me in the eye when it popped off, so I didn’t look at her a whole lot. 

“Rachael, Nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Allison.” 

Lisa Allison was everything her airhead receptionist wasn’t. She was tall, dark, and rather beautiful, in a severe sort of way. I imagined she’d look good in a leather cat suit holding a whip. She gave me a look too, not unlike the men at the Bodyshop had the night before. It surprised me a little, but at least she didn’t say any of the things those men had been telling me. 

“Hi. Nice to meet you too.” I smiled and licked my lips a little self-consciously as the women looked me slowly up and down. 

“So, have a seat…Let’s talk about your…husband is it?” She had a little sofa, like a loveseat in her office and we sat very close together, so our knees were touching, just a little. 

“Yes, my husband.” I nodded. “I really want to have him castrated.” 

“Okay, perfectly understandable.” She smiled. “And how does …what’s his name?” 

“Steve.” 

“How does Steve feel about being castrated? Was this his idea…or yours?” She already seemed to know the answers, judging from the way her voice seemed to tease me just a little. 

“It was my idea, yeah.” I took a little breath and decided it might be best if Dr. Allison didn’t know about my impending clitorectomy. I somehow doubted a woman like her would understand. “And well, he wants to save our marriage.” 

"Ah, marriage, yeah…” Dr. Allison tapped her clipboard with her pen. “The enemy of any happy woman, Rachael, is balls.” I started to smile but she cut me off. “No, I’m serious. Balls are everything that’s wrong with the world wrapped up in one wrinkled hairy little sack. And not even a very attractive sack, at that!” 

We did smile then. “Well, he loves me and uh, I told him I just couldn’t go on if he was fooling around, you know?” 

“Oh, I know.” She touched my knee to make her point, but didn’t remove it like you'd expect. “So many of my patients are brought in by their wives. Women full of concern for their family, for their children and homes, because their husbands just couldn’t keep their balls from running their lives. Many, many women have broken down and wept, right here in this office, telling me of their husband’s infidelities!” 

"I, uh…” I didn’t know what to say. 

“And do you know what I tell those women, Rachael?” Her hand was sliding up and down the inside of my thigh. “I tell them to stand up for themselves! To be a woman and assume her proper place as an equal…” Dr. Allison looked me in the eyes and her fingernails grazed my skin. “…even superior, partner in their relationship. Balls do not make the man, Rachael. A woman can live just fine without them, believe me!” 

“I believe you…” I whispered. 

“You know, just this morning I had a woman who brought in her husband. She’d been trying for years to stop his fooling around, but nothing worked. She’s a beautiful woman too. A vibrant, sexy, delicious woman with so much to offer…But this man, he was never satisfied. Everything in a skirt was fair game and he made no secret about it. Sound familiar?” 

She smiled at me and her hand slipped across to my other thigh, pushing my legs apart slightly.

“I can see it does.” She continued without my reply. “Well, she brought him in finally, telling him that I was a chiropractor, of all things!” Dr. Allison laughed. “The hardest part was getting his hands off Becky long enough to sign the consent forms. The poor girl, I had to console her all during lunch today!” 

Dr. Allison glanced at the door and her fingertips were rubbing across my panties. 

“Once he signed though, we handcuffed the bastard, gagged him, and cut those evil orbs off without so much as an aspirin!” 

“W-What?” I looked up suddenly. “I love my husband!” 

“Well, of course you do! That’s why you’re here, Rachael!” Dr. Allison smiled and used her other arm to hug me, balancing her clipboard across her knees. “And I’ll take good care of him, I promise! But believe me when I tell you this, cutting off a man’s balls to keep him from fucking all your friends, well…Don’t you think he deserves a little pain?” 

“Uh…” I didn’t really want to hurt Steve! “I think um, no…he’s a good man.” I looked at Dr. Allison. “If you’re going to do it, then you have to do it…gently. Okay? No pain, no…humiliation. He’s doing it because he loves me."

Dr. Allison smiled like she’d heard that before. “Whatever you say, Rachael. But just remember sweetie, if he makes a run for it, you’ll never get him back on the table!” I nodded. 

“The only other thing is…” Dr. Allison looked at me. “You need to be here, okay? I mean it. Part of the process, the mental healing process for both of you, is seeing his nuts cut. And it helps so much more if you’re the one to do it. At least one of them.” Dr. Allison shrugged. “I sort of like it too, therapeutic, you know.” 

“Uh, me?” I stared at her, ignoring her fingers as they traced my slit. 

“Uh-huh.” Dr. Allison smiled. “Do you want me to suck your clit?” 

“Wha…?" 

But she was already down on the carpet… 

=-=-=-=-= 

“Dear Steve, I need to see you tonight. I made reservations at the Four Seasons, so meet me there at 8:00 sharp! I love you! R.” 

If there was any proof to the necessity of what my husband and I were planning, it was plainly evident in the fact that we had to write notes to each other. 

At least he was on time and the Four Seasons was a nice, romantic restaurant. It was a little strange going in there with my husband, since between us I was pretty sure we’d fucked most of the employees and maybe a third of the customers. A lot of men, sitting with their wives and children, pointedly ignored me. I think Steve was getting the same treatment from the fairer sex. We talked a little, enjoying ourselves and finding that yes, even after 3 years of marriage and hundreds of torrid sexual encounters with other people, Steve and I were decidedly still hopelessly in love. I was ready to fuck him right there on the table, especially when I started telling him about our appointments. 

“Next Thursday, at umm…10am, we’re going to see Dr. Allison.” I smiled. “Her name is Lisa and she’s very sweet and she is going to castrate you.”

Steve looked at me and bit his lower lip the way he does when he’s nervous. “Okay.” He said softly. 

“And then, right after lunch, at 1pm on the following Monday we’re going to see Dr. Sandraskat. He looks like Gandhi, sort of.” I grinned. “Anyway, and he’s going to um…do a clitorectomy on me. Cut off my clit and the labia minora…” 

“Labia minora?” 

“The little lips on the inside of my cunt, dear.” I smiled at the waiter who gave me a very funny look. “A little more wine, thanks.” I liked wine a lot. 

“I see.” Steve glanced at the man and then looked back at me. 

“Now, I’m going to be there when your balls get cut off. Dr. Allison insisted on it. And you have to be there when I get my clit cut off, because Dr. Sandraskat insisted on that!” I chuckled softly. “And then…” 

“And then we’ll be happy.” Steve nodded and then smiled at me. “I love you, Rachael.” 

“I love you too, Steve!” We went home and celebrated by fucking each other, knowing we only had a few chances left for that. I sort of wished Steve hadn’t been wearing a condom though.

 

Next