Author's Statement: Big Billie is opposed to circumcision and
spanking except for consenting adults. However, circumcision
and spanking sexually excite him, so he writes about them.
For an account of my experience of, and attitudes towards,
circumcision, please see the Prologue to ASSTR 08.
The weekly download logs are currently showing my
circumcision stories scoring more hits than those about
spanking, and this Jillie Chopcock story is often the most
visited on the site. I would welcome your views on this.
The story is about a spiteful and vindictive female
circumciser. I find it sexually stimulating to write about
her, but please note that her attitude to circumcision is the
opposite of mine.
The early parts of this story can be skipped if required.
They give an analysis of some of the basic facts about
circumcision from the point of view of the (anti?) heroine, a
character who is sexually turned on by it, and who enjoys
performing the surgery. The medical facts, however, are
accurate to the best of my knowledge, and I hope that readers
find them enlightening and educational.
Remember that my two main motives in writing this story are:
1. To sexually excite readers, including myself; and
2. To end neonatal and other unnecessary circumcisions,
especially in the USA where they are currently depressingly
common.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
When my best friend, Maggie Phillips, asked me to circumcise
her husband as a punishment for his adultery it had a profound
effect on my life. There was I, Miss Jillian Hayes, in my
early twenties, a trainee surgeon who had never before
operated on a man's tool. I will never forget that lunchtime
in the pub when Maggie first broached the subject.
I have always been stimulated by piercings (especially of
belly buttons and of female labia), as well as by brandings
and tattoos. I also like tribal scars on the faces of black
guys. But male circumcision really turns me on because the
scar is in a much more intimate, embarrassing and amusing
place. On balance, I think, it is safest and best if as many
men as possible get their cocks chopped at birth. Chop while
the cock holder is too young to protest is my rule. An
advantage of this is that the cock of a neonate is so small
that it is impossible, under normal surgical conditions, to do
a precise job. It is very easy, for example, even if you are
not trying to, to chop off a lot more than the medical
textbooks recommend. This is particularly likely if, like many
circumcisers, you are not trained as a surgeon. Moreover, the
resulting scar, as it grows bigger, tends to become ugly,
pitted and pockmarked. Frequently there are one or more holes
in the scar, little "stitch tunnels" and flaps of skin folded
in on themselves, or else hanging loose, along it. In the
stitch tunnels blackheads form, and they have to be
periodically squeezed out, to the pain, annoyance and
embarrassment of the victim. This is very frustrating, since
the circumcised man knows that these holes will soon fill up
again, as they have always done in the past, and that he will
then have to make his scar sore again with yet further
squeezing.
But the problem with infant circumcision is that what you
have never had you never miss. Even better, therefore, is it
for men to escape the surgeon's knife as babies and then for
it to be inflicted upon them later. My favourite age for
chopping is during the teenage years, in puberty. I like to
wait until the banana is just fully-grown and developed, all
plump and meaty. I like the victim to have tasted the
exquisite delights of his foreskin in masturbation. Then, when
he is at the peak of his physical potency, when he is ripe for
intercourse and eyeing up young ladies with lascivious eyes, I
like to take the skin from his banana and expose the fruit's
delicate and sensitive flesh. Given the chance I chop away his
foreskin while he is a 16 to 18-year-old virgin, and cut it
off from the ultimate pleasure.
There are, however, different preferences here. My friend
Maggie, for example, likes the victim to have had a few shags
before he gets chopped. She prefers him to taste the ultimate
pleasure a few times so that he knows exactly what he is
missing. She says this makes the loss even more infuriatingly
poignant for him, and cites the case of her husband, Jim, in
support of her thesis. I must admit that she has a talking
point.
Another interesting talking point is whether a man with a
small cock should be circumcised as severely as a man with a
big cock. Now this is an interesting one. My view is yes, just
as severely, in fact more so. After all, the smaller cock
already gets an advantage. Less is cut off in any case purely
because there is less there to be cut. That, in my view, is
benefit enough, and no extra bonus should be given. In fact, I
go much further than that; to echo the Bible, from him who has
not I take away even that which he has - and then a bit more.
In the part of England that I come from there is an old
expression, "to clown on." It means, roughly, "to bully
(usually a smaller, weaker, frailer or more vulnerable child)
in a slapstick comedy manner." Well, I can tell you that when
I get a pathetically small cock under my knife I "clown on" it
something rotten. "You were not much of a man to start with,"
I will tell the anaesthetised victim after I have trimmed him
tight, "and now you are scarcely a man at all!"
I have a number of reasons for my enthusiastic support for
circumcising men. For one thing, they are all beasts and they
deserve it for what they do to us. And even if they do not do
anything at all, they deserve it for what they think about us.
They deserve it for their insolent fantasies and impudent
imaginings when, in their lewd and filthy minds, they ponder
on us as sex objects and not as human beings. Yes, even if we
are married to them, they should treat us with more respect
than that, and they should be punished if they do not. For
that, and that alone, they deserve to have their cocks
chopped, and chopped hard: every teenaged boy who leers at a
teenaged girl in a bikini; every married man who admires a
lady who is not his wife; and every dirty old man who lusts
after any lady at all, including his wife. Off with their
foreskins! Cane their cocks! Chop them back hard and short -
very short! Make them pay for their randiness by chopping the
hoods off their hooded pleasure pythons!
Oh, yes, you teenaged boy! Oh, yes, you dirty old man! I
know you, the pair of you, what you are! I have seen you both
on summer beaches eyeing up scantily clad ladies with
lascivious eyes! I have observed your furrowed brows and your
licked lips as you lustfully and lingeringly cogitate on the
respective merits of a hipster thong and a high-rise bikini!
You think that thought is free, that your filthy fantasies are
none of my business. Well, my youth! Well, my man! If ever I
get the chance I will _make_ them my business, and I will
punish you severely for them. Chop! Permanent mutilation of
the cock is what _you_ deserve, and it is what you will take
if I ever get the chance to inflict it!
But even if it was not me who cut you (alas!), if you _are_
cut I still have hopes to make your cock sore and raw. I want
to develop into a good and effective writer of sexy stories
and pornography. My main and biggest market is the United
States of America, where there are almost 300 million
citizens, or the best part of 6 times as many people as live
in my own homeland, the United Kingdom. So beware, US ladies!
I aim to moisten your vulvas and stiffen your clitorises! I am
trying to stir you up, and I want to incite you, to stimulate
your cunt meat to throbbing, gushing orgasm! As for you,
gentlemen of the USA! My ambition is to titillate you and to
excite your cocks to bone hard erection! Come on, you US male,
reading this now! Is it turning you on? Are you nice and
stiff? Then go on! Tug at your cock! Bring yourself off!
Stimulate yourself to orgasm, and I hope that you ejaculate so
hard that you spatter the ceiling with your spunk! But beware!
As the Bard's Hamlet put it, "there's the rub"! A large
majority of you US males are circumcised, and every time that
you have dirty and lascivious fantasies during masturbation,
every time that you tug at your cocks during your lewd and
filthy imaginings, you make yourselves sore and raw in a very
sexy, very amusing and very intimate place. And the more you
tug and the more excited you get, the more sore and raw you
make yourselves. Oh, yes, my American friends! Not for you the
"up and over" of the long, sensitive foreskin as it slides
past the end of the responsive, unkeratinised purple cock
head. For you there is only the "tug, ouch"! O.K. Perhaps I am
not yet that good a writer. But, if I cannot do it, there will
be plenty of other fantasies to make you raw and sore!
As for sexual intercourse, you US males, we women are
beautiful, and you do not deserve to taste, enjoy and
luxuriate in us perfectly. There is not one of you good enough
to be granted that exquisite privilege, even though,
unfortunately, some of you are uncircumcised and get it. Your
circumcised cocks have had about 15 square inches of
sensitive, nerve-enriched foreskin hacked off them that would
otherwise be pleasurably sliding up and down your cock shaft
during intercourse. Now 15 square inches is a lot of skin. In
surface area it is roughly the same size as a man's palm. I
well remember the fate of Nicholas in Chaucer's 'Miller's
Tale.' He was branded on the bare bum with a red-hot coulter.
"Off flew the skin," writes the poet, "a handbreadth about."
Well, that is what happened to your cocks at circumcision, and
your cocks are a lot smaller, a lot less meaty, and a lot less
able to take it than Nicholas's bum. And at least Nicholas
might reasonably have expected the skin to grow back over his
branded arse, whereas the US victims of circumcision can have
no such hopes for their denuded and exposed cock heads.
Then, after circumcision, the prick tip becomes cornified
and desensitised. The purple coloured glans, beautifully moist
and intensely sensitive while covered and protected by the
foreskin, becomes pink, dry, calloused over and less able to
enjoy itself after it has been circumcised. This means that
circumcised men have to work a lot harder if they want to get
themselves excited. Not for them the slow, leisurely,
delectably lazy sliding of the uncircumcised foreskin up and
down the lady's cunt. The circumcised man has to wriggle his
bum and flex his haunches with some vigour to get a hard on
for his chopped and desensitised member, thereby giving the
cunt a brisk, vigorous and (for the lady) sharply pleasurable
rubbing. But the extra work that the man has to do, and the
fact that the skin is pulled tighter over his engorged shaft,
helps to chafe the circumcised cock and make it raw and sore.
Thus, the circumcised man sweats and strains to work his
desensitised cock towards orgasm. It frustrates him, makes him
smart, and reduces his pleasure. What a hoot!
For the fact is that a circumcised man has less control over
his orgasms. He cannot hover on the brink of ecstasy for hours
on end by gently rubbing his delicate purple glans and his
deliciously sensitive inner foreskin up and down his lady's
love tunnel, and then pausing for protracted periods in joyful
anticipation of future bliss before he explodes. The
uncircumcised man can linger at the gate of Nirvana until his
pleasure becomes unbearably intense and he is forced to enter
in violent delight. In contrast, the circumcised lover has a
dick that is keratinised and desensitised; for most of his
life, but especially as he gets older, it is either up or
down, stiff or soft. It is either ready to shoot, or it is not
cocked, on the wane, and subsiding; and, if his cock is primed
to shoot, he had better fire it off, or he will miss his
chance and go all floppy again. Oh wow! When I ponder on
exactly what it is that I have done to the men that I have
circumcised, on what I have robbed them of, and on the
incomparable ecstasies, pleasures and delights from which I
have so cruelly and abruptly cut them off, I am aghast and
amazed that I am allowed to do it, and that I get away with it
unchecked.
I see circumcision as a simple once and for all way of
forcing men to pay a sex tax, at the point of pleasure, for
the rest of their lives. Even better, unlike with the Inland
Revenue, evasion and avoidance are quite impossible. The tax
for a shag is a sore and less pleasured cock, and that tax is
strictly and sharply enforced. It is paid to the full 100 per
cent of the time. Better still, it is paid to the full not
only when the victim shags a lady but every time that he has
the effrontery to even think about it in a masturbatory
fantasy. Or, if you like, circumcision is like having a fixed
penalty parking ticket slapped onto your windscreen. Whack!
The offender does not like it, but he has to pay the fine.
Even better, unlike with a parking ticket, he pays it for so
much as thinking about parking illegally, and he has to go on
paying it time after time! Mother Nature is a niggard, but in
this case she generously provides an intensely sensitive and
pleasurable fold of cock skin for man's pure enjoyment and
delight. What could be a sexier wind-up than to spitefully
chop this off? Serves the bastards right!
Besides, I suppose that I am a bit of a prude really. I have
some sympathy with the puritanical Victorian idea that sex is
dirty. Without doubt, the foreskin and the cock-head that it
covers are dirty. Underneath the encasing sheath of the
foreskin, the dirty, smelly white creamy substance, smegma,
builds up. Drops of urine are also harboured there; and the
mind boggles at what the prick-tip acquires during sexual
intercourse, such as dribbles of semen and of smelly ladies'
vagina juice. Disgusting! Foreskinned sex may be wild,
abandoned, ecstatic and enjoyable; but it is also dirty,
filthy and depraved, and we must do our very best to stop it
and to wipe it from the face of the earth! It is true that
tightly circumcised sex is also dirty, but it is still a lot
cleaner that the alternative. It is blander and more hygienic.
It has been sanitised, disinfected, and sterilised. The
quantity of filthy enjoyment and depraved pleasure is sharply
cut and reduced, and the victim is a cleaner, purer, more
moral, more upstanding and more virtuous gentleman as a result
of it. If, in addition, he is less interested in sex that is
an added bonus. After all, we cannot have him continually
pestering and annoying ladies in his attempts to secure sexual
favours.
Oh, yes! Those Victorians were very shrewd prudes and far
from naive on the subject of sex. They knew precisely how to
curb pleasure and to increase pain. They wanted to prevent, or
at least to reduce, masturbation, or self-abuse as they called
it, and wow, were they effective! They knew exactly what to
cut, where to cut and how to cut, and they left their victims
very denuded and very tight in a certain place. "There," you
can imagine them saying to themselves as they laid down their
scalpels. "Take that! That's trimmed down _your_ pleasure,
young man! That's curbed _your_ lust for you!" One good
Victorian example is A.E. Housman, the English poet and author
of "A Shropshire Lad." He and his brother were both
circumcised when Housman was 16 years old. I suspect that the
pair of them had been caught masturbating, and that in
consequence their father summarily slapped them both down with
a painful and effective punishment. I once read a biography of
Housman that quoted a letter written by one of his sisters on
the incident. She said that the victims were loudly bemoaning
their fate and feeling very sorry for themselves. In her
opinion their father was correct to get them snipped, but he
should have thought of it when they were younger. I may have
been imagining it but I noted in her words a tone of detached
amusement, and I got the distinct impression that she regarded
the incident as saucy, risqué and funny, particularly since
the victims were pubescent boys rather than neonates.
(Incidentally, another shrewd Victorian idea was the
development of the cane as a disciplinary implement in
schools. The traditional tool had been the birch, but this was
only effective if applied "on the bare" in a fashion that was,
by the mid-nineteenth century, increasingly considered
indecent. In contrast, the cane could be applied over clothing
and still inflict very considerable pain.)
But I digress. Let me return to the topic of old men.
According to the World Health Organisation (WHO) we are young
from when we are born until our 45th birthday. Then we become
middle aged from 45 to 59. Finally, on our 60th birthday we
become old. Now all men have an ample amount of time for
sexual intercourse before they arrive at old age. By the time
they are 60 they should have fathered all of their children.
They should also have satiated their passions for ladies, and
be in a state of "calm of mind, all passion spent." But are
they? No, these days they frequently are not. A little
continuing hanky-panky with their ageing wives is, perhaps,
tolerable. But far too many old men go much, much, further
than that; and, when they do, no lady is safe. Dirty old
bastards into their sixties, seventies and older frequently
regard a middle aged lady as a nubile and desirable wench, and
they will pester and importune her in their attempts to secure
sexual favours. But this, dear reader, has got to be stopped!
As I have said, apart from familiar, relaxed and anodyne shags
with his wife every old man of 60 plus must be prevented from
entering ladies, especially younger ladies, in the Biblical
sense. Oh yes! We have to stop the filthy old sods from being
so rude and lascivious, and bring them to their pipes and
slippers.
This is where circumcision comes in; one of the most
beautiful features of a nice tight cut around the cock is that
it carries through into old age. Even uncircumcised old men
find that, as their sexual prowess wanes, it is more and more
difficult to get a hard on and to enter a lady. Tightly
circumcised old men, with no sensitive foreskin, a denuded
frenulum, and no delicate, tender, purple cock head to
stimulate them, frequently find that their attempts at
intercourse are sterile, fruitless and barren. Tee hee! They
can no longer trespass against ladies, and they certainly
cannot trespass into them! How frustrating for them! They
cannot get it up, and it serves the filthy old bastards right!
The USA has a greater number of circumcised old men than any
other nation ever, in the whole of history. No wonder that it
is the Viagra capital of the world. All that we need to do now
is to get Viagra and other drugs than enhance sexual
performance banned on the grounds that they are unsafe, and we
will have stitched up the dirty old perverts beautifully.
But I have written enough of old men. I like my men to be
young, not old, all fresh-faced, beefcake and naked. Indeed, I
prefer them totally naked; and in my view no man is completely
nude and exposed unless he has been tightly circumcised. To
put it another way, I am turned on by the loss of privacy
which circumcision brings. Even when an uncircumcised man is
butt naked, you still cannot see the most intimate, sexy and
interesting bit of his cock. It is hidden and encased in a
double thick swathe of foreskin. He still has some mystery,
some dignity and some self-respect left. The glans or cock
head, the bit that we ladies are most interested in and that
we most want to see, remains unrevealed. If he wants to
overexcite us, of course, an uncut man can always pull his
foreskin back over his purple cock head. But that choice is
his. The circumcised man has no such discretion. Whether he
likes it or not, his pink prick tip is constantly and
embarrassingly displayed to the female gaze. And so different
is the appearance of his cock from that of his uncircumcised
fellow that it is bound to draw forth ribald and hilarious
comments.
Oh, yes! Those 15 square inches of missing foreskin make a
big visual difference! Sometimes circumcision is referred to
as a "little snip." To the victim this is most offensive. It
is a cheap and unworthy jibe. It unfairly, unheedingly and
insouciantly dismisses something that, for him, is a most
important and serious matter. Such jocular and facetious quips
are completely inaccurate and quite uncalled for. (On the
other hand, they are very amusing, very saucy and very sexy!)
I think that in the UK we are more amused by circumcision
than you are in the US; in your country it is the norm,
whereas here it is now quite rare.
This was not always the case, especially for the middle and
upper classes. Historically, surveys in the UK told a
consistent story. Public schoolboys were far more likely to be
circumcised than the riffraff. Those toffs may have had blue
blood, but they did not usually have blue cock heads! They may
have canoodled with and married those charming, classy, sexy
middle and upper class ladies; but they rarely enjoyed them
with a full set of wedding tackle! Meanwhile the working
classes were, in most cases, bonking their lower class wives
with everything Mother Nature had given them! Wow! How is that
for proletarian justice, for Karl Marx's revenge! Wealth and
comfort to the aristocracy and the bourgeoisie; perfect sexual
pleasure to the workers! Which destiny, I wonder, would you
choose, dear reader?
In the UK things are now changing; these days there are far
fewer neonatal circumcisions, even for the upper classes. For
example, our leading UK toff and heir to the throne, Prince
Charles, was circumcised by a rabbi as a baby; but the
foreskins of his two sons, William and Harry, were spared,
rumour has it because of the intervention of their mother,
Diana, the "People's Princess" and Prince Charles's first, and
now deceased, wife.
These days, therefore, a cut man, or at least a young cut
man, on this side of the pond, whatever his social class,
stands out from the crowd, and is liable to face the singling
out and ridicule that is often aimed at the person who is
different. We have a natural inclination to laugh, or, if we
are polite, to feel a fierce secret joy, at the misfortunes of
others; and in the UK these days most people consider
circumcision misfortunate.
In England, we often feel the same way about people who get
parking tickets. I remember an anecdote of my granny's on this
one. As a teenager in the 1950s, just after the fixed penalty
parking regulations came into force, she got stung with a
ticket, and in very embarrassing circumstances. She was an
Oxford undergraduate, and she had taken on a temporary office
job in central London for the summer vacation. During her
lunch hour she saw, from her second floor window, a female
traffic warden writing out a ticket for her in the street, and
she ran down to remonstrate with her. Well, the warden was a
right vindictive old battle-axe and she clearly enjoyed her
work. She gave granny a long sententious lecture on the need
to obey the law, and on how her punishment was richly
deserved. Then she triumphantly handed the ticket to her and
biffed off.
Now when fixed penalty parking tickets were first introduced
into the UK the fine was two pounds (GBP2). That is nothing
today, but then it was a swingeing mulct, especially in those
far less prosperous days, and for an impoverished student like
granny. In those days a pint of beer in a pub cost, in modern
money, about 7 or 8 pence as opposed to the 200 to 250 pence
that it might cost these days. Granny's job earned her about
14 modern pence an hour, so her punishment was not like the
one-hour detention of a schoolgirl. She would have to work for
nearly 15 hours, or the best part of two days, to clear that
ticket.
Naturally enough, granny told me, she was very upset, and
returned to the office visibly shaken and close to tears.
Meanwhile, the young men who worked with her, delighted that
little miss smarty-pants, the clever clogs student from
Oxford, had been caught with her knickers down, opened the
windows, egged on the warden, and laughed and jeered at the
distressed victim. "Go on, missus! Put one on her!" "Take
that, swot girl!" and other raucous exhortations and taunts
were shouted down to the street. Granny left the job a week
later because she could not stand the continuing unchivalrous
ridicule. Even her boss, while appearing sympathetic, seemed
quietly amused.
"Damn," granny said to him. "_Two_ rotten pounds! For _one_
measly offence!"
"Never mind," replied her boss archly, with a twinkle in his
eye. "Perhaps they'll give you the next one for free!"
Meanwhile the female staff and office girls were similarly
amused.
It is usually more amusing to the observer if, as in
granny's case, the victim is stung sharply with a really hefty
fine. At one of the hospitals where I am based it is difficult
to park and many of the more lowly staff cannot get a parking
bay and have to leave their cars in the surrounding roads.
Well, a few weeks ago one of our student nurses had her car
towed away by the authorities and had to pay a swingeing fine
of GBP130 (about USD234) to get it back. Some of us were
sympathetic, but others were amused. When the young, nubile,
sexy victim complained ruefully that this was her very first
offence one of the more scatological of my male colleagues
joked: "Well you may have been a parking ticket virgin
yesterday, but today you've been well deflowered and shafted."
Further hilarity was caused a few days later when the same
victim suffered a "double whammy" and got a second ticket.
This time, however, the sting was GBP100 (about USD180) less
amusing at only GBP30 (USD54) if paid promptly.
If a number of people are all simultaneously stung with a
fine the amusement of the onlookers is increased. A few months
ago our nurses had a dance at their social club, and more than
50 of them returned to their cars to find GBP30 parking
tickets slapped onto their windscreens. Well some of the
victims felt very sorry for themselves; but many of their
colleagues who had not been stung thought it was hilarious and
ribbed them mercilessly.
Granny tells me of something else, in her day, that was
considered amusing to nearly everyone except the victim:
disciplinary slipperings in schools. At the all girls Catholic
grammar school that granny attended in the 1940s and 50s, when
she was aged 11 to 19, such slipperings were numerous; the
cane was seldom used, but a gym pump was routinely applied to
the rumps of naughty schoolgirls, and, granny says, it used to
sting like hell. It was inflicted at the end of PT (Physical
Training) lessons across thin, tightly stretched gym knickers.
The slaps (between four and twelve) came very sharp, and re-
echoed around the rafters. The Dean of Discipline who dished
them out was a kinky old lesbian nun. With that large floppy
plimsoll in her hand she was a fiend, and she punished all
schoolgirl peccadilloes with joyful ferocity. Granny herself
took it regularly, culminating, just before her nineteenth
birthday, in 12 stinging, bum-sizzling belters for smoking in
the lavatories.
All the girls, granny tells me, used to hate taking these
spankings. But nearly everyone, including her, thought it was
sexy and funny when _someone else_ was on the receiving end;
and the harder the victim was spanked, the funnier it was,
especially if she was a well-developed, meaty, nubile sixth-
former. What made it all even funnier was that the
disciplinarian nun, Sister Paula, used to spank the older and
bigger girls a lot harder and more often than the 11-year-old
first formers. The latter took a standard 4 slaps that were
firm but not vicious, whereas every victim of 16+ took 12
really hard ones every time. News of the spanking of girls in
the upper forms was rapidly disseminated throughout the
school, and the victims were mercilessly teased. Their red
rumps would be pointed at and giggled over by their classmates
in the communal showers; they would be offered cushions to sit
on for weeks afterwards, and so on. Most embarrassingly for
the victims, the younger girls discussed the spankings
inflicted upon their seniors with gleeful interest and delight
even if, fearful of the disciplinary reprisals, they seldom
openly teased the prefects.
Many times, says granny, she witnessed a spanked 18-year-old
ruefully reproach her fellow sixth-formers for ribbing her,
even though she herself regularly mocked them when they
suffered the same fate. "It isn't funny!" she would blurt out
hotly as she rubbed her hot, red, tingling bottom. "Oh yes, it
is!" was the inevitable reply from her classmates, and they
maintained that position until the roles were reversed and it
was them on the receiving end.
Again, if a lot of big girls were all spanked together it
was even funnier than if only one of them took it. Granny
reports that once a friend of hers pulled off a superb
practical joke when she succeeded in getting 30 gross (30 x
144 = 4,320) of condoms, addressed to the headmistress,
delivered to the school from a mail order firm. There was an
attempt to hush the incident up by the school authorities,
but, of course, the culprit leaked reports, and accurate
details of the incident were soon circulating all around the
school and causing great merriment. The origin of these
reports was traced to the Upper Sixth, and granny and her
classmates were asked to reveal who had done it. If
apprehended, says granny, the offender would inevitably have
been caned and, in addition, almost certainly expelled. Well,
respectable middle class young ladies they might have been,
but, true to the criminal culture of the East End of London,
granny and her colleagues steadfastly refused to "grass up"
their friend, and, as a result, all 127 of them, among whom
were many prefects, were slippered; they all received 12
stinging, butt-scorching spanks as hard as Sister Paula could
lay them on, much to the amusement and delight of the lower
forms.
Granny says that she has often pondered on the psychology
and the morality of all this. After all, this strict Catholic
school put the emphasis firmly on the Christian virtues such
as loving thy neighbour as thyself. Yet, despite a sound
religious formation, even nice middle class young ladies from
this posh grammar school, like everyone else, were tainted
with original sin. They did not love their neighbour as
themselves; they laughed and rejoiced at their neighbour's
misfortunes, and they thought it was sexy and funny when their
neighbour took something that they hated and resented when
they took it themselves.
Well! Repent young ladies now grown old! Think what price
the Lord may exact for your atonement on the Day of Judgement,
when he resurrects you in your prime, as young women again,
and you stand as sinners before him! Did not God, in his
infinite wisdom and mercy, provide young ladies with a
perfectly proportioned section of their anatomy, and did he
not design it excellently as a target for the reception of
retributive justice? When the moon turns to blood all of those
little minxes who teased each other about their spankings may
just get their comeuppance, and be made to sting and tingle
again for their sins. The prophet Isaiah with a plimsoll in
his hand would be the perfect avenger, fatherly and fair, but
firm and just, as he was in the olden days when he thundered
against the evils of Judah.
Which brings me, after lengthy discursions off-topic, to my
point: many people in the UK who are not victims of
circumcision are amused by people who are, just as they are
amused when _someone else_ gets a parking ticket, or takes a
spanking; and if the circumcision is tight and/or messy, or
if, as in the USA, it is inflicted upon numerous victims, it
is all the funnier. Thus in the UK the circumcised, like the
victims of parking fines and spankings, often try to cover up
what has been done to them and to hide it from view. Secrecy
is their defence against being teased and laughed at; but, of
course, if it becomes known that they have been devious and
evasive, their exposure is likely to be all the more
humiliating, and their discomfiture all the more enjoyable to
their tormentors.
My dear reader, do you know what _penis envy_ is? Well, here
is the definition from http://www.psybox.com/web_dictionary/Penisenvy.htm
Penis envy – An aspect of Sigmund Freud's developmental theory.
Freud believed that during development girls had to switch from
having the mother as the love object to having the father as the
love object: and also switch from the clitoris to the vagina as the
main genital zone. At about the age of four, Freud believed that
girls first discovered they lacked a penis. The girl will blame her
mother for the lack of a penis and the consequent hurt to her own
self-esteem. This causes the girl to give up clitoral sexuality, and
turn to the father as love object. This aspect of Freud's theory has
received a great deal of criticism, particularly from feminist
psychoanalysts.
Yes, well, I see the feminists' point. Not "Freud" but
"Fraud" is how I would describe the famous Viennese
psychoanalyst. I myself think that penis envy is a useful
concept, but that it is a lot simpler than Freud claimed it
was. At a young age a little girl sees a little boy naked; and
he has got a dick and she has not. This makes her envious.
Then, as she grows up, she finds that boys are full of
testosterone and "side." They are not girly, sensitive,
interactive, and into relationships; they are action oriented,
arrogant, full of themselves and, well, cocky. And the young
girl ascribes these unpleasing, unfeminine character traits to
the fact that the young man has got a cock. So if she then
finds out that this same young man has been circumcised she is
amused, and delights in the fact that his cock, if not his
ego, has been "cut to size." [At least, that is my impression
of how it is in the United Kingdom; in the USA there are so
many men who have taken the chop that the girls may well think
that it is normal.]
In my experience, one of the best times for a lady to
observe and scrutinise a man's dick is during fellatio. I
remember talking to my girlfriend at Medical School, Paula,
about this one. In the UK it is now unusual for a man to be
circumcised; Paula's boyfriend, however, had taken the chop,
and she has described to me her feelings about it. In the UK
these days circumcision is, as I say, seldom practised and
seldom discussed; when it is it usually amuses everyone except
the victim. Paula is certainly amused by what had been done to
her boyfriend, Simon, and by his resentment and dislike of it.
Smiling archly, she has told me that it saves her the trouble
of "unzipping her banana." Her lover, she adds, likes it when
she fellates him; and she herself does not mind, since
circumcision helps to keep his cock nice and clean for her
invading lips and tongue. "There is no need to unpack my
lunch," she adds slyly. "The meat is _prêt a manger_," or
ready to eat, with no necessity to roll a bulky foreskin back
down the cock shaft.
The embarrassment of circumcision continues into a man's
marriage, and, even more so, when he acquires children. In the
latter case he has two choices. Firstly, he can have his sons
circumcised. This is fine by me since I always rejoice when a
foreskin bites the dust. The father's fear of appearing
different is, as I note above, a massive reason for the
continuation of routine infant cock chopping in the USA, and a
very good thing this is too! Secondly, the man can spare his
sons' foreskins, as usually happens, on medical advice, in the
UK. But he then has to face embarrassing family questions
about his operation, not only from his sons but also, and even
more embarrassingly, from his wife and daughters.
So there you have it, dear reader. If, like Elvis Presley,
you are a US male, but if, unlike him, you have taken the
knife, you are probably in embarrassed denial of the truth.
Circumcision is no "little snip"; it is a "massive chop." It
is not only me, but also many other circumcisers, who do not
snip off only the foreskin (the skin covering the glans or
cock head and lying in front of it). We also take a thick
strip of what you might call "back skin," or shaft skin that
lies behind the cock head and up the shaft, together with all,
or almost all, of the frenulum, the delectably sensitive
triangular patch of stringy, twangy skin that is joined to the
glans on the underside of the cock shaft. Indeed, like many
other circumcisers, I always try to do as thorough and
comprehensive a job as possible by chopping off the whole of
the frenulum, so that not even a vestige is left! I like to
make absolutely sure that the skin on the erect shaft is
pulled as tight as a drum skin, even before orgasm.
Then, when the victim fires away, the skin is pulled tighter
still. Not many people know this, but during ejaculation the
scrotum significantly (and for the circumcised man painfully)
reduces the amount of skin covering the base of the penile
shaft. This is because, during the sex act, the scrotum and
the Dartos muscle located in the scrotum contract strongly,
thus causing the shaft skin and (if there is one) the
foreskin to contract with them. For the uncircumcised punter
this process merely takes up much of the slack in penile skin
resulting from retraction of the foreskin onto the shaft of
the penis; as nature intended it to, it gives him a much
better bonk. But for the tightly circumcised shagger the
effect is much more amusing. His denuded, foreskin-free cock
skin, already pulled as tight as a drum skin when he first
got overexcited, is tugged even tighter down his shaft by the
strong muscular contraction of his bollock bag and of its
attendant muscle. Thus, as he fires off, his already reduced
sexual pleasure is accompanied by a sharp, tugging pain as
the denuded housing of his cock struggles to cope with the
extra strain that is inflicted upon it. If he is lucky he may
be too excited to take very much notice of the pain and
discomfort at the time of ejaculation. But you can bet your
boots that his cock skin will feel pretty sore and tender
immediately afterwards.
And, of course, that is just half of the story. As well as
what it is taking, the question is also about what the
circumcised cock is not taking, and it is not taking anything
like the amount or the intensity of sexual pleasure provided
by Mother Nature. The latest research on foreskins highlights
the crucial importance of the so-called ridged band, a
deliciously sensitive flap of wrinkled skin that lies just
behind the frenulum. If this is cut off, the research
indicates, the cock enjoys a considerably less pleasurable and
ecstatic sexual experience. Well since I learned of the
existence of the ridged band I have always been most careful
to excise it completely, at each and every circumcision that I
perform. Oh, yes! I am Jillie (Nemesis of the Willie)
Chopcock, the Circumciser From Hell! To paraphrase Damon
Runyon, I never (and I mean never!) give a fucker an even
break! Wow! I can tell you, buddy, this gal don't cut you no
slack! Or rather, I do. I cut all the slack there is and leave
you very tight! Just once is all that it takes! I promise you,
that if ever I get your cock under my knife, I will make you
pay. Oh yes! I will give you something to feel cut up about! I
will make you very, very sorry for yourself!
But I digress. In fact, the ridged band is dead meat, and
routinely cut off, in the vast majority of circumcisions
anyway. Wow! What a pity that most circumcised men have no
idea what exactly is happening down there, or exactly what it
is that they are missing! If they knew they would be even more
incensed and inflamed than they already are. They would be
both sorry for themselves and hopping mad; at the same time
they would be wallowing in self pity and boiling with fury
against those who cut them.
Another thing that I find a sexy turn on about circumcised
men is the growing evidence that their mutilation causes them
to practise kinkier sex. Here is a CNN report, dated April 1,
1997:
Circumcision offers little advantage where health is concerned, but
men who are circumcised tend to have more varied sex, a study
published on Tuesday said. The study, by University of Chicago
researchers and published in this week's Journal of the American
Medical Association, found "significant differences between
circumcised and uncircumcised men in terms of their sexual
practices." "We were quite surprised to see such clear evidence, at
least within the white population, that masturbation was correlated
with being circumcised as well as engaging in oral sex and anal
sex," University of Chicago researcher Edward Laumann said.
The study said 47 percent of circumcised men reported masturbating
at least once a month versus 34 percent for their uncircumcised
peers... Circumcised men were found to be nearly 1.4 times more
likely to engage in heterosexual oral sex than uncircumcised men,
the study reported. They also were more likely to have had
homosexual oral sex and heterosexual anal intercourse. The study was
based on an analysis of data collected from a sample of 1,410 men,
aged 18 to 59, in the United States, which has one of the world's
highest non-religious circumcision rates...
The new report offers no firm guidance for parents to reach a
decision on the question of whether or not to circumcise their sons.
Alex Enakifo and his wife Russa-Marie Oni decided to circumcise
their boy, despite her objections. The prevailing factor: "It's a
family tradition that we all get circumcised," Enakifo said. That's
usually how it works, obstetrician Stephen Blank says. "In most
families, the father or ... male children in the family have already
been circumcised, so they don't want to appear as the outcasts or
different from those other members of the family" ...
Circumcision rates reached 80 percent in the United States after the
World War II but peaked in the mid-1960s and have since fallen off
amid debate over whether the practice has health value or adversely
affects male satisfaction, the study said. "The considerable impact
of circumcision status on sexual practice represents a new finding
that should further enrich such discussion," the researchers wrote.
"Our results support the view that physicians and parents be
informed of the potential benefits and risks before circumcising
newborns."
Oh my! Oh yes! That certainly does "enrich ...discussion"!
And it strongly endorses my views about circumcision. A man
with a foreskin enjoys perfect sex. The greatest and most
intense pleasure that this world has to offer is his for the
taking. It is all too easy for him. When he enters a lady he
is completely fulfilled, and asks for no more than to be
allowed to repeat the experience again and again. Why should
he be a sexual pervert? Why should he want anal sex and
cunnilingus with his lady? (On the downside, however, his
enjoyment of the ultimate pleasure makes him infuriatingly
complacent. Grrr! How I would just love to take the foreskin
of every uncircumcised stud in the world and cut it off! Given
half a chance I would soon wipe the smug, self-satisfied
smiles from off their faces. How I would love to rattle their
cages of contentment, and make them wince, fume and curse!)
In contrast, the sex act leaves the circumcised shagger
frustrated and unrequited. He feels the need to do something
more to get satisfaction. So he puts his head between his
lady's thighs and pushes his tongue into her hairy, dirty cunt
hole while she licks, sucks and bites around the annular scar
of his circumcised cock. Then, to pleasure his desensitised
dick, disappointed by its experience in the vagina, he
violently shoves it up his lady's dirt box! Beautiful! And I
bet you a pound to a pinch of poo that it does not stop there.
I bet you that circumcised men are far more likely to be into
sadomasochistic practices like spanking and caning, rape, and
other sexual perversions. Oh yes! Those of us with a kinky
disposition, who like a bit of rough play and violence in our
sex, should be very grateful that so many men are circumcised.
Who wants a gentle, sensitive lover who bonks his lady with
consideration and is happy with what he gets? Such easy
ecstasy is bound to make him lazy. He needs to be made to
sweat, strain, grunt and suffer, and, for example, to give and
take the odd cut from a cane across the bare arse, and so on!
Let the sex research continue! We must get to the bottom of
all this! And may the public debate be long, passionate,
intense and furious!
The other point made by the researchers, of course, is the
one that I have myself made already. Cut men like their sons
to be circumcised as they have been. They do not want to look
different, or to be personally embarrassed by their humbling
little snip; and the infants take the chop for this utterly
trivial reason. So when once one cock is cut, others take the
knife too, again and again, down the generations. And thus the
discomfort and sexual frustration during intercourse, the
buggery, the cunnilingus, the sadomasochistic spanking and
caning, and the sexual perversion, goes on, and on, and on.
Oh, wow! That is just beautiful!
By the way, to digress yet again, do you know what a Gomco
Clamp is? It is a device that is used by some US doctors as
an aid to surgery at neonatal circumcisions. It looks to be
very fearsome, and for this reason features large on anti-
circumcision sites on the Internet. It certainly has its
charms. For example, it stamps onto the cock a gorgeous,
thick, clear brown ring or halo, sometimes known as the
"brown ring of justice." Take a look at some of the
circumcised cocks freely displayed on the Internet, ladies,
and you will soon see what I mean. This prominent brown scar
indicates a "circumcision by crushing," in which a Gomco
Clamp, or similar, is used like a tight metal vice, to press
together the inner and outer skin of the prepuce, with
considerable force, for a period of time. This closes off the
arteries and veins, reduces bleeding when the foreskin is
chopped off, and removes the necessity for stitches or
sutures around the scar. The good news, however, is that a
Gomco circumcision stencils onto the cock this thick,
prominent, highly visible brown ring, and thus makes it
absolutely clear to everyone that the owner of the scarred
dick has taken the chop.
Recently, on the UK's Sky Travel TV station, I saw a
programme about nude beaches. One scene depicted a naked
seaside wedding on Hawaii. Wow! The small, meaty, voluptuous,
white-skinned bride was gorgeous. The groom was a tall man,
and he towered above his diminutive partner; but, small as she
was, the blushing bride had a curvaceous, pulchritude packed
physique guaranteed to stiffen the cock of any healthy male.
The groom himself was clearly anticipating the delights of the
marriage bed, and the pleasures of his wedding night. He was
dangerously over-excited, protruding at "half cock," sticking
out at about 45 degrees to his balls, and explicitly showing
off his beautiful thick brown scar. The cameraman captured the
scar, and the rest of the cock, to perfection; there was some
exquisite, minutely detailed footage, and I got an excellent
eyeful of beat up, battered, mutilated dick.
Meanwhile, the bride gave a winning smile, and blushed
delightfully; she was understandably embarrassed and flustered
that her naked charms were broadcast to the whole world on
network TV. "How did I let myself get talked into this?" she
seemed to be thinking. Well it sure worked for me! "Wow,
lady!" I thought. "You are stunning!"
Then I returned my attention to her over-excited partner,
and to his tumescent manhood. "Yes, mate!" I thought to myself
with grim satisfaction. "You're enjoying this, aren't you? And
I bet you'll enjoy it even more when you get this little
stunner into bed with you! As you both stand there, your cock
is hovering well over her cunt; but when you lay her flat for
a spot of horizontal jogging her love tunnel will be much more
assailable! That's a big, thick cock that you've got there,
and I bet it will be a deliciously tight fit up your wife's
little pussy! But don't get too triumphalist! That's a really
drastic, taut, comprehensive cut you've taken, and there will
be a sizeable and significant piece of you that won't be going
to the party, including, by the look of it, your entire
frenulum! Think of a purple, unkeratinised glans! Think of the
sybaritic delights of a wrinkled ridged band! Think of a
foreskin packed with tens of thousands of nerves and pleasure
receptors! Think of an intact, exquisitely sensitive
triangular frenulum harnessed to the dimpled ridge on the
underside of your cock head. Think of the cock, think of the
wedding night, that you might have had, and weep!" And I
grinned, slyly and lasciviously, with a fierce, spiteful joy.
"Chop!" I thought, "Gotcha! Take that, you randy, horny,
lascivious bastard!"
Yes, that was a sexy little scene on Hawaii, and the memory
of it continues to moisten and stir my vulva. However, having
said that, the Gomco clamp is still not for me. One
disadvantage is that it makes a neat and accurate cut.
Sometimes, it is true, as in the case of our over-excited
bridegroom, that a Gomco circumcision excises the entire
foreskin, including every square millimetre of frenulum. But
all too often there is a little cuff of spare foreskin, and a
small patch of frenulum, that survives. It is not much, but it
is more than enough to irritate the dedicated cock chopper. I
was therefore gratified to read an article against
circumcision clamps in the medical press. It was entitled,
"Circumcision clamps may cause injury, FDA warns," and the
Urology Times published it from Cleveland in October 2000.
Here is the report:
Doctors should carefully examine two popular surgical clamps used for
circumcising newborns, the FDA warned after receiving reports that
worn-out or misassembled clamps have injured more than 105 infants
since 1996. The use of Gomcor- and Mogenr-type clamps that have been
reassembled with parts from different manufacturers has led to clamps
breaking, slipping, falling off during use, tearing tissue, or
failing to make a tight seal. The agency recommends that concerned
physicians either contact the device manufacturer to obtain correct
replacement parts or discard the device completely.
Good. That settles that then. Throw those clamps away.
Because there is only one way to cut a cock to perfection. You
must cut it quick, tight and messy, in a carefree, cavalier,
insouciant and arbitrary fashion that indicates that you do
not care a fig about the victim, his cock, or his sexual
pleasure. And you must cut it dictatorially, with meanness and
spite. And the only way to do that to perfection is with the
beautiful, sharp, bare-naked knife. Believe me, if you wield
it right, it can make a big, big difference!
This dictatorial, arbitrary, undemocratic aspect of
circumcision I find a kinky hoot. The USA, the world's
greatest democracy, is where the practice of circumcision is
most widespread. Now at governmental level the USA is heavily
into transparency and accountability, and its citizens go to
great lengths to build these qualities into their institutions
and processes. In sharp contrast, they allow their medics to
take whatever liberties they like with the foreskins of their
male population. Mutilation is widespread, casual,
unregulated, uncontrolled, and practised in complete or semi-
secrecy. There is no transparency, and no democratic
accountability for the surgeons. It is not even known with any
accuracy how many US males are cut; and the victims usually
have no effective legal redress against the wrongs inflicted
upon them.
Thus, amazingly, US surgeons do exactly as they like. They
perform circumcisions in whatever way they see fit, and have
more or less complete discretion over which skin, and how much
skin, they cut off; they thus constitute a sizeable
constituency of arbitrary, dictatorial, non-accountable power-
wielders. To make it worse, for much of the time the surgeons
who chop are not even the ones who deal with any post-
operative problems. There is a fat fee to be gained from every
circumcision performed, and the first surgeon to get a claim
on this is usually the obstetrician. Now the obstetrician
specialises not in babies and foreskins but in ladies' rude
bits and in their baby-making equipment. Yet it is the
obstetricians who seize the chance of easy extra income; in
short, they "chop and go." They pocket the cash, and leave the
paediatricians to pick up any debris. It might be my
imagination, but I do not think that the paediatricians are
happy to be deprived of the chopping fees, or to be lumbered
with the work of sorting out problems caused by their slash-
happy colleagues. I sense a certain pique in the sceptical
statements concerning circumcision issued by paediatric
bodies; in contrast, the obstetricians, who are much more
reticent on the subject, display a certain silent glee as they
bank the easy cash.
I remember reading the details once of a family with 5 sons.
One had not been circumcised at all, and the other four had
all been cut by four different surgeons in radically different
ways; for example, one victim had received a fairly light
trimming so that his frenulum was more or less intact whereas
another had been viciously and very messily chopped back to
his scrotum. So wake up, Uncle Sam, and protect your nephews;
or, on second thoughts, do not, or sexual perverts like me
(and, I suspect, a sizeable number of the surgeons) will have
to look elsewhere for our kicks. Certainly, some very
interesting and high-powered political debates could be
organised around the theme "Is neonatal circumcision
compatible with liberal democracy?" But, hey, on the other
hand, on this one, sensible, reasoned, transparent and
accountable democracy is far more boring than the exercise of
outrageous, secretive, arbitrary power!
Anyway, slack circumcision or tight circumcision, after the
cock has been chopped there is always an ugly penile scar
perfectly positioned for meticulous feminine observation and
saucy sniggering. And as for that big, bare glans or cock
head, well! Instead of the rich purple-coloured helmet of the
uncut man, the circumcised prick tip callouses over into a
thick rubbery bell end. This exposed glans loses much of its
sensitivity, and the skin on it is only slightly pinker than
the skin on the rest of the body. Wow! What a giggle for the
amused female observer!
I find America, therefore, an intensely sexy country. Some
of the most beautiful women in the world live there, ladies
who are big, well developed and lusty. Just think of some of
those film stars: Kim Bassinger, Demi Moore, Kirsty Alley and
so on. It also has some very handsome hunks of men. But do
these men fully enjoy their womenfolk as nature intended? Do
they hell! Virtually all of those big beefy studs have been
routinely circumcised at birth. I was stunned to read the
figures on this in the report by Masters and Johnson. They had
a few foreskins on their volunteers, but always on the older
men who had not been born in a hospital. As I recall, just
about every single one of the younger men had a chopped
chopper.
In this respect it is enlightening to contrast the USA with
another great democracy, France, where circumcision is rare.
Relations between these two countries are currently prickly,
partly as a result of policy differences in the Middle East.
Furthermore, these current spats are part of a long tradition
of tension between the two countries, as, for example, when
the French Republic withdrew from NATO and developed its own
independent "force de frappe" or (nuclear) "strike force." Now
historians and current affairs experts have extensively
analysed the bickering between the two great democracies; in
contrast, I will give you my much simpler explanation. The
French seem to the Americans to be so stroppy, supercilious,
arrogant, smug and complacent because, well because they are!
Every informed Frenchman knows that he has a little bit
between his legs that most Americans lack. This is why he is
so self-confident and "cocky"; it is also, incidentally, one
reason why Frenchmen are convinced that they are great lovers.
Oh dear! I would just love to exact revenge for Uncle Sam by
cutting our Gallic friends to size, but that, I fear, is not
on the cards!
I love leering at circumcised cocks in "Playgirl" and
similar American magazines. The studs pose around looking
macho and very proud of themselves. But when you gaze at their
cocks you almost invariably find, protruding from their hairy
crotches, a beat up shaft with a naked glans at the end of it,
and an ugly, pock marked and pitted scar all around it. Wow!
Take that big boy! Wallop! What a sexy way to cut men to size!
What a ridiculous and amusing little operation! Except I don't
suppose that they see the joke!
By the way, are you, dear reader, a follower of the Arts?
One currently fashionable cultural and intellectual movement
that I find particularly apposite to circumcision is
Minimalism. After all, men do not really need a foreskin, and
they do not need a frenulum. They are superfluous appendages,
unnecessary luxuries, and their cocks can function perfectly
well, if considerably less pleasurably, without them. Thus,
when I am performing a circumcision I always strive to do away
with as much of this surplus fold of skin, and its attached
frenulum, as possible. I aim for a minimalist cock. This is a
cock that has been circumcised up to and including the last
possible scrap and sliver of foreskin, shaft skin and
frenulum. It is a cock that has been stripped to its absolute
bare essentials, and that is kept on the tightest of tight
reins. It is essential for the continuation of the human race
that men fuck women. And we women enjoy it! But men do not
need to enjoy it overmuch while they are pleasuring us. No.
That is superfluous to requirements, and we do not want to
spoil them. They must get enough pleasure to keep them
interested, and to keep them bonking. They should also not
experience so much pain and discomfort that it makes them
stop. But that is it. Anything more than that should be
strictly denied them. Men should get the minimum possible
amount of pleasure out of a shag, and they should pay for this
with the greatest possible amount of simultaneous pain and
discomfort. At the end of a screw they should be grinning with
pleasure, and wincing in pain and discomfort, in more or less
equal measure. So I always do my best to deliver minimal cock
skin, minimal pleasure, and never to give my victims as much
as an extra millimetre of surplus skin.
This brings me to the concept of "cock control." This is
derived from the idea of "mind control," as featured in a
large number of stories posted on the Internet. Now mind
control is not for me. I do not want to curtail a man's
freedom of thought. If, for example, he reads Shakespeare
plays and reaches his own independent conclusions about their
image patterns, I have no objection at all. I do not even mind
what views he has on politics, or which party he votes for.
All of that is far too ethereal and vacuous for me to worry
about. But his cock, and what he does with it, is another
matter; that I do want to control. I want to take from him as
many sexual preferences and options as I can. I want to deny
him all of those little choices, alternatives and variations
that a long, full, luxuriant foreskin provides. I want a
tight, stiff, denuded shaft that goes in, out, in, out, and
can do little else. Look, buster, this ain't Burger King.
After a short, sharp acquaintance with my trusty chopping
knife you no longer get it your way; you get it my way or you
don't damn get it!
Another sexy phenomenon is the widespread use of male
circumcision on blacks, in both the USA and Africa. I am not
by nature a racist, but like a lot of white women I am
ambivalent about black guys, and about all the stories and
hype concerning the size of their choppers. The thought of a
big black man with an enormous cock excites but also unnerves
me. In my view, cocks that big deserve to be cut to size, and
the bigger the cock the funnier and sexier it is when it takes
the chop. The black cocks that are regularly on display in
"Playgirl" seriously turn me on. They must turn other readers
on too, or fewer of them would get published. Some of those
dusky studs have got enormous tools. But, like their white
brothers, they have nearly all taken the knife. You will see a
big black stallion, his tool more than half way down to his
knees, with an enormous prick tip that seems to be about the
size of a black billiard ball. Then all around the big, thick
shaft is an ugly scar, blacker than the skin that it cuts
through. White men, as I say, usually have about 15 square
inches of foreskin missing, and their circumcision scars are
normally about 5 inches long. For black guys I reckon the
average figures must be a few more square inches of prepuce
and perhaps another half an inch of scar tissue. All this is
as true of African blacks as it is of blacks in the USA; and,
like their US brothers, a very large number of African males
are circumcised, often very comprehensively, inexpertly and
messily, leaving their cocks beautifully beat up and
disfigured. Again, wow, oh wow! Come here, black boy! Take
down your trousers and hold out your prick. How dare you lust
after white missy! Now cop this - you deserve it! Snip, snip,
snip, throb, yell! Now bend over! You are also getting 6 cuts
of the cane across your bare black bottom! Swish, crack,
swish, crack, etc. Wow! How I would love to inflict a
punishment like that! Except that, being tender hearted, I
might condescend to use a local anaesthetic for the surgery.
(Note: I got the idea for this fantasy from a news report
from South Africa in the days of apartheid. A black man on a
railway station had commented to a white lady standing nearby,
"Missy, you got nice legs!" You may think that this was a
trivial and harmless peccadillo, but the beak took a different
view. Just for that the offender was sentenced to 12 cuts of
the cane. The judge (obviously a bigoted, atavistic racist)
commented that he thought that, in this case, the punishment
was particularly appropriate for the offence. Wow! It was well
unjust, but, even so, what a strict and sharp comeuppance for
a saucy but completely innocuous compliment! I bet the lady
(who, like the judge, was almost certainly a racist, or she
would not have complained to the authorities in the first
place) was well flattered and well turned on by the penalty
inflicted upon her admirer! I can imagine her smugly gloating
to her female friends about it in her exclusive white suburb:
"The insolent kaffir! I had him caned for it, you know! Yes,
thanks to me he got twelve of the best across his bare black
bottom! And I would do it again, too!")
Actually, proposals for the widespread circumcision of
blacks in Africa are currently in the news. As you may have
heard, medical research has unearthed the interesting fact
that black males on the Dark Continent who have been
circumcised are at least four times less likely than
uncircumcised blacks to contract Aids, even when their
lifestyles are indistinguishable. The research further
indicates that for uncircumcised Africans it is the foreskin
that is the problem. It is not that the glans, when covered by
a foreskin, remains unkeratinised and hence prone to
infection. It is that the foreskin itself contains cells that
let the Aids virus pass through them. The solution is quick,
cheap and simple: the universal circumcision of every man in
Africa, black, white, Cape Coloured or whatever, until there
is not a single foreskin on an adult male throughout the
entire continent. We need to chop off every foreskin in
Africa, and we need to chop it off very, very thoroughly.
Indeed, to make absolutely sure of effective protection
against Aids, we need to chop off a good thick swathe of shaft
skin, and the entire frenulum, together with the foreskin.
This may seem harsh, but we have to be cruel to be kind. Yes,
line up all the uncircumcised men in Africa and chop them; and
chop them very hard and very tight. Not a vestige of loose
skin should be left on their cocks, even when they are
flaccid. When their cocks are erect the cock skin should be
pulled so tight over their stiffened shafts that it makes
their faces wince, and their eyes water. After all, we do not
want to leave any little flaps and folds of skin for the virus
to nestle in, do we? It would all be a big job, of course. But
I for one would happily volunteer to help! Perhaps the World
Heath Organisation could organise teams of volunteer cock
choppers to do the work in their holidays. Wow! What a
splendid way to spend the Summer Vacation! If I had three
weeks, say, to do it in, I reckon that I could make several
thousand foreskins bite the dust. Oh yes! "Chop 'til you drop"
would be my motto, and there would be some bare cock heads,
some sore cocks, and a lot of guys feeling very, very
chastened and very, very sorry for themselves by the time I
had finished with them. Oh, yes! I would make sure that they
winced and shuddered at the memory of little missy with the
knife for the rest of their lives! Not, of course, that I
would be prejudiced in my surgery. I would scrupulously chop
the cocks of blacks, Cape Coloureds, white South Africans of
Dutch and British descent, etc., etc., with equal strictness
and severity!
But enough of fantasies. What is not fantasy but fact is
that I regularly circumcise men in my capacity as a surgeon.
Oh, yes! I am a right little cock botherer, prick punisher,
willie worrier and nob robber, I can tell you! I am small, but
I am deadly! I am of slight build and I stand a mere 5 feet 3
inches, or a total of 63 inches, in my stockinged feet. And I
cut off, on average, a length of foreskin of between 5 and 6
inches at every circumcision. So for every dozen or so cocks
that I chop I cut off my own height and more in foreskin. Or,
to put it another way, I chop off the best part of 10 per cent
of my own body height from each cock that I butcher.
Let me explain how I get to do this. After my experience
with Maggie's husband, I decided to specialise in urino-
genital surgery. This, as I hoped it would, has opened up (so
to speak!) a number of possibilities (not to say, of cocks!).
For example, the standard surgical treatment for conditions
such as phimosis is removal of the foreskin. Other men
(suckers!) proffer their pricks from choice, or because they
have a Jewish or Muslim wife or girlfriend that they want to
please, or because they misguidedly think that the circumcised
cock looks better, or because they are masochists, or because
- I don't know!
I have to be careful how I play it, of course. But I think
it is fair to say that a very large number of patients
suspected of suffering from phimosis and similar conditions,
boys and men, have had their cocks chopped by me in
circumstances where, let us say, a less interventionist
surgeon might have abstained from surgery and recommended more
conservative medical treatments! If there is the least excuse
for it, or even if there is no excuse at all and I can get
away with it, I always chop. And I always chop very hard! On
every single occasion that I have circumcised a cock I have
invariably taken off more skin than is recommended in the
medical text-books, and have done my very best to remove all
vestiges of the deliciously sensitive frenulum. Yes, sir! To
repeat: I take off all of the frenulum and as much of the
other cock skin as I dare to without facing the risk of a
successful claim for damages from the victim. Wowee! As my
husband John puts it, I sure pack a mean blade! And he should
know! (See below.) Yet so far I have been lucky. Many are the
cocks I have butchered, and every single cock owner has taken
the chop like a lamb to the slaughter. Thankfully, no post-
operative difficulties have ever been blamed on the fact that
I am more than a little slash happy and over-enthusiastic with
my knife!
I am determined to keep on chopping cocks for as long and as
hard as I can. I solemnly swear to you, that if ever I get the
chance to cut a cock and I let it pass, or do not cut it as
hard as I can get away with, I will let my husband administer
6 hard cuts of the cane across my bare bottom - and serve me
right too. The only exception are my own sons (see below),
whose cocks, as a loving mother, I condescended to spare from
the knife.
There has fairly recently been set up in Britain a branch of
the US pressure group CAC (Campaign Against Circumcision). Its
members are mostly men who have a hang up over being chopped.
CAC members go around squawking like a bevy of deflowered
virgins, outraged at their loss and stridently demanding back
their maidenhoods. But when once the cock is chopped, and the
flesh is off, to paraphrase the folk song: "A foreskin on the
cock there will never more be, Until apples grow on an orange
tree." Some of these men, resentful and/or angry, join support
groups to bleat about having been snipped. Others attempt so-
called "foreskin restoration" by hanging weights on their
willies and other ridiculous, hilarious, painful and usually
completely ineffective practices. For no matter how many
weights a cut man hangs on his willie it is as vain and
useless for him to strive for the return of his prepuce as for
a deflowered virgin to attempt the restitution of her hymen.
What is lost is lost forever, and the victim will never get it
back.
I have prevailed upon my husband to subscribe to the CAC
Newsletter, and it is a very sexy and amusing read. I quote
from one edition. As a result of circumcision, the writer
states, "the raw glans becomes totally exposed, which, with
the remaining inner foreskin, ...becomes dried membrane and
leaves the shaft skin taut and immobile. This 'little snip'
removes up to 36% of the shaft skin. A permanent, visible
penile scar remains." (Thirty-six per cent? And the rest if I
am performing the surgery!) Later, the author bewails the loss
of pleasure which circumcision causes: "The foreskin is a
unique organ, richly supplied with sensory nerves and blood
vessels. Without doubt the foreskin enhances sexual pleasure."
(Whereas cutting it off, of course, ends it!) Then, in a later
edition, another writes: "During heavy petting, my fiancée, a
nurse receptionist, ran a finger over my glans and around the
scar explaining, 'We have a circumcision tomorrow.' My face
must have glowed in the dark." Ouch! I bet it did! The same
correspondent goes on to give numerous other details about how
carefully he conceals his operation, and about how
embarrassing he finds it all. Wow! I just love it when they
get all coy, secretive and embarrassed! Then, in the same
edition of the Newsletter, there is another article entitled
"NOT 'just a little piece of skin!'" In this another member
writes: "I have been studying details of a very interesting
visual aid from the USA that illustrates just how much skin is
lost by circumcision. Cut out a card 3" x 5". Bring the two
ends of the card together and hold the card together with your
finger so the card forms a ring. Hold the ring up to your
audience and say. "This ring represents an average male
foreskin. Like this ring, the circumference of the average
man's erect penis is 5 inches around and the average foreskin
length in 1.5 inches on the outer foreskin and another 1.5
inches in the inner foreskin. The total area of the foreskin
then on an adult male is equal to this 3" x 5" card (open up
the card). This is how much skin an adult male loses from
being circumcised as an infant. That is almost 36% of his
penile shaft skin!" Continue by saying "The area of skin the
size of a 10p piece contains more than 12 feet of nerves and
over 50 nerve endings. As you can see, fifteen 10p pieces fit
easily on this card with room to spare. Infant circumcision
robs men of 240 ft. of nerves and over 1,000 nerve endings
meant to enhance… sexual pleasure." In an accompanying
illustration, an area of the page 3" x 5" is marked off, and
15 circles with the same circumference as a 10p piece are
drawn within it in three rows and five columns. Wow! That
rectangle looks huge! What a clit-stiffener!
Well, I cannot really argue with all that, except to say
that while these writers consider that this is outrageous, I
just think that it is all very, very sexy and very, very
funny. A favourite word of these bleaters is "keratinisation."
Keratin is hard, horny tissue, and they claim that
circumcision makes them hard and horny in the glans department
by thickening and desensitising the skin. I can also tell you
that it makes me hard and horny in the clitoris department by
really turning me on! At the moment these whingers are an
irritant rather than a threat. In England, CAC is very small,
and, thankfully, likely to remain so for the foreseeable
future. And in the US a large majority of boy babies are still
chopped because, according to the latest figures that I am
aware of, the doctors pocket about $200 million a year by
charging for the surgery.
Note: I do not know what the current figures are, but, a
short time ago, surgeons in the USA usually charged about $100
for a circumcision. Therefore, with a total of about $200
million netted every year, about 2 million US babies a year
got chopped. Calculating an adult prepuce at 15 sq. inches,
this amounts to 30 million sq. inches of cock skin cut off
every year. This amounts to 20,833 square feet or 145 square
yards. At the same rate of chopping, over the last 60 years,
there is a total of about 8,700 square yards of foreskin
missing from the cocks of US males. This represents a square
area of 93.4 yards wide and 93.4 yards long. That amounts to
roughly 2 football (or, to US readers, soccer) pitches!
Alternatively, an acre is 4,840 sq. yards, so the total amount
of missing cock skin adds up to about 1.8 acres. Wow! Makes
you think, does it not? The sheer scale of the chopping really
turns me on! The USA currently has the biggest number of
circumcised males at one time and place ever, in recorded
history. Great! Long live circumcision! Long may the chopping
continue!
Mention of my husband brings me to the next part of my tale.
At the time when I circumcised Maggie's husband, I had a boy
friend called John. I had known him a long time. Since I had
been 15 he had idolised me and had been importuning me to go
out with him. But I was a veritable bitch and I really made
him sweat. It had taken many years before I had condescended
to grant him any favours at all. It was a lot longer than that
before I agreed to go out with him fairly regularly, and even
then I stressed that it was only on a casual basis. As for
getting me into bed with him, he was still a million miles
away from that.
John had been asking me to marry him for ages, but I had
always refused using the excuse that I wanted to put my career
first. I liked having him around, and I suppose that I was
taking for granted the fact that I could have him whenever I
wanted him. If he had acted the bastard and played the field a
bit I think that he could have made me very jealous, but he
was too besotted and too nice for that.
My attitude towards John, however, was changing now that I
was coming up to my mid- to late twenties. No handsome,
dashing prince had come to sweep me off my feet. Indeed, I did
not even remotely fancy any other man, even though I often
went out with them, to John's great distress. John was very
kind, very nice, very considerate and very much in love with
me. I also had to admit that he was very good company.
Moreover, I wanted children, and the biological time scale was
getting shorter. Yet I still had this caricature of John as
being Mr. Nice, Mr. Safe and Mr. Boring. As I was to learn
well later on, I was quite wrong. But that was how I felt at
the time. Anyhow, that was how things stood at the time when I
circumcised Jim.
Jim's little operation, and Maggie's accounts of how she
subsequently tormented and punished him, had sexually excited
me more fiercely than anything else I had ever known. I became
obsessed with circumcision to the extent, as I say, that I
chose a surgical specialism that would enable me to pursue my
interest for the rest of my professional life. From then on,
the mere thought of circumcising a man has always sent a sharp
sexual frisson down my spine. I suppose that, like Maggie, I
am a bit kinky really. I like the thought of dominating men
and of putting my mark on them permanently, and I can think of
no funnier or sexier place to mark them than all around their
cocks. Oh yes, most men are so macho and so proud of their
willies that a little snip in the appropriate place is the
perfect comeuppance for their inflated sexual egos! But I
digress. You know all this already because I told you earlier.
A month after I had circumcised Jim, John asked me to marry
him again. He had done this dozens of times before. But this
time he got a shock. I said yes. Well, not quite yes. What I
actually said was yes but... The marriage would only take
place, I added, if John was prepared to let me circumcise him,
to my satisfaction, first. John, of course, had heard all
about how I had circumcised Jim, and he knew how circumcision
turned me on. Nevertheless, and to my surprise, he immediately
agreed to my kinky, not to say preposterous, proposal, even
though, unlike Maggie's Jim, he had done absolutely nothing to
deserve such a painful, embarrassing and humiliating
mutilation. As with Jim, John was booked to be chopped at 8
a.m. on a Saturday morning.
My build up to the operation was similar to Maggie's. The
night before the operation I invited John round to my flat and
cooked him a sumptuous candlelit meal with all the trimmings
(including, later, I teased, a trimming for his cock!). Then
we sat on the settee and, for the first time ever, I allowed
John the privilege of a spot of heavy petting. I will not give
a full account. Suffice to say that soon John was stripped to
his shirt and underpants, and me to my bra and knickers and we
were writhing around helplessly. Then we undressed each other
completely and lay there naked with our two bodies
ecstatically entwined together. John fingered me to two
orgasms, working on my tits, cunt and adjacent regions with a
skill that took me completely by surprise. In return I worked
my fiancée to a total of four orgasms, using my hands, the
insides of my thighs and, finally, my mouth and tongue. When
he tried to shag me though I was very strict with him. I told
him that he would only enjoy that privilege after he had been
cut. "Your foreskin" I confirmed, "will never enter my cunt.
You will never enjoy me perfectly. You do not deserve that
much pleasure!" Wow! What a bitch I was to him! John, however,
was distinctly over-excited by what he was getting. He had
waited for this for more than 12 years, and now that he was
getting it he was so ecstatic and excited that I found it
distinctly unnerving. As his orgasms approached I had him
threshing around in the wildest abandon with his arms and legs
flying everywhere, his body writhing helplessly, and his mouth
uttering involuntary grunts and helpless little screams. "Oh,
my God!" he screamed as I brought him off for the third time
with some delicious little darting flicks from my moist
tongue. "You're so skilful. You're so damned skilful." "Of
course I am" I replied pertly through my mouthful of glans,
frenulum, shaft and foreskin. "I'm no naive virgin like some I
could name. Practice makes perfect. Yours isn't the first cock
I've had in my mouth, young man, and it won't be the first to
get up my cunt. With me, youthful sir, you are acquiring a
very experienced and accomplished lady." Now in retrospect I
realise that this was a cruel gibe, and well out of order. It
was way out of line to tease John about his long maintained
virginity, concerning which he was very sensitive and
embarrassed. And it was unforgivable to boast in such a bold
and triumphalist way about my past sexual exploits to a
jealous and as yet unrequited lover. In the short term,
however, my mockery had the intended effect. It jolted John
over the edge. "Oh, you bitch!" he groaned in ecstasy. "You
randy, horny, spiteful, venomous bitch! How dare you tease and
torment me because I have been faithful while you have been
opening your legs for the dick of any Tom or Harry who took
your fancy. Oh, God. You deserve a bloody good thrashing for
that, my girl, and no mistake. Oh! Oooh!! Oooooh!!!" I did not
fancy swallowing on that occasion, and I just managed to get
John's cock out of my mouth before he ejaculated. When he did,
despite his previous two emissions, he scattered spunk all
over the ceiling - a tribute, as John has since admitted, to
the effectiveness of my spiteful, kinky verbals.
Not that that was the end of said spiteful and kinky
verbals, since I then began to tease John about his
forthcoming operation, whispering seductively into his ear.
"Look at this foreskin", I said, bursting into verse:
"It's lengthy and loose,
Like a long necked goose.
It's baggy and saggy, limp and slack.
But watch out boys I'll chop it back.
I'll cut this cock and trim it sprightly
I'll circumcise it very tightly
I'll trap it firm and when it's caught
I'll strip and skin it nice and taut."
And so on. I had composed these ditties in advance to turn
me on and to wind John up, and they achieved both of these
objectives beautifully! Nor did John's torment end with his
operation. He has continued to be the butt of my saucy wit and
ribald mickey taking now that he has taken the chop. I will
tell him, for example, that I was the girl to hassle his
tassel, dock his cock, rob his knob and make it throb, snip
his prick, trim his wick, nick his pullover and give him a
chilly willie. Then I will start to tease my husband about his
prick tip or glans. Before I cut the foreskin from off it a
thin, delicate membrane of exquisitely sensitive, purple
coloured skin covered it. Now, however, his bell end has
calloused over and cornified into a thick, hardened,
desensitised knob. During our lovemaking I will flick up and
down across the tip of this knob with my fingers and knuckles.
"Wow!" I will say admiringly. "You've gone all thick and
leathery down there, young man, like well tanned pigskin or
cowhide. Yes, my boy! I've given your cock head a good tanning
and no mistake!" To which John will reply (see below for
reference): "Yes, my girl, and I have given your bare bottom a
good tanning too!"
Now, dear reader, before I give an account of how I
circumcised John, I think that I need to tell you about my two
main styles of circumcision, the messy and the neat. First,
let me expound upon the messy style. This is my favourite
method, and it is the one that, as I have told you elsewhere,
I inflicted upon the husband of my best friend to pay him back
for committing adultery against her. Messy circumcisions are
performed briskly, smartly, carelessly, insouciantly, and at
speed. Cosmetic considerations are of the utmost unimportance
and indifference to the surgeon, whose sole concern is that
the absolute minimum amount of valuable and expensive time
should be wasted upon a procedure that is minor, trivial and
routine. The surgeon aims for a comprehensive chop, but,
acting in haste, may cut off either slightly less, or
considerably more, skin than usual. When the chopping is over,
the stitching up of the wound is also performed with the
utmost pace, carelessness and gay abandon. The result is a
battered, beat up cock sporting an ugly, livid scar and, most
probably, a number of skin flaps and stitch tunnels to boot.
When the wound is healed the result is usually similar to the
cock of an adult circumcised as a neonate. In the latter case,
however, the same effect was obtained because of the
difficulty of cutting a very small cock with any precision.
Any small error made by a surgeon circumcising a baby, such,
for example, as the creation of a small skin flap or stitch
tunnel, is magnified as the cock grows bigger. (See above.)
Also, many people who circumcise babies are amateurs rather
than trained consultants, and they are often not very precise
in the first place. This, perhaps, is why they refer to the
circumcision of a Jewish baby at 8 days old as a "brisk." The
circumcising rabbi "briskly" cuts off the offending foreskin!
Of course, the ultimate extension of this line of thinking is
for the surgeon to delegate all neonatal cock cutting to a
nurse. I have seen this advocated by at least one writer. The
argument, as stated above, is that circumcision is a trite and
trivial operation, and that surgeons have much more important
things to do than to perform it. It is something that a nurse
can easily be trained up to do, and that should therefore be
"deskilled." Actually, I quite like the idea. "Circumcise
those six baby boys, will you nurse. I am going now."
Circumcision is a mutilation that many victims curse, fret and
fume about. What a wind up for them to discover that the
surgeon was so heedless and insensitive to their fate that she
delegated the work to a minion and went home early! And yet, I
do not think that I could ever agree to let someone else
perform one of my circumcisions, even of a neonate, for me. I
like to make sure, each and every time, that I perform a
thorough job, and, who knows, perhaps the nurse might just be
a little bit too cautious and conservative in her chopping!
The alternative to the messy circumcision is the neat one.
This is the method that I usually employ, since most of my
victims are adults who would notice and resent a messy cut.
This is a pity, since I prefer the messy method. But, on the
other hand, there is something kinky about performing such a
barbarous operation with finesse and precision. I remember a
news story, from Saudi Arabia, I think. It claimed that the
authorities were still amputating hands as a punishment for
robbery, but that, instead of just cutting them off they were
removing them neatly in hospital, with anaesthetics and
qualified surgeons. Now that really is sick. But when I do
exactly the same thing with foreskins I think that it is a
kinky hoot. Then, if I stitch up the underside of the cock
neatly the victim assumes that the removal of the frenulum is
normal practice (or, at least, all of my victims have so far,
touch wood). In short, it is easier to get away with a tight
cut if it is also a neat one.
But I digress. I seem to remember that I left John and me
engaged in a spot of heavy petting. Well, in order to have
John's cock to hand for a prompt 8 a.m. chop, I let him sleep
with me that night. Wow! Did he try to cash in and take
liberties! However, I let him go so far but no further. As
soon as his stiffened cock got anywhere near my cunt I warned
him off, and I told him that, unless he was very careful, he
would pay for his indiscretions in the morning.
That morning I lay awake from about 6 a.m. with John asleep
in my arms, and I had a good long think about what I was about
to do. I seriously considered letting the victim off the hook
and cancelling the operation. I certainly did not want to give
him an uncomfortably tight, messy cut. After all, his cock
would soon belong to me and I did not want to make it unusable
or ugly. Then I remembered what Maggie had done to Jim. She
had asked me to preserve his foreskin in a jar of
formaldehyde; it was now on the dresser by her bedside, and
she constantly used it to tease and torment her husband. Well,
there was enough of the dominatrix in me to want to exercise
that sort of authority over John. I was sexually stimulated by
the kinkiness of circumcision and I knew that, whatever its
physiological consequences, it would, from a psychological
point of view, spice up our sex life. So I decided to go for
it.
At 7 a.m. I woke John up, and told him to take a shower.
When he returned, he got into bed with me, and I
affectionately snuggled up to him until it was 8 o'clock. By
now I was filled with misgivings, and I was having second
thoughts. "Come on, love." I whispered affectionately. "Strip
off and lie across the bed. Let's get this over with." Then,
screwing my courage to the sticking point, I did it. For the
first (and, I am firmly resolved, the last) time in my life I
did not go for a tight, savage cut. I trimmed John by the book
and followed the instructions in the surgeon's manual to the
letter, so that the victim emerged with his frenulum more or
less intact, and a small cuff of skin that, I surmised, should
be just enough to pull over his engorged corona when his cock
was stiff and excited. I also carved that cock as if it were a
gift fit for the gods; my surgery was painstaking, neat and
precise. I could not, however, resist a few kinky verbals
during and after the surgery, especially when I clamped the
stretched out foreskin between two glass plates and plopped it
into the large jar of formaldehyde.
I was really quite moved at the way that John submitted to
his circumcision. He did not like being cut, and he did not
like being wound up and teased about it by me. But he took it
like a man, freely, cheerfully and with no second thoughts or
regrets. He referred to it as "paying the bride price", adding
gallantly that the bride was very lovely, and worth every
square millimetre of foreskin. Even in the few days after his
operation, when he was exquisitely sore and tender, he took
the pain and the humiliation bravely, stoically, and without
rancour, waiting patiently for me to pronounce his wound well
healed, and to tell him that he could claim his prize.
Now, a brief digression, dear reader. By now, especially if
you are male, my narrative may well appal you. Who do I think
I am, you may well be asking, to go around insouciantly
mutilating and disfiguring my innocent and unsuspecting
victims? I bet you are itching for me to get my comeuppance,
are you not? Well, as you will now find out, I did get what
was coming to me, and I got it in spades.
Several years earlier I had been holidaying with John and
some other friends in France. One day, John and I were
shopping in a supermarket when, in the section devoted to
pets, he noticed that there were some martinets for sale. I
had never seen a martinet before, and I asked John to explain
about it. The martinet, John replied, is a small whip, popular
in France. It has a round wooden handle about 10.5 inches
long. Securely nailed around the end of this handle are about
12 leather thongs, each roughly 13 inches long, half a
centimetre broad and half a centimetre thick. He added that
the martinet had been invented in the eighteenth century by a
French general of that name who was employed at the French
army's top officer training camp at St. Cyr, the French
equivalent of Sandhurst (UK) and West Point (USA). According
to John, General Martinet spent his entire life developing an
implement that was suitable for the corporal punishment of
young trainee officers. It was applied, said John, across
their bare buttocks. "Wow, oh wow!" he mused wistfully. "A
pound to a pinch of shit that the old chap was a homosexual. I
bet he just loved to get nice young men into his office. `Take
down your trousers and bend over the desk, you naughty boy.'
Then crack, crack, crack! The dirty old pervert! I bet he
really enjoyed himself!"
Next, John carefully selected one of these martinets,
inspected it, and counted the twelve thongs. "What on earth
would it be used for these days?" I asked. "They have put it
in the pet section as though it is for whipping recalcitrant
dogs and similar" answered John. "But I don't believe for one
moment that that is the main use." And he paused. "Go on
then!" I urged. "Well", said John, "I think that today most of
these are used by Frenchmen to smack their wives' bottoms." My
first response to this answer was to giggle saucily. But then
I began to inspect the martinet more closely. It was, I
concluded, an inhumane and vicious little whip, and far too
cruel to use on animals, let alone on ladies. I imagined it
whistling through the air and landing across those ladies'
bare bottoms. I could almost hear the loud swish as the thongs
cut through the atmosphere. Then there would be the sharp
crack, as so graphically described by John, when the whip hit
home. I imagined the lashing thongs cutting into unprotected
skin and raising livid red stripes and angry weals on the bare
flesh. Soon my initial amusement had turned into disbelief,
horror and outrage.
John then went on to hypothesise about why French husbands
should impose such strict discipline on their wives. He
explained that French ladies were very beautiful and very
sexy. They could also be very randy, he added. Wifely adultery
and infidelity were a constant threat for many Frenchmen and,
when they were cuckolded, they feared the public ridicule
almost as much as the loss of their wife's affections. They
thus needed something to keep these lively and vivacious
ladies in line, and for this purpose the martinet was the
preferred implement. The hope, frequently frustrated, was that
married ladies would be in sufficient awe of its lashing
thongs across their bare bottoms that they would not run amok
and bed too many lovers.
This was the first indication that I had ever had that John
was turned on by spanking and flagellation. He was clearly
indulging in a sexual fantasy, and at first I took his
interpretation with a pinch of salt. However, having observed
many of these French ladies on the beach sporting the most
daring and provocative swimwear I was at length forced to
concur that his analysis sounded reasonable. Any gentleman
lucky enough to marry one on those beauties, I affirmed
jocularly, had come into the possession of a very valuable and
desirable piece of real estate, and it was understandable that
he should wish to defend his property rights over it and to
discourage unauthorised trespassers. However, I protested
vehemently that in this day and age it was well out of order
for a man to whip his wife's bare bottom with such a cruel and
barbaric implement. John, however, was clearly turned on by
the thought. He grinned lasciviously and quietly dropped the
martinet he had been inspecting into our shopping trolley.
"You never know", he concluded slyly. "Someday I may marry a
French lady, and, if I ever do, I may need it."
Anyway, let me return to my main narrative. It took John's
cock more than eight weeks before it had healed up and was
fucking good again. Then, one day when I inspected it, it
seemed to be fully mended. "O.K." I said, "I'll be at your
place at 8 a.m. sharp on Saturday morning for a final official
inspection, and, with luck, a complete health clearance."
When I arrived I let myself in. (John had given me a key to
his house shortly after I had agreed to marry him. He had
tried unsuccessfully to do this before, but this time I
accepted it.) I discovered my fiancé asleep and in bed. I woke
him gently and when he was fully compos mentis I asked him to
strip off and present himself for inspection. "Yes," I said.
"This cock is now fully healed and I pronounce it ready for
use." Then I paused. "There is one thing, though." And
something in the tone of my voice made John (as I had
intended) uneasy. "What's up," he asked in a concerned voice.
"Well," I said pertly. "Now that I have seen your circumcised
cock I don't think that I like it." I paused. "No," I said
insouciantly, "I'm afraid that the wedding is off." There was
then a pregnant pause while this sunk in.
Then came John's first reaction. To my deep mortification
and chagrin, he began to sob helplessly, like a small child
that had fallen over and hurt itself. "You mean," he wept
fiercely, "That it was all a joke? A jape? To circumcise me
and then to just walk away after you had had the kinky
pleasure of cutting me? And now you will laugh at me and mock
me about it for the duration? Oh, Jill, you know how much I
love you. That is cruel, that is so cruel." If John had been
looking at me he might have grasped the truth and not gone off
at half cock; but instead he completely bought the line that I
was selling him. He collapsed, face down, onto the bed and
blubbered helplessly in resentment and frustration.
Well, that did it. I am a kinky bitch I admit, and I fancied
a bit of the dominatrix in our relationship; but I am not that
kinky, and my lover's outburst moved me deeply. I grabbed him
by the shoulders and hauled him up into a sitting position.
Then I threw my arms around him and comforted him. "It's all
right, love. It's all right. Come on. Don't cry. Do you know
what day it is?" "No." sobbed John helplessly. "It's the 1st of
the 4th," I said. "Gotcha! You, young man, are an APRIL FOOL!"
But there was no triumph in my voice. Just a tone that
indicated that I wanted to make everything all right again,
and that I deeply regretted my misplaced joke.
Soon, however, I was to regret it a lot more than that. In
all the years that I had known John up to that moment I had
never, ever, seen him lose his temper. He did now, though, and
big time. The revelation of my merry little jape nonplussed
him, but only for about 2 seconds. Then he gave an enormous
howl of relief, frustration, and, most of all, blind rage. He
stretched and reached down onto the floor between the bed and
the wall and picked something up from underneath the table
where he kept his Teasmade. Then he sat on the side of the
bed, grabbed me by the arm, and tossed me across his knee. As
for me, at first I was shocked but pleased. I had been trying
to goad John into anger for years, and it looked like at last
I had succeeded.
"You scheming temptress," he yelled. "For years you have
been acting the bitch and keeping me at arms' length. You have
been shagging around with other men, and treating me with
contempt. And I have been stupid enough to play your little
power games. But no more, this is the end of it. Now it's
payback time. As far as I am concerned, you can fuck off. You
can stuff your fucking wedding up your arsehole." Then up came
my skirt, down came my knickers, and before I had time to work
it all out, there was a swish, followed by a loud, sharp
crack.
Then I felt it, a sharp and excruciating sting right slap
across the middle of my two bared buttocks. It was as if a
solid phalanx of bees had hit them and were now all stinging
the naked flesh in unison. Then, after a few seconds a fierce
tingling and throbbing supplemented the initial sharp
stinging. "Oh, no!" I thought to myself. "That was the
martinet that John picked up from the floor; and I bet that by
the time he has finished I will be all too well acquainted
with it." Then, a few seconds later, there came a second loud
swish and crack. "Aaaagh!" I yelled helplessly. This second
fierce lash was laid directly onto the same part of my bum
that had taken the first one, and it hurt like hell. I
screamed and howled plenty, but I was of slight build, a mere
5' 3" tall, and I was no physical match for John. He held me
firmly over his knee as he counted out the lashes. "Two," he
declared after the second swipe had hit home.
And so it went on. John gave me twenty lashes, each just as
fierce as the one before it, with a pause between each one to
give me plenty of time to feel it. After the first dozen he
had broken me; I was sobbing helplessly and screaming for
forgiveness, pity, and mercy. But I did not get it. Instead,
John continued his merciless trip hammering with the 12-
thonged martinet. Then John lifted me roughly and threw me the
other way over his knees. Then he took a brief time out to
explain his game plan.
Now I am not myself Jewish, but my mother's father was, and
John now used this fact to determine my punishment. In honour
of my granddad, he told me, he was giving me a flogging that
accorded with Hebrew Old Testament Law and with the
Pentateuch, namely 39 lashes. Then he passed the whip into his
left hand and gave me lash number 21.
Now, dear reader, for every single one of those first 20
lashes, the martinet had fairly whistled through the air, and
had struck home with a series of sharp, high-pitched cracks.
The sting was terrific, especially from the fast flying ends
of the thongs. My right buttock had taken these stinging ends
of the thongs for those first 20 lashes, and it hurt like
hell. Then, when John turned me around, for the next 19 swats
my left buttock caught the brunt of the stinging. Worse still,
although these latter hits were inflicted with the left hand,
John seemed to be ambidextrous, and his left arm came down
with just as much punitive force as his right one.
By now, I was completely out of control. My arms and legs
were flailing about helplessly, and I was howling and sobbing
plenty. "Please, please, no more!" I shrieked helplessly. "I'm
sorry. I'm so sorry. I won't do that again, I promise. Please,
please stop!"
But, for the last dozen lashes or so, I began to be
overtaken by another wave of emotion. To my distinct surprise,
my crotch began to throb and my cunt started to tingle. I felt
the heat between my legs as my bottom started to ride up and
down in unison with the slashes, rising in eager anticipation
of the cruel but arousing kiss of the whip. For the last 6
cuts I was no longer begging for mercy; I was groaning
ecstatically. By now my pussy was dripping wet and the sticky
liquid was dribbling down onto John's naked thighs. Meanwhile,
as lust started to take over from pain I became aware of
John's hard, erect manhood pressing into my crotch.
The final slap, number 39, was a beauty. It cracked onto
skin that by then was red, raw and broken, with tiny drops of
blood oozing from the lacerations. "Aaaagh!" I yelled, far
louder than any of my previous cries, and in that yell was
unbearable pain and exquisite pleasure mixed together into a
heady concoction that left me hovering right on the brink of
orgasm.
Then it was over and John threw me roughly onto the bed. By
now I was completely out of control. I pulled off my shoes and
ripped my clothes from my body so that I was completely naked.
Then I jumped on John, hugging and kissing him passionately.
Then I grabbed his stiff, circumcised cock and rammed it
unceremoniously into my dripping wet pussy slot. Immediately,
both John and I erupted into a violent and explosive mutual
orgasm. Then John, still very excited, just kept on pumping.
Within the next 15 minutes John had climaxed again, and I had
come another 3 times.
Later that morning, John and I were relaxing together in his
bed. He had turned on the Teasmade and brewed some oolong tea.
I left off sipping it, however, to go over to the wardrobe
mirror to inspect my bottom. It was covered in ugly weals,
bruises and lacerations that would probably take at least 2 or
3 weeks to go away. "Oh, wow, love!" exclaimed John
sympathetically, as I ruefully examined the damage, "What have
I done to you?" "Well you've well striped my arse for me," I
said admiringly. "But not to worry. You were right. I've been
a kinky bitch to you for years. I was well out of order to
sleep around and to torment you with my lovers. And I was well
wrong to insist on circumcising you. You had done nothing to
deserve it. And the April fool joke, what was that about?
Definitely out of order! Well, now I've got my comeuppance.
You have taught me a painful lesson. You are a man, not a
mouse, and now that I belong to you I had better treat you
better." As I made this profession, it suddenly hit me, the
blindingly obvious truth that I should have known all along.
For years I had been deliberately treating John as if he were
dog shit in an attempt (until now vain) to goad him into a
reaction. Well, I had had to sink pretty low to get it, but
now his reaction had come. John had balls after all, even if,
as of now, he had no foreskin. Oh, yes! I would continue to
tease John about his circumcision, and I would try it on to
boss him around and keep him under my thumb. But in future I
had better beware. There were limits that I would cross at my
peril. Yes, I thought, now that we had got that out of the
way, my marriage to John might turn out to be very
interesting!
This, however, was all for the future. At that moment I had
far more pressing and urgent problems to attend to. I slept on
my tummy that night, wincing and cursing, with my bottom bare
to the air. Meanwhile, John, now once more the considerate
lover, sympathetically rubbed plenty of soothing camomile
lotion into my cuts and lacerations. Four times that night,
however, I had something else put into me. John's circumcised
cock took me twice from behind, and twice from the front.
Concerning these last two bonks there was good news and bad
news. The good news was that John took me in the missionary
position, woman on top variation to ease the pain in my rump.
The bad news is that, as I approached orgasm he started to
give me sharp, wicked little flicks from the martinet,
synchronised with the thrusts of his pelvis and cock shaft.
OK! So it brought me off. But on flesh already freshly whipped
the thongs of that martinet stung like hell, and my bottom
felt like it was on fire!
That summer John and I were married, and I thus became Mrs.
Jillian Philpott. Since then, John and I have had 4 children,
2 girls and 2 (uncircumcised) boys, and we are hoping for
more. I still keep John's severed foreskin in a jar on my side
of the bed, and I constantly tease him about it. Usually he
takes it in good part; he realises that circumcision is my
kink, and he still loves me. If I go too far, however, I am
likely to end up across his knee, although now the preferred
implements of chastisement are the flat of the hand and/or a
thin, floppy rubber spatula purchased from an Internet sex
shop. (Ouch, that spatula stings like hell! But on the other
hand, a few sharp slaps from it across the plump buttock meat
adjacent to the cunt slot as I am approaching orgasm is
guaranteed to push me over the edge!) John has, of course,
carefully retained his martinet, but he tells me that I will
only ever get it again if I am very naughty. Oh well! Some
day, when I can work up the bottle for it, I must contrive to
be a very bad girl again!
As for my attitude to circumcision, it is still the same. I
still circumcise every man I can as tightly as I can, despite
John's protestations that I am a cruel, kinky bitch, and
despite the swats from the spatula that I get if I am too
boastful. I am sorry, I tell him, but I cannot help myself.
For me, circumcision is a delightful sport, and it has all
sorts of interesting little aspects to explore. I do not think
I will ever exhaust its never-ending charm. Let me give you a
couple of examples of what I mean. John, as I say, has more or
less accepted his cut state. Indeed, he even makes rueful
jokes about it. And, I can affirm, it has not affected his
ability to do the necessary to me in bed. Indeed, my husband
has made up a number of little verses about this. Here is one
of them entitled "John's Circumcised Cock", which he sometimes
regales me with in moments of intimacy:
"Gnarled and pitted, chopped and scarred,
But up your cunt and fuck you hard."
Now, dear reader, as I have explained above, one of the
effects of circumcision - infuriating to those who have taken
it and sexy and amusing to those who have not - is that it
pulls and stretches the skin taut along the length of the
erect penis. It thereby, to paraphrase the poet T.S. Eliot
apropos of something else, "tightens its lusts and luxuries."
Stemming from this, one of my favourite tricks is to strip
John naked and to get him to stand with his legs slightly
apart. I then kneel down in front of him. With my right hand I
grasp his cock. I place my thumb underneath the shaft, just
below the point where the circumcision scar cuts across it. My
forefinger and my middle finger I place on the upper side of
the shaft, again just below the scar. Then I tickle and
scratch John's balls with the fingers and, in particular, with
the fingernails, of my left hand, while tugging at his cock
with my right. Soon John's cock is rock hard and ready for the
punch line.
For this, I stop tickling John's scrotum. I remove my left
hand and let his bollocks hang free. Then, firmly and
rhythmically, I start to tug John's shaft skin forward, up and
down the shaft, wanking him off. As I am kneeling with my eyes
a couple of inches from his crotch I get an excellent view of
what is happening. Two things I find particularly sexy.
Firstly, no matter how hard I tug John's shaft skin up and
down his cock (and I am pretty firm with him!), it never comes
anywhere near to covering his cock head. The glans, now that
the foreskin has been snipped off it, remains exposed
throughout. It has no hiding place to conceal its embarrassing
nakedness. Secondly, as I yank John's shaft skin forward, it
pulls after it the skin of the scrotum from the point where
this is joined to the base of the cock. The result is that my
saucy tugs cause my lover's balls to dance a merry and
vigorous jig. Yes, if I do it right I can really make his
bollocks fly!
John finds being circumcised very embarrassing. I found this
out when, just after we got married, we went on holiday to the
south Atlantic coast of France.
On that coast there are a lot of nude beaches, usually just
beyond the family beaches away from the access roads. Knowing
that John is a great admirer of feminine nubility I suggested
to him that we might pay one of these beaches a visit. To my
surprise, however, he did not seem too keen on the idea. "Come
on," I said encouragingly. "You have taken your circumcision;
you have paid the sex tax. I won't mind if you lust after a
few naked young ladies. I'll just give willie a few rough
disciplinary tweaks around his circumcision scar when I get
him into bed tonight." Well, after a little cajoling of this
sort I could see that John was stimulated by my plan. He
eventually agreed to go along with it, but I could see that he
still had misgivings.
When we arrived at the beach it was full of beautiful young
people, and a few older punters. For some reason a lot more
young ladies than young men were besporting themselves, and
every single one of them was butt naked. There were, among
others, petite, dark French girls, well-built English belles
and, finally, John's favourites, tall, strapping, buxom blonde
beauties from Germany and Scandinavia. There was a group of
three particularly fetching German Rhine maidens just in front
of us, all standing up with their pneumatic boobs, big bums,
long, meaty thighs and blonde haired pussies perfectly
positioned for close and meticulous scrutiny. I could see that
John was stunned. "Careful, big boy" I warned saucily. "Three
pussies admired already. That's three snakebite twists around
his scar that stiff willie has earned for himself so far. Just
you wait until to-night!" John grinned lasciviously. "Wow! Oh
wow!" he said lecherously. "I'll take them right on the scar
tissue, and as hard as you like. Those lovelies are well worth
it!"
John was rather less enthusiastic, however, when I removed
my bikini top, pertly pulled off my pants and exposed my naked
charms to the admiring gaze of other males. "Well! Come on
then!" I cajoled, pointing at John's swimming trunks. "Get 'em
off!" At this point my spouse began to look uncomfortable, but
eventually he removed his swimming trunks and stood there
naked.
Now that was when it got interesting. Circumcision, I have
now learnt, is quite rare in Germany and Scandinavia, and John
was the only circumcised man on the beach. I watched the
reactions, and I could tell that his cut cock was exciting
considerable interest, discreet but definite. The Rhine
maidens grinned, giggled and whispered things to each other. I
caught some comment that I was just about able to translate
with the help of my GCSE German. It was to the effect that the
man in front of them must be an American. Meanwhile, similar
interest was generated in a young French couple lying in front
of us as they looked back up the beach. The problem was that
all this did not go on for long, because although John was
embarrassed he was also turned on. His circumcised cock began
to grow to tumescence, and he was forced to lie on his front
to hide its embarrassing state from its interested spectators.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
EPILOGUE
In conclusion, dear reader, pray allow me to return to the
topic of my best friend, Maggie Phillips. Where, you might
ask, did her brilliant and appropriate idea to have her
husband circumcised for his adultery come from? (See ASSTR
08.) Well, I can tell you the answer to that one. Maggie has a
brother, Billie, who is 5 years older than her. Just before
his seventeenth birthday Billie suffered a bad attack of
phimosis. As a result he was the unwilling victim of a
circumcision; and ever since he has protested loudly and
vigorously about his mutilation. One must presume that, before
he was rudely cut short, Billie, like almost all male
teenagers, had been enjoying a series of illicit but
deliciously pleasurable sexual encounters with Mrs. Hand and
her five beautiful daughters. How he must have enjoyed pulling
his long, sensitive inner foreskin up and over his deliciously
tender and delicate purple cock head! But alas! After the
short, sharp, sudden shock of an embarrassing and painful
operation, Billie's foreskin was no longer there and his cock
head soon calloused over into a thick, rubbery bell-end.
Unlike men who have been circumcised neonatally, Billie knew
just exactly what it was that he was missing. He did not like
it one little bit, and, to Maggie's considerable amusement, he
howled plenty! Is it any wonder, therefore, that, having seen
its effect upon her outraged brother, a shrewd, saucy and
intelligent girl like Maggie should decide to enforce
circumcision upon her adulterous spouse? Wow! What a
comeuppance! Wallop! Bull's eye!
But that is not the end of the anecdote. When he was 25
Billie got involved with a girl who was ten years younger than
him. Even worse, he got her pregnant. Well, from Billie's
point of view, all turned out well. He married his young
lover, Jasmine, soon after her sixteenth birthday. Then, a few
months later, Jasmine had her first child. In the next few
years Jasmine bore Billie a total of four children, three
girls and a boy. Jasmine and the children were well looked
after. By the time he was into his mid-twenties Billie had
finished at university and had a good and well-paid job.
But Jasmine paid a price for her security and her material
comforts. She is a beautiful and intelligent girl of South
Asian ethnic origin. She was enrolled at the same top girls
grammar school that Maggie and I went to, and she was hoping
to go on to medical school. However, the antics of Billie's
overactive cock rudely cut short Jasmine's education and her
medical career, and for this I hated him and it. In my view,
Billie should have been prosecuted for seducing an underage
girl who was a decade his junior.
The worst of that little incident is now over. On the
positive side Billie and Jasmine are still, 8 years after
their initial bonk, besotted with each other. Britain needs
doctors, and these days the medical schools encourage mature
applicants. I am hoping that Jasmine will allow me to guide
and advise her, and that she will one day resume her studies.
With two supportive grannies to help look after the kids, I am
keeping my fingers crossed that, by her mid-thirties, Jasmine
will have made it into medicine.
That is not to say, however, that I personally had forgiven
Billie for taking advantage of Jasmine while she was a
beautiful, naïve, and underaged virgin. Billie's cock had
already been circumcised once, but I could think of a few more
things that I would have liked to have done to it to pay it
back for its selfishness, and its irresponsible indulgence in
illicit, sybaritic pleasures. "Give me my trusty knife," I
would fantasize to myself, "And bring me Billie's cock; I will
give it something that it will wish that it had not taken!"
And then, amazingly, I got my chance to do just that. Let me
explain to you how this came about.
Maggie, Jasmine, our three husbands and myself maintain a
close social life, and we frequently dine together. At a
dinner party a short time ago the discussion got around to
circumcision, of which all three of the men folk are now
victims. As he has done before, Billie complained vigorously
that his circumcision should never have been inflicted, and,
even if it was, it should not have been so messy or so severe.
Well, jokingly, I offered to inspect it for him and give him
my professional opinion. At first, everyone, including me,
thought that I was joking. But then Jasmine piped up. "You
know, Billie, that really is a good idea. Everything seems
fine to me, but you have got a real hang-up about it. Why
don't you let Jill put your mind at rest once and for all."
Anyway, at that point we let the matter drop from our
conversation. A few days later, however, I got a phone call
from Jasmine. Had I meant what I had said at the dinner party
last Saturday night? The upshot was that a few days later
Billie called around to my surgery for a willie assessment. I
asked him to strip from the waist down, and to stand upon a
table that presented his cock to me at eye level. Then I
started to inspect it. I held the shaft between my thumb and
forefinger, just below the annular scar. Then I inspected the
scar. It was, indeed, a messy job. The circumcising surgeon
had paid little heed or consideration to cosmetic questions.
"Hum," I remarked. "The wound has healed up all ugly and
pockmarked. And look. Here. There is a large stitch tunnel
cutting under the scar on the underside of shaft."
Meanwhile, something was happening that fascinated me, but
that also made me very angry. Billie's cock started to go hard
and engorged in my hand! I took this as a sign that he was
inappropriately stimulated that a young lady 5 years his
junior was embracing his manhood. Soon the offending weapon
was as stiff as a poker. I looked upwards, straight into
Billie's eyes, and, to be fair to him, he was not leering at
me in a predatory fashion. No, he looked very, very ashamed
and extremely embarrassed at what his willie was up to. So,
while pretending to get on with my impassive and impartial
analysis of the weapon in question, I decided to do a little
prick teasing, and to have a bit of fun with Billie. I gently
tugged Billie's shaft skin towards his cockhead. "Yes," I
commented. "You circumcision is rather slack. See. A little
flap of foreskin has been left here, and if I tug hard I can
just pull it over the rim of your glans." As I did this, I
watched Billie's face closely. He winced with pleasure and
embarrassment, but I could detect no sign of inappropriate
interest in me, or that he was regarding me as anything other
than a professional surgeon. Then I gently scratched
underneath Billie's cock shaft, just above the stitch tunnel
on his circumcision scar. In response, I felt Billie's cock
stiffen still further, and I heard a helpless, ecstatic groan.
"What do you feel," I asked. "Not as much as I used to,"
sighed my victim ruefully. "Yes, I remarked. "There is no
vestige of frenulum underneath the penile shaft, at the point
where it joins the base of the glans. That has been completely
excavated by the surgery. So, on the plus side you have a
small flap of foreskin, but on the minus side you have an ugly
scar with stitch tunnel and skin flap, and no frenulum. But
count yourself lucky, young man. In many cases that I inspect
both foreskin and frenulum have been completely cut off.
Anyway, the good news is that, if you want me to, I could tidy
you up down there. On the plus side, I can remove your skin
flap and the ugly scar caused by careless surgery. On the
minus side, if I do that, it will mean removing a little more
of your vestigial foreskin.
Well, that was the end of our consultation. I told Billie to
get dressed and, to save him from further embarrassment, I
left the room. I heard nothing from Billie or Jasmine for
several weeks, and I assumed that the matter was now closed.
Then, to my amazement, I had a phone call from Jasmine. Did I
mean what I said, she asked, about tidying up Billie's cock?
Wow! As soon as I clocked the question the blood rushed to my
cheeks and my heart started to pound fiercely against my
ribcage. "Of course," I said, doing my best to sound calm,
professional and matter of fact.
The rest, as they say, is history. Billie and Jasmine were
worried about the cost of the surgery, and whether they could
get it on the National Health. But I generously (!) offered to
do it for nothing for my best friend's brother. And do it I
did. In fact, I had not been completely honest with Billie.
His frenulum had not been completely excised. There was a
small patch of it left, until I got to work on it, anyway.
Like there was a mall patch of surplus shaft skin, before I
took to it my trusty knife. Oh, yes! I made Billie pay all
right for what he had done to Jasmine. Off came his vestigial
frenulum, and off came his small cuff of surplus shaft skin. I
chopped very tight and the flesh on his stiffened shaft is now
pulled as tight as a drum skin. And then, an added bonus, I
advised Billie to avoid nooky with his beautiful wife for more
than 2 months. Not that he was in a position to ignore my
counsel. For the 7 or 8 weeks after his little operation he
was far too shocked, sore and traumatised to get up to
anything approaching serious hanky-panky.
But the appalling thing is that, now his cock is bonking
good again, Billie is actually grateful for what I did to him.
You see, my surgery was, indeed, skilful; the stitching could
have won a Women's Institute embroidery contest. Cosmetically,
therefore, what is left of Billie's cock looks a snip (so to
speak!). It is very neat and tidy, and, for this, Billie is
effusive in his thanks.