index

Message-ID: <42561asstr$1053519004@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 20 May 2003 19:08:43 -0500
From: Rachael Ross <rache18us@yahoo.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
Subject: {ASSM} Two Castration Stories (rache18us@yahoo.com) m/f, F/M, incest, castration, nc
Date: Wed, 21 May 2003 08:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d



Two Castration Stories:
Exsules Filii Evae
and
Fathom 5

by Rachael Ross

============Disclaimer: This starts kind of strange, but I like
creative writing. Some people don't, sorry about that. Not for kids.
Sorry about the format, but you'll have to live with it. I did. Keep
this free. and free Dr. Don, Canada! Bastards.

2001 Seattle washington ...it was raining and dark outside

---------------

My knight in shining armor! :) People will begin to talk...But that's
not why I'm writing this. I've been wondering, since you know things
about me so few others do, what is the deal with my reading habits??
lol ... Remember that guy who wrote me and suggested I "throw my
literature away"? There was someone else too, who suggested my
"references are too intellectual." Remember him? Is that possible? I
wonder. And you, with your hymns and chants and Sherlock Holmes.
Protecting me, even from myself at times, though you deny it
unconvincingly.

To them I say:
Why, what should be the fear?
I do not set my life at a pin's fee,
And for my soul, what can it do to that,
Being a thing immortal as itself?
It waves me forth again. I'll follow it. Wm. Shakespeare

And to you I say:
About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters: how well they understood
It's human position; now takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window
Or just walking dully along... 
....W.H.Auden, commenting on Brueghel's The Fall of Icarus

And now I have another plan, to forego my intellectual pride and
selfish ego. To be a girl in Illinois. Would you take my picture? Or
would you do more? What dangers would you brave to order the chaos
surrounding us? I have no tapestry to unravel as I wait. There is only
me, woven day by day, and here I strive to tear it down. Do you know
why? Ahhh...This madness is unbecoming.

Let's write a story, something new to talk about. I am in the mood, my
body is broken. I did things which I should not have done. But you
knew that already. Let's call this...

Exsules Filii Evae
The Children of Eve

Fiction by Rachael

I castrated my brother because he was abusing me. I'm 19 and when I
was 13 he used to sneak into my room after my dad was sleeping. he was
18 then and he called me dog. A bitch. He said that's what I was. A
female dog for people to pet or kick or breed. when we were alone he
used to make me bark and lick his hand and if I didn't he'd punch me.
At night he liked to make me kiss his dick until it got hard and then
he would get it between my legs and fuck me with it. I didn't like it
but he told me if I told anyone he would say I was lying and everyone
would believe him because he was a football star and was going to get
a scholarship for college. Everybody liked him and nobody cared about
me. So I believed him and I bit my pillow and cried when he did it to
me.

After a while I wanted him to stop. but I didn't know how. I ran away
twice but the police brought me back and my brother was really mad and
he put his dick in my mouth and in my butt and it really hurt a lot.
So I got my dad's hunting knife because it's really sharp and it cuts
anything. I was going to kill my brother to make him stop. But I
didn't want to do that because he was my brother and I loved him even
though he hurt me so much. I was crying and I put the knife under my
pillow because I didn't know what to do.

When my brother came into my room that night I let him do what he
wanted to me. he called me bitch and made me beg like a dog, whining
and sticking my tongue out until he put his big dick in my mouth and
told me to suck it. And then he told me he wanted me to swallow his
goo. But I didn't want to. he was on his back and he pulled me on top
of him because sometimes he liked to kiss my pussy. I was crying and
choking because his dick hurt my mouth and it made me want to throw
up. I reached under my pillow and got my dad's knife. It was really
sharp and I kept my brother's dick in my mouth while I pulled his
hairy balls with my other hand. He didn't even feel the knife at first
but his dick jerked like he was cumming but he wasn't. There was a lot
of blood and it was really dark on my bed and his balls were really
gross because I was holding them in my hand and they were kind of
white and gooey looking and bloody. I could feel his nuts falling out
but they were still kinda stuck too.

My brother started screaming because I guess he saw the knife or felt
it or something. He hit me and knocked me off his dick and it wasn't
hard anymore. he kept screaming and screaming and he was looking down
at his dick and the bloody place where his balls used to be.

My door opened and my dad was turning on the light and after that it
was really confusing because everybody was yelling and crying and he
was trying to do something for my brother. Nobody cared about me.

My brother lived. But it was the deal that one of us wouldn't. It was
a deal I made with myself during all those silent days in the
hospital. he was in his room, I was in mine. he had visitors, I had
none. I got  something that nobody knows about, it's a dog leash. A
long leather strap with a little metal clip on the end. I stole it
from a pet store even though I had enough money to buy it.

When the time is right I'm going to use it. I'm going to tie it around
the big tree in the backyard and I'm going to jump and know what it
feels like to be a dog. I'm going to hang there and swing back and
forth in the moonlight. Nobody will see me and nobody will know. I'll
stay there for a week and people will walk by me and wonder why there
is a dog hanging from the tree. 

the end.
rache18us@yahoo.com

(grammatically imperfect as desired, think nothing of it.)

Wait a minute. Let's write another one, variations on a theme. Paul is
still sleeping and this subject has caught my eye. I don't want to go
yet. Something new, something a little more civilized? Or at least
told with a little more attention to the craft. Imagine a man lying
naked on a bed. Stripped  of his clothes, his dignity, his power. Just
a man, nothing more. And a woman with a knife. We'll call it...

Fathom 5
(In honor of Jackson Pollack)

Fiction by Rachael


"I want to say something while I still have the balls to do it."

That's what he said to me. That guy who said he loved me and always
would. Who told me that he'd take me far away from here and bring me
to a place where we could be happy together and nothing would ever
hurt me again. And I believed him. And I let him say it, while I sat
there in the cold moonlight listening to his warm whispers. Feeling
his soft, gentle hands on my body. I wanted to believe him,
desperately I wanted to believe. When he held me close and ran his
fingers along my spine, unhooking my bra and letting my breasts fall
free to his burning lips. He suckled them one at a time, slowly as if
reading my desires. His hands moved down to my waist, my hips, pulling
slowly, gently at the thin cotton of my panties. I tried to say no. I
tried to tell him it was wrong. He couldn't possibly want this, taking
me this way. I felt cool night air on my sex, bared suddenly, somehow
to his fingers. I told him no again and tried to move away, but there
was no room. The back seat of his car was so small, so tight. I was
pushing him, telling him that I knew he was lying. I had kept myself
clean, if not pure, waiting for......something. I didn't know what, I
was so young, but not for this. I knew that much.

That's when he hit me. Not in anger or hate or jealous rage. His
frustration, his need to be a man forced him to do it. I know that now
and sensed it then. He struck me and pushed me down. His heavy hand
over my mouth, bruising my lips against my teeth and making me choke
on the little bit of blood I suddenly tasted. I was scared, I forgot
to breath. I forgot to close my eyes and I forgot to kick and claw and
bite. I forgot to close my legs and when I felt his swollen manhood
jabbing, stabbing, suddenly thrusting inside me I forgot how to love.
His cock tore through my hymen as if a knife were thrust into my womb.
I felt him inside me, above me one hand across my face the fingers of
the other digging into my waist. He was holding me, pulling my body
back against him as he fucked me. Driving his hard cock in and out,
over and over. I watched him, wondering why my eyes were open and his
were shut. Why his face was contorted into a monstor, grotesque and
ugly as his ejaculate filled my wounded body. This was his promise.
This rape while he still had the balls to do it. That thought kept me
sane. I focused on it and nothing else for the eternity it took him to
finish, collapsing finally on top of me. Crushing me with his weight,
holding my mouth with his hand while he whispered his crude thanks and
told me how beautiful I was. He lifted his hand slowly, perhaps
expecting a scream or tears. But I smiled and lifted my head to kiss
him. Thrusting my wet, red tongue into his mouth. Sharing wih him my
blood as we'd done only moments before in another, different, way.
He'd had me, taken me and now I belonged to him. I told him so and I
consumated our secret with that kiss he'd never understand. But
confusion is a tool. And so is hate.

I met him this night at his house. For three months I had waited to be
with him. He'd avoided me at first. Not understanding why I still
smiled at him. I didn't treat him any differently. I kept my manners,
my composure. He would feel the need before long, I knew, and why risk
being caught out when someone will put out? I knew his reasoning well,
I didn't discourage it. I wanted him to want me again. I missed a
couple weeks of school while I killed his unborn baby. At 6 weeks it
would be already forming tiny hands and feet. A woman outside,
protesting, gave me a small booklet. I read it in the waiting room,
looking at pictures of little dead babies. I put in my purse when my
name was called. I didn't need to miss 2 full weeks. But I needed time
to cry. To weep so much that I would never have to do it again.

Finally, this night, I met him at his house. Just the two of us alone
for a weekend. He tried to be nice, to be romantic and prove to me
that what he'd done was out of love. That I'd needed a lesson in life
and I was so fortunate to have found someone who cared enough for me
to teach me. He was being witty, clever, and I laughed and blushed and
glanced away and shyly back. He really was my teacher, I should
explain. Because it is a joke he so delighted in, that more important
than teaching me the beauty of the English language he should also be
teaching his prized student sex education. He took me to his bed. The
same one he'd been sharing with his wife the night before. I let him
undress me and devour me with his eyes and hands and mouth. I made no
effort to say no. I let him kiss my most intimate places and explore
me like a child. Looking back I suppose I should have been flattered,
he was very tender as I knew he could be. When he asked me to perform
fellatio on him I did it. I took him into my mouth and let him twist
his fingers in my hair. I sucked silently and deep until he'd pulled
me hard against him, suddenly filling my mouth and belly with his
seed. I let him have me every way he wanted, refusing to object to
even the most perverse acts. I confess, to be honest, that I did enjoy
some of it. My body reacted despite my best intentions. I was wet, and
flushed and thought that I was near orgasm. But of course I wasn't, I
know that now.

When he was done and his eyes closed I waited. I kept my head on his
chest, listening to the beating of his heart. The deep rythem of his
breath moving in and out of his contented sleep. I got up, carelessly,
not worried; if he should awaken, all the better. I have no reason to
be sneaking about in the darkness. I showered, thoroughly. Washing
every part of me he'd touched. I tried to vomit up his sperm, but it
would not rise. I did not dress though, as you may expect. I kept
myself naked, clean and pure as I could now be. Though certainly
nothing like I'd been before his promise that cold night past. He was
still asleep, soundly, dreaming of young girls easily seduced and
frightened into silence no doubt. I found his ties and used them.
Quickly, softly as I dared to bind his hands to the headboard of his
bed. I had one wrist bound and was tying the other when he awoke, but
not with a start. His voice was filled fith sleepy contentment, amused
even as he asked me what I was doing. Only my turn to play, I told
him. And I promised he would enjoy it, as long as he had the balls for
it. He laughed softly and kept his eyes closed while I finished. His
penis was rising once again, hardening beneath me and I kept it
between my thighs as I begain to slip a noose over his foot. Leaning
down, pressing my hardening nipples to his calf I tied the other end
to the leg of the bedframe. His cock was working, and his hips moving
trying to work inside me once more. I brushed my vulva across him and
secured his other foot. I stood and double checked to make sure he
could not get free. I asked him to pull and stretch and see if I'd
done it right. He obliged me and smiled with his confession of
helplessness. 
 
"I eyed his straining cock, standing just out from his stomach from a
nest of dark pubic hair. I stroked it slowly, promising him with my
eyes and touch and smile that he would enjoy what was coming. I had
one more thing to do, I picked up my underwear from the floor, under
the chair where they'd lain most of the night. I rolled them into a
ball and shoved them into his compliant mouth. I should have been
surprised this was so easy, but I'd known it would be. He wanted this
as much as I, he'd told me that night. When he said he'd leave his
wife and child. That we would go away together. He made a promise, a
commitment, and put his balls on the line. He never planned on keeping
his promise. But I did. I talked to him softly as I tied his gag into
his mouth. I wrapped his burgundy tie around his head and somehow it
slipped down around his neck. I pulled it tight, suddenly, and his
eyes flew open and a quick gagging sound escaped his lips. But I
relaxed it and apologized, kissing him on the forehead. I gagged him
properly and stepped back, enjoying my handiwork? Perhaps. Unsure if I
could or even should do this, almost certainly. But I was beyond
stopping now. And I felt something.

Even better than his lovemaking or the few times I'd tried to pleasure
myself alone. My tummy was tight and my nipples burned. I could feel
my clitoris begging to be touched. I was suddenly terribly,
desperately excited. My first and only lover, bound and gagged, was
aroused as well. His cock straining, his body flushed as he watched
me. I stood over him, my feet on either side of his chest so he could
look straight up and see my fingers spreading my labia. Slipping
inside my wetness. I masturbated for him, pressing my palm against my
clit as my fingers curved and twisted and found the perfect places
inside me. I pinched a nipple, pulling it and digging a fingernail
into it as I came. For the first time in my life, really cumming. I
was gasping, the blood rushing through me. I almost fell and had to
sink to my knees, pressing my hot sex against his body. I strained and
pulled for release, trying to hold me. He needed me, to be inside me
and a part of me wanted it too and as the wave of pleasure rolled
slowly away I made up my mind. I got off him and walked to my purse. I
used a rubber band to tie my hair back in a pony tail and took the
pamphlet I'd saved for 3 months and opened it. It was folded into
three sections and when unfolded it sat neatly on his chest. I
adjusted his pillow so he could read it easier. He was confused now
and unsure of what this meant. I told him to read it while I turned my
back to him, kneeling over his still hard cock. The pictures didn't
seem to have bothered him that much, but perhaps he'd seen them
before.

I slipped his penis inside me. It felt so good, filling me. Not like
the first time I reminded him. It had hurt then. And not just inside
my body, but everywhere. He'd hurt my soul. I talked to him as I
fucked him. I told him about how I'd read a story. There was a man in
Denver who had raped over a dozen women before being caught. He'd even
killed two of them. Most of his surviving victims did not want to talk
in public. They were frightened and ashamed and wanted noone to know
what had happened. But his first victim, the very first one, she
wanted to talk. She was crying when she told the world that she could
have stopped him. Could have saved two lives. But she hadn't. I knew
that this man, with me now was like that. I knew he would do the same
thing to another girl, another student of his, if I let him. He was
still learning, still practising with me. And I'd made it too easy for
him. And I knew I had to fix it.
 
He listened to all this and I could feel his cock trying to go soft
inside me. I rocked my hips, moving in slow, soft circles and gently
up and down. Coaxing him to stay hard, to forget his fears, perhaps
this was his only punishment he was reasoning, I could sense it. He
was thinking that I only wanted to humiliate him. Make him feel
frightened, nervous. I knew he still didn't get the purpose of the
brochure, but that didn't matter too much. I looked over my shoulder
at him and saw it had fallen down anyway. I smiled at him and told him
it was ok, he could read it later. His cock was stiffening again,
swelling even larger than before it seemed. It felt so good, but I
knew what I had to do. I pulled the rubber band out of my hair and
shifted my hips, pulling his cock and fully exposing his heavy,
wrinkled sack. I took his balls in my hand, feeling how silky smooth
and soft they were. I slipped the rubber band around them, at the
base, tightening it, twisting it and slipping it over them again and
again. I tried to be gentle, but it must have been uncomfortable
because he was twisting and pulling to get free. I gripped his testes
in my hand, squeezing them hard and telling him to behave. He stopped
struggling at once and I was surprised his cock stayed hard for as
long as it did, but really only about 3 minutes I think.

I sat there on his flaccid penis, watching his balls turn from light
brown to dark, to reddish and then almost purple. Every now and again
I would take them in my hand, amazed at how quickly and much they
swelled. I tested him to see if he'd lost any feeling in them, and he
had lost some. But when I squeezed really hard he could still feel it.
I sat there like that for 4 hours, just watching mostly, though
sometimes talking to him and when he'd tried to get free once or twice
I'd squeeze or punch his balls to make him quiet down. I was
incredibly turned on this whole time. I wished his cock was still hard
and I couldn't help but masturbate as I watched his balls die slowly.
I had no idea how long it would take, but we had all weekend and I'd
planned on using it. But plans change and it occured to me that just
killing his balls was not enough. I mean he'd still have them, even if
they were useless, and that wasn't part of the deal. I was down in the
kitchen, slicing tomatos for a salad when it occured to me. I ran the
edge of the knife I was using across my thumb and it left a thin red
line. So sharp, so perfect. I couldn't wait, I had to do it. I knew
all of a sudden what he'd felt that night in his car. When he couldn't
have possibly heard me say no. When he'd never consider anything else
but taking me the way he had. The small voice inside me was telling me
not to, that I could wait, that it was enough like this. But I
couldn't hear it. I couldn't listen to it. I knew what I needed. 
 
I walked into the bedroom breathless. He was half asleep, as much so
as he could manage. His eyes opened when he saw me standing there and
his body was shaking, convulsing with panic when he saw the knife. I
was possessed. I moved the handle between my legs and pressed it
between my nether lips. The blade stuck out, a long, brilliant steel
cock. razor sharp and ready for love. I voiced this, aloud and it
sounded as if someone else had said it. I fucked the handle slowly in
and out while I we watched each other. I wished his cock were still
hard, I think if it had been I would have cut it off. So perhaps he
was lucky in that regard. But I couldn't hep what I did next. I knelt
on the bed between his legs, facing him and wondered how I should do
this. My hands were shaking and it was hard to breath. It was like an
orgasm that wouldn't stop. My heart was pounding. The rubber band was
all but invisible it had dug into his swollen flesh so deeply. I
thought if I cut on the side opposite his body there would be less
blood. The rubber bands would keep him from bleeding too much. But
he'd taken my blood, forced me to share with him and I wanted his. I
wanted to bathe in it at that moment. To drink it and wash myself
clean in it. I didn't care about him or his pain or his life. I wasn't
planning on it, my hand moved by itself, pressing to his flesh
underneath and slashing quickly towards me. His testicles were severed
completely. Perhaps if I'd planned it, made a conscious effort the cut
would have never been so clean. So decisive.

Blood did spray out, spattering my face and breasts. His balls lay on
the bed between his thighs. Dark and now seemingly deflated, ugly.
There was a steady flow, not as much as I'd thought, but still his
blood was pooling. I stared at it for a moment, wondering what to do.
Part of me was on the verge of panic, but I concentrated on his balls.
I yanked the pillow out from under his head and took the pillow case
off, pressing it between his legs and onto the wound. I pushed hard,
feeling the wetness seep through and wondering if it would stop. I
watched his face. He was sobbing, pain and fear had destroyed him.
There is no describing the look in his eyes. His mouth was open and a
wretched scream was muffled only somewhat by the gag in his mouth. I
had heard that scream before, but only in my head. Now I knew we were
joined. I held that cloth to his wound for most of the night. He'd
turned a little pale and had gone to sleep. I had slept a little too,
maybe, but mostly I sat there. My hand pressed against his wound and
my eyes fixed on the bloody remains of his balls laying on the bed
beside me. When his bleeding had finally stopped and I was sure I
could ease the pressure away, I did. My arm was numb, it had gone to
sleep and I rubbed it, shaking it and in the process must have woken
him up. He didn't struggle, he was too weak. Too tired. He just
watched me and I picked up my trophy, the blood had dried on it
somewhat. I opened it, inspecting it. His testes were two small,
whitish spheres. They'd gotten dark gray, almost blackish spots. Maybe
from being suffocated for so long? I had no idea what they were
supposed to look like. I took them downstairs and got a couple
sandwhich bags and used a knife and spoon to remove them completely
from his sack. I put them in the bags along with some vinegar and
water and sealed them. I was going to keep my little payment. I went
back upstairs and saw he had fallen asleep again. I collected my
things, quietly, and cut his right hand free. I kept the knife, picked
up my brochure and left him.

"It occurs to me, now, some year and a half later, that he could have
stopped me. If he'd turned me in. He could have prevented this from
happening. That one man could have saved you, if he'd admitted what
he'd done and told the whole story. I'm sure he's sorry." I finish
telling my story and the man on the bed looks very frightened. But not
apologetic. Not yet.

the end
rache18us@yahoo.com

I made a conscious effort to flow...But it didn't work. Perhaps it's
only my style, something unique to me. A fingerprints I'll have to
peel away with a razor. Typing with bloody hands when I want to be
someone else.

Rachael

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}|
|Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org>      |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+