I warned you...

Last night, while talking to my wife, we got on the subject of cheating. Of how she will cut you if you try to do something to/with me without her permission.

She doesn't think I would cheat on her. And she's right. I won't. Not EVER. No, not even then. Not because of what she would do, but because I love her.

But since we were on the subject, she asked me to write a story for her. Something about what I think she would do if I DID cheat. Basically, she wanted me to expand on what I mean when I warn other people that "she'll fucking cut you."

We talked about it for a while, coming up with some fun and sadistic punishments. Then today, I wrote down what I could remember. And here it is, for you:

"I'll fucking cut you."

            Let me tell you what will happen if you cheat on me. No, don’t interrupt. Don’t insist you won’t. I know you won’t. Not after you know what will happen.

            I’m not going to leave you. I love you, and nothing is going to change that. No matter how angry I am, I’ll still love you. I don’t want to live without you, and if you cheat, why should I suffer? No, I won’t leave you. But I will make you suffer.

            You’re right handed, so I’d work with your left arm, just in case. I think I know what I’m doing, but I might be shaking with rage, so there might be a mistake made. I don’t want to do any permanent damage, but just in case, I’ll use your left arm. I’ll tie you down first, of course. Probably duct tape you onto the table, with ropes over the tape as much as needed to make sure that you can’t make even the smallest move. It would be for your own good. Can’t have you flinching.

            I’ll start on your left arm, on the underside, where your skin is thinnest. Where the nerves are close to the surface. I don’t want to damage the nerves, but this is going to hurt. It’s supposed to hurt. You won’t enjoy this, and it won’t be quick. It’s a punishment, and I promise you, it’ll feel like one.

            I’ll make the first cut as an incision, a paper thin slice with a razor. You might not even feel it until I rub my finger across it. But you’ll know it’s there. You’ll know that I sliced into your skin. And when I make the second cut, just spreading out the first one a little bit by using a scalpel instead of a razor, you’ll definitely feel that. I’ll make the cut a little bit longer, and see if you can tell which of the two I’m using. You’ll be blindfolded, so you’ll have to guess.

            Too easy? You’re right; I should make it harder. So I’ll add in a third blade, a nice thin cutting knife. I’ll slide that one along the cut, maybe under a bit, just a tiny bit, to start cutting your skin away from the flesh beneath. But am I separating the skin with the cutting knife, the razor, or the scalpel? You’ll probably be able to tell when I use the kitchen knife. Or be able to tell the difference between the razor and the switchblade. Eventually, you’ll be able to tell which is which.

            I know you will; I’m not going to stop until you know.

            Don’t get the wrong impression. I’m not suggesting that there will be dozens of cuts on your arm. I just want to make one. And not that long. Maybe six inches, probably more like three. And I won’t peel away the skin; I’m not looking to slide my hand under there, see my knuckle pressed against your flesh from the inside. That’s not what I’m going to do. Just a little cut, and just an inch or so under the skin, so I can know that I peeled it away a tiny bit. So you know that I could have peeled it all off, if I really wanted to. I’m not looking to really hurt you. I told you, I love you. But I want you to suffer, and I want you to know just how much worse it could be.

            After all, if this is what I’ll do to you when you cheat on me once, just imaging what I’d do the second time. No, I’m not going to tell you. I want you to think about it, to imagine how much worse it would be than one little cut on your arm.

            Oh, I’m not done. No, we’re just getting started.

            I love you; I don’t want any real risk to your life. If I did, I could just push something into that cut, into the little pocket of skin I’ve carved out of your arm. One little unsanitary thing, and you’d probably lose the arm, if not your life. But I don’t want that. I love you, and I want you in my life. So I’m not going to let it get infected. I’m going to make sure to clean the wound out as best I can. I’ll be careful, meticulous. We’ll use rubbing alcohol. Iodine. Maybe lemon juice, just to be extra safe.

            And once I’m sure it’s clean, I’ll do my best to make sure there isn’t a scar. I’ll lace you up with nice tight stitches, pulling the skin together again, flat against your body. It’ll heal the way it’s meant to. And I’ll use so many stitches, so tight and carefully sewn, in order to make whatever scar is left behind as small as possible. You won’t need a scar to remind you. And I don’t want you scarred.

            Besides, that’s just the warm up. That’s just how I’m going to start. I need to make sure that any anger I still have is gone, is burned away to leave me calm, to make my hands perfectly steady. I need to be calm, zen like, for the next part of your punishment.

            If you’ve cheated on me, that means you’ve used your dick where you shouldn’t have, you’ve put it where it doesn’t belong. And I’m going to make sure you never do that again. No, I’m not going to cut it off. Nothing so simple as that. Once I’ve sewn up your arm, I won’t need to cut you anymore. You’ll know what I can do with a blade; no need to keep emphasizing it.

            But that dick. You used it wrong, put it in the wrong place. Irresponsible. You’ve proven that you don’t deserve it, that you shouldn’t have such easy access to it. So I’m still going to take it away.

            I’ll start with a lot of cold water; don’t want you getting excited. And I’ll keep ice nearby to make sure that isn’t a problem. We’ll keep you nice as soft, still tied too tightly to even shiver. And once you’re cold and small, I’ll push you up inside yourself. Your balls will go up there, and your dick, soft and cold, will go up there with it. I’ll tuck you in the same way drag queens tuck themselves away to get that perfect girly outline.

            Once you’re all put away like that, once I have you pushed inside and completely emasculated, I’ll take out my needle again. I’ll use such tight stitches you’ll think I left your arm gaping wide. I’ll sew you up nice and tight, so that there’s no way to undo it, no way to get your dick out from inside you. No way to let your balls descend. You’ll be blank down there, like a Ken doll. There’ll be space so you can still pee, but doing that will be difficult. You won’t be able to aim, so you’ll have to sit down. You won’t even be able to pee standing up anymore.

            And God help you if you get an erection. As soon as the blood starts to pool, as soon as you start to get even a little bit hard, you’ll start pulling at the stitches. Hundreds of little stitches all up and down, all around, making damned sure you’ll feel it. Damned sure it’ll hurt. So much pain that you won’t be able to keep getting erect. No, it’s not going anywhere. Your dick is staying put, one way or another, for as long as I say it does.

            Maybe some day I’ll let you out. Maybe once you’ve proven to me that you’re a real man, that you’re faithful. Once I know I can trust you again, once I’m absolutely certain that you are ready to be the man I know you can be, then maybe I’ll let you out. Assuming that your skin hasn’t grown over the stitches too much, assuming we haven’t accidentally made you into a thing that is neither man nor woman, I’ll let you out. I’ll give you another chance to prove that you’re a man. I’ll let you have access to it again.

            It’ll probably take a while, though. Maybe a year. Maybe two. Can you go that long without having an erection for more than a few seconds? Can you go that long without an orgasm? I’m not going to have to; like I said, there’s no reason I should suffer. You’re still going to have to do your husbandly duties and get me off on a nice and regular basis. And you’ll do it. I know you will. You’ll want to prove that you love only me, to prove that you’re sexually attracted to me. You’ll want me to trust you again. You’ll want to prove that you’re a man.

            After all, that’s the only way –the only way– you’re ever getting access to your dick again.

            Don’t think I won’t. Don’t think I haven’t already planned it, haven’t seen how to sew you up, or how many stitches to use. Don’t think I don’t know what kind of sinew to use for the stitches, something that won’t get infected but also won’t dissolve, something that will be there for as long as I want it to be. Don’t test me. Don’t think I’m bluffing.

            And don’t worry, love of mine. I’m not going to do any of this to you. Not if you don’t cheat on me. Be faithful, and you won’t have to worry about any of this. That’s not hard to do, I hope. Being faithful, I mean. It’s not hard to be faithful, right? You love me, don’t you? You don’t want to hurt me. So it should be easy for you to stay true to me. It should be easy for you to avoid any of this happening to you. All you have to do is love me. All you have to do is be faithful.

            How hard is that?