Her Birthday Gift
 
Incomplete, work in progress
 
1 - The Idea
 
 The idea came to him on an idle Sunday afternoon, while he was casually flipping through some of his wife's magazines. Her birthday was less than a week away, and he had been wanting to do something extra special for her this year. At first, he had simply considered taking her out to a nice restaurant, like usual. Treating her to a romantic evening of wine, dinner, and dancing, to be followed afterword by an intense session of slow and sensual love making. While this seemed like an attractive and safe option, it also seemed lacking somehow to him. Every guy he knew took their wife or girlfriend out on their birthdays. It wasn't really that special, all things considered, and it lacked zest and creativity.
 
 He had been pondering his alternatives when he came across the article, in one of her magazines, that gave him his big idea. Most of the things in the magazines he had been absently browsing were quite dull, boring and vacuous tripe not even worth a quick skim, but one piece in particular stuck out to him. The title was what caught his attention, even as its meaning caused his heart to give a nerverous, excited little flutter when he read it. It was called "Getting Your Guy To Give Up His Goods", and was a woman's brief how-to guide for convincing their boyfriend or husband to gift to them his manhood.
 
 Most of the items on the little list of things to try were a bit silly, or even just plain dumb, and the whole article had a light, tongue-in-cheek tone that implied that the reader wasn't supposed to take it very seriously. Some were even downright ethically dubious, like the suggestion to "Get him good and liquored up! Alcohol really lowers inhibitions, so the drunker he gets, the easier it will be to get his goods on your cutting board! As a bonus, he'll probably be so hungover the next morning that he won't even notice at first if he's missing a thing or two!"
 
 The article's last suggestion, though, was the one that gave him pause. It read "Leave this magazine laying on the coffee table, open to this article. Maybe he'll see it and take the hint!".
 
 While the magazine hadn't been left open, either to the article about "Getting Your Guy To Give Up His Goods" or to any other, it had been at the top of the small pile of periodicals on the coffee table, which made him wonder. Surely his wife had read through that particular magazine already, for she was an avid and quick reader, and surely she had seen the article that was currently holding him so transfixed. Was she trying to subtlely tell him about what she would like for her birthday? The idea made his stomach flip-flop fearfully, even as his cock pulsed and twitched in arousal.
 
 The more he thought about it, however, the more unlikely it seemed. His wife had never even so much as hinted before now that she might be interested in his manhood as anything other than an instrument of their mutual pleasure. While he could sometimes be as dense as the next man when it came to a woman's desires, he was pretty sure he would have noticed if she had been trying to nudge him in that direction. No, it seemed most likely that she had seen the article, given it a quick glance, rolled her eyes and chuckled about it, then moved on with her day. Exactly as he probably should.
 
 Still though, something about the idea wouldn't leave him alone. He had, like many other men, and apparently more than a few women, occasionally entertained the idle fantasy of allowing a woman to take his cock and balls from him, to do with as she pleased. It had never been more than just a passing, if extremely arousing fancy, though. But, the thought of offering himself up to his wife, not just for the sheer erotic thrill of it, but selflessly, as a gift.. And not just any gift, but her birthday gift, to boot..
 
 Well, that was something quite special, wasn't it?
 
 He swallowed nervously as a little shivery thrill raced up his body, as he realized what he was considering. How on earth could he be thinking of actually doing what he was thinking of? He loved his manhood, and the pleasure that it gave him, and the idea of going without it for the rest of his life, of sacrificing it for just a mere birthday present for his wife was.. was..
 
 ..Was pretty damn exciting, wasn't it? His cock sure seemed to think so, as it was quickly making its opinion on the matter known to him, by swelling up to its full and considerable erect size, throbbing pleasurably in time with his rapid heartbeat.
 
 But still, even if he was willing, which he wasn't quite sure he actually was yet, it was really his wife's opinion that mattered most, wasn't it? What if she didn't like her gift? Despised it, even? He had heard horror stories, whispered though the guy gossip grape vine, of men who had offered themselves up, only to be spurned by the woman they had thought to please.
 
 One story in particular had haunted him. It had supposedly happened to a friend of a friend. The poor bastard had taken his girlfriend out to a fancy restaurant for their anniversary. He'd excused himself from their table right after ordering their food, then he'd had his manhood, while it was still attached even, carefully cooked up in the kitchens by the chefs. He had then suprised his girlfriend by serving her his cooked cock and balls right there in the dining area, in front everyone else in the resaurant, only to have her call him a moron and walk out, furious.
 
 It turned out that not only was the guy's girlfriend irritated at being abandoned by her boyfriend for nearly an hour in the restaurant, mid conversation as they waited for their meals, but he had apparently also forgotten that she was a strict vegan. So there he'd been, mouth hung open in shock, baked manhood plated up and in hand ready to be served, in the middle of a crowded restaurant, with no girlfriend to eat it for him. It was no suprise to learn that the idiot's girlfriend had broken up with him the next day.
 
 He shuddered, as he imagined what it must have felt like to be that guy. No girlfriend, no cock or balls, and now no point in going on.
 
 Still, though.. he reflected, thoughtfully. The idea of giving his manhood to his wife had merit, despite the possible consequences. He would just have to make sure to do it in a way that made her preferences in the matter the deciding factor, and he certainly wouldn't do it in public, for goodness sake. Yes, a nice, stay-at-home birthday dinner for his wife. Quiet, private, and perfect for an extra special birthday meal, should she choose to indulge in it..
 
 His heart fluttered in his chest again, and his breath felt tight, as he contemplated the course he was about to commit to. Could he really do it? Could he give up his manhood entirely for just a single erotic meal for his wife, he wondered?
 
 His cock answered for him, as a quick, heavy pulse of pleasure thrummed from the base of it, up his spine, and out to the tips of his fingers and toes, giving him gooseflesh, as the image of his manhood on a plate, at the mercy of his delighted wife's poised and so very sharp cutlery, cooked to perfection for her birthday dinner, played across his mind's eye.
 
 Well, he supposed that he had some planning to do now, didn't he?
 
2 - The Choice
 
 Unfortunately, the very first step of the plan involved disappointing his wife.
 
 "Honey, how do you feel about staying in for your birthday, this year?" he asked, as casually as possible, during the early evening of the next day.
 
 They were sitting in the living room just an hour or so after dinner, he in his armchair and she stretched out on the sofa, both quietly reading when he dropped his little bombshell. It would be the first time in several years that he hadn't taken her out for her birthday.
 
 "Oh.." his wife replied, a little frown creasing her otherwise smooth brows. "Are you having trouble getting reservations..?"
 
 "A bit.." he replied, nodding. "Almost everywhere worth going to is booked quite solidly, I'm afraid. Sorry, dear."
 
 "You waited too long, didn't you?" she asked, sighing in exasperation, while rolling her eyes at him.
 
 "Actually, everything's been packed for over a month." he answered, mostly truthfully. The economy had ticked up recently, and it seemed that everyone was celebrating by going out to eat a lot more often than they used to, so he hadn't even needed to fib much in that regard. "Still, I think I can do alright by you here. I'm sure I can come up something special for your birthday, if you'd like. I've already had some ideas in that regard, actually."
 
 "Well.." his wife drew out, her disappointment obvious, her tone skeptical.
 
 "Come on, it'll be fun." he cajoled, smiling at her. "Just the two of us, a romantic dinner, and then afterwards.. What more could you want?"
 
 "Oh, I suppose that wouldn't be too terrible." she replied, as she returned his smile. "What did you have in mind for my birthday meal?"
 
 "Well, I've had some thoughts about that.." he said, evasively, as he made to get up. "Why don't you come into the kitchen in about fifteen minutes? I'll show you some of the options I've been working on.."
 
 "You can't just tell me?" she asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise.
 
 "I think it would be better if you saw for yourself, dear." he answered, laughing a little. "Show, don't tell, after all."
 
 "Well, aren't you mister mysterious." she stated, though her smile grew a little broader and her eyes twinkled a little, as she obviously began wondering just what it was that he was up to.
 
 Fifteen minutes later, practically on the dot, his wife walked into the kitchen, still smiling curiously, to find him dressed in chef's whites. He was standing behind the island counter in the center of the room, with three circular silver serving platters, each covered with a domed silver lid, arranged in a line before him.
 
 "Ah, madam has arrived." he said, with an absolutely atrocious attempt at a French accent, as he doffed his puffy chef's hat for her.
 
 "You've got to me kidding me.." his wife said, as she stopped in her tracks, a little disbelieving laugh tumbling out of her at the sight of him. "You can't be serious, babe."
 
 "Ah, tut tut, madam. About food, I am always zerious!" he replied, doing his best to suppress his own smile and laughter. "I 'ave prepared three choices for you to zelect from, for your most well dezerved birthday dinnahr!"
 
 "O-okay then, monseuir chef." she said, apparently deciding to play along, even as she held one hand up to her mouth, in a futile attempt to hold in her giggles. "What.. what have you got for me?"
 
 "Well, madam, ze first thing we must decide upon is ze main dish!" he exclaimed, still in his terrible french accent. "We cannot advance to ze sides until we know kind of meat you prefer!"
 
 "Meat?" his wife asked, her eyebrows raising, even as her smile worked back and forth across her mouth, her amusement obvious.
 
 "Yes, meat." he confirmed, nodding seriously at her. "As I 'ave said, I 'ave three options for you to choose from. Zey are all ze best quality! Locally zourced, and ze most fresh availiable! Nothing but ze best for you, madam!"
 
 "Okay then, what's my first option?" she replied, nodding in return, while attempting, and failing, to match his serious demeanor.
 
 "First, we have, of course, chicken!" he stated, as he whipped the lid covering the right most silver tray away, revealing a fresh, raw, glistening chicken breast set atop a small cutting board. "Organic, of course, and fed only ze most choice of grains! And tender! Zo very tender and fresh! Please, madam, zee for yourself!"
 
 He indicated a small steak knife and accompanying meat fork, set upon a scarlet napkin just before the silver tray holding the chicken, with his free hand. With a questioning, amused glance up at him, his wife took up the knife and fork, and then, under his watchful eye, sliced delicately into the end of the chicken breast.
 
 "Yes, I can see that it's.. very tender." she said, as she held up the severed bit of chicken to examine it closely. "It.. it looks very fine."
 
 "I am zo glad zat you approve!" he exclaimed, apparently quite sincerely. "Now, if you will direct your gaze over here, I will show you your zecond option!"
 
 "Lamb!" he continued, whipping the lid off of the left tray, revealing another glistening piece of raw meat, again on a small cutting board.
 
 At his prompting, his wife took up a second set of knife and fork, which were also laid out in front of the tray of lamb, and sliced another small bit of meat away for inspection.
 
 "This looks nice, too, monseuir chef."
 
 "Of course, madam, of course." he said, enthusiatically. "I 'ave made quite sure to find only ze finest of meats! You are worthy of nothing less!"
 
 "So, chicken and lamb, so far.." she said, as she looked from one bit of meat to the other, before resting her gaze upon the center, still unrevealed silver tray. "..and what's my final option?"
 
 "Ah, madam.." he said, as he set aside both of the lids he had been holding. "I 'ave gone to zome lengths to acquire this particular zelection of meat! For your approval, I give you.."
 
 "Le Boef de l'Homme!" he exclaimed, as he whipped aside the lid covering the last tray. "Manmeat, madam!"
 
 Sitting in the center of the silver tray, yet again upon a little wooden cutting board, was his completely hair free, slightly oiled up and glistening, turgid cock and plump balls.
 
 His wife, who'd had an expectant, slightly amused expression on her face at his antics and theatrics, goggled down at his manhood in complete surprise. She had apparently not anticipated seeing his cock and balls protruding from the opened fly of his trousers, very erect and bound lightly at the base with a black band, sitting on a cutting board and tray before her.
 
 "Ah, madam.. you zay nothing?" he prompted, after a moment had passed, during which his wife had continued to stare, motionless, down at his presented meat. "I assure you zat this meat, like ze chicken and ze lamb before it, is perfectly fresh, and of ze highest quality!"
 
 "You.. you're not serious..?" she asked, unconsiously repeating her earlier question.
 
 "Madam, if you doubt ze quality of ze meat, zen please, by all means, examine it for yourself!" he said, keeping his face stoic, even as his heart sped up.
 
 Slowly, curiously, with the occassional glance up at his carefully neutral face, his wife reached forward and began to examine him. She ran her fingers cautiously down his length, her expression odd, as if she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing and doing, then curled her fingers underneath him, to heft the weight of him experimentally in her hands. As she held onto him, the fingers on her right hand grasping his member and the fingers of her left cradling his hanging testicles, the odd expression on her face slowly began to recede into something merely thoughtful.
 
 Then, the thoughtful expression was, in turn, supplanted by amusement, and a wry, knowing smile grew out from her previously pursed lips.
 
 "So.." she said, her tone of voice now light and conversational, almost cheery, as the small smile played back and forth across her mouth. "This meat's fresh too, then?"
 
 "Ze freshest!" he exclaimed.
 
 "And of the highest quality?" she asked, her smile broadening.
 
 "Ze very highest!" he said, nodding seriously.
 
 "And I suppose that it's very tender, as well?" she asked, smirking as she gave his manhood a little squeeze, for emphasis.
 
 "Ze most tender!" he confirmed. "If you doubt, feel free to test it, as you did ze others!"
 
 Her gaze followed the direction his hands indicated, and fell upon the third paired set of steak knife and meat fork, which, like the other two sets had been, was also resting on a scarlet napkin before the silver platter.
 
 "Hmm.." his wife mused, as she released his manhood, allowing it to rest upon the wooden cutting board once again, and then took up the fork and knife laying before it. "Perhaps I SHOULD test this meat, too. Just to be sure.."
 
 "Of course, madam." he said, even as he gave an involuntary, nervous little swallow. "Feel free to slice as much, or as little, of ze meat away for inspection as you wish!"
 
 "Hmm.." she hummed again, as she gently placed the sharp tips of the meat fork's tines directly on the center of his exposed glans, dimpling and lightly pricking his sensitive flesh. The knife point she rested, tip angled downward, at the base of his cock, before slowly dragging it down his shaft. She pressed into his flesh lightly enough not to cut, yet firmly enough to leave a thin, red line along his skin, along the entire length of him.
 
 She did this several more times, while alternating between looking down at the male flesh apparently at her mercy, and darting quick glances up at his face, as if trying to catch him flinching, seemingly pondering where to cut into him. Finally, after several long moments of eye contact, during which he managed to maintain his neutral expression, she licked her lips and brought the knife edge to rest on his glans, just in front of the tines of the meat fork.
 
 He inhaled a little at the sensation of the cool steel blade against his hot flesh, unable to help himself, as a little tremble raced through him. If she chose to cut into him there, she'd be taking off the first third of his cock head.
 
 Then, apparently reconsidering, his wife moved the knife back a little farther up his length, to just behind the ridge of his glans, and began making slow, gentle, virtually pressureless sawing motions with it.
 
 His inhale turned into a shakey gasp, which he only partially suppressed, as he saw and felt this happen. The sharp edge of the knife wasn't cutting into him just yet, but it would take only the slightest bit of pressure, a mere feather's weight of force, to begin doing so. And then he would lose the entire head of his penis, rather than just the tip.
 
 "I probably should check the tenderness this meat, just like I did the others, as you recommend.." his wife slowly drawled out, her smirk deepening as she regarded him and his manhood. "But, I suppose that I would then have to settle for that much smaller of a meal at my birthday, wouldn't I? So, I guess that, this time, I'll just take your word for this particular bit of meat's tenderness."
 
 "So.. Zo, you have.. 'ave made your s-zelection, then?" he asked, struggling to keep up his accent, as the understandably distracting sensations of almost being sliced into ceased, as his wife raised the knife up and away from his flesh.
 
 "Well, about that.." his wife said, as she set the only barely unused meat fork and knife back down. "I suppose I really am being a bit indisicive, but I can't choose just one of them right now."
 
 "They ALL.." she continued, while looking directly at his still intact manhood. "..look very delicious, I think. Can you possibly prepare menu options for all three?"
 
 "Of course, madam." he said, nodding judiciously. "It will be no trouble."
 
 "Thank you so much, monseuir chef." she answered, smiling winningly at him. "I'm sure I'll be able to choose just one of them for my dinner, once I've learned how they're all to be cooked, of course."
 
 She casually flicked the pad of her index finger across the tip of his glans as she said this, and winked up at him. She then slowly sauntered, hips swaying provocatively, out of the kitchen, leaving him trembling and alone once again, with only the three now uncovered selections of meat for company, one of which she would eventually choose to have him to cook up for her birthday dinner.
 
 His cock throbbed on its cutting board, painfully erect after the arousing, and frightening, previous few moments with his wife.
 
 He wondered just which option she would pick.
 
3 - The Recipes
 
 The next day, Tuesday, he hit the books. Specifically, the cook books. Thankfully, both he and his wife cooked often, so he had a wide and varied selection of them to choose from. He had let his work know, the previous day, that he would be taking the rest of the week off. He used the free time, when his wife was out at her own job, to research just how he might best serve her chosen meal to her. Whichever one it turned out to be.
 
 He knew his wife, and her culinary tastes, well enough that the recipes for the chicken and lamb options were easy to decide on. The recipe for his manhood, however, was more difficult. Most of the cookbooks didn't even mention manmeat, and the few that did made only halfhearted suggestions on preparation and cooking. Simply substituting his cock and balls, in place of a normal piece of pork or chicken, in a recipe not specifically designed for them seemed like a bad idea. Doing so was probably a good way to end up with a disappointed girlfriend AND no more manhood, the worst possible outcome.
 
 He was just about ready to go searching on the internet for recipes, and goodness knows what kind of untested, half-baked ideas he would have found there, when he discovered a slim, slightly dusty tome at the back corner of one of the lower cupboards, next to an odd, equally dusty cooking device that he had never noticed before. The book, which was the better part of a decade old, was exactly what he needed. More than that even, because it had on the inside of the cover a dedication to his wife, from her mother, of all people. It read "Happy eighteenth birthday! I know you'll probably never need this, or the cooker either, but you never know! The opportunity may come up someday, and it would be a shame to miss it. It pays to be prepared! Love, Mom."
 
 The little book was a cookbook, one specifically concerning, and featuring only recipes for, manmeat. And even better than that, it was apparent that his wife, in her younger days before they had married or even met, had spent quite a lot of idle time browsing through it. Almost every single recipe had little notes scribbled into the margin, commenting and criticking on them.
 
 Some of the comments were in regards to the ingredients, such as "Spinach stuffing? Gross!", or "Minced testicle, parmesean, and crumb coating? Sounds delish! Yes, please!". Others were comments on the method of preparation, and many were surprisingly vicious sounding, considering how mellow his wife usually was. Examples included such gems as "Tenderize a big dick for five minutes? Try half an hour! Make him squirm!", or "Definitely do the marinade injection while his balls are still attached. It'll probably hurt him more, but they're about to be grilled anyway, so who cares!", and even "I wonder if the pain of a cock and balls getting cooked up while they're still attached makes them taste better? I'll bet it does, even if only a little, so it's totally worth it!". Easily the most valuable thing she had written however, at least for his needs, were ratings of the various recipes, rendered in cute little smiley faced stars next to each title.
 
 It was facinating reading, and offered a little glimpse into a portion of his wife's personality that he hadn't seem much of before. It was also arousing as hell to imagine her drooling over the various recipes and rating them, even as he himself was considering which one to potentially use on his own cock and balls, for her birthday dinner years later. He wondered what her eighteen year old self would think of that fact. If her comments were anything to go by, she'd definitely be pleased about it.
 
 Many of the recipes, while not impossible, were fairly complicated. He wasn't sure he would be able to manage the preparations, at least not without moving around more than would be feasible, if he was to do them while his cock and balls were still attached.
 
 There were several reasons why he wanted a recipe that wouldn't require him to remove his manhood before cooking it, not the least of which was insurance, in case his wife decided to change her mind. If she decided that she DIDN'T want to eat his cock and balls at the last second, right before he cooked them up, then he would feel pretty silly if he had already cut them off at some point during his preparations. Another reason was her evident conviction, as demonstrated repeatedly in the copious margin notes in her little specialty recipe book, that male meat cooked while it was still attached would taste better. There seemed to be little evidence to support her theory, one way or the other, but since she believed it, and since the whole point of the meal was about her enjoyment, he was willing to do it for her.
 
 The final reason was more personal. If he was going to sacrifice his manhood for her, then he wanted to feel it happen. It wasn't masochism, exactly, as he certainly wasn't anticipating the pain it would cause him with anything other than dread, but more a certain level of curiosity. This was something he could do only once, after all, so it made sense to do it well, and thoroughly, even if it meant more pain in the short term. He thought that, looking back later, he might regret a quick chop much more than a slow broil.
 
 Many of the higher rated recipes were the more complicated ones, unfortunately, but there was a single, relatively simple recipe that had earned five smiling stars from the eighteen year old version of his wife: Oven Fried Penis Parmesean. He would, of course, have to make a few alterations to the recipe. Naturally, if he was trying to preserve his manhood in as intact a state as possible, at least before it was cooked, then he couldn't very well skin his cock before applying the breading. Also, he was very firmly NOT going to be using the variant of the recipe that called for his testicles to be minced up extremely fine and added to the breading mixture. His wife may have thought that the combination sounded "delish", but it was simply out of the question, given his self imposed restrictions.
 
 On the other hand, though, he thought that he could incorporate some of the parts from other highly rated recipes into the preparations for his own manhood. Stuffing his shaft with a mixture of herbs and cheeses sounded like a winning (and equally importantly, reversible) move, especially considering that the idea had been marked with a note saying "Yum!" by his wife at some point. Also, he thought that he could whip up a marinade that wouldn't be too terribly damaging to the flesh of his cock, if he injected it into his manhood and then didn't actually end up cooking himself later on. Injecting ANYTHING directly into his testicles seemed like a bad idea, though, if he was trying to preserve their function for later, despite his wife's apparent enthusiasm for the idea.
 
 He now had his recipes. He would, if his wife so chose, marinade, stuff, bread, and then bake his manhood, in the odd little cooker that he had also dug out of the cupboard and cleaned up, for her birthday dinner. Or, maybe he would just end up cooking up some chicken or lamb for her, if she wanted one of those instead. The only thing left to do now was to present his selection of recipes to her in an appropriate way.
 
 After a few moments of pondering how to do it, he suddenly smiled. The idea that occurred to him was sort of silly, but it would serve as well as any other, and, for bonus points, it might tickle his wife's sense of humor at the same time.
 
 An hour later, after some carefully crafted wordsmithing and simple graphic design, he dropped a thin letter into the mail box down at the corner of the street. Hopefully, his invitation would be well recieved by the person it was addressed to.
 
4 - Waiting for Friday
 
 He knew it would take at least a day or two to recieve a response to his letter, but he had ways to make sure that the time wasn't wasted.
 
 The very first thing he did on Wednesday morning, after his wife had left for work, was to test out his intended recipe. At the same time, he also tested out the manmeat cooker his mother-in-law had, much of a decade ago, gifted to his wife. He needed to be sure that it still worked properly, after so much time sitting unused.
 
 He didn't use his own manhood, of course, but rather a couple of hefty, thick pork sausages instead. He prepared the recipe twice, and was glad of the practice. He would need to have every kink worked out, every ingredient and utensil within easy reach, if and when he did it for real. There wasn't any room for mistakes, and there could be no do-overs, if he actually had to prepare and cook his cock and balls for his wife's birthday. A mis-cooked chicken breast could be laughed off and easily replaced, but his manhood? He had to get it perfect, the first time, period.
 
 Of course, it wasn't all kitchen play. Since he had the time off, he also played maid. He cleaned the entire house, from top to bottom, making every carpet immaculate, every surface spotless, and all the floors shine.
 
 His most enjoyable self appointed task, though, was attending to his wife's needs when she got home every afternoon. Usually, he was the last one home from work, not her. But, since he had the week completely off, he greeted his wife every day when she returned, by kneeling before the door completely nude, prepared to treat her in a manner befitting a birthday girl.
 
 That first Tuesday afternoon, his wife had paused in the doorway for several moments, evidently quite surprised to see him thus. She had rallied quickly though, and had entered the house and shut the door behind her.
 
 "Has someone been a good boy?" she had asked of him, making her tone playfully patronizing and condescending, with the small, knowing smile once again playing across her features as she had looked down on him.
 
 "Yes, Mistress." he had replied. "Almost all of my chores are done."
 
 "Only almost all of them?" she had asked, arching an eyebrow up skeptically, as she stood before him in her buisiness suit. "How can you be a good boy if you haven't even finished your chores, yet? What's left for you to do?"
 
 "Just one thing, Mistress, and I couldn't do it before you got home." he had replied, before reaching up to stroke her hips through the fabric of her skirt. "If you'll permit me, Mistress, I'll do my last chore now."
 
 "Well, by.. by all means.." his wife had replied, as she failed to stifle the giggle that bubbled out through her stern facade. "Don't.. don't dawdle, boy!"
 
 He had, with a little assistance from her, then pulled his wife's panties off with his teeth and spent the next fifteen minutes eagerly licking her to climax. She had orgasmed beautifully, with her skirt hiked up, her head thrown back, and her fingers tangled in his hair as she pulled him hard into her sex, standing there in the entrance way to the house. Her grip had been mostly unnecessary, though, as he'd had a firm grasp of his own around her shapely bottom, pulling her bucking and squirming hips against his furiously working mouth and tongue.
 
 "Ohh, you ARE a good boy.." she had murmured, still leaning into him, after she had come down somewhat from her orgasm. "Mmm.. I could get used to this.."
 
 Starting the next day, his enjoyable afternoon task was made all the easier, due to the fact that his wife had apparently stopped wearing her panties to work.
 
 Of course, her needs needed satisfying at least once or twice every evening, as well. While he and his wife normally shared a fairly active sex life anyway, he made sure to be extra attentive to her desires during each night of the week leading up to her birthday. He would first spend the some time giving her a slow and thorough full body massage, using his hands to melt her into a limp, feminine puddle of pleased and pleasured passivity. Then, he would fire her back up, using just his mouth and tongue to lick, suckle, and nibble nearly every part of her body. Then he would focus on her sex and bring her to orgasm, with her thighs clenched tightly around his head, once again. If she took note of the fact that he was abstaining himself, during their love making sessions, then she chose not to comment on it.
 
 The reason he wasn't indulging his own rather insistant carnal urges was due to another little note he had discovered in his wife's special cook book. Tucked away toward the back of the book were a few pages addressing some of the common misconceptions and myths that surrounded manmeat preparation and cooking, which had apparently rooted themselves fairly deeply in the communal mindset of women worldwide.
 
 His eighteen year old wife had been skeptical of some of the claims regarding the myths, despite the evidence the authors had presented that seemed to discredit many of them. And none more so than one small paragraph in particular, which firmly stated that there was a complete lack of reliable evidence proving that a set of cock and balls that had been denied orgasm, and especially ejaculation, tasted better. Apparently, some thought that manmeat denied thusly, for days or weeks prior to harvest, would taste far superior to a set of male organs that had been allowed to orgasm freely, as often as their prior owner had wished.
 
 The note his wife had scrawled next to this was "Seems like BS to me. Of course they would taste better if he hasn't been allowed to come! The longer he's had to go without, the more flavorful his meat is gonna be, I say!".
 
 Her casually dismissive attitude about the subject, especially her complete disregard for the extra, almost surely unnecessary suffering it would inflict upon the poor, theoretical guy who was going to be giving up his manhood for her, made him shiver. Not just in dismay or fear, but also in heavily conflicted arousal. Looking at it from her point of view, it was probably just one more logical step to take, to try and ensure the tastiest meal possible. If a guy was going to spend the rest of his life going without orgasms, after his meat had been harvested, cooked, and consumed, then what was another extra week or month of abstinence on top of that?
 
 Given that the theoretical man in question was him, it meant that, if he wanted to do the thing right, in accordance with his wife's preferences, he was going to have to spend the rest of the week in a state of permanent, practically painful arousal. While he knew she wouldn't think less of him if he chose to indulge his urges with her during their lovemaking, his own desire to make everything as absolutely perfect as possible for her birthday meant that he wasn't going to be able to allow himself to do so. If it made his manhood taste that much better to her, even if only in her own mind, then it would be worth it, he thought. Probably, anyway.
 
5 - Her Dinner Decision
 
 It was Thursday morning when he recieved the reply he had been waiting for. The invitation he had sent out through the mail had been addressed to his wife, at her workplace. In it, he had made it seem like her birthday was going to be a huge party, and that she herself was just another invited guest. Furthermore, to accomodate all the individual guests' wishes, each invitee was going to have to RSVP before the day of the party, with their choice of dining preferences ticked off on the provided reply form.
 
 "You are invited to a birthday party!" read the title, before it continued on into the body of the message. "A woman we all know and love is turning twenty-five this Friday, and to celebrate this special occassion, a dinner party will be hosted that evening by her husband at their home. A team of top level, master European chefs have been recruited to cater the event, and they've put together a fantastic set of meal options for you. Please check off which type of dinner you'd prefer (and please make sure to take a look at all the extras availible for each dish!), then send this form back to us, so we can make sure to have your desired meal option prepared and availible for your enjoyment, exactly as you wish."
 
 Below the main message was three short paragraphs, arranged in adjacent columns, describing the options the guests could choose from. The first two options described the vanilla offerings of chicken marsala and lamb curry, but it was the third that he had spent the majority of his time on, when he had first crafted the invitation, and which now drew his attention.
 
 "For our final meal option, we're pleased to be able to offer you something extra rare, which isn't often seen even in higher end dining establishments: Oven-Fried Penis Parmesean! This unusual, but absolutely delicious dish will be prepared for you with the utmost care and attention to detail. The centerpiece is a large, well tenderized set of cock and balls, first thoroughly coated with a seasoned mixture of grated parmesean cheese, bread crumbs, and butter, and then baked to perfection in our special ovens! The two optional extras for this dish include additional cheese stuffing for the shaft of the penis, and a set of light marinade injections into both the head, shaft, and scrotum to enhance the flavor of the meat. The sides available to accompany this delectable little treat include garlic buttered pasta; bacon, cheddar, and herb stuffed twice-baked potatoes; toasted garlic bread; and a salad with the dressing of your choice."
 
 His breath caught in his chest as he saw that his wife had checked off the box next to the third option, selecting his manhood as the dish she wanted for her birthday meal. His hands began trembling slightly as he quickly scanned down futher, to see what extras and sides she had picked. Unsurprisingly, both the boxes for the two extras also bore check marks. That meant that in addition to tenderizing and breading his male parts, he would be packing as much extra parmesean cheese, herbs, and spices as he could down his urethra, to stuff his shaft. He would also have to inject as much marinade as he could bear directly into the flesh of his cock, and also into his scrotum (but not into his testicles), before cooking everything up for her while it was still attached. His wife had also chosen to have a stuffed and twice-baked potato, along with a salad, as sides to go with her birthday meal.
 
 His eyes then fell on the final set of options for the preparations of his wife's special dinner. The final check boxes were the last chance he might have to keep his organs, which was something he was definitely having mixed and conflicted feelings about, just now. "We're also happy to offer two different variants of our Oven-Fried Penis Parmesean, to better accomodate the preferences of our guests. The first variant is for those who like their meat RARE! The centerpiece of the meal will be prepared as normal, but only cooked at 125 degrees Fahrenheit. The second variant is for those who prefer their meat more well done, and will feature the traditional cooking temperature of 375 degrees."
 
 The last two boxes were empty of checkmarks, which made the rapid, fluttery pace of his beating heart slow down slightly. He did note, however, that the second box, the one which would have finally condemned his manhood to the status of mere meat, had a small dimple and dot of ink in the center. It was as if his wife had rested the pen she had used to fill out the rest of the form there for a few moments, pondering her options, before lifting it away again.
 
 It seemed clear to him what she wanted, now. Tomorrow night, he would prepare his manhood for her birthday dinner. He would make all the preparations as completely and thoroughly as if he were intending to cook himself up for her for real, and, once he was finished, she would then decide if she wanted him to actually do it or not.
 
 His cock throbbed at the idea, and he shuddered in response. His emotions were a complex mixture of nervousness and fear, excitement and anticipation, and predominating over all, extreme arousal and lust. He was seriously regretting his decision to withhold from orgasming now, as the thought of his wife, standing over his carefully prepared and ready manhood, poised to decide its fate, was making him want to come more than ever before in his life. He managed to restrain himself, though, and later devoted the extra, restless pent-up energy buzzing around inside of him to making his wife's return home that afternoon the most welcoming yet, to her obvious delight.
 
6 - The Dinner Preparations
 
 The first part of his preparations for his wife's birthday meal was marinading the outside of his manhood overnight.
 
 After his wife had fallen asleep Thursday night, shortly after his efforts to please her had, at least for her, come to a very satisfactory conclusion, he had quietly snuck out of their bedroom and back into the kitchen. He had decided that, to better enhance its flavor, the skin of his manhood also needed a little extra time to soak up some marinade. This, in addition to recieving injections of it deeper inside his flesh just before they would be cooked, would ensure the most flavor for his wife's approaching dinner, he thought.
 
 So, he spent the night in the kitchen, propped up on an assortment of chairs and pillows, with his legs spread and his manhood hanging down from his suspended hips, dangling his meat in a tub of heated marinade. His cock was, thanks to his pent up excitement from earlier that evening with his wife, very erect, as both it and his loose, relaxed testicles floated serenely in the slowly cooling liquid.
 
 His need to orgasm was particularly dire all that night, and that fact made his dozing sleep restless and uncomfortable. Earlier, his wife, after orgasming several times against his mouth and tongue, had pulled his head up level with her own, kissed him, and then whispered, "I want you inside of me.". What followed was the single most pleasurable and trying few minutes of his life, as he attempted to do his duty to her, fucking her as hard and deeply as she wished, even as he desperately held his own orgasm his check.
 
 He had managed, if only just barely, to control himself. He had withdrawn from his wife as soon as she had started cumming, and watched, eyes locked on her sensuously writhing and moaning form, as she had experienced what had apparently been an excellent orgasm. His own orgasm and ejaculation had been only a hair's breadth away, and it had taken everything he'd had to still the bucking of his hips, and keep his own hands off himself. Even then, just as he'd thought he was past the worst of it, his wife had opened her eyes and looked up at him, kneeling there over her, still painfully aroused and erect, then smiled a wicked, self satisfied smile and licked her lips, eyes on his manhood. That had nearly sent him over the edge yet again.
 
 He let his cock and full balls soak all night, and most of the following day as well, pausing only to take a quick shower in the early morning, while his wife was getting ready to go to work. Then, instead of greeting his wife upon her return at the end of the day in his usual manner, naked and on his knees, he met her at the door garbed in a waiter's outfit.
 
 "Ah, madam has returned." he said, smoothly, in a much reduced, and far less ridiculous sounding, french accent. "May I offer you congratulations on you birthday, this fine day? Your birthday celebration will begin shortly, but you have time to freshen up, before hand, if you wish."
 
 His wife, her playful smile dancing across her features, had simply quirked an eyebrow up at him, then taken him up on his suggestion. She had, while he returned to the kitchen and once again immersed his manhood in marinade, taken it upon herself to slowly stip off and shower. Due to the airy, open design of their house, she was quite visible from the kitchen the whole time, too.
 
 The main bathroom was, somewhat unusually, located in the exact center of their home. If the privacy curtains were not drawn over the clear glass walls, then whoever was in the room, and especially in the shower, could be easily seen from most of the rest of the house. So, it was with great pleasure that he was able to watch his wife soap herself up, then rinse herself off, as he stood at the kitchen counter, with his cock and balls once again resting in the tub of flavoring marinade.