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“Melaney’s Surprise” By Kortpeel

I remember it all started on Melaney’s 28th birthday. In the morning I gave her her present, a sapphire ring. In the afternoon we took our two children to the zoo which, at 6 and 4 they loved, and in the evening we took ourselves to the theatre to see a musical. That is a rare event in our lives and we both thoroughly enjoyed the show.

“Thank you for a lovely birthday,” she said as we were going to bed. She kissed me lovingly. “And I got a little present for you.”

She handed me a small neatly wrapped package. “It’s only a nonsense present but I hope you like it.”

There was that lovely mischievous smile on her face. Melaney has an impish sense of humour and can be wickedly manipulative at times. She loves to surprise me and jolt me out of what she calls my ‘dull masculine complacency.’

I knew I was lucky to have her for my wife. She is attractive with a still slender figure, shortish auburn hair and brown eyes. We met at college where she needed extra coaching at math which she was failing. I helped her pass the course. The teacher pupil relationship with which we started off has long gone and now we just love and respect each other. Melaney confessed years later that she decided to marry me when I was earnestly explaining statistical deviations to her. Anyone who could be that serious about deviations had to be a good choice for a life partner. I’ve never seen the logic of that but I’m glad that she still does.

I opened the present as Melaney watched with a naughty smile. It was a pair of lady’s panties. I must have looked as surprised and bemused as Melaney had wished. “Try them on and I’ll explain.”

They were a white satin full brief with lace trim. They fitted and had enough control to restrain partially the bulge that I was making in them.

Melaney patted the bulge. “Hmm I see we like our little present then.”

“Thank you.” I kissed her.

“Remember how you wanted to try on my panties when we were first married?”

“Yes and you got all upset about it. You made me feel like some kind of pervert.”

“Well, so you are. But I’ve learnt something since then so now you are allowed to have a pair for yourself. Are they comfortable and do they fit ok?”

“Yeah they’re fine.”

“Take ’em off now. You can wear them tomorrow when you come shopping with me.”

That night we had great sex. Melaney put it down to panty inspiration. “See, told you you were a pervert. Wearing panties turns you on.”

What could I say? She was right.

I wasn’t all that keen on going shopping and I usually try to get out of it. However Melaney told me to put on the panties and stop arguing. We were definitely going shopping.

Once I was dressed she looked thoughtful and said that there was still something bothering her about me in panties. Something not quite right about it.

She referred to it several times during the course of the morning. She kept asking me how my panties were as we went round the aisles of the supermarket. I got several amused, somewhat knowing looks from other shoppers who overheard her.

In the coffee shop, over a coffee to celebrate the completion of the shopping she said, rather too loudly, “I know what it is that’s bothering me about you wearing panties.”

“What ?” I whispered.

“Don’t worry. We can sort it out when we get home.”

And that’s all she would say, all the way back. Except that when we got home I was to do as she said.

What she said was for me to unpack the shopping and put it away in the fridge, freezer or wherever it had to go.

Melaney went upstairs to do something. “When you’ve finished come

up to the bathroom,” she called.

A few minutes later I presented myself in the bathroom.

“Strip off.”

Again I got a hard on. Having your wife order you to strip off in the middle of the day is unorthodox enough to be a turn on. Then she proceeded to give me a cock and ball shave. It was a truly delightful experience and when she warned me not to ejaculate “or else” it took more self control to obey than I’d have thought possible. A couple of times I asked her to stop for a while.

That done, she carefully dried me off and let me into the bedroom. There was a kind of pleasant fresh draught around my newly shaved balls.

The next step was a new experience for me. Melaney carefully and very gently pushed my balls up into my groin. Then she folded and tucked the now empty scrotum also up into my groin and pulled the skin at the sides of the scrotum together and stuck them with sticking plaster so that my balls couldn’t come down again.

Obviously the point of the shave was so that the plaster could stick to the hairless skin.

“Does that hurt?”


“Is it comfortable?”

“Yes. It feels funny though. What’s the idea of all this?”

“It’s not right for a man to wear panties. They’re not meant to have a prick and balls dangling inside them.”

“So how does this make it right?”

“Now that you don’t have any balls hanging down I’ve turned you into an honorary eunuch and it’s ok for a eunuch to wear panties.”

Being called an honorary eunuch in such a simple matter-of-fact way was one hell of a turn on and it took some careful tucking in to get my panties back on.

“One of the traditional roles of a eunuch is as a woman’s intimate personal servant,” Melaney told me over lunch. “Would you like to try that, just for fun?”


She got me to run a bath, get the temperature right and put in the bath oil. Then I had to undress and bath her. Part of the fun was that I had to conduct myself with due deference to her and not to display any sexual desire whatsoever. That in itself was a turn on but I played the role and it was only that evening when I was allowed to revert to normal and let my balls hang down again. Of course we had great sex that night.

It was a fortnight later before we had another session. In bed that morning Melaney said that as the children were away with friends this would be a good day to continue my eunuch training. Would I like that?


“Good. Have your shower and I’ll take off your balls.”

She meant of course that she would put them up with sticking plaster but there was something rather exciting about the way she said it. And I enjoyed her ordering me to put on my panties afterwards.

The training consisted of bathing and then massage with body lotion culminating in Madame’s erotic satisfaction with fingers and tongue. All the time I had to appear to be not the least bit sexually stimulated as well as suitably deferent to her. Of course we had great sex afterwards.

Later she asked me how far I would like to go with my eunuch training.

“How do you mean?” I replied.

“Well, there are a load of things that women do to keep themselves up together. There’s hair and make-up, facials, manicures and pedicures. Would you really want to get into all that?”

“Why not? I’d probably be one of the few straight guys in the whole world that actually knows about it. Don’t you want me to know about it?”

“No. I didn’t want to impose it on you. If you’re happy to learn I’m more than happy to teach you.”

And so she did. Over the next few months we had our honorary eunuch sessions and not only did I learn all about female body maintenance I actually got rather good at it. The most extreme thing was when Melaney got me to insert a tampon for her. I didn’t mind at all but she decided she’d just as soon do that for herself. We got into clothes too and Melaney came to rely on my judgement as to what she should buy and wear.

It was interesting how, knowing I was aware of all these thing, Melaney felt able to confide in me a lot of intimate details that she never used to. I found that I liked that and encouraged it. I made a point of getting her to tell me of her intimate thoughts and feelings and moods. It certainly brought us closer. She would even tell me of other guys we saw that she fancied and what it was about them that she liked. This one had lovely blue eyes, another a nice smile. Cute buns were her favorite thing on a man. Sometimes after talking to a really cute guy she would tell me that her vagina had lubricated and she was visualizing having sex with him. Not that you’d have known from looking at her: all serious minded and business like. Melaney said most women were like that but they usually would never tell any other guy. “As an honorary eunuch you have privileged information,” she told me.

Melaney enjoyed the intimacy just as much as the pampering she was getting. On one occasion, I was waxing her legs at the time, she remarked that she liked me in my eunuch mode so much that she wouldn’t mind if it were permanent.

“In fact, I think it would be rather nice if you were a real eunuch.”

“No. I prefer to be a just pretend eunuch.”

She gave me that impish, mischievous teasing smile of hers. “I was reading somewhere that testosterone is bad for you. It’s a ruthless trick that nature has played on men to perpetuate the species.”

“I can forgive nature for that.”

“Well, with our two kids we’ve done our perpetuating now. You don’t need your balls any more.”

I do. I need them to keep up my sex drive. I enjoy my ejaculations. They’re part of the pleasure of life.”

“This article I was reading. It said that testosterone was actually as harmful to men as any other steroid. It leads to heart disease, is bad for your arteries and causes needless aggression.”

“I’m not aggressive.”

“Ever heard of road rage? Just listen to your language when you’re driving in traffic. That’s testosterone getting you all upset like that. It’s actually a harmful drug that affects your mind and distorts your judgement. You’re better off without it.”

Melaney was actually making quite a case, I thought. She pointed out that in the days of hunter gatherers maybe stupid mindless aggression had a place. “But,” she continued “surely living in our peaceful modern suburbs mindless aggression is the last thing we need. What is really needed is cool, calm, rational reasoned thought and logic. And that’s exactly how men’s minds are when they not polluted with unnecessary steroids,”

After I’d finished her waxing Melaney got dressed. At the end of our session she usually gave me a wank as a reward for services rendered. I got on the table, kneeling doggy style and she took off the plaster sticking up my balls. “These are the problem,” she said, gently massaging them in their sac as they took up their normal position once more. Without these you wouldn’t need to humiliate yourself by wanting to be jerked off.”

She rubbed lotion onto my prick and gave it a few slow strokes to establish a good erection. “What’s humiliating about it? I’m enjoying it.”

“Exactly. ” She continued to work my prick slowly, her other hand was massaging my balls. I was in ecstasy. “They’ll come out so easily. Why don’t you let me make an appointment with a person who does this sort of thing?”

At that point I’d have agreed to anything. “Ok” I gasped and ejaculated.

It was a few days later, Melaney asked me to get Tuesday afternoon off for an appointment with Dr. Grey.

“Who’s Dr. Grey and why do I need an appointment?”

“You know, what we were talking about the other day?”

“Having my balls out?”


“God, Mel, that was just playing. You’re not really serious?”

“It would only be a counselling session so that we know what it’s all about.”

“Even so, this is getting a bit serious.”

“Not really.” Melaney said. “We’ve played with the idea so much, it wouldn’t hurt to find out more about it. It doesn’t commit you to anything.” Then Melaney gave me that impish smile of hers. “It might even be fun.”

To make it fun Melaney made me wear panties for the appointment and she taped up my balls.

Dr. Grey turned out to be a pleasant, well groomed woman in her thirties, about my own age in fact. She had short dark hair, was about 5’6″ and just a shade of the plump side. She made us welcome, put us at ease and explained that this would be a preliminary counselling session. I got the impression she was extremely serious minded regarding the welfare of her patients and was conscientious in her work. It turned out she was head of surgery at the nearby hospital and also ran a small private practice from her home. She was geared to perform minor procedures here.

The first thing she did was a minor physical. She took some blood and urine samples, listened to my heart and chest and took my blood pressure. After that we sat down for the counselling session.

Melaney did the talking. In reply to Dr. Grey’s question on why we were considering castration, Melaney explained about our honorary eunuch game, in total embarrassing detail I might add. Dr. Grey seemed to take it very seriously as though it was all absolutely normal. She just listened and nodded for Melaney to continue. Then it was my turn.

“So Mike, this started with you wanting to try on some ladies’ panties?”


“And you found it was erotic for you to wear panties?”


“And you rather enjoy Melaney turning you into an honorary eunuch?”

I nodded, very sheepishly.

“Now Mike, being a personal attendant to Melaney, running her bath, giving her massages and so on; you enjoy that?”

“Yes. Also, I like the way Melaney feels able to confide her thoughts and feelings to me. I think that makes us closer.”

“What kind of thing?”

“Very intimate things. I’m sure we are closer like that than many couples.”

“Very good. That sort of closeness is a very good sign. Have you considered what the effects of castration would be?”

I had to admit I hadn’t. Melaney had though. She understood that it would reduce my libido over a period and make me a calmer, more serene person who was at peace with himself but that it wouldn’t affect my brain or personality significantly beyond that. She knew that it would be good for my heart and circulation over a long period and that it reduced the likelihood of cancer.

I was rather surprised that Melaney knew so much about it. Obviously she had done some research and with that knowledge she was still keen on the idea.

Even Dr. Grey seemed surprised at Melaney’s knowledge. “Very good. Actually Melaney, the benefits regarding cancer and the vascular system are very real indeed. In my work at the hospital I come across that every day and I’ve come to the conclusion that castration ought to be a routine, normal pre-emptive health measure for men. It’s unusual for people to even be aware of it at your age though.”

“We’ve done some reading,” Melaney said, meaning that she had.

“Would you be able to cope with Mike’s loss of libido?”

Melaney paused to frame her answer. “Mike’s very good with his hands. Orgasm that way is actually more important for me than, er, the other way.”

“You prefer clitoral rather than vaginal orgasm?” Dr. Grey was totally at home in the more intimate aspects of sexual discussion.

“Yes,” this time it was Melaney who looked a shade embarrassed.

“And you’ve trained Mike in that side of things?”

“Yes. That’s part of our honorary eunuch game.” Melaney actually looked rather pleased. “He is very good at it.”

“Mike how do you feel at the prospect of loss of libido?”

“Concerned.” I told her. “I enjoy my ejaculations.”

She nodded. Presumably it was the answer she expected. “How often do you ejaculate?”

“Oh, about three or four times a week.”

“Would that include masturbation in private?”


“Come on now Mike. Don’t tell me you’re the one guy in the world who doesn’t jerk off now and again.”

“Sometimes.” I was mortified to find myself blushing. Both Melaney and Dr. Grey were looking amused at this.

“So perhaps ten to fifteen times a week would be nearer the mark?”

I nodded.

“There doesn’t have to be a loss of libido nor of frequency of ejaculation. These days you can get stick on testosterone patches which work well. ” Dr. Grey produced a small package from the table by her side. “These are the answer. She showed me a circular transparent patch about one and a half inches in diameter. “They supply testosterone through the skin. Stick it on anywhere and your libido and sexual function are fully restored in about three hours.”

“What it is Mike, castration will reduce your blood testosterone level and that will give you an immediate benefit to your cardiovascular system.” At that point there was a knock on the door. She answered it and came back with the results of my tests which she studied for a few moments.

She looked at me “And right now your cardiovascular system could do with some help. Your blood pressure is too high for a man of your age. Your cholesterol level is up Basically you’re a candidate for a heart attack in twenty years time.”

“You, Mike, are exactly the sort of patient who would benefit from a pre-emptive precautionary castration.”

“It wouldn’t be the end of your sex life but I would recommend that at this stage you only use the patches twice a week and let your blood testosterone levels run down in between.”

“I do have a talk that I give some patients on the evils of testosterone. It’s like a drug addiction except that for men it’s a built in drug. Like all drugs it’s a killer, even if it does kill slowly but it’s more of a killer than smoking. The highs are ejaculations, a few seconds of orgasm. Admittedly that’s a pleasant few seconds but not worth shortening your life for, surely?”

“No.” Melaney answered for me while I was still considering. “Doctor, the actual procedure. Is that anything to be frightened of?”

“No. That’s the least of it. Would you like to see ?”

Again Melaney answered for both of us. At this stage I was slightly bemused by it all and wasn’t really thinking straight. Dr. Grey led us to the small private operating theatre. It all looked spotlessly clean and ultra hygienic but none of it meant much to me, except that it was very professional. “The procedure is done under a local anesthetic and I usually have a very experienced theatre sister present as well.”

“Post operative recovery is a day’s rest and it takes about two weeks before the stitches come out. There is no pain but it might be a little sore for a day or so.”

“There are some options: we can remove the scrotum altogether as it has no purpose left for it. We can insert prosthetic testicles so that it looks normal or we can just leave the scrotum. If its left it goes up into a tight little bundle behind the penis and looks awful.”

“Best to remove it altogether,” Melaney said.

I was quite happy to get out of that theatre and couldn’t wait to get away. Melaney had a lot more questions which were delaying us. Dr. Grey lent her a video of the procedure which she said was highly confidential and not to let anyone else see it.

Her parting words were to Melaney. “Don’t rush him on this or you’ll scare him. Remember the last time Mike made a decision as big as this one it was to get married to you.”

We saved the video until the weekend when we had the house to ourselves. Melaney insisted on me being in honorary eunuch mode to watch it. I was wearing only panties and sticking plaster. The video consisted of four separate cases of castration. It gave the procedure in detail and in each case the guy had an erection. The first three times the guy’s wife jerked him off and the doctor cut the testicular cords just as he came. It was a nice touch.

The fourth procedure was transgender surgery and it really was a case of everything you wanted to know but were too shy to ask. Interesting as it was, it was serious surgery with long recovery times and a lot of post operative care.

“Interesting,” Melaney said. “Instead of removing your scrotum would you like it made into a vagina?”

“Hell no.” The very idea was chilling.

That video was also the best turn on ever and I didn’t bother to untape my balls when I fucked Melaney. She was unusually ready as well. I guess that video had got to her too.

Over the next few weeks we watched that video a lot and it got to us each time. I found I even came to imagine it happening to me and in some strange way I was beginning to like the idea. It was so turning me on that ironically enough, Mel and I were having more sex than ever. One evening when we were watching the video yet again Melaney started undressing me and when I was nude she sat up against me and rubbed me with her hands, finally she had my prick in her one hand and balls in the other. “Let’s do it for real,” she whispered in my ear. “Let’s take them out. You know you’ll love it.”


Melaney prepped me at home before the appointment. She shaved my torso, worked down to the pubic triangle and ended by touching up the shave on my cock and balls. It was incredibly erotic and I wanted to come there and then but she held me back. She did put me into my honorary eunuch mode and gave me a new, tight control, girdle to wear which she’d bought for the occasion.

“I’m so glad you decided to go for the procedure,” Dr. Grey said as she led us into the prepping room. The prepping room was a kind of antechamber to Dr. Grey’s private operating theatre. “And I’m sure you’ll rather enjoy it. Most of my patients seem to. Now please undress down to your underpants and Sister will do some preliminary checks on you. “

It was very warm there and actually quite pleasant to take off the clothes, I noticed that the nursing sister had very little on underneath her white coat. She looked to be in her late twenties, was slim, tallish and pretty with hazel eyes and short auburn hair under her nurses cap. It seemed to me that she and Melaney actually knew each other. There was a rapport between them. Together they undressed me and both totally ignored my embarrassment at my being in the skin-tone satin girdle. Sister did blood pressures, read my temperature, listened to my heart and took some blood samples.

She did something with the blood samples and decided it was all systems go. “Now take off your girdle please.”

As I stood there in total embarrassment and wondering how I could hide my erection Melaney whipped down the girdle and my prick popped up. I stepped out of the girdle.

“That’s good,” the sister said to Melaney regarding my shaven state. “I see he’s very well prepped.” She ran her fingers lightly over the area concerned to test the smoothness of the skin.

“Thank you.” Melaney accepted the compliment.

“The testicles are still there?” The nurse was considering the sticking plaster holding my balls up.

“Yes. It’s a little game we play. When he’s taped up like that he’s an honorary eunuch and is allowed to wear panties. Which he enjoys,” Melaney added.

“That’s nice,” the sister said as she expertly ripped off the plaster. “He’ll be allowed to wear panties all the time after this.” As my balls came down out of my groin the sister gently but expertly took my scrotum and pulled on it. “We need them to hang nice and low,” she explained to Melaney. “It makes the procedure so much easier. That’s actually why it’s so warm in here.”

“It is very warm.” Melaney was still dressed in her outdoor clothes and I knew she would be feeling uncomfortable.

“It is perfectly in order for you to undress too, if you’d like to. Dr. Grey prefers to work nude so perhaps it would be better.” The nurse turned to me. “Meanwhile let’s get you on the operating table.” She led me into the theater which had been set up for the procedure. It was basically a gynecological table and the nurse got me to put my feet in the stirrups. I felt extremely vulnerable.

Melaney came into theatre wearing just her panties. “This feels rather more comfortable.”

“Now do we leave the empty scrotum or remove it?” the sister asked me.

“Leave it.”

“Remove it,” Melaney told the sister.

“It comes off,” the Sister told me.

Dr. Grey came in still wearing the dark grey business suit she’d had on when we arrived. She noted that I was in position, nodded approval and took a coat hanger off the wall. “There’s a matter of etiquette here Mike. It’s ok for a lady to be nude in front of a eunuch but not a man with testicles. Therefore I ask your permission to work nude.”

I was on the table with my feet in the stirrups and my erect prick pointing more or less at my face. “Of course.”

Dr. Grey proceeded to strip in front of me while sister busied herself around me. By the time Dr. Grey had finished undressing I realised I was strapped in so tightly that I couldn’t move at all: not even twitch.

“That’s just a safety precaution,” Dr. Grey explained as she put on her surgical cap and mask. ” Because you are awake and fully conscious during the procedure I’m not giving you a muscle relaxant. So we’ve strapped you in to make sure you don’t move at a delicate time.”

I’d never felt so helpless in my life. At the same time I was enjoying the sight of Dr. Grey’s large bosom and generous pubic hair, Melaney in her panties and, to cap it all, sister took off her white coat and was completely nude. She had a delightful slim figure, small pert breasts and she’d shaved off all her pubic hair. The sight of the cute little vaginal slit beneath her smooth flat stomach disappearing between her legs did nothing to relieve the massive erection I had.

Sister helped Melaney into a surgical cap and mask and then put her own on. Then Sister and Dr. Grey scrubbed.

“Now let us turn our attention to removing our patient’s testicles.” Dr. Grey was filling a syringe as she spoke. “Melaney, you want the scrotum removed too?”

“Yes please.”

“Why can’t I keep it?” I said to Melaney,

“Because you won’t need it any more after this and it will look scruffy.”

“Who’s going to see it?”

“Me for a start and if I show you off to my friends I want you to look nice.”

“Your friends?”

“Of course, darling. They’re all very interested in this. Most of them are thinking of getting their husbands done too. They’ll all want to see the result.”

Dr. Grey injected anesthetic at strategic points around the area to be worked on.

“So far so good,” she said when she’d finished. “This anesthetic is very local, Mike and very, very effective. You won’t feel any pain whatsoever. Now the next step is to mark where we’re going to cut.”

Nurse handed her a marker and she drew a line around the root of the scrotum. She said to Melaney “We’ll make cuts here and here. Then when it’s stitched up it will look as though there never had been a scrotum at all. It will just be clean smooth skin behind the penis.”

“Yes. That’s just how I want it,” Melaney said.

Sister held my penis to stop it twitching and Dr. Grey expertly made the incisions. She was right about the anesthetic. There was no pain. I felt a sort of butterfly feeling in my stomach though.

My scrotum came right off and I could feel my testicles dangling in the air. Dr. Grey got busy again and tied off the cords holding my balls. As she did so, Sister was gently stroking my prick. It was lovely. Melaney was fascinated by the procedure. I could see a wetness around the crutch of her panties. She didn’t seem to mind at all what Sister was doing with my prick.

Dr. Grey finished the tying off and attached a scissor like device on each cord between the testicles and the tie-off.

Sister got faster with the stroking off my prick. Her grip tightened and she was sliding the skin up and down. I held back for as long as I could in an attempt to prolong the delightful sensations but had to let go in the most glorious burst of ejaculation I’d ever had. At some point during those ecstatic squirts I felt a slight, rather pleasant stabbing sensation as Dr. Grey severed the cords and my balls were gone.

Totally spent from the ejaculation I just lay back, relaxed and let the professionals get on with it. Sister cleaned up my come, Dr. Grey sewed me up where my scrotum had been and Melaney was looking at my balls in the surgical dish, licking her lips and rubbing her crotch. I dozed off.

We’d both expected my castration to be a life changing experience. It was but not quite in the way we’d expected. For one thing, seeing my balls being lopped off had turned Melaney on no end. She moistened up every time she thought about it which was often.

As a result she was very emphatic about me wearing testosterone patches and she even got a test kit to measure testosterone levels in the blood. For a long while she had me running on maximum which was rather more than my when my own balls were still there.

The second effect was that Melaney was very conscious of my eunuch status and was no longer jealous or possessive of her husband as wives so often are. In fact she did show me off to her friends and we had several delightful evenings of me in the nude and her various friends examining the site of the surgery.

I rather enjoyed the humiliation of being shown off like this and had a massive erection to prove it. On such occasions Melaney would wear her new ‘gold’ ear rings which contained what used to be my balls that had been dried, shrunk and gilded. “Gilding the geldings,” was Melaney’s little joke on the subject.

Melaney pointed out that they didn’t have to be shy of a eunuch and they were quite happy to strip for a body massage by me, with all the extras they could desire. They got the idea that having sex with a eunuch didn’t count as infidelity, and for a long while I was as randy and rampant as a satyr with them.

If you think that it’s odd behavior for a wife to charge her husband up with the sex drive of a sixteen year old and then cordially invite him to service all her friends and then some I can only agree with you. It was probably some psychological thing. Her husband having no balls was not a proper man and therefore he couldn’t be sexually unfaithful. Also, the lack of balls meant that I was so unlikely to leave her she had nothing to worry about as far as her marriage was concerned. And of course she just enjoyed all that sex and talking about it with her friends.

For over a year I had the sort of sex life that every teen age boy fantasies about. Then one day I realized I was fed up with all that screwing and keeping all those women happy. I was quite shocked at myself but I had to admit I was sated.

I let the testosterone level run down and actually enjoyed the peace of mind and tranquility that came with a low testosterone level. I had more energy for other things and found that my mental concentration improved considerably. I used that ability to wade through wads of stock market data to pick companies whose stock price was likely to improve. I’d tried to do that in the past but it had always been dull and boring and I never got anywhere. Now I was getting wealthy.

I found that I preferred life with low testosterone levels and I knew it was better for my health. From time to time I would put on the patches to give Melaney a romantic evening but when she tactfully suggested an evening out with a friend my main feeling was relief that some guy was taking care of her sexual needs and letting me off the hook.

Life as a eunuch is exactly what you make it. I personally have no regrets and there are some good advantages. The one major loss is I can no longer get a woman pregnant but right now, helping our two children through college, I know that is no disadvantage to me whatsoever.

So if any of you out there are contemplating castration, Melaney and I can thoroughly recommend it.

Incidentally, I see that some of Melaney’s friends are now sporting those gold ear rings. I think it’s catching on.

story text

“Neighbourly Act” by Kortpeel

I’d changed the fuse on the stove for her and was on my way out. It had been a neighbourly act for a woman in the same apartment building. I barely knew her. Until she’d asked me about the fuse I’d never even spoken to her.

“What’s that?” I asked Janet. It was the first time I’d been in her apartment. She had some mysterious implements as wall decorations. One of them looked particularly mystifying.

“It’s called a burdizzo. It’s for castrating farm animals.”

I shuddered.

She laughed. “Does it scare you?”

“It’s horrible.”

“Don’t worry. It isn’t for use on humans.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“There’s a special one for humans. Would you like to see it?”


She got something out of the cupboard.

“This is called the Improver. It is much more sophisticated. It’s a new design, fully automatic. The clamp severs both the testicular cords at the same time and there’s a microprocessor to get the pressure and the duration right. It doesn’t depend on the skill of the operator at all.”

“What are the straps for?”

“They fit around the thighs and carry the weight. Then, once it’s on it’s hands free operation. Most guys like to be in the doggy position when they have their improvement. They need their hands for support.”

“Gee! The way you talk anyone would think it’s normal to have it done.”

“If it isn’t already it soon will be,” she said. “More and more guys are opting for it. Personally I think it’s sensible of them. All the ones I’ve improved have thanked me for it. They know they are better off for it.”

“Better off? How?”

“Well think about it,” Janet said. “What do you want testicles for? You’ve become a man and they’ve done their job. All they do now is give you a sex drive.”

“I like having a sex drive.”

“Only because you’ve got used to it. These days a sex drive in a man is redundant and you’d be better off without it.”

I thought about that. I knew my chance of ever having normal intercourse with any woman was just about zero. I spent far too much money at the masturbation parlour, having some bored apathetic woman bring me off. I didn’t really enjoy it and afterwards I regretted the waste of the money.

“You probably spend your days and nights futilely lusting after a woman you’ll never have,” Jane pointed out. “What on earth is the point of that?”

“Maybe the world will change,” I said. “Perhaps we’ll go back to the old ways when men and women lived together. Get married even.”

She smiled. “In your dreams. What woman in her right mind wants to look after another woman’s son? Even if he is grown up. What woman needs a man around? He’s more trouble than he’s worth. He’s not even decent companionship. Another woman is much better company.”

“I suppose if a traditionally minded woman wanted a baby the old fashioned way a man might be useful. But even then the sperm would have to have come from a genetically certified bank.”

There was a lot of truth in Jane’s words. Once women had achieved parity and, later, supremacy in the work place their eyes were opened and they realized they didn’t need a man in their lives. It was true they got on better with other women and preferred that. Sex? Go to the professional stud; satisfaction guaranteed and far more socially acceptable than sex with an unlicensed man.

Being a licensed professional stud was the equivalent of being a sports star in the old days. It was good money and a great life but a short one. Few lasted past thirty. A wise stud invested in life assurance policies. And studding for a living called for total commitment, just as much as, say, being a professional tennis player had done.

Few men had the genetic endowment to be a stud. In a micro-miniaturized nanometric, resource-conserving world, studding was the one area where size still mattered. And why? Because women wanted it like that and the customer is always right.

“Personally, I prefer to deal with improved men, ” She was telling me.


“Yes. I can feel the yearning that unimproved men have for me. It is so pathetic. And it gets on my nerves. I don’t need it. If he’s been improved all that is gone. He’s just not interested in sex any more. Those men are getting on with their lives and that I can respect.”

“Well, I suppose I’m just an old-fashioned traditionalist,” I told her wanting to get off the subject. “But I ought to be going now.”

I was edging toward the door. She’d scared me with her talk and that clamp thing. Also what she’d said about the pathetic yearnings of unimproved men had hit a sore spot with me. I always tried to suppress my yearnings in the presence of a woman. I knew most women thought that lust in a man was either pathetic or creepy. Or both. Men were built to lust after women and now, because of socio-economic circumstances and the prevailing moral climate, there was no way that a man’s lust would ever be satisfied. There was just no point in lust any more. I could see the logic in her improvement argument but even so … Heck! I didn’t want to be improved.

Trouble was this was a very attractive woman. Her slender curvy body induced sensations of lust. Those blue eyes with a black circle around the outside of each iris just made you want to look in her eyes. And didn’t she have the cutest smile?

I wouldn’t be able to suppress my lust for much longer. Soon she’d sense it and then she’d despise me.

“Wouldn’t you like to try it?” she said.


“The Improver. Have a dry run, as it were. I know you don’t want to be improved right now but you will one day. At least you’ll know there’s nothing to fear.”

“No thank you.”

She smiled at me with those lovely blue eyes. “You know I like you. You don’t give off that creepy vibe that I get from most unimproved guys. Then she whispered in my ear “If you let me show you I’ll give you a release as well.”

That was something else. The thought of having her hand grasping my penis was irresistible.

I looked at her in astonishment. Had I understood her correctly?

“Unless you have to be somewhere else of course?”

“Er … No.”

“All right. Get your clothes off.”

I was in shirt and slacks. I took off my shoes and socks and started to unbutton my shirt. She went off and came back with a roll of padding which she unrolled on to her large, solid-oak coffee table. She put a towel on the padding.

“Doggy?” she asked as I dropped my pants.


“Your panties have to come off too.” Janet wasn’t mocking. For her, the garment that covered the genitals was panties. Off they came.

Of course I had a rock solid erection. No amount of suppression could have stopped that. She took a womanly interest, holding my penis to get a closer look.

“Not a bad penis, really. I suppose that would be a fairly typical size for a normal male.”

“Yeah.” I knew it was six inches long at full hard.

“Interesting. You know, if I hadn’t been stretched by the studs this could probably give a satisfactory intercourse.”

She let go of me and sighed. “It’s a big con trick really. Once you’ve been with a stud it ruins you for sex with an ordinary, unlicensed guy. If I tried to have sex with you now you’d just flop around inside.

She saw I was deflated by that comment so to encourage me she added, “But yours is bigger that the vibrator I had as a virgin.”

“Doesn’t a vagina recover from stretching?” I asked.

“To an extent, yes. The vagina used to be the birth canal and it must have recovered from giving birth. Sometimes I go months on end without going to a stud and then I can feel that I have definitely tightened up. It doesn’t go back to that size though.” She indicated my penis.


“Anyway, onto the table with you.”

I got on to the padding on the coffee table on my hands and knees. She expertly pulled down on my scrotum with one hand and slid her fingers along my penis with the other. Then she applied some gel-like substance around the neck of my scrotum.

I felt her gently and carefully fit the clamps into position. “Would you hold it there with one hand while I fasten the straps, please?”

It wasn’t heavy. Feeling the straps tighten around my thighs gave an extra boost to my raging hard on.

“There. It’s in position. How does it feel?”


“Now I’m just adjusting the clamps so that the jaws are up against your scrotum. Say when you feel a slight pressure,”


“Good. Now I’ll just increase the pressure. The idea is you have to feel a good grip but not so much that it hurts. If it hurts tell me. How’s that?”

“I think that’s about right.”

“Okay. Now I’ll just switch it on and you’ll feel a slight vibration.”

“Do you have to?”

She’d plugged it in and switched it on. I could feel it come alive.

I was nervous and started shaking. I was having an adrenaline rush.

“Calm down,” Janet said. “I told you this is only a dry run.” She was stroking my penis. Having your penis stroked does rather concentrate the mind nicely. I relaxed and let myself enjoy her fingers on my penis.

“Now if we were going to do the improvement for real, which we aren’t, you would be all ready now. The Improver is in position and the jaws are clamped up against your scrotum, ready. All it takes now is to press that button there.”

Janet put the remote control unit down on the table just in front of me where I could see it. She knew I’d be more relaxed if she wasn’t holding it.

“The clamp closes slowly and gently so you hardly even feel it. There’s no pain, very little bruising and absolutely no bleeding or anything. This makes it so easy. These days there really is no reason at all for a man not to be improved.”

Her fingers were lightly working my penis.

“I can see how dreadful life must be for you unimproved guys, All that anguish and longing with no hope of being satisfied. Pressing the button means freedom for you.”

Her touch on my penis felt wonderful.

“The best you can ever hope for from a woman is that she won’t think you’re a pathetic creep.”

She’d taken a grip and was speeding up.

“Much better to be improved and be free from all that pointless longing.”

I was near to a climax. She was on full stroke.

“And it’s so easy. Just press the button as you come. It’s a wonderful feeling.”

I was close to the point of no return, past the point of no return. Oh yes! Here it comes!

“Now !” she said. And I pressed the button!

I was having my climax and I could feel the clamps nibbling on my scrotum. The clamps enhanced the pleasure of the climax. Her hand took me right through and gobs of come squirted on to the towel.

It had been a massive climax. I just stayed there for a while, trembling, trying to catch my breath.

She put an arm around me. “That was so wise of you. I much prefer you improved. Keeping your testicles was quite pointless.” Then she knelt and kissed my cheek.

Meanwhile the Improver completed its cycle and the jaws released my scrotum. She’d been right. It hadn’t hurt at all and it had been so easy.

Janet took off the Improver, had me shower and gave me a cup of tea. She was reassuring and told me that I’d made a wise decision. I wouldn’t have pressed the button if I hadn’t sub-consciously wanted to be improved.

Later I put on my clothes and went back to my apartment. She was probably right. What’s the point of a sex drive if you can never get sex? I felt that being improved was actually a relief. I was glad to be free of that pointless longing. Next time I saw her I would thank her for improving me.

story text

“Moving Forward” by Kortpeel

I’d been embarrassed to tell Jenny I had a castration fetish but by the time I did she knew me well enough not to be surprised.

“I’ve indulged all your other kinks,” she said with an amused smile. “I suppose this would be the last one.”

“This one you don’t have to indulge. But we can talk about it.”

“Hmm. I’m not so sure, Dave. When I think how weird some of your fancies are, I think it might actually be a good idea to have you castrated. I’ll speak to Dinah about it.”

“Don’t you dare.” Dinah Allaway, who lived in the same building as us, was a nursing sister. She and Jenny had become friends. Her daughter and ours were at school together and that was how we’d come to know her.

“Just in general terms, to see what it means. I won’t tell her that I’m thinking of having you done.”

“You aren’t thinking of having me done. I just wanted to talk about it.”

All my other kinks I’d had to work really hard to persuade Jenny to accept although eventually she had. She hadn’t liked the idea of me cross-dressing but she went along with it. It got to the stage where we could go out as two girls together. What finished that was having two guys come on to us in a bar and Jenny was encouraging them. When I rebuked her afterwards she told me that kind of thing went with the clothes. It happens all the time to women. What did I expect?

I’d been into spanking too for a while. Jenny’s hand stinging my bare buttocks was delicious. Then she went too far and tried it with a cane. One stroke with that was enough. Real pain wasn’t for me.

I could never get her to agree to swapping but she did agree to have sex with another man once she understood that I’d get a kick out of being cuckolded. That happened on holiday one year when she had a romantic evening with a stranger she met. While she was with him she arranged a threesome with him and me for the following evening. Well we did it but that was the end of it. It was embarrassing more than it was erotic. I am sure she picked the guy with the biggest prick in the whole damned resort. And how she’d enjoyed it!

The following year I persuaded her to agree to a nudist holiday. I might have known! The first full day there I kept getting erections and having to go into the sea which, for all its lovely azure blue was ice cold. I got stung by a jellyfish and was laid up for the holiday. Jenny got an all over tan. She even had the cheek to volunteer to have extra marital sex again while we were there. “But darling, it’s so boring being by myself. And last year you were perfectly happy for me to do that.” It turned out that Jenny enjoyed that holiday a lot more than I did.

For all that we had a great marriage and I looked forward to my twice-yearly blow jobs at Christmas and on my birthday.

It was that last blow job that got me on to castration. Jenny was squeezing my balls hard while she did it. Surprisingly a ball squeeze is not painful but extremely pleasant, provided it’s done with uniform pressure all over. As an extra treat Jenny insisted on giving me a pube shave before she blew me. She said it was better for her without all that hair in her mouth and face. That ball squeeze got me to thinking that my balls were being crushed and it was astonishingly erotic.

Jenny was going along so readily with my latest kink that I’d have suspected an ulterior motive except that I couldn’t think what it might be. She even took the initiative on it. “I spoke to Dinah and she says she can do it,” Jenny mentioned out of the blue a week later.

“Do what?”

“Castrate you.” The way Jenny spoke it was as if she were organising for me to have a hair cut. “It’s all quite legal these days. She does it a lot.”

“No Jen. It was only one of my –“

“Quite a lot of guys are having it done, you know. It does have its advantages for you.”

“Definitely not, Jen. Forget about it.

“But I’ve arranged for you to have a consultation with Dinah. We can learn more.”

“Jen, no.”

“Darling, it’s only a consultation. And you did say you wanted to talk about it. You might even enjoy it. She can tell you all about the cutting off and the effects on you and that sort of thing.”

Jenny paused. “Wouldn’t you be interested in that? Just talking about it, of course.”

“Well, as long as that’s all it is.”

I knew Dinah as a pleasant attractive woman, about my own age and we’d often met and spoken socially. We go to PTA meetings together. She was a single parent who was coping very well on her own.

Hence as we walked down the corridor to her apartment I was seized with an attack of shyness. How the heck could I talk to this respectable lady about my castration fantasies and other perversions? “Why can’t we just make it a polite social occasion?” I muttered to Jenny just as she was about to ring the bell.

“Of course, darling. If that’s what you want,” she said as she pressed the button.

Dinah invited us in and served coffee. There was red wine too. Jenny is partial to red wine. She’ll choose that over coffee any time.

“So David,” Dinah began, “Jenny tells me you are interested in castration?”

Straight to the point! So much for a polite social occasion.

“Er, yes.” I tried to make it sound like normal conversation. I failed.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed. It is my work you know. I castrate men every week.”

“Really?” Jenny was certainly interested in this topic. I was wishing I’d never mentioned it. “Why do they need to be castrated?”

“A few of them need it because they are transgendered and are planning a sex change at some time. Others opt for it because they are violent. Wife beaters especially. Castration improves their behavior considerably. Another popular reason is to control a man’s sexuality.”

“Oh yes?” Anything to do with a man’s sexuality always interested Jenny.

“From a social point of view this is probably the most important reason of all. You know that these days 65% of marriages end in divorce? On top of that there are many more couples, unmarried but in committed relationships who break up. About 80% of those have young children. We are left with a single parent family and it’s usually a woman struggling to cope on her own.”

I knew Dinah was a single parent herself but she certainly was coping fine.

“I know what I’m talking about too,” Dinah said. “There was a time when I had nothing to eat and couldn’t pay the bills. I could barely pay the rent for a rat-infested one roomed garret.”

Dinah was persuasive. She had to be talking from an experience that had left its mark on her.

“I was lucky and I was able to come right by myself. But there are plenty of good decent women caught in the most hideous poverty trap. The main reason for those relationship break-ups is male sexuality. It’s not just skirt chasing. It’s in the way that a man treats his wife, how he fails to understand her and her needs in a relationship. Men tend to get stuck at the physical sex stage and don’t advance from there into a deeper, warmer, more loving relationship.”

I didn’t fully understand Dinah’s dissertation but Jenny seemed to. She was nodding enthusiastically as if receiving a great revelation. “Yes. That makes sense,” she said.

“The thing is,” Dinah continued, “If we take sex, plain ordinary physical sex, away from them they do move on. They do become loving, caring, more intimate and understanding with their partners.”

Jenny was smiling. She’s always loved the ‘happily ever after’ fairy tale ending to a story. “I think that’s quite beautiful,” she said.

“So that way castration can save a marriage or a relationship. It lets a man move on in his life and it helps provide a healthy traditional family environment for the children to grow up in. It is, in fact, a very responsible thing to do but people don’t yet realize it.”

Dinah looked at us for signs of agreement. She certainly got it from Jenny. I had just about convinced myself that what Dinah had said didn’t apply to me. Jenny and I did have a very sound relationship.

“Then we come to another category and this, David, is probably the one you fit into.”

Now Dinah certainly had my attention. Was I too about to receive a revelation?

“A little psychology first. You must have heard the terms masochism and sadism?”

“Yes.” Jenny was speaking for both of us. I wondered where Dinah was going with this.

“All of us have a touch of both sadism and masochism in our personalities. That is normal. However, if at some critical stage during your growing up, you receive either a masochistic or a sadistic pleasure, it will tilt you in that direction. Masochism in men is very common because they are looked after by women in infancy.

“In most case it is in all innocence. A little boy might be given a bath when other women are around. The assumption is that he’s too young to get embarrassed. But he isn’t. He’s perfectly aware of those women looking at his willy. And of course they are all sweet and kind to the little chap and he loves it. Quite often an older sister might give him his bath and she takes the opportunity to see what a boy’s really like down there. And if he gets an erection… That’s him for life.”

Interesting, I thought. My kinks weren’t my fault. Probably all cousin Elspeth’s doing. She was around a lot when I was a kid and she’s four years older than me. It suddenly came back to me how cousin Elspeth got me dressed up in a frock once and took me out for a walk. I couldn’t have been much more than three. I’d forgotten all about it.

It had been windy that day and I was worried about the skirt blowing up. I remembered cousin Elspeth laughing at my concern. “Silly. It doesn’t matter if your skirt does blow up. It’s all right for people to see your panties up until you’re twelve.”

Words of profound wisdom there! However could I have forgotten that gem of insight into little girl culture?

“So has David ever exhibited any masochistic traits?” Dinah asked.

“Oh yes,” said Jenny, brightly.

Oh shit thought I, darkly.

Jenny happily confided all to Dinah. Every darned thing including some items I’d forgotten about. I used to enjoy those bondage sessions. Why did we stop? Oh yes that peeping Tom window cleaner! The bastard was on his ladder masturbating. He fell off when Jenny invited him to come in and join us. Jenny kindly finished him off as he lay on the ground with a broken leg and his prick still out. She said it was to take his mind off things while we waited for the ambulance.

Dinah listened to Jenny’s account with amused, even delighted interest rather than shock. “Yes you definitely fit into the category, Dave. From what I’ve heard I think you would enjoy being castrated. Would you like to know about the procedure?”

“Oh yes please,” Jenny answered while I was thinking of some way to say no.

“All right. I can talk you through it or if you care to get undressed, Dave, you’ll get a better idea.”

I stared open mouthed at this.

“Come on Dave.” Jenny seemed to me to be a trifle over enthusiastic. I think the red wine had taken effect. “Get undressed.”

I was casually dressed in shirt and slacks. I took off my shirt and got that oh shit feeling again. I was wearing panties under the slacks. It was a little fetish of mine, harmless enough but not something that one would want known. I contrived to slide the panties down with the slacks.

In the confusion I’d forgotten about the pink satin ribbon that Jenny liked to tie in a bow around my cluster whenever we went out together. There it was, displayed to the world. Well, to Dinah and Jenny. I turned scarlet.

“What a cute bow,” Dinah said.

“That’s to let any other woman who gets that far know that he’s all mine,” Jenny explained.

“Such a lovely idea. Every married man should wear one,” Dinah said. “And you keep him well trimmed too. I love his smooth pube.”

“I don’t think men should be allowed to grow their pubic hair,” Jenny said. “It looks so gross.”

I stepped out of the slacks and panties and took off my shoes and socks too. Jenny removed the pink bow.

By dint of thinking frantically about something completely non-sexy, in this case the geometric proof of Pythagoras, I only had a half hard on at that stage. That wasn’t to last.

“May I?” Dinah so courteously asked Jenny.

“Please do,” Jenny replied.

Dinah oh so delicately lifted my prick up out of the way. Thoughts of congruent triangles promptly vanished. My mind, as sometimes happens, was concentrated fully on my prick and the lovely feeling of Dinah’s forefinger and thumb touching it. Then she took my scrotum in her other hand and gently pulled down on it. I thrust my hips forwards and allowed myself to become fully erect. I was only aware of absolute bliss.

She was talking through the procedure and options to Jenny, who listened attentively, but I didn’t hear to a word.

When she’d finished I too had a glass of red wine.

“You ought to get dressed, darling,” Jenny said. She retied the pink ribbon, fished my panties out from my slacks and held them out for me to step into. That done she left them around my ankles for me to pull up myself.

“Pretty undies,” was Dinah’s comment as I got them into place.

“He prefers them,” Jenny told her. I finished dressing.

“So just make an appointment when you’re ready,” Dinah said to Jenny as we left.

“Wasn’t that fun? I think you really enjoyed this evening,” Jenny remarked on our way back to our apartment.

In a weird, embarrassing kind of way I had too.

“And fancy Dinah being into fixing men. What a lucky thing that is. Do you think it’s an omen?”


During the course of the next few weeks Jenny spoke of my castration as if it were a foregone conclusion. “I’m so looking forward to having you done,” she would say. “It’ll be so much nicer when you’ve been fixed.”

“Why are you so keen on them coming off?” I asked her one day.

“Because they look ugly on you and you don’t need them any more. And you heard what Dinah said: it’ll make you more loving and considerate. You’ll be a better husband.”

“But won’t you miss getting fucked?”

“Of course not. I won’t miss it at all. Actually that is another thing. I like your willie when it’s soft. It’s cute like that. It’s kind of threatening when it’s hard.”

I couldn’t really understand Jenny saying she wouldn’t miss sex. She loved it and had loud noisy climaxes that told every apartment around ours exactly what was going on in our bedroom.

“You sure you won’t miss me fucking you?” I asked her again after a particularly good night of sex.

“Yes. I shall miss you fucking me but I won’t miss getting fucked.” I didn’t quite understand but I put it down to the way women tend to confuse lovemaking and fucking. I’ve always seen them as two distinct and separate activities.

Although I enjoyed talking about it, I certainly didn’t want to be castrated for real. However talking about something kind of makes it more familiar and less outrageous than when you come to it cold. I’d used the same trick to get Jenny to agree to indulge my other kinks. It kind of gave me a thrill when I realized I was becoming accustomed to the idea of being castrated. And I got a hard on too, just thinking about it. Funny how the ultimate anti-sex thing should be such a turn on.

Also I suspect that Jenny was manipulating me. She certainly knew about that cuckold fetish I’d had – we’d been there, done that. “Dave honey,” she said one evening, “You know how after you’ve been castrated you won’t be able to fuck me any more?”


“Would you mind if I were to have an occasional romantic evening out?” She paused and added “With a man who’s still got his balls.”

The question took my breath away.

She went on “It would be purely sex of course; no involvement or anything. It’s not as though I’d be deceiving you or being unfaithful.”

Jenny was using my own words on me. That had been my argument when I was persuading her to have extra marital sex. The blatant unfairness of her suggestion turned me on no end. And she knew it.

“Hmm. I think it would really be better to leave my balls alone. Then I’ll be able to fuck you myself.”

“Yes darling but remember what Dinah said. Having them off will let you move on in life. You won’t stay stuck at that physical lust stage like most men are. You’ll be a better companion and husband for me.”

Jenny put her arms around me and gave me a loving hug. “Please darling, do it for me, for us. It will be such a beautiful act of love if you do.”

She unzipped my fly and took out my prick. That was a rare event. She hadn’t done that since our courting days. I used to give her a goodnight kiss when I’d taken her home. Those were the good old days of the knee trembler.

“And I won’t go with anyone else if you don’t want me to,” she murmured in my ear. “There’s always little clitty. You would still be able to lick her for me.”

To misquote one famous big Dick slightly ‘When a woman’s got a man by his prick, his heart and mind will follow.’

“Oh, all right then.”

“Thank you darling. I love you so much. Leave it all to me. I’ll see Dinah and make the arrangements.”

Over the next week or so, Jenny was as excited and as loving as she’d been in the run up to our wedding day. It actually reminded me a lot of that time. In all the excitement I’d forgotten one vitally important aspect of our marriage. Jenny hadn’t. “We’ve got to go to Dinah’s place tomorrow.”

“What for? I thought it was next week.”

“For your wank, silly. We’re going to collect some sperm from you and freeze it.”


“I want to make sure we have enough so we’ll have to go every day. You don’t mind do you?”

“Er. No.”

“Saving sperm is all part of the service.” Jenny chatted along happily. I had the feeling that she knew a lot more about it than I did.

Knowing Dinah socially, rather than professionally, made it all the more erotic when she showed Jenny and me into the ‘sample taking room.’

“We like them to enjoy this,” Dinah said to Jenny. “Get him undressed while I get Sally who’s our professional sample taker.”

Dinah left us and Jenny got me undressed. The other nice thing about having a woman undress you is that a woman will hang up the clothes. I was still in my underpants when Dinah returned with an attractive girl who she introduced as Sally. I was grateful that I wasn’t wearing panties nor Jenny’s pink bow around my cluster. I was still clean shaven down there though.

I was shaking hands and greeting Sally as Jenny whipped down my underpants. Even when one enjoys a little sexual humiliation it can be overdone. I found myself blushing scarlet all over as my penis popped up and flicked a spot of pre-come onto Sally’s immaculate white coat. From Sally’s knowing smile, I guessed she enjoyed her work.

“It’s part of our policy here that our patients enjoy giving a sperm sample,” Dinah explained. “Most places that want a sample expect the patient to masturbate himself but we are against that. We like to do it for them.”

That struck me as a nice, enlightened idea.

“Sally has plenty of experience and is very good at it.”

The idea of Sally bringing me off was delightful.

“I take it you have no objection, Jenny?” Dinah asked.

Jenny probably did. I knew she was apt to be jealous of me where other women were concerned, especially pretty ones like Sally. “No. None at all,” Jenny said.

“Doggy style is best for catching the sample,” Sally explained to Jenny. “When they’re on the table on all fours it’s a nice working height and everything is easy.”

Jenny nodded. She’d brought me off by hand many times but never doggy. I was always on my back. The inevitable result of that was the sticky mess on my chest and stomach and cleaning that up was the part that Jenny didn’t like. She preferred it go into her vagina. Anywhere else was a waste in her book.

Presumably, on the grounds that the outcome of this procedure would end up in her vagina at some time in the future, she didn’t object. In fact she was looking quite enthusiastic about the whole business.

It occurred to me that this was all a female thing and I was merely a necessary accessory to it, like the groom at a wedding. Oddly that was exciting. I knew that when Sally did get started it wasn’t going to take very long.

“So on to the table with you please,” Sally said to me.

“On your hands and knees,” Jenny added for the enjoyment of saying it.

I obeyed. Sally gave me a pat on the rump. “Good boy.” She took a generous dollop of massage oil and commenced working it on to my scrotum and prick. Hell! But that felt soooo nice.

“He’s already got a good erection, Sally said. “I don’t think this is going to take very long. Would you care to hold the beaker for me Jenny?”

Jenny held the beaker to catch my come. Sally went to long slow strokes on my prick. Dinah was watching approvingly. There are a few, very rare moments in life that are absolute perfection and for me this was one of them. I wanted it to last for ever. It was over in a less than a minute but Sally’s slow strokes produced the most memorable come I’d ever had.

Jenny caught all of it in the beaker and Sally went off to freeze it. I collapsed onto the massage table, utterly spent.

“Very good,” Dinah said. “Leave him there. We’ll have a cup of tea while he recovers.” They trooped out leaving me to file a beautiful memory away in the data banks.

There were several sessions like that. I could happily have adopted a daily wank from Sally as a permanent lifestyle. Alas the day came when it was time for the big C. Sally was all loving and telling me how wonderful it was for me to give up my balls for her and for our marriage. I enjoyed her saying that even though I thought she was only doing it so that I didn’t back out.

The odd thing was that I was looking forward to having my balls cut off. There was something about it that turned me on fantastically, even though I was perfectly aware of the consequences. Dinah’s philosophy on this had been reassuring. She said that once it was gone I wouldn’t miss my libido. Meantime enjoy it. And with Sally’s help I had enjoyed it.

This can’t be true. Am I really going to have my balls cut off? I thought as Jenny drove me to Dinah’s for the procedure. And how come my wife is so enthusiastic about my castration? “Oh Darling, I love you so much. I can hardly wait for these to be gone,” she’d said to me that morning as we got ready. She was giving my pube a touch up shave in preparation at the time. She was even kind of excited about it.

Would you believe? I don’t really remember much of what happened after we arrived at Dinah’s. We went into the recovery room where Jenny got me undressed and Dinah gave me a tranquilizer. After that it gets a bit hazy. I remember Jenny, Sally and Dinah were all there, wearing those surgical gowns and masks. They had me on my back with my legs in stirrups. They were doing things to me down there that felt kind of nice. There go my balls, I thought and I didn’t give a dam. It just felt nice.

“He’s waking up,” somebody said.

Jenny was holding my hand and gazing lovingly at me.

“How do you feel?” That was Dinah.

“Okay.” Actually I felt better than that. It was like waking up from a good night’s sleep. I felt refreshed. Whatever they’d given me had worked well.

“See if you can get up.”

As seemed usual with anything to do with Dinah I was bollick naked — except of course there weren’t any bollicks any more. I got out of bed and stood up. I wasn’t quite as refreshed as I’d thought. I had to lean on Jenny as I took a few tottering steps.

While I was up I had a pee and Jenny kindly aimed for me.

“All right, back to bed now,” Dinah told me. I was happy to comply.

I slept right through until next morning and woke up hungry. Dinah came in to check up on me and check the dressing. “The testicles came out through the bottom of the scrotum,” she told me. “That’s the least invasive way of doing it.”

I nodded. For me the whole point was that they were gone and I was trying to adjust to that. Sally came in with some breakfast on a trolley. There was a small dining table in the room, she set and served up bacon and eggs. I was hungry and it smelt delicious. Dinah left, Sally sat and drank coffee while I ate. She was obviously used to naked men. She took my nudity in her stride. But then I realised that she would. I wasn’t a proper man any more.

We made conversation. Sally came across as a warm friendly person and I had a kind of sad feeling that I wouldn’t be able to have sex with her even if she would let me.

Jenny came later with my clothes. She helped me dress as if I were an invalid and she was all loving and tender with me. So much so that I felt some stirrings down there but I knew it was just the effect of residual testosterone and soon it would be gone. I wouldn’t ever be able to make love to Jenny again. It kind of got me down and I was wishing I hadn’t had it done.

“Don’t worry,” Jenny said on the way home. “Dinah said there’d be a period of adjustment. You’ll soon come to terms with your new status. And remember that I love you.”

Jenny’s words were amazingly supportive. I hadn’t realized before just how much I needed her love.

I carried on with my life, fully aware of my loss and regretting it strongly at first. Then something amazing happened. It was on my birthday, a few months later when Jenny produced some testosterone and wanted to inject me with it . I declined.. When I was actually faced with the restoration of my libido I realized that I really had moved on. It had taken a while but I was able to see what Dinah had been trying to explain. Having a sex drive is an addiction that dominates your whole life. Now that it was gone I felt the freedom that came from sex no longer having its grip on me. I was actually my own person and I didn’t want my sex drive restored. I had absolutely no need of it.

There was no more of that old aching longing whenever I saw an attractive woman. It was liberation in its truest sense. I realized that I’d always seen women as something to put my prick into. I’d automatically graded them according to the lust they engendered in me. Not any more. Now women are people too and I actually get along better with them that I ever did before. A woman responds well to being treated as a person.

Jenny and I are closer than ever. I have moved on in life and I am a better person for it. She’s pregnant with my sperm that was saved so I’m going to be a dad again.

story text

“Massage Parlor Client” by Kortpeel (edited)

I always prefer the shy nervous clients. There is something cute about a man when you tell him to strip off for his massage and he gets all nervous. At that point I usually take off my top to reassure him but I didn’t with Sid. I sensed that he enjoyed being ordered to strip and stand nude in front of a fully dressed woman. As it happened, I’d just got back from a corporate client and was power-dressed in a severely-cut, navy-blue business suit with black tights, high heels and a white silk blouse. In the heels I was just a shade taller than Sid. He stood in front of me, embarrassed. His erection told me he was enjoying himself.

I like to learn about my clients and once you get them talking it’s easy enough to find the basics. This was Sid’s second visit so he knew me. I learnt that his wife had run off with another man and taken the children. He was some sort of financial dealer and he earned good money. I got him talking about his sexual tastes and learnt, as I’d suspected, that he liked to be dominated and humiliated. He was a sort of born slave. He’d done all the house work, lavished gifts and affection on his wife and she couldn’t stand him. I hadn’t actually known one, but I’d heard about blokes like that. Some guys just enjoy looking after people.

As I worked on his back, keeping the conversation going, I thought of my small house and how it needed a Sid to keep it tidy. And he’d probably get a kick out of it. In fact a good sub around the house was just what I needed.

I finished massaging his back and told him to turn over. His willie was soft so obviously he was too relaxed. To get back him on track I said, “Tell me about your favorite sexual fantasy.” That embarrassed the hell out of him but it got his willie growing. I eventually got out of him that he fantasized about being a slave to a princess in ancient Egypt. She was fond of him but would often beat him, and amused herself by doing things to him. “Sometimes she will strip away my last vestige of human dignity.”

That got his willie up nicely, so when it came time for his happy ending I didn’t have to work too hard.

He came again the following week. I should have taken that day off. I had a premenstrual headache and minor stomach pains. I was definitely not at my best. Also, it was late in the day. Sid was one of those ‘please fit me in’ appointments that cause you to work late. It’s a policy of our establishment never to turn away a client so I couldn’t tell him to go to hell which was what I really felt like doing. Instead, I was a bit short with him and not my usual little, eager-to-please self. Not that Sid seemed to mind all that much. His willie was at right at attention, bobbing around.

The aspirins I’d taken at the start of the appointment were beginning to kick in. Feeling better, I began to feel bad at how rude I’d been to Sid and felt a need to recover the situation. I gave his scrotum a few ‘accidental’ brushes as I rubbed his thighs and, for good measure, when I told him to turn over I took off my top and showed him my perky tits. As I hung up the clothes I’d taken off I saw through the window that the car park was empty. “We’re the only ones here,” I told him. “Would you like a look round?”


I took his hand and led him naked around the house. Most of the rooms were like mine, each a massage studio with its own en-suite shower. We had a spa bath that I showed him and finally I led him into Molly’s ‘dungeon’. It was a large room painted black and was fitted out with torture instruments. Some of them Molly actually used. BDSM was her specialty and she had her own clientele of weirdos. “Whatever is that thing?” Sid was pointing to a large, rectangular frame made of shiny chrome and leather.

“We call that ‘Molly’s milker’. It gives you a happy ending untouched by female hands.”

“I think I prefer a female hand.”

“Most clients do, but funnily, clients who’ve been in the machine always prefer it.”

“Why is that?”

“I not sure. Maybe it’s the feeling of total surrender. You can get in and give it try, if you like. You don’t have to cum though.”

Sid was a bit scared of the machine and would have preferred not to but he couldn’t turn down my invitation. He got into position, kneeling on all fours, doggy style. I rubbed his bum to reassure him and adjusted the straps under his chest and belly that were designed to take most of his weight. “Would you like the other straps on?”


I cinched the straps around his wrists and legs. “A lot of the clients say they enjoy the feeling of helplessness they get from being strapped in.”

Sid didn’t reply but his willie was hard. He loved feeling helpless. “Now I’ll just slip on the milker.” It was a soft rubber sleeve arrangement connected by a flexible tube to a suction pump. When turned on the suction pulsed on and off causing the rubber sleeve to move on the penis in a masturbatory movement.

“You can control the milker with the twist grip.” It was arranged so that the hands rested on a round bar and the twist grip was naturally under the right hand. I switched on the machine and two red lights came on. I knew it took a moment or two to build up suction and start working so I idly cupped his dangling scrotum and gave it a little massage while he waited.

As the suction started to work I could see that Sid was loving it. He had a stupid look of pure ecstasy on his face. Molly always said that when a guy got to this stage on the machine there was no turning back. I turned the valve in the suction line to the off position. Sid looked disappointed. He’d been very close to ejaculation.

“Come on, Sid. I don’t want you to make a sticky mess in the machine. So, how did you like it?”

“It was wonderful. Really something. What’s this red button for?” He pressed an illuminated control button, one of the two red lights that had come on when the power was connected, and something on a table to his right clicked and jumped. It startled him.

I laughed. “You’re lucky that wasn’t installed.”

“What is it?”

“It’s the castrator attachment. You pressed the button that operates it.

“Bloody hell! Shouldn’t you disconnect it?”

“No. It’s quite safe as long as you don’t push the button.”

“But by accident?”

“No one’s ever pushed that button by accident.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Oh, well, leastways never when it was installed.”

“But why don’t you take that thing off altogether?”

“Well, it came with it so we left it. It’s really meant for farm animals but when we modified it for our clients we found that some of them liked to have the castrator fitted on them. They sort of enjoy the danger.”

Sid shuddered. I could see that the machine had got to him. I undid the restraining straps. “Come on Sid. Let’s go back and I’ll bring you off safely by hand.”

“But if you like, you could make an appointment to try out the machine.” I said it just for devilment and added, “With or without the castrator.”

“That machine is really something,” he mused as I made him comfortable on the massage table.

“So, would you like to try it?”

“I think so.”

I was gently holding his package and pouring on warm massage oil. “Here’s what we can do. We can book you in for a massage, a pubic shave and a session on the machine. Takes about an hour and a half. Would you like that?”

“Oh yes!” He sounded a little breathless but that could have been because I was rubbing oil all over his stiff shaft.

“I think your Egyptian princess would prefer her slave without pubic hair, don’t you?” His prompt and massive ejaculation took both of us by surprise.

It’s not for any sinister purpose that we keep a little black book of our clients. It’s just that we like to give a good service, keep them happy and, most of all, keep them coming back. With the client base that I have it’s not possible to remember them all so when the phone rings and a voice says, “This is George,” I can say, “Hello, George. How nice to hear from you.” By that time I’ve looked him up and have got enough details to jog my memory and speak to him as an old acquaintance.

But when poor lonely Sid rang up I remembered him immediately and didn’t have to look him up. I guessed what he wanted and I was right.

When he arrived he was shaking badly and had a grey pallor in his face. He looked quite dreadful. His wife’s lawyer had been on to him earlier in the day. The wife was vindictively suing for divorce. She wanted the house, the money, the cars and the children. Any last hopes that there could be a reconciliation were shattered. It had left him a broken man.

I liked Sid. He was a polite, gentle man with a subtle, wry humor. I didn’t like to see him hurting like that. I gave him a hug and told him to put it all out of his mind for the rest of the day. In my room I got him to undress and gave him a good stiff brandy to loosen him up. It seemed to help. I gave him a really good body massage too. Molly came in as I was finishing. I introduced them.

“Molly’s our ‘milking machine’ specialist and she’s going to brief you on it before we start.”

“We’re all ready for you, Sid. Shall we go over to the machine?”

So Molly and I, both dressed to the nines, led nude Sid by the hands to the room where the machine was set up. The machine was on a platform, so a kneeling man would be at Molly’s working height. Lighting was concentrated on the machine and the bright chrome glittered.

A massage table was also in the room and the shaving equipment was ready. I got Sid to sit on the table. Molly told him about the machine as I snipped his untrimmed pubes with the scissors.

“What it is Sid,” Molly explained, “is that, if you wear the castrator we have to take the same precautions as if you actually intended to press the button. Just for safety.”

Sid nodded and swallowed.

“So all this is not really necessary but I have to tell you.”

“I understand.” Sid seemed really to be enjoying himself as I worked on his pubes as Molly continued to explain the dangers of her machine.

Molly showed him the razor sharp cutting blade and explained its features. It was a fearsome thing. I knew that just to look at it gave most guys a shudder. Sid was fascinated. Molly explained that it cut so well you wouldn’t even feel it. Certainly there was no pain involved although it might be just a bit sore for a few days while the cut was healing. “Of course I have to sew up the wound right after,” she said. “Takes about ten stitches for a really neat, tidy job.”

“Molly’s a qualified trauma nurse,” I told Sid. “She knows about sewing up wounds.”

Sid wanted to know if anyone had ever actually pressed the button. Molly didn’t want to say. “You wouldn’t be the first,” I said to him.

“Jesus! Really? What happened afterwards?”

“We lose a good regular client,” I told him.

“Not always. Once they start using patches some of them come back,” added Molly.

“Patches?” Sid looked puzzled.

Molly explained to him. “You get stick-on patches that let testosterone seep through the skin. They have to be prescribed but they’re easy enough to get.”

“Sort of defeats the object of castration though. Then they’re just an ordinary guy again ‘cept they can’t make a woman pregnant,” I said, thinking aloud.

“And if you don’t take patches?”

“Skin gets softer, you lose some physical strength, you stop going bald. You don’t get a fat belly and your cholesterol and blood pressure usually improve. It doesn’t stop you getting an erection but you tend to lose interest and your penis shrinks from lack of use.” Molly rattled that off as if she’d said it dozens of times.

Sid looked impressed. “What do you do with the, er, bits that’re cut off?”

Molly grinned and took two things out of a drawer and showed them to Sid. One was a leathery, pink drawstring change purse and the other was a clear plastic paper weight with two pinkish-white ovoid objects encased inside. “We get a premium price for these women’s novelty items.”

Sid stared and gulped.

“Your time in the machine won’t go to waste,” I told him.

Sid had a raging hard on as I finished shaving and dried him. Molly led him over to the machine, got him strapped in and put the masturbator on to his prick. She checked that he was comfortable, slipped a tie wrap over his testicles and arranged it so that it was just tight enough to stay put. She patted his rump and cupped his balls, working them in her palm. Her other hand held the castrator. “Do you want to wear this ?” she asked him.


Molly fitted it. It clipped snugly around the neck of the scrotum and she adjusted it so that it pressed down lightly on the skin of the scrotum. She switched on the power. The red light came on and Molly turned her attention to a small pin that served as a safety device. With the pin in place the cutting blade was locked open and immobile. She gently and carefully pulled the special pin completely out. As she did so she explained to Sid that he now had control and that the red button was active.

“Now Sid, take your time. Don’t rush it and you can always stop it, if you like, so it lasts longer. Molly opened the valve that admitted the suction.

Sid got going. He ran it slowly and I could see the masturbator moving on his prick. It moved in a gentle rhythm. Molly came and stood by me. We watched as Sid sped it up and then slowed down to a steady pulse.

We could see that Sid would soon be climaxing. We moved closer to see better and Molly went and stood directly behind him. He was in the throes of pre-ejaculation. A big squirt came. “Sid, do it,” Molly cried. Deftly she pulled the tie wrap tight.

And he did! There was a slight click and his scrotum dropped neatly into Molly’s waiting palm.

Several more squirts and Sid was spent. Molly rubbed his bum as he recovered himself. I undid the restraining straps and Molly removed the castrator and sewed up the clean wound it had left.

Then we helped Sid get down. Molly put him on a sanitary pad and got him into some panties. “You’re allowed to wear these now.” The scrotum went into a box which I knew Molly would put into the fridge.

Sid was in a state of mental rather than physical shock. Molly took the box and its formerly precious contents and went to make some tea.

Sid was shaking and trembling as he sipped his tea, trying to come to terms with his new unmanned state. Molly had gone by the time Sid had drunk his tea. I poured him another cup with a view to giving him as much time as he needed to get over the shock.

We’d had other castrations but usually the recovery time was little more than it took to get over a really good ejaculation. Sid seemed to be getting worse. He was brooding himself into a depression. I suspected it was more to do with his divorce than his castration but the last thing anyone needed was for one of our clients to commit suicide in the newly cut-off state that Sid was in.

In the end I got him to come home with me so I could keep an eye on him. This is the biggest no-no of all in my line of work but it would cause less trouble this way.

The house was in its usual mess. I’d never have brought another woman into it like that but generally I’ve found that men are less judgmental and a lot less observant. Sid wasn’t observant at all. He was in a kind of daze. I undressed him, checked his wound, which looked OK, and put on a clean pad. Then I got him to take some pain killers and a sleeping pill. He was out before I switched off the light.

He was still asleep when I left the next day. I considered this, as I didn’t like leaving him there, but then I thought what the heck. He’d probably be alright so I left him to it.

We weren’t very busy so I was able to get away early and I still had some energy left. Usually I’m exhausted by the time I get in.

I wondered if Sid had left. When I got in the house I found it was immaculate: neat, clean and tidy. I checked each room and it was the same everywhere. And there was a stew simmering on the stove in the kitchen that smelt delicious. Beside it, on the counter next to the stove Sid had left a note. “Princess, thank you for everything. Enjoy the stew. Love, Sid.”

The stew was delicious. Such a pity that I never saw Sid ever again.

story text

“Incident in the Brambles” by Kortpeel

[Note: All characters are above the age of consent]

Summary: Caught in the shameful act with their pants down, our lads pay the price.

It had been quite a good bike ride. Afterwards me, Dave and Rodney went to our usual spot in the brambles for our after-cycle-ride group wank. The brambles were in a forest on a private estate and we had no right to be in there. That had made exploring the grounds all the more exciting. The brambles was a thicket of blackberry thorns and we’d found a way through it to the grassy clearing inside. That was our secret place. No one else knew about it, not even the owners of the forest.

A wank is necessary after a longish cycle ride. I think it’s something to do with the way that your prick bumps and slides about over the saddle. We settled down in our private place, got our shorts down and exposed our pricks to the warm afternoon sunshine. That alone was enough to get a good hard on.

Rodney leant back admiring his boner. He had a big prick with a slight upward curve to it. Quite ugly, I thought. Dave’s prick was dead straight but it had a waist around it two thirds of the way along. It looked like it would break off at that point. We reckoned it was from wanking so much but Dave insisted that some pricks were just like that. Mine was just an ordinary prick with a slight downward bend to it and it was the only prick of the three that had been circumcised. Both Dave and Rodney teased me that I’d had the best part cut off. I didn’t know about that but I did wish that all of my prick was still there.

Me and Dave waited for Rodney to start wanking. We gave him a few strokes start and then we started too. Rodney is a slow wanker and it’s better to wait for him before rather than after you’ve come.

I thought about how nice it would be if Betty Enwright who lived in the next road from us were giving me a wank. Her lovely soft female hand gently working my prick would be- Damn! I came much too quickly.

I lost interest in the proceedings, pulled up my pants and started to crawl back through the brambles. I planned to wait for the other two by where we’d left our bikes.

“And just what do you two think you’re doing here?” The loud female voice made me freeze. I looked around and through the brambles I could see a woman dressed in a riding outfit, jodhpurs, jacket and leather boots. She was standing over Dave and Rodney brandishing a riding crop. Instinctively the two stood up. Rodney bent to pull up his pants and got an almighty thwack across his buttocks from the crop. It made even me wince. Dave just stood there, knock-kneed with his hands covering his prick.

“Put both hands on your heads,” the woman ordered. Rodney obeyed hastily. Dave was a bit slow to uncover his prick and the woman gave a swish of her crop to hurry him up. He instinctively moved his hands out of the way and took the blow on his cock instead. That certainly cured his boner.

For my part I kept dead still and hoped that she wouldn’t see me in the brambles. I was nervous but nowhere near as scared as Dave and Rodney who were trembling with fear.

“First of all,” the woman said in a clear upper class voice, “You are both trespassing. You have no right to be here. You could go to prison for that.”

She paused to let that sink in. I could see that Dave was clenching his buttocks tightly. I think Rodney was too.

“Secondly, you were both playing with yourselves. Don’t you know that is a disgusting and degrading thing to do?”

Both Rodney and Dave nodded, eyes downcast and unable to look her in the face.

“I can’t hear you.” There was menace in her voice.

“Yes miss,” Dave and Rodney mumbled.

“And do you know that little boys who play with their wee-wees never amount to anything in life?”

“No miss,” they both muttered.

“Well, it might be too late to save you both from becoming ignominious failures but I shall try. It will hurt you a little but I’m going to fix you both so you stop wanting to play with yourselves.” She paused. “All right. Get your clothes off.”

I watched as the woman removed her riding jacket and rolled up the sleeves her blouse. She was quite awesome in her white blouse and lacy cravat, tan riding breeches that fitted so snugly around her slim waist. Her riding boots that fitted tightly around her calves suited her too. And she was tall, much taller than Dave and Rodney.

The two of them looked so stupid standing there, naked apart from their shoes and socks.

The woman had a black leather bag with her. I saw her take out a syringe, fill it with something from a little glass container then she turned her attention to Rodney. “You boy, you can be first. She took hold of his ball bag and gently worked it with her fingers.

“What’s your name boy?” As she spoke she injected Rodney, into his balls it looked like but I couldn’t see exactly where.

“Rodney, miss”

“All right Rodney. Just stand quite still for a minute.”

She did the same to Dave and having her play with his scrotum restored his boner, even with the red welt on it. That done the lady examined his prick and saw the wanker’s waist on it. “My word! David. You have been giving it a pounding haven’t you? You really do need to be fixed quite urgently. You’ve been doing yourself serious mischief here.”

“Yes miss,” Dave said.

From her bag she took a kind of a big pliers gadget except it was a bit more complicated. She fitted it around the neck of Rodney’s ball bag. Rodney just stood there, legs slightly splayed and quivering with fright. He still had his hard on though.

“Tell me if it hurts but whatever you do don’t move,” she told him and squeezed the handles.

Rodney gave a sort of convulsion as she squeezed. His face twisted up and his eyes watered freely. Then he relaxed as she continued to squeeze, looking at her watch to time the duration of the squeeze.

“There. Now you’re half done. Just once more and you’ll be free of those disgusting habits and thoughts.”

She carefully repositioned the pliers thing and it happened again. Rodney gave a twitch as she first squeezed and then relaxed.

“Just stand quite still for a few minutes Rodney. Now it’s your turn David.”

I suspect that Dave’s mind was fully occupied dealing with the pressure on his anal sphincter. He didn’t seem to react much as the lady repeated on him what she’d done to Rodney.

“All right David and Rodney. You can put your clothes on now. And you can thank me for stopping you from having those depraved thoughts and from wanting to play with yourselves.”

“Thank you, miss.” They both seemed a lot more relaxed now that the worst was over and there was no need to be scared. They were going to be crawling out of the brambles soon and I didn’t want them to see me. I ignored the scratches as I wriggled silently into a denser patch.

“You may go now. And don’t let me catch you in here again.”

They were both dressed and more than happy to leave. They crawled out through the tunnel in the brambles, luckily without seeing me. I stayed put, waiting for that woman to get clear. She just stood there as if waiting. For what? Why didn’t she leave?

Then, to my amazement, she undid the hooks and zips on her jodhpurs and dropped them, her knickers too. She backed up to the brambles, close to where I was hiding, got into a crouching position and pissed. I had a worm’s eye view of her arse as she let flow. A lot of it went onto my face but I was too intrigued by this rare and mysterious insight of how a woman pisses to worry about it. Funny how the stream comes out backwards.

From her bag she took a tissue and wiped herself. Then she pulled up, zipped up and hooked up, rolled down her sleeves and put her riding jacket back on. She left the clearing by a different route, I’ve never figured out how. I heard the thud of her horse’s hoof beats fade into the distance. It dawned on me that the only reason she’d come here in here in the first place was to find a place for a pee.

Luckily my bike was still where I left it. I was scratched and bleeding and smelling of piss but it didn’t bother me as I rode home. I was thinking about Betty Enwright and wondering how I could get into her pants.

Well I got to know Betty Enwright a lot better and I did get into her pants. Extremely pleasant it was in there too, except for her remark afterwards “Your prick isn’t as big as Rodney’s is it? You don’t seem to go as far up.”

It turned out Betty knew the woman who’d cured Dave and Rodney of wanking: “Yes, that must have been Doc Janet. She’s a vet. She says all men are much better off for being gelded. And she’s gelded a lot of the men around here.”

“Don’t they mind being gelded?”

“They don’t seem to. Too bad if they did, I suppose. But perhaps they do think they’re better off for it.”

I’m not sure that Doc Janet isn’t right. Betty’s pregnant and I’m buggered if I know what to do about it. Dave and Rodney laughed like drains when they heard. They didn’t give a damn’ that I was worried sick, the smug bastards.

story text

“Hanging On” by Kortpeel (excerpt)

“It’d be nicer for both of us when your urges are gone. Why not let me organize you a preliminary interview with a specialist who does this work.”

Jane had become a very strong minded woman and moral rectitude was her forte. She’d always been into good works like visiting the aged. When she made a pronouncement on what was right or wrong I was inclined to take her seriously. She explained to me that lecherous thoughts were just as sinful as lecherous deeds and that she was perfectly aware of how my mind worked. “Simply looking at another woman with lust in your heart is both a sin before God and an insult to me.”

A week later Jane and I were knocking on the door of one Dr. Mary Smith, specialist surgeon. She was an attractive older woman and this appointment was at her home. She led Jane and I into a comfortable chintzy living room where she put us at ease and established first name terms. Then she explained the consequences of the procedure. The main thing apparently was that I would completely lose interest in sex. Apart from that, nothing else would change except that I’d stop going bald and would probably live longer.

According to Mary An important benefit was that without testosterone in the body the risk of prostate cancer is virtually zero. That was how she came to be in this branch of surgery. Orchidectomy for prostate cancer is a regular every day procedure. She realized that it would be a valuable preventive measure: “If you’re going to lose them after you get cancer why not have them out anyway and avoid the cancer?” It made sense.

“Now as to the procedure itself, would you care to see what actually happens?”

She led us through to her private operating room. There was a raised frame arrangement in which the patient knelt on all fours with his legs apart. Thus presenting his scrotum at working height to the surgeon who stood behind him.

She showed us a video of what would happen. With the patient in the frame, settled and comfortable and strapped in for safety she would inject some local anesthetic and while it was starting to work she attached an artificial vagina to the penis. The guy in the video had a mighty hard on. The artificial vagina ran slowly to maintain arousal but not enough to ejaculate. “I call it the milker,” she explained. “It isn’t very professional and you wouldn’t get it in a regular hospital but I think it is nice for the patient to have one really good ejaculation as his testicles come out.”

The video showed her make two small incisions in the back of the patient’s scrotum. She popped out the testicles, stretched the cords on which they hung and anchored them while she tied off each one. Then she increased the speed of the artificial vagina until the guy creamed. As he did so she quickly cut the stretched cords which immediately retracted into the scrotum. It took a further few minutes to suture the incisions , a wipe around and that was it.

The guy stayed in overnight and went home the next day.

story text

“Changed Roles” by Kortpeel

“Don’t get dressed today. You know I like you being nude.” It was a fine Sunday morning. We had the day to ourselves and I was looking forward to some conjugal companionship. I would have preferred to get dressed, it can be limiting in the nude but if that’s what Carol wanted …

Carol read the paper and had finished it by the time I had breakfast ready. “Anything in the paper today?” I asked her as I served up breakfast for both of us.

“Nothing much,” my wife said. ” Working holidays on Mars are becoming more popular. I wouldn’t mind doing that one day.”

I knew Carol had this adventurous streak and it was only the need to earn a living and pay off the house that was holding her back. I sometimes wondered if she would dump me and the house and go off one day for an adventure such as that Martian trip.

Doris came around later that morning. She and Carol had some business on the go that they needed to discuss. I felt a bit shy having Doris see me nude but of course neither Carol nor Doris thought anything of it. Doris gave me the usual cursory up and down glance and that was even worse. I became aware that my penis had shriveled. Penis etiquette is so difficult for a chap to get right. A full erection is a real social faux pas but almost as bad is the shriveled penis which just looks pathetic. I find it so difficult to maintain that socially correct semi-erection which the magazines always recommend. I brought them coffee and left them to it. I got on with the washing up and making the bed.

While I was upstairs I took the opportunity to rub the contraceptive cream into my scrotum. I had to keep this secret from Carol. She was keen to conceive but I wasn’t ready for a child just yet. It was all very well for her. All she had to do was to carry it for three months and then the fetus would go into the incubator for the other six. Thereafter Muggins here would have to feed it, change diapers and get up in the night when it cried. I certainly wanted children but not yet.

Our marriage contract specified that Carol would have at least one child by me. She was bound to our marriage until that happened. She had an inclination to wander, so by not giving her that child I could bind her for a few years. Then I hoped she’d be more settled.

During our courtship I’d been surprised that she insisted on marrying me because I could see she wasn’t ready to settle down. Turned out she really did like me and wanted me to share her life and I suppose, snap me up before some other woman did. She told me after we were married that I was a really good fuck too. No other guy had ever brought her to the top like I did. That was the nicest thing she could have said.

Generally, I’ve found that a woman likes monogamy and prefers one regular lover. She’ll only stray if she doesn’t get satisfaction. Since then I’ve made a point of giving her the best sex I could manage.

Having some time to myself, I gave myself a body shave. Carol hates me to be bristly and I did a spot of grooming on the hand and toenails. Then I fluffed up the penis just enough before going downstairs to where Carol and Doris were still talking business.

“Would you mind if Doris stayed to lunch?” Carol asked.

I was disappointed. I’d hoped we’d have some time together this weekend. “No of course not.” I said. “Lunch will be ready at one.”

“Yeah great. Look we have to go out to look at something, but we’ll be back in time for lunch.”

“Ok.” What else could I have said?

I wondered what they were up to and whether I ought to take an interest. Sometimes Carol can be really patronizing when I try to take an interest in what she’s up to. She usually tells me that I don’t have the background knowledge to understand. Often she’s right and I don’t. Still, It’s hurtful to think that there’s a whole part of her life that excludes me. It makes me insecure. But what the heck! It was my job to be a dutiful husband and prepare lunch.

I expected them to be late back and they were. It was half past two when they got in. And they’d been drinking. I served lunch and joined them.

“So what did you go and look at?” I asked, trying to take an interest.

Carol didn’t say anything but Doris very nicely explained that there was a piece of land for sale. If they could develop it they’d make a killing between them.

“Oh,” I said. “But won’t you need capital for that?”

“Don’t worry,” Carol said. “We’ve got it all sorted out.”

After lunch, Doris left and Carol was feeling amorous. She played with my penis and got it to stand. Sex at short notice is all right but I prefer a nice long build up so that I can properly get in the mood. However, what Carol wants….

Afterwards she had a nap. I read the paper.

I could see what she’d meant about Martian holidays. People would go there for a minimum of two years and work at oxygenating the planet and creating enough biomass to fertilize the Martian surface. The more adventurous spent their time in space trapping comets and asteroids of ice. They would drop them on Mars to increase the quantity of water there. Apparently ice-hunting in space was the ultimate gung-ho thrill.

Trouble was it was only women who could go to Mars. There was some reason to do with radiation they wouldn’t let men go. I thought that it was unfair and sexist that only de-balled men were allowed. Apparently quite a few guys were opting for castration and going with their wives.

That evening Carol and I got some quality time together. “Don’t you think it’s exciting to create a whole new planet for mankind,” Carol said, referring to the article in the paper about it.

“Well, yes I suppose so.” Not that people needed a new planet any more. Ever since the scourge of HIV had spread across the world over-population had ceased to be a threat. Of course HIV has long been dealt with but the social changes of the last few decades, during which females have become the predominant salary earners in the family, had done a lot to prevent overpopulation. In fact governments are encouraging couples to have more children.

“What I’d like to do,” Carol said with a wicked twinkle in her eye, “Let’s conceive a couple of kids in the nice old fashioned way and then go to Mars. What do you say to that?”

“Well, I’d have to have my balls off. Would you still love me if I did?”

“Of course I would, my darling. There’s a lot more to you than just a penis and testicles.”

Carol gave me a cuddle and I felt reassured and safe in her arms.

“What I want you to do is stop rubbing that cream into your balls and come up with some nice vital sperm to get my eggs working.”

Oh God! She’d known about the contraceptive cream.

She didn’t really mind. She’d enjoyed the sex too. However I did stop with the cream and a year later we had the two children Carol wanted: a boy and a girl.

Meanwhile the project that Doris and Carol had been working on came to fruition and even though it wasn’t an actual killing it was profitable enough to pay off our mortgage and then some. I was so proud of her for achieving that.

By that stage Carol was well and truly bent on Mars. She filed the applications, found out a lot about it and was all ready to go. Personally I’d just have soon stayed in our house and raised our children but it wasn’t an option. I certainly wasn’t going to let my wife disappear off to Mars by herself.

Since we were going only for two years we decided to keep our house and rent it out. Carol organised it with the realtor and for the rent money to go into a growth investment. With a little luck we’d be fairly prosperous on our return.

I’d been stalling on getting the male qualification for the Mars trip and Carol knew it. “Come on old thing,” she urged. “It is time you had ’em off you know. We don’t want to leave it to the last minute, do we?”

Even then I couldn’t have done it without Carol’s support. She arranged for time off so she could look after the children, drove me to the clinic and was there when I booked in. She had to sign the authorization papers too. I was as nervous as hell about it and if she hadn’t been there I’d have fled.

As it was, the clinic people were very nice and reassuring. The Theatre Sister told me that more and more women were having their husbands done these days for compatibility reasons and simply because it was better for their husbands. It saved them all those difficult mood swings. “And it’s not as though you need them any more now that you have two children.” She assured me that I’d be better off for it and after a while I would never miss them.

It’s all very well for women to be so casual about castration. It doesn’t really affect them at all. I don’t care what anyone says: for a man having the balls off is quite a big step.

The Sister discussed the procedure and options with Carol and me. Because we were going to Mars the scrotum had to come off as well. Any males on Mars had to be easily identifiable as eunuchs so prosthetic testicles weren’t allowed. Carol decided I should keep my penis “for the time being” although for no extra charge I could have had a penectomy and a urethral re-route. A lot of wives preferred that for their husbands. When you had a penectomy that was definitely the end of sex, period. With a simple castration you could be fully erectile with hormone supplements. There was nothing against hormone supplements on Mars so that was the route that Carol and I agreed on. I think that she may just have been indulging me.

For the procedure they gave me a sedative which made me drowsy but I did overhear the Sister telling Carol to give me lots of reassurance until I’d properly adjusted to the new status. “They tend to be very insecure for a while afterwards,” she explained.

The actual procedure was no big deal. There was no pain at all but I was a bit sore for a few days afterwards while the cut healed. Carol collected me from the clinic after a two day stay-in for observation. I was healing up nicely and Carol was very good with the dressings and hygiene measures. She was particularly attentive and kind over that period. Even so I felt depressed at no longer having the ability to impregnate a woman. Not that I’d ever be unfaithful to Carol but its nice to know that you are a good boy because you choose to be rather than because you are unable to do anything else.

Doris, when she called round, had a look at my scar and asked me some questions. She was thinking of having her husband done too. There was no real reason for it, unlike with Carol and me. She just preferred him as a eunuch, so she said. I did feel a bit sorry for her husband. Women like Doris need to have a steady man for a life companion, to look after the house and to be someone to come home to. But if that guy is unable to meet her, shall we say ‘romantic’ needs, it is socially acceptable for her to have them met elsewhere. I suspected that Doris was just looking for a little variety in her life.

I cried when we packed up my home and sent all our goods off for auction. How I wish we could have stayed. But Doris was there and she drove us to the shuttle port.

It was only when we boarded the shuttle to take us up to orbit that it dawned on me what a huge life-changing project we were embarking on. Carol felt it too. She took my hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Chin up old darling. The next few years are going to be an awfully great adventure. Look where we’re going.”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Second star on the right and straight on ’til morning.”

Carol laughed. “That’s the spirit.” Then she whispered into my ear “And I do love you so, my little eunuch.”

story text

“Beth’s Trade” by Kortpeel

Summary: A young girl learns about cutting.

When Mom had her accident they sent me to spend a month with Aunt Beth while she got over it.

The accident turned out to be a baby brother, all fine and healthy in spite of everything. Mom who’s the epitome of moral rectitude and a pillar of the local church conveyed the impression that she was delighted to be this instrument of the divine will and thought my brother was born to fulfill some key role in His Great Plan. She didn’t actually utter the Magnificat but I’m sure it went through her mind. Dad’s remark, that it was a pity the divinity couldn’t have done it all many years earlier, was regarded as blasphemy.

Aunt Beth, in complete contrast to my mom was a cheerful, down to earth woman with a relaxed easy-going nature. She thought it was lovely for her big sister to have a baby so late in life. More than that, she thought it was a huge joke on Mom. “Divine will, my ass! Your little brother is no more and no less than a randy moment same as all the rest of us on this Earth.”

Normally I’d have agreed with Aunt Beth but I couldn’t see Mom having a randy moment no matter how hard I tried. Come to that, knowing Mom, I couldn’t really see how I came to be conceived. Still, here I was, eighteen years old, intact virgin and quite content to be only a minor player in the Great Plan. I like to believe I’m attractive. I have a slim figure with a seventeen-inch waist same as Scarlett O’Hara at my age. I would like it if my long dark hair reached down to my waist but I’ve never been able to get it to grow much past my shoulder blades. Then the ends split and it has to be trimmed. Of course with dark hair I have brown eyes. It all goes together quite well except that I’m hoping there is still some growth left in my boobs. I’d like to justify a B cup but at the moment I’m an A. I find that my boobs look much nicer if I pad my bra with tissues. I don’t think I would like to have boobs as big as Aunt Beth’s. Hers are a DD and I’m sure they get in her way.

Aunt Beth runs a guesthouse at a coastal resort. It was still a few weeks to the peak season so there weren’t all that many visitors, just a few retired couples enjoying a holiday at off season rates. That was good for me too because the weather was lovely and sunny and I had the exclusive use of Aunt Beth’s flat roof for sun bathing. Mom didn’t approve of sun bathing; it was immodest for one thing and unhealthy for another. I knew that I looked much better with a tan and that was enough for me.

“I was worried you’d be bored,” Aunt Beth said that evening over supper. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around very much for you.”

“Not a problem. I want another two days like this to get my tan for the summer.”

“There’ll be plenty of time for that. Would you like to come with me tomorrow? I have to pick up some supplies. If we go straight after breakfast…”

“I’ll still be able to sunbathe. Of course. I’d love to come with you.”

That meant being up and ready to have breakfast at eight. Because we were going into town I thought jeans would be okay with a sweater and sneakers. I put my hair in a ponytail which looks acceptable and stops it getting untidy. I’d have liked to try some make up to look a little older and more worldly but I didn’t have any. At home Mom is dead against me wearing make-up but I didn’t think Aunt Beth would mind.

“So we are going to get food?” I asked as we set off in Aunt Beth’s pick-up.

“No. Cook does all that. We’re going somewhere else.”

I was puzzled when we pulled up outside a medical wholesaler’s. I went in with her eager to see what she was going to buy but there was a parcel all ready for collection and the woman there just handed it to Aunt Beth.

“What ever do you want medical stuff for?”

“For the clinic,” Aunt Beth told me. “I still do a little specialized medicine. It’s more just a sideline now but I’ve always enjoyed it and I like to keep my hand in.”

“Oh.” There was more to Aunt Beth than I’d ever known about. Mom had never spoken about Aunt Beth being a doctor.

“You never said anything about a clinic, Aunt Beth.”

“No.” She was concentrating on reversing out of the parking space. “We like to be discreet. Some of our patients would be embarrassed. The guest house was originally a cover for it but now it’s the main business.”

“Really? That is interesting. I was thinking of going into medicine as a career.”

“Hmm. I am in rather a specialized niche, you know. I don’t think you’d learn much from my little practice. But I’ll gladly show you around if you’d like.”

You bet I’d like.

When we got back I carried the parcel for Aunt Beth into a suite of rooms on the second floor that I hadn’t known about.

There was a small storeroom where Aunt Beth opened the parcel and put away the stuff. There were dressings, syringes, rubber gloves and some ampoules of liquid. I knew enough to know that anything whose name ended in ‘caine’ was a serious anaesthetic; that’s what was in the ampoules. So there was more to Aunt Beth’s practice than cuts and scratches.

The consulting room was smallish but it reminded me of any doctor’s room on the rare occasion I’d been in one. There was a two-bed ward, empty of patients, and an operating room that had a table and the special lights over it. It looked all very professional and spotlessly clean.

“What kind of things do you do here, Aunt Beth?”

She hesitated a second, not sure what she should tell me. I tried to radiate grown-upness. “It’s a special service for men, to do with their male parts.”

Well, of course … That was an area of life to which I had given a great deal of thought and knew very little.

So much for grown-upness. I found myself blushing. Aunt Beth laughed.

Later Aunt Beth asked me if I was really thinking of going into medicine.

“Yes. It appeals to me. If I can make good enough grades for medical school that’s my first choice.”

“Name the bones in the body from the skull down.”

I did and even went into tarsals and phalanges. I knew all that from anatomy and physiology at school.

“Very good. Now name the principal systems in the body.”

That was easy. “Cardiovascular, respiratory, digestive, lymphatic, neural, skeletal, dermal.”

“Not bad. Which one have you missed out?”

“Reproductive.” I desperately hoped that I wouldn’t blush again. Thinking of it terms of textbook anatomy helped.

“Hmm. Rachel, if you put on scrubs and can stand the sight of blood you can observe if you’d like. But I should warn you, this is male genitalia in the raw.

“I’d love to Aunt Beth.”

“Okay. But don’t go all stupid and shy on me. Act as if you’ve seen it all dozens of times before.”

Over lunch Aunt Beth told me why she’d invited me to be there. ” I gave it a lot of thought and decided that it wouldn’t hurt for you to have the experience, especially as you are interested in medicine. Sweet innocence is all cute and charming but ignorance can be dangerous. It’s better you at least know about these things.”

I nodded. That made sense to me. I’d been brought up not to know about these things and I didn’t. Well, except what I picked up from the textbooks and from the other girls. A lot of what I got from other girls was disinformation. You can get pregnant if you do it standing up.

After lunch we spent some time in her theatre.

“The thing is,” Aunt Beth explained, “men are what they are and they don’t change much. Except to get cantankerous as they get older. Girls your age, you get lovely, silly romantic notions about men. Most of which are hopelessly improbable. When you come up against the reality it’s such a sad disillusionment.”

“Is it really true then that men just want to get into your pants?”

“Yours and any other girl’s. That’s the way they are made. Monogamy ain’t natural for them.”

“So how do people ever stay married?”

“They usually settle down as they get older. If a wife is wise she’ll provide a comfortable friendly home that he wants to come home to. And she’ll cater for his manly perversions. They say if a man gets steak at home he won’t go out for a burger.”

I was wondering what manly perversions there were and how to cater for them. It seemed to me that adult life could get complicated.

“And if that doesn’t work she brings ’em to me,” Aunt Beth said.

“And you make them behave?”


“How do you do that?” I was no expert but I had a suspicion what Aunt Beth was going to say.

“I remove their testicles.”

“But doesn’t that spoil them, as men?”

“It does make them sterile. They can’t get a girl pregnant afterwards. That’s usually a blessing for all concerned. But they can perform still if you put them on hormone replacement.”

I nodded. “So why do that to them? What’s the point?”

“If you still want him to perform you can control his testosterone level that way. Keep him on a very low dose and increase it just when it suits you. That way he won’t pester you when you don’t want it. Or any other woman either.”

I didn’t much like the idea that my man would hanker after other women.

“But the main reason,” Aunt Beth said, “is that there comes a time when he no longer needs them. If he’s had all the children he wants he’s better off without them.”

“Better off? How so?”

“Health for a start. There are a lot of cancers that he won’t get and his arteries are less likely to clog up. He’ll probably live longer and it will save a woman years of lonely widowhood.”

I nodded.

“His own quality of life will improve too. Testosterone suppresses certain areas of the brain and stimulates others. Without testosterone he won’t have that stupid male ego that so many men have; that machismo quality.”

I wasn’t too sure of that as an advantage. I liked machismo in a boy, and that self-confidence they seemed to have. It was part of their attraction for me.

“On the other hand, it suppresses their awareness of their surroundings. A lot of men can live in squalor and filth and not even notice it. Without testosterone men become much more aware of what they see and hear and what is around them. They can express themselves and communicate their feelings better too. They become more sensitive and more in touch with their own feelings. It makes them much better husbands as a result.

Aunt Beth could see that I wasn’t agreeing with her. “Look I’m not saying it applies to young men. It’s as they get older. For a woman in her forties say, she doesn’t really want sex all that much. She’d much rather have a nice reassuring cuddle. She wants friendship and companionship from her partner. A lot of women just put up with the actual sex in return for that. Men become much better companions after they’ve had the procedure.

That sounded totally boring to me but I supposed it could be like that for old people. I thought mom would be like that. Not Aunt Beth though.

Mr. and Mrs. Driver checked in at the boarding house that afternoon. They seemed a nice couple and Mr. Driver was a good-looking guy in his early thirties. I sensed that he fancied me. He did look me up and down in the way that guys do. Mrs. Driver clung to him and seemed to want to control him.

Personally I thought it a shame for Mr. Driver to be fixed. He was still an active man and a player in life. However I could see that Mrs. Driver wasn’t. It seemed to me she’d kind of given up and was happy to settle for a comfortable, stress-free middle age. I’d liked to have understood more how he felt about it all. How come he had agreed to this?

I was tempted to hang around and listen to the conversation that Mrs. Driver was having with Aunt Beth but that would have been impolite. Afterwards Aunt Beth told me that Mr. Driver had been doing things with other women and Mrs. Driver had given him the option of divorce or castration. Divorce would have left him broke and he did genuinely love his two kids so he was booked in to Aunt Beth’s clinic.

Next morning Aunt Beth gave me a run through of what would happen so I’d be prepared for it. She showed me a video too. I was embarrassed to find myself becoming aroused by it but it certainly taught me what to expect and it made me rather look forward to being there when it was for real.

“Rachel, do you shave your armpits?” Aunt Beth asked me.

“Yes. Of course. And my legs and arms too.” What an odd question.

“Would you like to do the prep on Mr. Driver for me?”

Oh heck! I was blushing again. Fortunately Aunt Beth was busy with preparation and didn’t notice. “Yes. Okay.”

“Right. It’s nearly ten. Put on scrubs and then we’ll get ready.”

I took the green coverall and disappeared into the bathroom. There were other parts of me that needed a clean too. I could have done with a change of panties as well but I didn’t want to go and get them.

Mrs. Driver brought her husband in to the ward at ten sharp. He wasn’t looking at all well. There was a definite pallor about him. She got him undressed and into one of those stupid gowns that they make theatre patients wear. Mrs. Driver gave him a peck and left. She mentioned that she was looking forward to a few hours of retail therapy to relieve the strain.

“Nurse will prep you for the procedure,” Aunt Beth told him. I was the other side of the screen. I could just hear her whisper “She is much too pretty so don’t be embarrassed if you get an erection. Most guys do.”

Gosh, but I was getting all moist again down there. I hoped it didn’t show. I came in with the shaving kit and what I hoped was a friendly but ‘let’s-be-sensible-about-this’ expression on my face.

“I have to prep you Mr. Driver. Please don’t be embarrassed.” I knew that long hairs clog up a razor so I trimmed him carefully with scissors first. I had to hold his scrotum so that the skin was tight enough for me to slide the razor over it. I was careful not to hurt him. I shaved his crotch behind his scrotum too. Mr. Driver didn’t seem to mind and I was surprised at how big and how ugly his penis was. It was the only adult one I’d ever seen and I wondered if they were all like that. There was pubic hair growing on it from the root to about half way along. This was too good an opportunity for me to miss.

“Would you like me to shave your penis too, Mr. Driver? It’s not really necessary but it will look nicer.”


I thought of my friends from school as I worked. “If they could see me now,” crossed my mind and I had to remind myself not to actually hum the tune.

One thing is for sure. A prick does look much nicer without hair growing on it. ‘Someone ought to tell boys that,’ I thought.

Mr. Driver was prepped and we let him walk to the theatre. He’d come back on the gurney.

We got him on the table, legs apart and knees bent. There was a lot of towelling under his testes. Presumably to soak up spilt blood.

Aunt Beth did the lidocaine injections around the area to be worked on. This was to be a local anesthetic. Mr. Driver’s penis was fully erect.

“Would you hold the penis steady?” Aunt Beth asked.

I did. Mr. Driver didn’t seem to mind at all. It felt huge in my hand and it was definitely throbbing.

Aunt Beth worked away on his scrotum and testicles. I was holding his prick away from his balls and it seemed a good idea to soothe him by gently sliding the skin of his prick up and down. He seemed to like that so I did it a bit faster.

Mr. Davis let out a sound half way between a yell and a groan and great gobs of white stuff suddenly shot out the end of his prick. ‘This must be an ejaculation,’ I thought, working him through it.

I continued to hold his now limp, shrunken willie while Aunt Beth applied some dressings. Then I cleaned up the gobs of ejaculate. We got him on to the gurney and I wheeled him to the ward and helped him to get into bed.

“It might be a bit sore as the anesthetic wears off,” Aunt Beth told him. “Ask for a pain killer when you want one. The best thing for you now is some sleep.”

He dozed off quite easily into a drug assisted sleep.

We left him there. Back in the theatre Aunt Beth showed me the testicles that she’d removed. To me they looked kind of sad and forlorn, lying there in the kidney shaped stainless steel dish. I said so to Aunt Beth.

“Well, they’ve done their job,” Aunt Beth said. “They made him into a man and given him two children. Now he doesn’t need them any more. They’d just cause him harm and make his life unnecessarily complicated. He’s much better off as a eunuch.

“How come he agreed to it?” I asked.

“I think deep down at some level it was what he wanted. He just needed that little persuasion that Mrs. Driver applied.”

I was thinking about that when Aunt Beth went on. “There are a lot of men out there who would be better off if they had this procedure and they probably know it subconsciously. Unfortunately our culture won’t let them acknowledge it. They sublimate that knowledge and it re-surfaces as an erotic turn on for them to be castrated. “

“One of those male perversions you mentioned?”

“Yes. But you can say that any man who lets himself be persuaded, like Mr. Driver, knows deep down that it’s the right thing for him.

Somehow, that was reassuring for me. It was nice to know that Mr. Driver would have a better life, thanks to our efforts.

“I’ve followed up on a lot of my patients over the years. Almost all of them have happy and satisfying lives.”

“So how did you get started on this, Aunt Beth?”

“Really I was never cut out to be a doctor. Sickness is distasteful to me. In this line of work I can practice medicine on healthy guys.”

“And how long have you been doing it?”

“Oh, almost eighteen years now.”

“How many men have you done?”

“Over a thousand.”

“How do people get to know about the service you offer?”

“Word of mouth mostly, and referrals from other doctors. Actually your mom helped me to get started. She knew someone who needed it and brought him to me. Once you get started the rest just flows. Two or three castrations a week is fine. You don’t really want too many of them.”

It had been quite a day. That evening Aunt Beth and I were sat in her living room when a thought occurred to me.

“Aunt Beth, if mom brought you your first patient, was he… er… anyone I would know?”

Aunt Beth smiled. “But don’t say anything. You mom would be so embarrassed if she knew I’d told you. It was soon after she fell pregnant with you. She didn’t want that again.”

Mom had had dad castrated!

So how come I now had a baby brother?

story text

KathleenK’s Greatest Snips

Summary: A couple enticing emails by the notorious KathleenK, the castration queen.

I have played many scenarios, I find I like longer and longer scenes (like real life?). I like the preparation for castration.

I like to draw it out as long as possible; it can be a beautiful torment. Even start days before hand and mark your castration day on the calendar. Draw your attention to it every day. You’re one day closer to being my eunuch. Like if I was doing your scene I would want to be the one that shaved your scrotum. All the while I would talk about castration, how much I like it, the different ways I might do it, maybe tracing lines on your scrotum where I might cut you, maybe use a Magic Marker to mark the place where I will cut, things like that.

My younger sister and I were raised on a ranch by my older sister. She taught us how to castrate. Each late spring/early summer we would have to round up all the males on the place and castrate them (except for a few used for breeding). We raised mostly cattle, with some horses, pigs, sheep, etc. Most of the castrations I did were on year old animals but each year there would be a few adult bulls and stallions that I would castrate because they did not breed well or were no longer used. Of course, all adult males on the ranch that are not good for breeding are castrated as soon as possible. This makes them gentle and easier to handle, much less dangerous; it is a rather obvious transformation they go through. This is one of the things that fascinates me about castration, and believe me it works on men to if they do not load up on replacement hormone therapy. No one would ever tolerate stallions except for breeding, never for riding especially around children (and us defenseless females!). I first started castrating when I was going through puberty. That is when I got hooked on castration, as is the case with most castration addicts. There was no stigma attached to it. It was simply work that had to be done. Vets were very expensive and hard to get; no one hired them to do simple castrations. I found it very exciting at the time and still do. We used to giggle about it and fantasize about cutting our boy friends, teachers, assholes, etc.

The first time my husband met me I was castrating an adult bull, I was wearing shorts and a halter, my future husband got an enormous erection (and I think he ejaculated in his pants but he would never admit it). I have not done any recently. Love it though, you should experience it sometime if you have not already.

You asked how we got bulls to stand still for castration. Well, this was certainly not what you would call consensual castration. When we castrated adult bulls we used a special pen that was designed especially for handling cattle. The whole process of castrating an adult bull was very thrilling for me. Bulls are very dangerous and have killed people. They weigh 1500 – 3000 pounds and are all muscle and nervous energy. They usually do not like for people to herd them about and pen them up in tight places. They seem to sense they are in danger and do not like it, snorting and panting and bellowing and pawing the ground with their hoofs. They try to ram the corral to get out, its like a small car hitting the corral, except no metal to metal of course, but it shakes everything violently. The pen was very strong, made out of welded pipe. It was a pen that narrowed down to a funnel at one end. At that end it became a narrow passageway that only one bull could pass at a time, the width could be adjusted easily and quickly. At the very end was a gate, it could be closed (and opened to let the new steer out), it had and opening that the bull would always poke his head through trying to get out. This opening was hinged so that it could be opened wide, once the bull poked his head through a lever was pulled that squeezed the opening shut tightly on the bull’s neck. Now the bull can not go forward or backward. Then the passageway is squeezed tight against the sides of the bull. Now the bull can not go forward or backward or to the left or to the right. Then another pipe gate is slid across the passageway just behind the bull. This gate prevented the bull from kicking — the Castratrix. I could now approach the bull safely from the rear with my little black bag (A purse you think? Full of little dainty girl things? Lipstick and perfume? NO! NO! NO!). The bull could hardly move, but 2000 pounds of shear muscle and energy could rattle the cage violently. It was frightening to stand inches from such power. Now the fun can begin. After I had laid out my little black bag on a little shelf to the side. I would reach between the bulls hind legs and take his scrotum in my hand and gently stroke it, then an amazing thing would always happen, this thrashing monster would always calm down!!! I had his attention! Well you asked how we got them to stand still for castration, that’s it. I will not waste your time or bore you with the rest!

story text

“A Simple Procedure” by Katherine

Until about 2 years ago I knew little of castration but events certainly changed that. I am 41 and my husband is now 44. He is an associate professor at the local university here. One day, and totally by chance, my sister and I saw him having lunch with one of his graduate assistants. From their demeanor, and the fact that they were sitting next to each other in a booth, I realized this was more than a casual lunch.

For over a month I felt extremely depressed. My sister suggested seeing a therapist or confronting my husband but I felt myself paralyzed. Finally, however, I did see my doctor and confided in her. After listening to my situation she asked me if I would be content to have my husband be a eunuch. She explained that a simple procedure would make him uninterested in his “friend” in particular and sex in general. I hesitated at first but then realized it was a solution to my problem. I am not a very sexual woman and do love my husband and his companionship. I agreed.

About 2 weeks later Charles and I arrived for his “check-up”. I had told him Dr. Gold felt it was time to check him for his risk for prostate cancer and that she could lower that risk if necessary. After joining them in the consulting office I watched them go into her examining room. I felt relieved knowing Charles would no longer cheat on me.

Dr. Gold later told me of the procedure. She examined Charles and then told him she needed to further examine his genital area. She had him place his testicles and penis through an opening in a screen and then explained she was going to give him an ‘injection’ to facilitate the exam. It was a local anesthesia. Once he was numb she quickly cut open his scrotum and professionally removed his testicles. He had no idea that he was being castrated. After the procedure she told him he might be sore for a few days and suggested he stay home from work and let me tend to him. She also told him his risk level for prostate cancer was zero now.

I waited until we were home to tell Charles he was now a eunuch. At first he thought I was joking but when I told him I knew of his affair he realized the truth. He was too shocked to be angry. I told him I did not care that he had no testicles and that now we could be true friends and companions. He cried a bit but let me tend to his sore, and now empty, sac. His friendship with his graduate assistant ended almost immediately.

It has now been close to two years since my husband’s castration. We are very happy. Charles cannot become erect anymore and has no interest in any woman but me. His penis has become quite tiny (Dr. Gold did not tell me that) but I actually think he enjoys letting me see it. At night I stroke it and though it stays soft and so little I think he enjoys it. At times he happily satisfies me orally.

I hope other women will realize a simple procedure can make their husbands calmer and uninterested in straying. I am so happy to have my husband castrated and in many ways feel that day I saw him with the other woman was truly a blessing.

Thank you for reading my story.