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“Eunies” by Admin

[Note: I posted this here once before. It’s kind of angsty.]

The ‘eunie’ trend came out of nowhere. Suddenly, closet eunies and eunie wannabees were finally able to come out and be themselves and to freely express themselves. There was even talk of organizing an annual ‘Eunie Pride’ march but nothing ever materialized. A proposal to tack an ‘E’ onto the end of GLBT was also made.

It wasn’t long before couples in female-led relationship took notice of the trend. Many men seized this opportunity and used it to confess to their partner how they yearned for her to take their manhood. And most women were only too happy to oblige.

In other couples it was the woman that took the initiative. Articles appeared in women’s magazines like Cosmo discussed the benefits to strong women of keeping a ‘house eunie’ to fulfill their domestic needs as well as their domination ones. There was a TV program called, “The Stepford Eunies”, that aimed to educate the public about this new segment of suburban households that was beginning to be spotted everywhere. A new clothing style and hair style arose that gave eunies a very distinctive look. It was basically a male look that had many features to soften it and make it more feminine. And of course, the eunies themselves were softer, quieter and pudgier than intact men.

One couple where the woman took the initiative was George and Emily.

Emily was the breadwinner, bringing home the bacon from a job in the tech sector. She was becoming increasingly dissatisfied with George. He had done nothing since their marriage except hang around their home trying to develop money-making schemes.

Finally, Emily got fed up and gave George an ultimatum: “I’ll give you six months to get your latest project off the ground or you will agree to become my eunie”.

“But… but I don’t want to be a eunie!” George wailed.

In the ensuing months, George locks himself in his study every day to ‘work’. When he comes out he is flushed, shy and shamefaced. Emily checks his wastepaper basket and finds the tell-tale gooey tissues she expected.

When the deadline approaches she asks George about the progress of his work. He says he has made good progress but needs more time.

Emily says, “I think the only kind of progress you’ve been making is filling your wastepaper basket with gooey tissues.”

George hangs his head in shame.

Emily continues, “You’re just a silly little sissy masturbator. All you’re good for is playing with yourself. Becoming a eunie will obviously make you a much better person.”

George covers his face with his hands, hunches forward in his chair and quietly moans, “Noooooooooo, nooooooooooo”.

And sure enough, a month later George is calmly vacuuming the living room carpet dressed only in an apron and pink fluffy slippers. His ‘manhood’ floats in a small jar of preserving fluid on a shelf nearby.

Emily enters and tells George to stop vacuuming and get dressed, they are going for a ride. Emily drives them to the Sexless Service Agency building, parks the car and leads him inside.

The reception area is staffed with young smiling ladies who greet them warmly. “You’ll be staying here from now on, George,” says Emily. “These people have given me a good price for you. You’ll be employed performing domestic duties for their clients. Goodbye.”

George just stands there, stunned and bewildered.

A month later George spends his day off sitting quietly on his cot bed in one of the company’s barracks. He’s dressed in his sissy maid uniform. All the other cot beds are empty, their occupants are out on assignment. He hears a gleeful jingle blaring from the TV in the day room announcing the company’s recent re-branding: “Sexless Service is Sex-Lo now!” He looks at the floor and sniffles.

And so ends the story of George and Emily.

But there’s more to say about the Sexless Service Agency.

There is actually a quite a range of services provided by the company, not just domestic work. In particular, some eunies are specially trained and rented out as sex toys.

An unusual request comes for the after-party of a small conference of female dominant executives. They want five older eunies, ones in their late 50s or early 60s, to serve in the nude as waiters and to provide specialized entertainment.

Three lady execs sit at a table, talking and drinking champagne. Their hair is worn up and they wear sleek, body-hugging evening gowns.

“There’s nothing more satisfying for a dominant woman than to be waited on by a naked eunie,” says one.

“Just think,” says another, “it was only a few years ago that we had to take orders from old guys like these.”

They call over one of the waiters and ask him how he likes being castrated.

“It’s OK, kind of boring,” he says.

How long, they ask.

“Five years.”

How did it come about?

“Wife arranged it. Said it would be best for me.”

What was your job before you were fixed?

“Accountant.”

Why not continue that?

“No longer had the drive.”

They thank him for the information and then one of the ladies says, “I’m not wearing panties. Now get down, crawl under the table and lick my pussy.”

A couple minutes later she feels his warm breath and obedient tongue licking between her legs. She throws her head back and laughs.

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