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Backstory for Zontar22 images

Back in the early 1900s, the Women’s Suffrage movement, in Britain, where women wanted the vote, there was not only the public protest etc. but a secret group, known as The Sisterhood, were operating behind the scenes. They wanted more than just votes. They didn’t even want equality, no, they wanted a Female Supremacy!

Over the years, women got more equality with men but The Sisterhood were still at work. Over the years, women of The Sisterhood were in positions of power and influence. Their agents infiltrated government, the military and the police force. They rigged elections and assassinated male candidates.

Eventually they were in a position to control the whole of Britain, Europe and the US. Laws were introduced to prevent males from holding positions of power and certain jobs.

It was decided that many problems in society were caused by males and the root cause was the hormone Testosterone. Testosterone become a controlled substance and as it is naturally occurring, and made in the testicles, a law was passed where every male over the age of 16 must apply for a Testicle License. Various forms had to be filled in and males had to have a sponsor, such as a wife, who wanted them to retain their testicles, in order for a license to be issued. 

All males who were refused a license by the Testicle Licencing Authority, had to be castrated. These images show the doctors and nurses who work in the Castration Centres. The main company that produces the equipment is Castratech. Castratech is owned by members of The Sisterhood, of course.


Short note about recent story posts

I’ve always found textual narratives to be the hottest form of porn because it is the most suggestive and because it can capture the psychological relationships so well. The 25 stories just posted are ones I’ve collected over the years. The first one I encountered, “A Meek Wolf Among Savage Lambs”, I found in a collection of Ribald Tales published by Playboy when I was only 12. It was this story that showed me for the first time just what a powerful hold this fetish had on me.

I’d love to publish this collection as a single eBook and charge a nominal fee to compensate me for the job of editing it. But obtaining permission from the authors seems too problematical and I wouldn’t want to publish without it.

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“SNIP!” by Vickie Tern

I. “Snippety, snip!”

Aurora was playing around down there again. After we’d made love she’d often lie there with her head on my thigh and “play doctor” as she called it. She usually set a frantically passionate pace once we got going, climbing all over me and urging me to thrust everywhere into her, and when finally we’d both gotten sated, bitten, scratched, and covered with each other’s juices, when finally I was exhausted, she’d be pleased but somehow restless. We’d been seeing each other about six weeks, five of them mostly in bed. No way had we used each other up. I felt closer to her than ever, and I’d begun to live for each evening when she’d come over from wherever she lived. My work fell to one side, and my friends never saw me. Much of the time we wouldn’t even bother to eat the romantic little dinner I’d prepare or we’d phone for.

We played wonderful games. Languorous courtesan, with Aurora leaning back in satin as if amused, while I coaxed from her the sexual favors she half-denied, half-yielded. Slave prince, me tied to the wall and defiant while she was the Amazon princess who used me. Once bitch in heat, me sniffing her privates before a glorious lunging fast fuck, jabbing my withers at her as quickly as I could.

Then one week we played all these roles again, and the others too, only in reverse. I was the bitch in heat. She was the imperious captive. For my role as a courtesan I wore satin and stayed home from work all day to get my hair and make-up just right, and she wooed me with a diamond necklace that made me feel genuinely lovely as she clasped it around my neck, the two of us looking in a mirror. After a swooning session that left me breathless, my unladylike cock finally limp inside her, she said, “Oh, you should have been a girl,” and I smiled and kissed the tip of her strap-on dildo in reply. She also wished I could be a bitch in heat more often. Only when we played stallion did she show impatience, while I was mounting her. I’m not that large. But mostly I give satisfaction.

Then she had a game of her own she liked to play with her fingers, clipping everything extraneous off the world. Waiting for me to come back to life a third time, even a miraculous fourth, her own playfulness undiminished, she’d wave her arms in the air all around me, like some Circe casting a spell, and waggle two fingers together like scissor blades, and mock-cut things up. Hair from her head, or from my crotch. Her bra, crumpled into the bedsheets under her sweet rear end. One of her nipples, still jutting nobly out of their pink aureoles on the tips of those gorgeous breasts. My penis.


When I objected to that even in play, she smiled and moved down to my balls, sprawled exhausted in their limp sack, waiting to recover. She lifted them with one hand and clipped the sac between her two fingers just below where the penis attaches, as if she were cutting excess material from an apron or house dress in process. “Snippety!” she said.

I let it pass.

“You don’t mind my snipping these, now, do you,” she said, experimentally hefting both balls in her palm before letting them back down on the bed.

“Well, yes,” I said. I decided not to say anything more.

“But why?” she asked, I couldn’t tell whether impatiently or teasingly. “You don’t need them. You don’t mean to have more kids, do you?”

She knew I didn’t. My ex had been awarded both, and the grief I’d caused and felt for them all through the divorce and since was enough for several lifetimes.

“And I certainly don’t want kids. Whether we keep seeing each other or not. So why do you need them? They’re in the way when you jog or play tennis or do anything healthy, bouncing and jouncing. When you’re my captive maiden in my dungeon, they ruin the view. And anyone can put you into agony by punching them.”

She swung her fist in a short uppercut from between my legs, and I flinched before she arrested her swing and held her hand up, palm out. “See?” she said. “Never touched them, and look at you. Big strong mans.”

She meditated. “I don’t have any and I get on just fine.”

“Aurora,” I said. “That’s what makes the juice that made us so happy a few minutes ago, when I was reaching and reaching for it and finally you brought it all spurting out of me. Into you, and you seemed glad to have it, the way you arched your back and cried out over and over.”

“No, those things don’t,” she said. “Not that juice. Not your testicles. Where’d you get your sex education? That joy juice is from your prostate, down deep just behind this limp thing here, your penis. From that smooth little lump I tickle sometimes, when my finger’s deep in your ass, and then you cum like a jackrabbit.”

“That’s some stunt,” I said with feeling, remembering. “Where’d you learn that?

“In sex education. In high school.”

“They taught finger fucking?”

“It was a liberal school,” she said. Her mouth mused a little, and she glanced sideways at me for a moment, then went on. “Both sexes got the same sex lectures at the same time. A doctor explained our physiologies. He told the boys how doctors reach into assholes to feel the prostate to see it’s OK, especially when a boy gets to be an old man. It sounded neat. So I took three boys outside and dared them to let me try it on them. Then once I got them going, all three came all over themselves. That was fun!”

“You were something!” I said, admiringly.

“I’m not now?” she asked. She knew the answer and went on. “Then they asked me to do it again, and I played hard to get. They said they’d do anything I wanted if I’d do it to them again. So I did, a few more times that day. Then each day for a few weeks. It was lots of fun, better than Girl Scouts for sure! But I ran out of things to order them to do, and it got boring. I told them no, no more, and they pleaded a while, but you already know pleading doesn’t work at all with me. Not at all.”

She paused. “A year later one of them told me they were still doing it to each other. I bet they still are.”

“What’d you order them to do?” I asked. I felt stirred, somehow.

“Oh, stuff,” she said. Her lips were close to the head of my penis, and I wondered if she was going to take it into her mouth. That beautiful mouth, with those red, curling, curving lips. “Told them to walk around naked, and kneel in front of me first whenever we were starting a session, and ask me nicely. Like I asked you to kneel earlier tonight, and you were so sweet and did it. You know. One I made wear one of my brassieres and panties all day under his clothes. He became my dedicated girl-boy. I put him in dresses when we went for sodas and things. He was so afraid he’d meet someone he knew! I made the other two boys try to tickle his prostate gland with their cocks, but both cocks were too short, so I had to finish him off with my finger usually. They’d push their pricks into his ass, but nothing ever happened except they’d cum in him and make him messy.”

“The day I told them all I wouldn’t play any more, I figured I’d cure my girl-boy of being afraid, as a going away present. I told him maybe I’d change my mind if he did everything I told him with no hesitation. Then I got him up in my nicest party dress, his hair done up with a ribbon, and a little lipstick, and all. He really was pretty! I kissed him, and I said, ‘That’s my girl’ to encourage him. Then I walked him all over the neighborhood, the schoolyard, everywhere, and made sure everyone did see him and recognize him. He was mortified at first when the first girls we saw teased him, and the guys all told him to meet them behind the school for a little ‘you know what.'”

“Oh my, look how you’re swelling up. You really do like girly games too, don’t you. Anyhow, after a while there was no more reason to feel afraid. Everyone knew. The rest of that year everyone teased him that he was a fairy girl and a pantywaist, and everything, and he finally learned to say, ‘So what?’ By then he liked wearing panties, and dresses, and all the rest. When the three of them took up diddling each other, he usually dressed up and played me, I heard.”

“You really were something!” I said admiringly. By now I could feel her moist, warm breath on my cock, those lips not an inch away from it. “What else did you do?”

“Not much else. Couldn’t think of much else, at the time. Stretched out their assholes, of course. Not with a dildo or a butt plug, the way I do you. Couldn’t afford things like that then, not on my allowance. But I figured, what my finger could do, a broom handle could do better, and then a baseball bat could do better still. And they sure could. Though I had to be careful to grease them, and not to push them in too far, and to wash them off especially after. Yuck!”

My prick was definitely on the mend, and I began to caress her nipples with both hands. She settled in to enjoy it with a snug little grunt of contentment. “There was an accident,” she said a little dreamily. “But not too bad. I tied off their balls, the two that weren’t my girl-boy, and got a leash and a whip, and tied the leash to the loop around their balls, and started to teach them circus tricks. Crack the whip, and tug on the leash, and up they’d go, climbing ladders or a tree in my back yard, or sitting on each other’s shoulders. My girl-boy sitting and watching in his pretty dress would applaud us.”

“So what was the accident?”

“One day they were both in a tree being monkeys, and one of them dropped the other on the other side of a branch, and when he fell he hung by his balls for a while, until the other boy could cut him loose. Scream? A neighbor called an ambulance. But no real harm done — he was back in school inside of a week. When he got back he told me his balls were too damaged to keep, so they’d taken them out and put in little soft plastic ones instead ‘so he wouldn’t be disfigured’ they told him, and when he grew up they said they’d give him big plastic ones. ‘Disfigured?’ I ask you, whose crotch looks better, yours with all that clutter hanging off it, or mine, swept to a simple V-shaped mound and neat as a pin?”

She glanced up and saw a little gleam of lust in my eye, and then she looked back down at my cock again. “Right,” she said. “No contest! Anyhow, they gave this kid shots later on, so he’d grow hair on his chest and all, and be a man, same as if he still had balls. Couldn’t have kids, of course, but what’s so bad about that? Couldn’t knock anyone else up either and then run off. He didn’t care for girls after that anyhow. And the other boys taunted him, called him a eunuch when they learned the word. But as my girl-boy learned to say, ‘So what?’ They hung out a lot together afterward, my three little boys. They were my first.

“So that’s how I know about shots. If you already have hair on your face, and you don’t want kids, you don’t need these gumballs.”

She clutched them in her hand, and squeezed, till they hurt a little. I tried not to let on. She took an experimental lick on the tip of my penis, and then another, and squeezed a little harder, and looked satisfied for some reason. “Well, maybe they’re good for one thing, though shots are still better. A little bit of testicle juice, you’re a little bit horny. A lot and you’re a lot horny, if you’re the right kind, though too much from your balls make can make you nasty, really aggressive, you know? Angry, and you don’t live as long. Shots work out better. Of course your own can conflict with the shots, and then your balls can atrophy or get cancer, and then you lose them anyhow. “

“How’s this little fella doing?” My prick had gotten plump, not yet stiff. Suddenly she took the whole of it into her mouth, rolled her eyes up to meet mine mischievously, and started sucking on it. In two minutes I was hard again, and in five more minutes she’d sucked me to a monumental orgasm, my prick pulsing and pumping in her mouth until there was no more juice left for her to swallow, and then pulsing a few more times anyhow.

Then she wanted to slither up my body and have me thrust my penis into her yet again. No way.

“Aurora, I’ve come four times in the past couple of hours, once just a few minutes ago. That’s already twice my world record for assisted comes.

“I told you,” she said. She waved her arms around, making that scissor gesture again. “Shots are better. You want to see a doctor I know. She’ll fix you so we can go from morning to night, and then all night if you want to really shoot up. Maybe an implant. Just talk to her about it, OK?”

I agreed to talk. She licked me up and down for a while, concentrating on the head of my penis and on my nipples, until I felt a peculiar desiring in my groin, which was still soft. The desiring starting to build, like an orgasm, but without my penis responding it seemed to have no place to go. She could feel a delicious tension rising in me finally to stretch out my whole body, I’m sure, because she said, “Oh, yes! You’re the one!”

Then suddenly without another word she got up, got dressed, and was gone. It was barely midnight. An early evening.

For a few days I didn’t hear from her, and I began to worry she’d quit with me. I hadn’t performed for her. I realized I had no phone number to call to ask for another chance. She’d always called, and she’d always come over, or we’d met someplace. I didn’t even know where she lived! Then Saturday morning the phone rang. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Aurora said without preliminaries. “Be ready. We have an appointment with my doc in forty minutes. She was just able to fit you in. I’ll honk and you come out.” And she hung up.

What had I agreed to do with her doctor? To talk about hormone supplements to could keep my pecker up indefinitely. Induced satyriasis? I pictured myself going to work crouching down and trying to hide an all-day boner, and grinned. Well, a permanent hard-on would solve my problem with Aurora for sure, I thought. Just what the doctor ordered. And if our relationship didn’t work out, no harm done. I threw on sweat pants and a sweat shirt as if I were going jogging, and when her little Toyota honked I came out in a trot and hopped in. Only when we were under way did I realize I’d taken no wallet, no money, not even house keys.

Her doctor practiced in a clinical building just outside of town, apparently with other physicians with no other Saturday patients, as far as I could tell, because an “MD” license plate was the only other car in the lot.

“Now, you’re sure you want this?” she asked me, leaning back in her chair after Aurora introduced us. “Sign this release please.”

I glanced at Aurora. She shrugged slightly, her head a bit askew, as if to say, “Humor her, she’d odd but she’s worth it.” Doctors these days won’t give you the time of day if they don’t feel protected against litigation. So I signed the paper on the edge of her desk and then started in.

“First of all, I’d like to know what’s involved.”

She looked annoyed and her eyes flicked off her wristwatch. “Medial resection and then hormone augmentation, maybe by implant. A simple procedure. The effects can be rather long-term, however,” she said drily. “I’ll ask again, are you sure it’s worth it to you?”

“Aurora’s quite a woman,” I replied, smiling at Aurora. She beamed back at me reassuringly. “She’s worth quite a lot. She’s special. I want to satisfy her.”

“She surely is special,” the doctor replied. “And so will you be. Well, I have a busy afternoon at the hospital, so if you’re ready I’ll explain as we proceed,” the doctor said. “There’s a small OR here, sufficient for these kinds of in-house procedures. Usually people go directly home afterward, but I understand Aurora wants you to spend the night here. That’s acceptable. Aurora, if you’ll wait here for now. We shouldn’t be long.”

This time I grinned inwardly. An implant to give me indefinite hard-ons. I could live with that. And if Aurora wanted to take immediate advantage of it, that’s OK too. We walked into a small brilliantly lit room, and as ordered I removed my pants, lay down on her examination table, and as asked put my feet into the stirrups. I’d heard women comment on how open and vulnerable they felt during gynecological examinations with their feet bound to those metal extensions high off the table, their private parts utterly exposed, and now I understood. Then with swift efficiency the doctor strapped down my hands and started an IV.

“First something to help you relax while I’m working,” she said, injecting something into the tubes leading to my veins. Almost immediately I felt warm, comfortable, reassured about everything. Then the doctor went between my legs to do something I couldn’t see.

“Is it an implant you’ll use?” I asked. “Injections? How does it work? It stays hard all the time?”

“Ordinary injection of a local anesthetic. I’m already injecting the site, and I see already you can’t feel it. Oh, you mean hormonal implants? In your case I think time-release shots to keep you going for a month at a time. And does it stay hard? No, it gets easier with practice. I do lots of these, for women who request them, those with brutal husbands, or with men who wander into other women’s arms. It lets them know who’s boss. For Aurora it’s been to assure performance, until now. Injected hormones aren’t as stressful to the body, and she likes it with lots of juice. Not many men agree to this procedure. I don’t know where she finds you.”

I was adrift nearly asleep on a sea of good feeling, bobbing up and down, and had no idea what she was saying. The doctor was busy between my legs.

“There,” she said. “That’s one of them. Now merely tie off the main blood supply and cauterize the small blood vessels.”

Was she installing a dildo in my cock? Half-dozing, I was amused by the idea of changing the batteries. A vibrating cock? I’d finish up a real fucking machine. A six million dollar man, easily worth that much to any woman who couldn’t get enough. Feeling all mellowed out.

“There,” she said. “That’s the other. Done. Now I’ll finish the suturing and pack the wound. Then tomorrow we’ll start your replacement hormones.”

I must have nodded off. “Want to see?” I suddenly heard her say. She pulled a stainless steel pan out from between my legs and showed me. In the pan floating in a clear liquid were two yellowish, pink eggs, like two hen’s eggs, with blebs of flesh of some kind attached, and a few small veins on the surface, a large vein of some kind running across one side.

I looked again.

Then I looked again. There was nothing else they could be!

I looked down! My vision was blocked by the sheet — I couldn’t see anything. I couldn’t feel anything. There was nothing to feel. What was she doing? What had she done? I felt rising horror! An awful fear rose up in my stomach and flushed though my body! I came suddenly fully awake.

“Nooooooooohhh!” Someone in agony. A terrible wail echoed in the tiny room.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” the doctor said. “This is very tidy work down here. You have no basis whatever for complaint!”

Aurora! What had she done? The doctor continued down there, and I could neither see or feel! But I knew! There was nothing there! Not any more! Nothing!! Was my penis … ?

As if answering the question, the doctor said, “I’m taping your penis to one side, to keep it out of the way until the wound heals. There’s a catheter in it now, so you won’t need to pee. I’ll remove it tomorrow before we discharge you.” She looked up and smiled. “I mean remove the catheter, of course! My but your pulse jumped when I said that! No, this is only an orchiectomy.”

There was nothing for it. My brain refused to register any more shock or fear. The tranquillizers held me firmly in their grip. I tried to think about it. Nothing to think about any more. Oh, my God! I blacked out.


When I came to, there was Aurora sitting in a chair in a small hospital room of sorts, looking at me with some concern, but mostly prepared to be pleasant and cheering. She was wearing a business suit, and looked as if she’d stopped off on her way somewhere else. Previously I’d only seen her wearing a shirt and jeans, and then usually for not long.

“Well, good afternoon, lover,” she said brightly. “You’ve been out a few hours!”

“Aurora,” I said. My throat was very dry, and she handed me a glass of water from the bedside table. I sipped it and held it out to her, but she didn’t seem to think to take it back. So I held it very carefully on my chest with both hands.

“Aurora, do you know what they did?”

“She did, dear. It’s a very simple operation, and doesn’t really need a team. Yes, I know. She told me everything’s perfect, and you can be home tomorrow. I mean to take you home with me, to see you get everything you need. The wound will be fine in a week, but some things take longer.”

“Did you tell her to? We’d just talked about an implant, remember.” Did we? I felt the first stirrings of anger, but they didn’t go anywhere. I was blitzed out. The drugs, still, maybe.

“This is much better, dear. I told you why. Hormones conflict, and can do you injury. You don’t need them. You’ll want to do the things I want you to do. I have plans for us.”

I didn’t know what to say. “Aurora, they were mine. You shouldn’t have.” For some reason I felt tears starting up in my eyes, but they got no further than the anger. “You shouldn’t have,” I protested again. It sounded weak. Altogether inadequate. But I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Well, we’ll agree to differ on that. It’s done, and we can’t cry over spilt milk. Don’t worry, love, I’m going to take good care of you. It’ll be fine. You’ll see. We’ll be better than we ever were, and we’ve been very good, haven’t we?”

She reached over to ruffle my hair and smiled at me. I smiled back — and I didn’t feel like it at all, but I couldn’t help it. Tears started up again, and a desolated feeling. But the feeling went nowhere. I just looked at her.

“You’re still a little zonked, I see. I have to go now, pet. Things to do.” She took the glass of water out of my two hands, where I realized I had been clutching it on my chest, lying very still for fear of spilling. She put it back on the night stand. “You don’t need this any more. I can see you’re not going to make a fuss,” she said. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning to take you home. My home, so I can look after you, until you’re all well and can get used to things. Don’t worry, I know how to appreciate you.”

She stood, and I looked at her, really, for the first time since I woke up. She seemed a different person. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun at the back of her head, and her make-up was…perfect. She was smoothly, impeccably groomed. I’d never seen her like that. Previously she’d come to my house with her hair down and tousled, and a minimum of makeup. But now she looked smoothly, impeccably groomed, invulnerable. Untouchable. She held out her hand to my face, fingers dipping down, as if she wanted me to kiss the back of it. As if she were used to being saluted that way. As it approached my mouth I saw her forefinger and middle finger close, open, and close again. Unmistakably. Even so, without knowing why, I kissed the back of her hand as she wanted, and then looked up into her eyes. She was pleased.

“Snip,” she said softly. “That’s my girl.”

The next morning I was a little less woozy, and woke with two firm realizations. One was that my balls were gone, and that was that. All the resentment in the world wouldn’t bring them back. The doctor had done what she thought I wanted, and had asked me twice, and I had signed for it. I just hadn’t picked up on her cues while we were talking. The second realization was that I wanted nothing further to do with Aurora. She’d betrayed me cruelly to gratify what, her own whim? I wanted to get things in my life back to the way they had been, as far as possible, and get out.

So when the Doctor came in the next morning to check her work, and change the heavy compress for a light pad held with adhesive, I asked her how long before i was fully healed.

“Soon,” she said. “By tomorrow you won’t need a bandage, just a Kotex pad for a few days. In a week the incision will have grown together and just panties will be enough. Then maybe a few more days until your ghost testicles stop paying you visits in the middle of the night.”

Obviously this doctor was accustomed to talking to women, but she sounded reassuring.

“Now, something else,” she said. “Technically, right now you’re a eunuch. Your body’s manufacturing traces of the hormones you need to maintain firm skin texture, and other sex characteristics, and above all to maintain sexual desire. But not enough. In a few days you’ll lose all interest in that part of life, when what’s there now is used up. So we need to replace the hormones your testicles once manufactured with the other kind right away. You understand this, don’t you.”

“Yes,” I said. “I’ve discussed it with Aurora That’s what I came for.”

“Good,” she said. “Then you already know what Aurora wants for you. But it’s your choice.” She began preparing different hypodermic needles, filling them with fluid from several ampules. “Now, you can have it one of two ways. A time release shot that will last a month, once it’s in you, and really flood your system. You won’t be the same when it gives out and come back here for more, believe me! There will be radical changes in your body. I’ve seen it before, in the other men Aurora brought here. The muscles they grew? You better believe it!”

More reference to other men. Well, I’d never had reason to believe I was the first man in Aurora’s life, or even the first she’d gotten castrated. Heck, she’d started using boys to gratify her power tripping whims in the high school! That seemed to be her thing. And there was no doubt she preferred high performing men to ordinary men. I wondered if these hormones the doctor was talking about would make my prick grow longer too.

“Sounds possible,” I said. “What’s the other way?”

“A sustaining dose that won’t change much of anything, that you can see. Not right away. A shot now to get you started, then pills to maintain a tolerable level of hormones in your blood. Whatever may happen will happen much more slowly. Years, instead of months.”

Well, I thought, if I’ve got the disadvantages, I may as well have the advantages too. “I’ll go with the time release shot,” I said. “Heavy duty. All the way. You know.”

“Yes, I know,” she said. “You’re sure? Once I inject these, there’s no turning back.”

“I’m sure,” I said. I was wondering if those heavy muscle men grow additional hair. Well, I’ll find out.

She had me turn over, and then she injected me four times in the butt, two in each cheek, enormous doses it looked like.

“You’ll feel nauseous for a few days, perhaps, while your body adjusts,” she said. “A little like morning sickness. Aurora’s brought you your clothes meanwhile. You may want to dress while you wait for her to take you home.””

When I checked over what Aurora had brought, I saw they weren’t my clothes at all, but hers. Panties. A full skirt of some soft material. A white silk blouse with a large bow at the neck. Slip-on flats, and no socks. And a bra. Well, I guess there there was no way she could get into my apartment to get me a change of clothes, so she had to bring me hers, whatever might fit. A skirt would be easier to put on than pants right now, for sure. But why the brassiere?

I asked her when she arrived. Again she was wearing a richly textured, fashionably cut, expensive-looking suit, and small diamond studs in her ears, and stockings, and high, high heeled pumps, looking like an ad in the Sunday New York Times. Again, hair and face impeccably groomed. Why hadn’t I noticed earlier that her nails were always polished, perfectly groomed? She looked at me and answered, “Never mind about the brassiere, I’ll tell you when we’re in the car. Just put it on now, and let’s go. Here, I’ll help you.”

Downstairs at the main entrance there was another surprise. Not the little old Toyota we’d arrived in, but a long, black Mercedes limo. With a driver, wearing a cap. He leaped out of his seat as we approached, and politely opened the rear door for us to enter, a little like a giant picking up a toothpick. He bowed way down to do it — he was huge, and his effortless ease when he moved suggested enormous strength. Face large, craggy, tanned, and handsome, with gleaming white teeth, and wide shoulders tapering to his waist.

“Please, ma’am,” he said as Aurora swept past him into the wide rear seating area, and settled herself.

“Thank you, Charles,” she replied.

“And you, ma’am,” he said, waiting for me to get in. I glanced to see if he was mocking me — not a hint of it. So I got in without a word. I felt sore down below. He got back behind the wheel, hunched his heavy shoulders, and we started out.

“Aurora,” I said. “Renting a chauffeured limo to console me, to make it up to me, what you’ve done. I appreciate it, but it won’t help. I don’t need it. What’s done is done. But when I’m healed, I won’t want to see you again. You’re too much like my ex-wife, too determined to have your own way. I’ve had enough of that.”

“No,” she said. “You’re wrong, pet. First of all, this car isn’t rented, it’s mine. And Charles works for me. In fact he’s one of three men who work for me, all three of them hunks as gorgeous as he is. Isn’t he? Secondly, we’re not done, you and me. We’re only beginning. I can understand your resentment right now, but you’ll soon see that there are advantages to letting me have my own way. And I will have my own way. I’ve had it all my life. Thirdly, I’m not comparable to your ex-wife. I’m your employer.”

I was stunned. She sat quiet, having said all she intended to say. “You have money?” was all I could get out. A dumb question, obviously she did.

“Lots,” was all she replied. I looked at her. She was settled in for a long drive, apparently, glancing out the window now and then with her eyes focussed in the middle distance, not really looking at anything. She began glancing at a dispatch case in a rack on the rear side of Charles’s seat, and I realized I was about to lose her attention altogether.

“You said you’d explain why the brassiere,” I said, still a little numb in the brain as well as the groin. It was the only thing I could think of to say.

“Oh, yes. I’ll be direct, because apparently you object to my indirection. I want you to wear a brassiere. That’s sufficient reason. You’ll do well to get used to the idea immediately, so there’ll be no questions or problems by the time we arrive home. It’s a large estate and variously tended, but my personal staff are only the kinds of people I want them to be. Charles and his two associates are now well-trained, and I’ve lacked only someone like you to complete the roster. Like what you are becoming. I was delighted to find you some weeks ago, after a great deal of looking I might add. You’re perfect for the job. Or you will be.”

I was dumbfounded, but my brain was kicking into gear finally. Aurora was not the libertine, free-spirited dropout nymphomaniac she seemed when she took up with me. She’d pretended to be that kind of girl because, well, role-playing amused her, and I guess it gave her opportunities to test me. Her real purpose all along had been to lure me here into this limo, castrated and with high-test hormones spreading through me to make me into…what? Another hunk? Another Charles? She’s done three men already? How many men does one woman need dancing attendance on her?

“Aurora,” I said, annoyed. “Why four men to wait on you? Why me?”

She glanced at me a little more sharply, saw my puzzlement and a hint of the indignation I was beginning to feel, and then redirected her attention entirely in my direction. She turned toward me, and I saw that now, finally, I was going to get some answers.

“My dear,” she said in a quiet, steady voice, watching me closely. The playful, self-amused Aurora I’d known before now wasn’t anywhere to be seen. “Not four men. Three men and a girl. The girl to wait on me too, I suppose, sometimes. You are wearing a brassiere right now, at this moment, in part because as of now you are my resident girlfriend and companion — you’re amusing, and I’ll enjoy being with you. But mainly, you are an amenity for my household staff. So you need to dress appropriately. Really, that’s what you became the moment you saw those testicles of yours floating in the hospital pan, and the deed was done. That’s when your new life began.”

“Now, you ask, why you? You because I could see, soon after we first went to bed together and began playing our games, that you have the right submissive temper to do what I require. Few men are willing to play every game I want, but you’re one of them, I’m sure. You just may not know it yet. Also, you have the right bone structure to become a perfectly lovely woman when the your replacement hormones have finished their work.

“What are you talking about!” I began to raise my voice. I was starting to feel frightened. I caught a glimpse of Charles’s eyes in the rear view mirror, watching me closely. “You told me that once my balls were gone high-test testosterone would turn me into a kind of ideal guy. Like…Charles!” My voice began to fade even as I spoke. Was Charles one of her creations too? Probably. Were the other two hunks she’s mentioned? Were we all without balls, so her preferred hormones could do their things without interference?

“No, not like Charles. Testosterone replacement makes suitably endowed men into gorgeous hunks, like Charles. So it does. But I didn’t say that’s what I had in mind for you. You’re going the other way. Estrogen replacement, my dear. Massive doses of it. You heard the doctor. In only a month you’re going to begin looking like a lovely lady, with a lovely figure. Softer and rounder. And that’s what I need you to be.”

Now I was in another world. I felt like another person. I was losing my grip on my sanity. I reached out for it. “Aurora, why? What for?”

She took both of my hands and held them firmly in hers, and looked hard into my eyes until she saw me retreat from near hysteria back into bewilderment. Then she leaned over and kissed me, gently, on the mouth.

“My sweet darling, you could never be one of these men. Not with that cute little penis. That round little ass I love stroking when we’re in bed together. These guys have pricks double your size, or more. Telephone poles. And they were body builders even before I started pouring special testosterone and steroids into them. They’d lift weights all day even now if I’d let them, if I didn’t have other things for them to do around the estate. And that’s how I want them. That’s the kind of man I really love to fuck, and suck. The kind who can make me feel completely fulfilled as a woman, with manhood to spare. It’s like spreading your legs to a mountain, getting in bed with these guys, or like cocksucking a fire hose. And I like some of my sex rough, as you might have guessed from the way I’ve behaved in bed with you even after we’ve fucked up a storm. That’s something you can’t do for me, you’re so gentle and sweet. But these guys certainly can! Huge dongs slammed into me hour after hour, one after another! And always horny! Always ready for more!”

“Don’t feel bad, though. You’ll be my only girlfriend, and that’s special. Don’t be jealous of them. They’re my fucktoys, those hulks, but you’re my darling! Some nights I may just want to cuddle, and hug, and be licked, or just have fun kissing and caressing the way girls do. A friend to giggle with. To talk about girl things with. It’ll take time, but you’ll see, you’ll love it!”

“Some nights just you and me. But your main responsibility will be something else. I spend a lot of time out of town, looking after my various holdings. My three darling hunks are on lots of special hormones that keep them feeling pretty randy, you know, for whenever I may want them, and for however long. It can get pretty lonely for them when I’m away. Or if I’m wrapped around one guy all night and he’s fucking my brains out, nowadays the other two have to pass the time jerking themselves off in some corner. Or else thinking about doing each other.”

“You see, they’re all three bisexual. That shouldn’t surprise you — men who sleep with men often give lots of dedicated attention to their own bodies. They know better than to take up with other women when I’m not around, of course. These three guys are all mine, and I’ve paid for them to go through some very expensive conditioning to get them that way. So they’ll enjoy servicing me and no other woman.”

“But to answer your question ‘why me,’ that’s why you. To distract them from each other. They know you’re a man. No matter how lovely you get to be for me, and you will, pet, they’ll always feel attracted to you as a man too. As the best of both worlds, in some ways. When I’m not around or available, you’ll tend to their sexual needs the way they tend to mine. Darling, your main job will be to service them, to keep them happy. That’s why I’ve gone to all this trouble with you. No fear, in time you’ll come to love all that brute strength and muscle the way I do, wrapped around you and plunging into you.”

“Now, tomorrow I have to go out of town for a few weeks on business. Our guys will take care of you while I’m gone. They’ll want to wait on you hand and foot while you’re healing. You are going to feel like a pampered princess. Then after about a week, when you’re ready, I’ve asked them to take your cherry. Each of them. I’ve told them to make love to you as gently and beautifully as they can, so by the time I get back you’ll really love making love to them. Then we’ll have some girlish secrets to share with each other, won’t we.”

She hesitated, glanced out the window, then made up her mind and turned back toward me. “Dear, I may as well mention this now, so you can begin thinking about it. Some day you may want to become a complete woman. Of course you’ll look like one all the time, pretty and seductive, that’s your main job. But our guys would certainly appreciate another place to push their meat into you. If you had a vagina, they could do you properly when I’m not around, using either opening, the way they do now with me. They could try out new things with you, or practice on you some of the things they know I like. You know.”

“As you’re now arranged, your asshole is going to be pretty sore a lot of the time. Poor dear. Those big dildos we played with when you were being Camille or Cleopatra are not as big as our fellas. Trust me, that’s the truth. And there are three of them, remember. You may be glad to have another soft hole they can tuck themselves into.”

“Then too, it may be you’d enjoy straight sex sometimes, the way you used to. Of course I mean this time as a woman, their pricks fucking your vagina. And I’d love for you to have labia for me to stroke, and for your big clit to be remade into a cute little button I can flick with my tongue. So you may well want another operation some day to complete the job. But that’s up to you. Just give it some thought.”

I tried to think of something to say. Nothing came.

“Ah, I see we’re arriving. You see these walls, sweetheart? Even if you should elude our guys, and make it as far as these walls, don’t try to climb them. There’s broken glass and live electrical wire on top, to keep intruders out. You can feel safe and snug while you’re here. You’ll always be well-looked after.”

“Next week will be such fun for you! Soft music, romantic candlelight, gifts of flowers and sexy underwear, everything they can think of to make you feel glad you’re a woman. I’ve told them that in the future you’ll be their slut, or schoolgirl, or schoolmarm, or flower girl, or whore, whatever they like. All of the reverse roles we played together, and more. Even a girl pretending to be a pansy boy, if they miss their old ways and want to remember them. But that all through next week they must realize you are a young girl waiting breathlessly to be beautifully seduced by each of them, and behave accordingly. Do enjoy each of them, sweetheart!”

“Incidentally, that blouse looks charming on you, just as I’d hoped. You’ll love the wardrobe I’ve gotten you. Mostly everyday women’s clothes, of course, many of them as nice as mine. But also all kinds of gowns for all kinds of delicious games.”

As the car pulled up to the front entrance of the estate, two huge men in muscle shirts leaped attentively to the car doors on either side. I carefully maneuvered myself out of the limo — my crotch was still hurting a little.

Then the brute on my side said, “Hi, I’m Jason. I’ve been hearing a lot about you for weeks and weeks, now. I’m so glad we’ve finally met.”

He was built like a wall, but he couldn’t have been more solicitous and attentive. He handed me a welcoming bouquet, and then he offered me his arm.

I looked around for Aurora, but she’d already gone in. What else could I do?

I took it.

story text

“Just Dandy’s Just Desserts” from Riding Cult magazine

Summary: Justina Jay visits here rich friend Mirelle at her enormous ranch where she is holding a race meeting. The object of one of the races is to win, not because of the prizes, but because all the losers are immediately and summarily gelded.

Returning from my trip to Una’s island, off Turkey, I only had time to attend a couple of board meetings with my directors – naturally all women – when I was phoned and reminded by a chum in Kentucky that I had agreed to fly out for her big summer race meeting. It had slipped my mind, but I knew my pal Mirelle, a former Miss USA finalist, would be upset I didn’t attend. Trying to get my current house boy to pack in a hurry was like trying to get blood out of a stone. Eventually, in his haste, he managed to tear a chiffon dress. I was furious. Not tolerating idiot house boys gladly, when I left for the States he had been soundly flogged, and was shipped off to spend the rest of his miserable life on a sugar plantation which I own.

I actually arrived at Mirelle’s huge ranch a day early, in time for some relaxation. Mirelle is a very tall, leggy lady, who has a great love of the American dream, the great out-doors, unashamed luxury, a penchant for the bizarre, and an unrivalled loathing for males. It is common knowledge that her ex-husband treated her badly, and that now she is a staunch lesbian. However, apart from bruises, she did inherit something close to half a billion dollars when he died in a mysterious yachting accident. Rumors were flying at the time, but those of us who know her are quite aware of what happened to him.

Having freshened up, I went downstairs and was greeted by the lady herself. She looked absolutely magnificent, dressed like a cowgirl, with a teeny, fringed cowhide skirt and a fringed jacket, a ten gallon hat and a pair of brown pointed boots, which had a fierce looking set of rowel-spurs affixed. Curled around her fancy buckled belt was a sturdy round-up whip. She kissed me firmly on the lips; I was tingling and excited, so made no attempt at resisting when she poked her tongue into my mouth. We played for a while, our tongues rolling around together. In high spirits, she led me back upstairs and insisted I dress in an identical outfit to her own. She stood and watched, drawling exuberantly about her cattle and crop yields, as a male, in tight leather body suit, undressed and dressed me. What I found rather odd was the slave’s suit did not allow the bending of elbows or knees, or the twisting of the head. With arms permanently outstretched to his front, all movement was facilitated via the waist. Just for a bit of fun, before leaving, I ordered him to get my clothes unpacked from my trunks , then polish every single pair of shoes and boots which I had brought with me – about sixty pairs. Mirelle laughed and said. “Keep ’em busy, keep ’em busy.”

As we strode out of the ranch-house into the glorious sunshine, a couple of ranch-girls were holding a pair of handsome mustangs for us. I bounced up into the saddle and sat down on the broad American saddle, which felt like an armchair after a British saddle. Yanking my right rein, the horse turned. Mirelle and I rode side-by-side, chatting about tomorrow’s race meeting. Without a word of warning, she dug the spurs into the flanks of her mount, and galloped away. Naturally, I spurred up my horse and gave it a few hefty lashes on either flank with the reins. We rode out at the gallop for about a mile, until we came across a whole gang of cowgirls rounding up a herd of beef cattle. We entered what I can only describe as a dust bowl. The cowgirls were yelling and whooping at the animals, and the sound of crack after crack of their whips filled the air as they drove the obstinate beasts along.

Through the dust, I noticed that a number of naked, two-legged males were running about, trying to avoid the cowgirls’ whips and the hooves of the heavy beasts. I saw one fall. Mirelle rode up and slashed at him with her whip until he scrambled to his feet. She whipped him into line, until he suddenly stumbled. The earth shook under the weight of the herd and he disappeared from view, shrieking as they ran across him. I could hear Mirelle laughing above the racket. Taking up my whip, I joined in the drive. A male ran in front of my horse and tried to dart away to one side. I jerked my mount’s head round sharply and pursued him, making sure that I caught him a few cracks of my whip before he fell down in front of me. It was an exhilarating feeling as I trampled him into the dirt, followed by three more cowgirls who galloped across the flailing body.

We drove beasts on and on, running as fast as they could towards the corrals. There were two corrals, and Mirelle rode up beside me and told me that any of the animals could be driven into either, but that that they should end up with roughly equal amounts. Sitting around the rails of each enclosure were a number of cowgirls. As soon as the gates were shut, they waited for the cattle to settle, then jumped down into the rings. I sat back on my mustang, next to Mirelle, who was wearing a permanent grin. Asking my host what was going to happen, she would only say, “I’m making me a livin’.” About a dozen cowgirls in the first corral jumped onto a bull and pulled him over, turning him onto his back. Within a second, a Mexican looking girl with long jet black hair, knelt between the beast’s back legs and unceremoniously castrated it.

A girl pointed at a two-legged male, and all the girls chased him around the corral, caught him, dumped him onto his back and within a second the dark haired girl had sliced off his balls. Very soon, the cowgirls had finished the task of castrating both the four-legged and two-legged cattle in the first corral.

“Now we brand ’em”, Mirelle informed me, looking on with interest, chewing a piece of gum. Mirelle dismounted and strolled over to where a brazier had already been set up. As one of the males was pinned down with a few girls sitting on his back, his rump help up firmly in readiness, Mirelle pulled the branding iron from the glowing heat. She spat on it, and it hissed like a snake. Slowly she wafted it about the male’s face and head. He struggled and wriggled in the dirt, and Mirelle smiled broadly. Then she licked her lips and moved it closer and closer to the flesh. The beast struggled frantically. Finally Mirelle pushed it firmly onto the left buttock. There was a scream and hiss as the iron imprinted the mark of the owner. Mirelle held the iron in position and counted slowly to ten, then handed it to the dark haired girl. Mirelle remounted her horse, and we watched together as the girls went through and branded every animal in the pound. They were then driven, ball-less and branded, into a huge cattle shed.

Now attention was turned to the remaining corral of beasts. With no idea where we were going, I followed Mirelle and the others as they began to herd the cattle along a corridor towards a huge corrugated building. We then tied up our horses and entered the building through a side door. Six girls yanked along a huge beast by a chain around its neck, while others cracked it’s rump with their whips. They led it into a tight metal pen, and I could see what was about to happen. Its head was pinned down firmly between two clamps, then a large busty red head pulled down a bolt-gun. There was a bang. A bit of a struggle ensued as the cowgirls pursued a two-legged male and frog-marched him, yelling, towards the metal pen.

Later, as we walked back towards the ranch-house, Mirelle said, “Darn it, Justina, it’s all cattle. The castrated ones get a stay, anyhow. Fatten ’em up for a bit longer.” I felt no guilt that evening as I sat around the table chatting with the other guests, and tucked ravenously into a thick, juicy steak.

The next morning, I was bathed and dressed by my attendant, and went down for breakfast by the pool. The whole ranch was buzzing about the day’s racing, and Mirelle was already greeting guests. Both visitors and staff talked excitedly about the ponies which they fancied would win. As I sipped my buck’s fizz, I was presented with a program of the afternoon’s events, which included a form guide for each of the eight races. The highlight, as it had been for the last four years, would be the Mirelle Kentucky Derby. There were nine prime colts contesting this year, all of whom had been entered by their various owners and trained by their specially designated trainers. Although a winning pony can be sold, that is of no importance, and the real spirit of the competition is to show off the skill of the owner, trainer and jockey.

At one o’clock the track side marquees were packed with joyous ladies, all present to enjoy a good afternoon’s racing. Following an announcement on the public address system and a fanfare of trumpets, played by young ladies in sort of mock beefeaters uniforms, the gates at the far end of the course were opened and our procession of coaches set off on their way towards the start line. Mirelle and her two nieces occupied the front carriage, and myself and the Countess Olga of Austria occupied the second carriage. Behind us came three other carriages. Each vehicle was luxurious and decorated with splendid ornate gilt work, and pulled by four huge, sturdy pony slaves.

They wore fancy harnesses and bridles, with bells around their ankles, and horse hair plumes which sprouted from their headgear. I sat back and waved as we passed the cheering crowd to travel the mile or so along the straight course. The animals were required to execute an exaggerated high trot, with legs rising up and down in unison, feet turned neatly inwards and landing on tiptoes. Our driver and foot woman sat before us, resplendent in their coats and top hats. The poor darlings must have been baking, and I was only too grateful that I had chosen to wear an extremely lightweight dress which allowed a cooling breeze to flow across my body. One of our ponies fidgeted and tried to accelerate, this disobedience was immediately punished with a firm tug on his reins and a couple of sharp reminders with the driving whip.

Arriving in what Mirelle had named the royal enclosure, a tape was cut by Countess Olga and the race meeting was pronounced open. I strolled down to the paddock with Mirelle’s young nieces, Bobbie and Beccy. Both of them were high spirited girls, but they maintained that very serious air that seems to be so much expected of young American ladies. Their dresses were finely cut to conservative length, just below the knee. Bobbie’s showed off a mere glimpse of cleavage, each wore a small hat with a ribbon. My own dress was much shorter and lighter, and my hat was a huge gay affair. We arrived at the ring to find the stable lasses parading their charges. All of the day’s races were in harness and across the flat. At other times of the year, minor meetings take place where ponies are saddled and ridden across obstacles, and also harnessed and driven across specially prepared, rough and bumpy courses. These other races are classified as hunts and chases.

There was an appreciative clap as the jockeys arrived in the paddock, dressed in colorful silks and thin white jodhpurs. The first race was for novice jockeys and novice ponies. Neither drivers nor ponies must ever have competed in more than ten races, and no pony must have ever won a race in its career. Due to these criteria, Beccy said she would bet on Amy, an old chum, whom she was confident had the strength and determination to drive any old nag to victory. Bobby decided that she would back the favorite, and I decided to go by form and weight. Amy, I’m sure, was a very capable driver, but she looked rather heavy at over ten stone to win on a pony that had only ever carried a seven and a half stone jockey in the past. I noticed that of the fourteen runners, one likely lad looked very fit and alert. His ears pricked up as his jockey, a cool looking girl with a long ponytail, mounted her buggy. She held the reins tightly as the pony’s stable lass tightened the harness and led him towards the entrance of the track. We put on our bets and went to watch the runners cantering down to the start. Amy’s mount looked very hot and was sweating up, and it seemed as if pulling Amy’s weight down to the start line was enough for him. Sure enough, she crossed the finish line, frantically whipping her exhausted pony home, in last place. Beccy was furious and went along to help her chum take the skin off the pony’s hide. Most losing ponies received a well-deserved thrashing. My selection had passed the post second, which I felt was fair, but really I’m only interested in winners. Bobbie’s choice had finished well down in the middle of the field and was whipped by its jockey all the way back to the stables.

The next race was for geldings only, and it was won by a smart looking lad which I managed to select and have a bet on. Beccy and Bobbie were most put out. A colts race followed. None of us picked a winner, which Bobbie assured me was due to their unsound temperament. And next came a race which has to be one of my all-time favorites; the beauty therapists Gelding Challenge Handicap. The race was devised by a consortium of beauty therapists, and is of great novelty value. It is a challenge to owners of high class colts who have the nerve to put their ponies on the block. All ponies must have won no fewer than five good class, listed races. Only three of the fifteen brave owners would have a pony which would ever compete in high class races again. Any pony failing to finish in the first three would be returned to the harnessing enclosure and gelded, hence making him eligible only for chases, disqualifying him totally from the prestigious flat races. The lady with the microphone explained all this to the spectators.

A huge crowd of ladies collected around the parade ring as the colts, harnessed and ready to run, were led in by the stable girls. When all the turnouts were in the ring, they were halted and their groin covers removed. Some of the younger spectators whistled. Beccy and Bobbie laughed and clapped, “I’ve got the winner of this’n”, boasted Beccy. “Look out for the one with the biggest balls!” She then relayed a theory that because each pony was effectively running to save his plums, the one with the biggest ones would run the fastest because he had the most to lose. Bobbie laughed hysterically and said that Beccy put forward this theory every year, but had yet to choose a pony which had retained his right to keep his balls.

The ponies were paraded round and round until eventually the jockeys filed into the ring. A lass pulled her charge to a halt right in front of us and held him firmly as a petite jockey approached. She came up to the lass and asked what chance she thought she had. “Pretty good”, replied the lass. “Except the handicapper has given us a bit to do.” I had earlier thought the same as I looked at the penalty weight which the colt had been given. Beccy gave me a nudge and gestured at the leather bands which were attached just under the pony’s knees. The pockets of the bands were bulging with carefully calculated lead weights. Bobbie couldn’t see the problem, saying that the handicapper knew her job, and the animal had obviously earned the extra weight. Before getting into the little buggy, the blonde jockey whispered into the ear of her mount, and gently rubbed his great, fat balls. This seemed to unnerve the animal, and we watched with some dismay as his member started to stiffen and rise. Bobbie and Beccy watched with disgust and sipped champagne. The jockey continued to rub him, and I heard her say, “if you don’t win, boy, then we’re going to have to cut these off.” He was a highly strung colt and started to toss his head and crunch on the bit.

Suddenly, the colt flung his head to one side and caught the blonde jockey an almighty bash in the face. In a second he had yanked the reins from the stable lass’s fingers and proceeded to dart off across the ring. As the jockey cried “OW!” and held her face, I instinctively nipped under the barrier fence and ran after the wayward animal, followed by the stable lass and a number of other spectators. We encircled the animal. He looked scared and jumpy. As I slowly approached him, I gently called out, “Good boy, Good boy. We’re not going to hurt you.” I walked up and he trustfully let me take his reins. Then, as another lady took the reins from me, I walked cautiously around, and with the minimum of movement, slipped up into the seat of the buggy. Very carefully, the reins were passed back over the pony’s head and handed to me. The pony tried eagerly to twist his head round towards me, but his harness made it impossible. He champed at the bit, and when I was sure that he was calm, I pulled on the reins and reversed the turnout away from the rails and into the center of the enclosure. A cheer went up from the ladies in the crowd, and I could see champagne classes raised everywhere. I watched with sympathy as the young jockey was led away in tears to the medical tent. As the pony’s lass, Sherry, and its owner, Miss Fox, came over to thank me, I was just about to dismount when Miss Fox asked me if I would substitute for the injured driver. Pointing out that although I was a proficient pony handler but not a licensed jockey, the owner looked across at Mirelle. Mirelle smiled and nodded. Having accepted the challenge, a great cheer went up when it was announced over the loudspeakers that I would drive pony number nine, Just Dandy. Miss Fox was keen to have her animal raced in this event, and as the other competitors had started to leave the paddock, it was obvious that I wouldn’t have time to change or have the weights adjusted. Miss Fox said that as I was obviously much taller than her original jockey, there was no problem about the weighing in above the handicapper’s stipulated weight. It didn’t matter that the pony would have an extra stone or two to pull. It seemed pointless to suggest that we remove the lead weights from around his knees, and Sherry had already mentioned that it was time to get him down to the start.

Beccy and Bobbie jumped up and down excitedly as I walked the pony past them towards the exit and out onto the course. “Good luck”, said Sherry as she unclipped the lead rein. Although unprepared to participate in a public race this afternoon, I sat back and decided win or lose I would enjoy myself. I clicked my tongue and kept a firm hold of the reins, making sure that the lad wouldn’t try to run away with me. He cantered on smoothly, but tried to toss his head about. I took a firmer grip on the reins to ensure that the bit would be cutting into the corners of his mouth, to alleviate the problem. The last thing I wanted was a difficult race on my hands. Following the string of turnouts, I eventually arrived at the start. Just Dandy was sweating up and seemed to be breathing rather heavily. Was I mad? Did I stand any chance whatsoever of driving the colt to victory?

Walking slowly round, I kept my mount’s limbs moving as we waited to be lined up by the starter. One by one, the jockeys were called to pull their ponies into the line-up. Number nine was called, and I steered my pony round next to the others, checking him to make sure that he didn’t overstep the mark and risk disqualification. The girl next to me smiled and wished me good luck. As I slid the swishy driving whip from its holder, my pony’s ears pricked up and he started to fidget. Even as a novice, I knew that one must never touch a pony with the whip until racing has started, as it could send it off prematurely. Using the reins, and gently shushing him, I tried to calm him down. The anticipation was electric as the starter took up her position with her flag. All the ponies were shuffling nervously, their finely honed muscles twitching, and their bodies gleaming with sweat.

The Flag dropped and there was an instant flurry of sharply cracking whips all around me. Copying the style of the other jockeys, I flicked my wrist back and forward, stinging the pony’s rump with a very fast flurry of little cuts. Already I must have been two lengths behind. There was a mile to run. Having accelerated their mounts to the desired pace, the others settled down, holding off on their whips for the moment. With half a dozen cuts, we passed the four back markers. We were on the outside as we came towards the left hand and there was no chance of me pulling in. Instead, I kept my mount steady and we raced alongside the others. Suddenly, the pony’s foot slipped. He stumbled and I found us veering sharply inwards. The jockey next to me yanked back on her reins, but there was nowhere for her to go in order to avoid me. Hooves were thundering all around me. Natural instinct told me to thrash his left flank. As I did, he lurched away to the right and picked up his footing. I tried to steady the buggy by pulling him back, but I found myself swerving uncontrollably to and fro. Eventually, as I was pulled this way and that, I straightened him up, eased off the reins and whipped him up again.

The other colts had now rounded the bend and were several lengths ahead. Tactics were far from my mind. I was incensed by his mistake and being left, once again in last place. We had now negotiated the only bend of the race and the straight stretched out before me. Using all my strength, I slashed the whip down across his rump, for a split second he shook his head and hesitated, until I caught him again with another stinging slap, when he jolted forwards, bending into the traces. Although we accelerated considerably, I was in no mood to let him down. I drew back my arm and let go with another enormous crack of the whip, which cut open his hide. His muscles were straining and the sweat was pouring down him. A lump of foam from his mouth went flying past me. As I kept at him with the whip, I gained on my rivals. We passed a sturdy, black pony on the left, then worked up through the field. All I could see then, in the distance, was the winning post as we flew by the five hundred yard marker. With all my effort I kept the whip cracking across his back and flanks.

There were just three girls ahead of me, and I was driven by an exhilarating urge to win. The four hundred yard marker post went by as I moved up alongside the third. Glancing across, I noticed the jockey was making virtually no effort to keep up with me, and I accelerated past her. My pony started to slow down. His legs were drooping as if they were turning to lead. I cracked the whip across his calves, again and again, and he lifted his legs. We came up to challenge for second place. Stride-for-stride we headed towards the line together. The jockey at the front was very experienced. She glanced round at the two of us battling it out for second place, and smiled. With a hundred yards to go, I punished my pony for slowing. “Get on!” I yelled. The ladies in the crowd had jumped to their feet and were shouting, it was an incredible atmosphere. The girl I was battling for second place with now flicked her whip and cracked it across her mount’s broad back. He instantly responded and quickened, and the more she drove the whip across his back the faster he went.

My pony was flagging badly. I furiously scolded him and changed my whipping arm. The lazy beast now stumbled and swerved, refusing to run in a straight line. With increasing vigor I struck out with the whip, as I could see the lady who was second now challenging for first place. A jockey with bright orange hair went flying past me, her whip flying up and snaking vertically along the length of her pony’s buttocks. In desperation, I tried to use similar strokes. Another girl flew by, then another. All their ponies looked much fresher than mine. Just when I thought that I had been passed by all the other competitors, I heard a lady yelling behind me. She was very close behind as I could feel the air move as her whip hissed through the air and cracked sharply against her pony’s flesh. The winning post was now coming up, as I glanced round, I wasn’t interested in anyone in front of me, just this lone driver gaining on me.

Cracking my whip in all directions across my pony’s shredded back and rump, my only consideration was to endure that I didn’t finish in last place. With all my force I let fly, stroke after stroke. My lone competitor pulled up by the side of us. She was screaming at her pony to go faster and her whip was flying through the air in all directions. I shouted at my colt and thrashed him. Next to me I could see the shiny wheels of the other buggy glistening in the sunlight as they gently whirred around and around. We were running neck and neck, I looked at her and she looked at me, it was as if we were locked in mortal combat. She gritted her teeth angrily, I don’t know if it was at me or in sheer frustration. Both of us raised our whips and slashed the sweating, straining rumps before us.

Relentlessly I kept my animal going. Ladies in the crowd were shouting and whistling. A whole mass of them were leaping up and down. I wouldn’t give up. Nor would my adversary. Perspiration was literally running down her face, through her unceasing effort and determination. I let fly with another upward vertical stroke of the whip. Unfortunately it was like applying the brake. My mount almost leapt into the air and tumbled. Drawing back the whip, I realized that the end of it had flown up in between his legs. Perhaps it had caught him somewhere tender, but I didn’t really care. Once again I shouted at him and drove him with all my might. Only when I saw ponies being pulled up in front of me did I ease up with the whip and pulled back on the reins. The race was over.

I was puffing and blowing as I wrenched back on the reins and pulled my colt to a standstill next to my rival. She reached across and smiled, also breathing heavily, and shook my hand. “Hi, I’m Joanne. Thanks, good race,” she said. “Justina, yes, it was good fun,” I replied, catching my breath. We both laughed as we realized that neither of us actually knew who had beaten who, it didn’t matter anyway. Both of our ponies were well whipped across their backs and rumps. I clicked my tongue, my pony groaned as he fell into the traces and we slowly moved forwards. His feet shuffled lazily and he was puffing and blowing like a steam train. Flicking my whip once across his rump to wake him up, I commanded him to trot on, and clicked my tongue at him. I decided that whether I had been last home, or almost last home, I wanted to arrive back at the dismounting enclosure with dignity. “Trot on!” I said sharply, and gave him a couple of necessary slaps. Joanne followed suit, yanking her pony round. We both made our ponies trot, legs lifting high into the air, as we drove along the track through the clapping spectators. The first girls home were greeted by smiling owners, trainer and stable girls. Our stable lasses and owners looked less than happy.

All the jockeys had to go and weight in, and Sherry, looking most dissatisfied, unstrapped Just Dandy’s leg weights and handed them to me. After Joanne, I weighed in, and was told that I had driven with two and a half stone above the handicapper’s weight. If I’d had time to sort out the weights, perhaps I could have actually won. As Mirelle presented the winning jockey, owner and trainer with trophies, and the crowd cheered appreciatively, I realized that it could have been me. Damn Just Dandy! Horrible little pony! The losing jockeys were required to re-mount and drive their charges across to the collecting ring. All those required to report were announced on the public address. Beccy and Bobbie came up and told me how amusing they, and seemingly the rest of the spectators, had found the race of the slugs for last place. Sherry led us across the ring, where all the losers had gathered, and Beccy, Bobbie and a lot of other girls followed.

We had to sit tight and wait in a queue, as we were officially placed last, we had to wait at the back. At the front of the queue, I saw the first pony unharnessed and shackled, legs spread wide apart, across a bench. A tall, very pretty blonde in a white coat appeared. We were too far away to see her exact movements, but from the shriek which rang out, everyone knew what was happening. So the queue moved forward. Joanne dismounted as it was her pony’s turn for the chop. She came across and offered me a cigarette. She lit it for me then lit herself one. We needed to relax after our exertions. We smoked leisurely as we watched the blonde expertly operate. Her mount was dragged away and it was our turn. Beccy and Bobbie had come along to watch. Just Dandy had now regained some strength and actually tried to struggle, the little bastard. His original jockey, sporting a bruised cheek, had also come along to watch. The blonde gelder was most professional. Beccy handed out glasses of champagne and we all stood about and watched.

Sherry took the gelding away to a stable and we all went off to enjoy the rest of the day’s racing. Much champagne was drunk, much fun was had, and in the evening Mirelle threw a huge party. Apart from losing the race, I had to agree that the whole meeting had been a great success. Mind you, I was pleased that Just Dandy had got what he deserved, and I had to congratulate the beauticians for thinking up the race in the first place. Apparently, Just Dandy will be running in some chases next year. You never know, if I feel the urge, I may even drive him myself.

I’ll keep you posted.

Justina. XXX

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“Betting the Ranch” by Richard Lovel

One summer while a teenager, Peter visited relatives who owned a small ranch in the hill country. The attraction of the place for him was not the pleasant green hills and sparkling natural springs, but rather his distant cousin Ashley, a buxom country lass about his own age. At a brief meeting several months earlier, the sexually precocious girl had given the inexperienced youth his first lessons in making out, in the back seat of a Chevrolet at a drive in movie. Obsessed by the memory of his adolescent seed spilling in her hands as her fingers slowly teased his virgin genitals, Peter eagerly anticipated the visit.

The day after his arrival, Ashley offered to show him around the ranch, which was devoted to the breeding of cattle. After pointing out the stock pens and some of the prize breeding bulls, she led him into a small, clean building filled with equipment unfamiliar to the city reared teenager. “This here’s our breedin’ barn. This is where we inseminate the cows to get them with calves. Also,” with a sly smile, “where we milk the bulls.”

This last remark confused Peter. “Milk the bulls — I don’t understand.”

“I don’t mean the drinkin’ kind. Where do you think we get all the sperm for the cows?” She giggled, “Remember what I did to you at the drive in?”

Peter blushed in understanding. “Oh.”

Ashley walked over to a stall, beside which a large stainless steel machine stood. “This here’s the extractor. We lead the bull into this stall and strap him down good so he can’t kick up a fuss. Then we stick this hose on his pizzle and let it suck away on him till he creams.” She held up a clear plastic tube attached to the machine.

Peter stared in fascination. “You mean it makes him… ejaculate… just like…”

“Yep, it milks away at their pricks until they shoot a load, just like jacking off. I get a kick out of watchin’ them. They don’t know what’s happening, but they sure know it feels good!”

“Gee, do you do that to all the bulls?”

“Well, all the breedin’ bulls. ‘Course the ones we don’t breed get castrated. We do that in this stall, too. Sometimes Paw lets me work the castrator myself, and he says I’m real good at it.” Peter shuddered at the callous cruelty in her voice.

But his eyes remained fixed on the extractor. Ashley played with the tube in her fingers, watching him out of the corner of her eye. “The extractor don’t work just for bulls, you know.”

“What… what do you mean.”

“I came out here once and caught the hired man with his pants off and his prick in the extractor tube. He liked it too, ’cause he gruntin’ just like a bull. I went and told Maw what he was doin’, and she came out and ran him off with the cattle prod, didn’t even let him pull his pants back on.” Peter’s lips were dry as he tried to imagine the scene. She paused for a moment, and then asked, “What do you think it would feel like, Peter, gettin’ milked like that?”

“I… I have no idea.”

She gave him a devilish grin. “Want to try it?”

He gaped open-mouthed at her suggestion. “You mean… me… in the…?”

“Sure. I’ll work the extractor on you, and you can see how it feels. I know you like gettin’ jerked off.”

“Well… yes, but…”

“Then what’s the difference? C’mon, pull your pants off and let me give you a milkin’.”

If he were alone, Peter would have relished the chance to try the novel stimulation. But he was reluctant to perform to such a humiliating and bizarre sexual act in front of his adored cousin.

“Ashley, I couldn’t! Not with you…”

“Oh, don’t be such a chicken! Will you do it if I take off something first?” With that she quickly unbuttoned her work shirt and spread it open. Peter gaped as her enormous bosom was bared before him. Rather than removing the shirt, she tied the loose ends together beneath her breasts, lifting and framing them for his view.

“There. I showed you my tits, so you pull down your pants. Go on now, do it.” At the sight of her abundant womanhood, Peter felt all resistance ebb from him. Almost in a dream he obeyed, fearing loss of the heavenly vision if he refused. Ashley made him step out of his trousers and underwear until he stood before her naked from the waist down. Aroused by the experience, his penis jutted stiffly in front of him.

She pointed at this manifestation and giggled. “See, you really do want to, don’t you? Come on, get down on all fours in the stall, like a bull.”

Peter did as she asked, even allowing her to fasten the restraints used for the animals. As he knelt on hands and knees, she took two wide leather belts which hung by rope from the ceiling and cinched them tightly around his chest and stomach, forming a sling which supported his weight. She then attached wrist and leg bindings which secured his limbs to the four corners of the stall. He waited nervously, helplessly immobilized, conscious of his naked organs dangling between his parted thighs, completely at Ashley’s mercy.

She gave his penis a flick with one finger and said sarcastically, “You don’t exactly have the equipment of a bull, do you, little cousin? This here tube might be a bit large for you. But that’s OK, ’cause I’ve got a small-size one we use for the cocker spaniels Maw breeds. It ought to be small enough even for your little pizzle.” She chuckled, obviously amused by the humiliating comparison.

She attached one end of the smaller tube to the extractor and then prepared to slip the other end over Peter’s penis. But first she paused, thoughtfully studying his organs. “You ever see an ol’ heifer about to be milked, cousin? That’s just about what you look like, right now. She’s got a big ol’ floppy udder full of milk,” — she hefted his male sacks in her palm — “and a long ol’ teat hanging down between her legs,” — she ran a finger lightly down the sensitive underside of his shaft. “You ought to hear her moo, when her sacks are real full and she’s just begging somebody to squeeze it.” She tickled the little tuck of skin just below the head of his member, driving Peter nearly mad with excitement. “You want me to show you how a country girl milks a cow, Peter, how we squeeze those teats in our hands?”

He cried in agonized frustration, “Please, Ashley! Squeeze me!”

“Well, I don’t know, little cousin, how bad do you need milkin’? I don’t hear you mooing. Tell me how much you need it.”

Peter bit his lip, trying to resist yielding to her humiliating game. But the teasing finger continued to torment his frenulum, and finally he surrendered all dignity, willing to do anything for the promised caress. “…m…moo… Oh Ashley, milk me! Moo, MOO, MOOOO!” Laughing, she grasped his penis in her hand and began squeezing it with a practiced motion. Peter moaned with pleasure and continued to imitate the sounds of a cow for her amusement.

After a few moments, she tired of this game and returned to the main objective. She slipped his penis into the extractor tube and circled an elastic band around the neck of his scrotum, fastening the tube securely in place. Then without any announcement she switched on the machine. Peter felt and indescribable sensation. It seemed as if the tube became a living thing, a pulsing insatiable mouth, a creature thirsty for his very essence, sucking hungrily at his organ even as a calf might nurse urgently at his mother’s teat.

Ashley left the machine to work on his genitals and, going around to the other end of the stall, sat down cross-legged in front of him. Her large bare bosom was almost level with his eyes. He longed for his hands to be free to feel it’s soft massiveness. “Feels good, doesn’t it, Peter?” she grinned.

“Mmm…yes, Ashley. It does…”

She leaned forward, bringing her breast within inches of his face. “I bet getting sucked like that makes you want to suck on somethin’, too. Don’t it, little cousin?” Her breast was only an inch from Peter’s mouth, and the prominently erect nipple jutted more that half the space to his lips.

“Please, Ashley, may I?” he begged. In answer she only giggled, and leaned forward. He drew the rosy bud into his mouth as eagerly as a famished infant and began sucking. Ashley smiled to observe that his nursing lips matched perfectly the rhythm of the extractor on his organ.

How long he could have remained thus before nature ended his rapture in an ecstatic release, none can say. For Peter was suddenly, without warning, doubly deprived as Ashley quickly pulled her breast from his mouth and shut off the extractor. He groaned in disappointment.

“Hold your horses, Peter, we aren’t through yet. I got something else to show you.” She walked over to a wall rack and took down an unfamiliar implement. “Know what this is?” She held up an iron tool about two feet in length, looking like a cross between a pair of fireplace tongs and a bolt cutter. She parted the handles, and pliers-like clamps opened at the end.

Peter shifted uncomfortably. “N…No Ashley, I don’t.” Something about the look of the implement and the wicked glint in her eyes told him he didn’t want to learn.

“This here’s what we use on the other bulls, the ones we don’t want for breedin’. It’s called a bloodless castrator. See, this clamp end goes around their sacks, just above the balls. Then we give it a good PINCH!” She slammed the handles together, and the clamps closed mercilessly around an imaginary victim. Peter shuddered. “It’s not so bad as it looks. It don’t cut their balls off, it just breaks something inside, so in a couple of weeks their balls sort of wither away, and their sacks just hang there loose and empty. And it can’t hurt too much, because sometimes they don’t even know when I do it to them.” She giggled, “Especially if I’m milking them at the same time. I like to do that, so they’ll have one last time to remember what it was like.”

Peter felt an ominous foreboding at the direction of Ashley’s talk. “Uh… Ashley… I really have enjoyed this afternoon, and thanks for showing me the breeding barn, but I think it’s getting near supper time and we really ought to get back to the house now…”

“Naw, there ain’t no hurry, we got plenty of time left to show you how this gizmo works.”

She drew up a short stool behind him and sat down. “We put the bulls in the stall and tie their legs apart, just like you, Peter. That way we can get at their sacks easy.” She reached between his legs and began gently scratching his scrotum with her fingernails. Peter sighed deeply in spite of his growing anxiety. “We put the castrator right here, right around the top of their sacks.” She opened the handles and circled the neck of Peter’s scrotum with the pliers. The cold iron on his tender manhood made him wince.

“Please, Ashley… I don’t like this game very much. Can we go back now?”

She ignored him. Here voice changed, taking on a strange, alarming note of obsession. “You know that hired man I found out here? I didn’t finish tellin’ you about him. You see, I didn’t go tell Maw about him right away. I watched him for a few minutes, first, while he was playin’ in the extractor. Then he turned around and saw me watchin’ him, and the way he looked at me sort of made me mad. He was just starin’ at my tits, and that reminded me of how he was always rubbin’ up against me, trying to get a feel of them. That polecat just kept starin’ at me and jerking off, and then he even said, ‘Hey honey, take ‘em out and let me see ‘em.’

“Well that really made me mad, and I decided to teach him a lesson he wouldn’t forget. I told him I’d show him my tits if he’d let me milk him just like a bull. Well that fool didn’t even suspect, and no time atall I had him strapped down, just like you. I showed him my tits like I promised, and I set the extractor to milkin’ him. But just when he was starting to let his milk down, I slipped the castrator on him like this and PINCHED!”

She squeezed the handles, very gently, but hard enough to clamp Peter’s helpless glands in a painful grip. “Ow! Oh please, Ashley, don’t! Let me go…”

She eased the pressure and removed the tool altogether, and Peter breathed a sigh of relief. But then she reached down and flicked on the extractor. A moment later Peter felt the cruel metal again encircle his fragile masculinity and realized his ordeal was not over.

“It’s time to finish your milkin’, little cousin, and I’m going to make it real special for you.” She continued with a demonic giggle, “I’m gonna fix you, like we do the bulls, like I did that hired man.”

“No, please Ashley, don’t do it…” he begged.

“C’mon, Peter, let me castrate you. I bet you’ll like it. That hired man knew what I was doin’ to him, but he still had the biggest cum I ever saw. I think knowing it was his last made it really special for him. Let me do it to you.”

Although Peter was in a panic, realizing the peril he was in from the half-crazed girl, he tried to sound calm. “No, Ashley, I don’t want it to be my last, maybe sometime later, but I’m not ready just yet.” In spite of his terror, the he could not help thrusting his hips in response to the work of the extractor.

Her voice became intimate, tender, almost loving. “C’mon, Peter, do it for me. You really like me, don’t you?”

“…Yes, Ashley… but…”

“It’d be sort of like goin’ steady, like giving me your class ring, only better. This way, I’d know no matter what, you’d never get some other girl friend and forget me.”

“…but…” Peter was full of confused emotion. Notwithstanding the horror of what she proposed, some darker, mysterious urge began to stir within him. He squirmed about in his bonds, testing the unyielding grip of the tool on his testicles. What would it feel like, the ecstatic release, the moment of crushing force, the lifetime of chaste devotion to his beautiful despoiler. A nameless urge welled within him, reaching back through the millennia to a time when women ruled over men, and it was a coveted privilege for a man to sacrifice his masculinity to the high priestess of the Earth Mother. As the extractor drew him inexorably toward spending, these feelings warred within Peter. He moaned in his agony of confusion.

“C’mon little cousin, let me do it to you, let me castrate you. You really want me to, don’t you?”

As she spoke, Peter surrendered to the inevitability of climax. The pulsing suction urged him over the brink, and he began emptying his glands in gushing surges. The strong contractions of his penis were clearly visible to Ashley even through the plastic tube.

“Now, Peter! While you’re letting go– can I do it?”

In a delirium of sensation he moaned, “Please… Ashley… Please…” but he would never know for sure if he meant “Please don’t”– or “Please do.”

Regardless of the youth’s wishes of the moment, Ashley spared his manhood and laid aside the castrator. He long remained slumped in the restraining straps, speechless with the intensity of the experience, while Ashley gently cradled his sacks in her soft palm and patted his naked backside comfortingly. At last when he was rested, she released him and helped him to his feet.

“Did you really think I was goin’ to fix you, Peter? You sure creamed like you thought it was goin’ to be your last. C’mon, now. Didn’t that make it more exciting?”

Peter had to admit that it did. And though in the following weeks Ashley would thrill him with countless masturbatory treats– in the breeding barn with the extractor, in the hay loft with her knowing fingers, even once in the divine valley between her breasts– none would quite equal the intensity of that first experience.

As they walked back to the ranch house that evening, Peter could not help asking her, “Ashley, that time with the hired man. Was that just a story, or did you really…?”

She looked at him and smiled mysteriously for a moment. Then she said, “Hey! I think I hear Maw’s dinner bell. Race you back!”

story text

“Club Sachet” by Priscilla Gay Bouffant (excerpt)

Chapter one: Paying the Price

As Linda Cain drove her car to the office of the headmistress she glanced at her nephew Charles sitting beside her. They were just passing the Sachet Sorority House and Linda wondered if Charles would glance at any of the “girls” going in an out. They were on the campus of Primhurst University, a private women’s educational institution in Northern California.

At one time Charles had attended the coed public college near Primhurst along with his good friend, Greg Ames. Greg was the son of Monique Ames a stockbroker, business associate, and best friend of Linda Cain. Greg was also the brother of Pamela, Charles’s sometimes girlfriend. Pamela was a senior at Primhurst.

Both Greg and Charles were at best real losers. They had played around for several years after high school. They hadn’t worked. They had partied incessantly, taking advantage of their wealthy parents. Monique was a widow who had inherited a huge estate from her alcoholic husband who had died in a car accident when Greg was two years and Pamela just two months old.

Linda, a commodities broker, had become Charles’s legal guardian when he was 14. She controlled his trust fund. Both women had graduated from Primhurst, where they had been sorority sisters and occasional lovers. They were now full time lovers and business partners. They also intended to reform both of these hooligans.

Charles and Greg had entered college at age 23, gotten terrible grades and then pulled a real stunt at the end of their freshman year. While joining a fraternity they had broken into a sorority house and pulled a panty raid. It had not only been Monique and Linda’s old sorority, it had also been the one Pamela belonged to. Things had not gone well.

First off, they had been caught by a small group of women, returning to the empty house earlier then expected. The males had not only struggled with some of the girls, they had ripped the girls’ clothing. In addition several of the girls were under 21. Not only could these two be charged with breaking and entering, burglary, and theft; they were also facing assault and sexual assault of minors charges.

Linda and Monique had seen their chance. Immediately they had approached the current headmistress, Victoria Primhurst, the third generation of Primhurst women to have run the school. She had agreed that if the boys would enter the special two-year secretarial program, and eventually join the Sachet Sorority the charges could be dropped. Linda and Monique agreed and went right to work on their subjects.

Chapter Two: Primhurst and Sachet

Primhurst was founded by Gloria Primhurst, the first Primhurst women to feminize her mate and lover Percy. Percy had become Margaret, Gloria’s maid. Gloria adopted a daughter, Rachel who followed in mother’s footsteps. She ran the college and also changed the life of a Literature teacher named Randolph.

Randolph became Angelica and also took over the charm classes for cross-dressed male secretarial students who had been attending the school since Rachel’s third year as headmistress. Through artificial insemination, Rachel also had a daughter she named Victoria. Like mother, Victoria decided to feminize her spouse. After marrying her chauffeur, Andrew, she turned him into Gladys, her head housekeeper and social secretary.

In addition, Victoria began hiring sissy maids for the sorority houses, and started the Sachet Sorority for the sissy students. The school now had four year and graduate courses for the transformed male enrollment, although the secretarial classes were most popular.

The sissy sorority was now affectionately referred to as “Club Sachet”. Although Linda and Monique had never directly taken part in a transformation done at Primhurst, they certainly approved of the practice. Greg and Charles would soon find out just how much the two women approved.

Both were ideal candidates, though Charles more so then Greg. Both were cute and had long auburn hair. Charles was slightly taller then the average female but very slender. “A potential model!” Linda had joked. Greg on the other hand was shorter and a little plump. It didn’t matter to his mother Monique though. “There are diets and corsets!” she said, adding, “Besides, I won’t mind having a plump, slightly full figured daughter!”

Chapter Three: Subjugated Sissies

Charles knew quite well what lie in store for him as his aunt pulled into the parking lot in front of the administration building. He only had to show compliance to Ms. Primhurst and his transformation could begin. On the other hand Greg had gone to the same office with his mother, and was totally unaware of the consequences he was about to face. His 9 AM appointment was two hours before Charles’s.

As Aunt Linda and Charles exited the car they knew that Gregory had not taken the verdict well. As his mother, Monique led him by the hand down the walkway, tears streamed down the sissy boy’s face. When we say sissy boy, we mean it! After passing sentence on him, Victoria Primhurst had wasted no time having two women from her all female security staff begin the job.

“Candace” as Greg would now be called, sported a plumed ponytail, his auburn locks tied with a red ribbon. His white two-inch pumps, matched his anklet socks. The pumps really made his black, spandex, slack encased butt look cute, and his tight, pink tube top looked smashing. The only concession to makeup was the soft pink lipstick he wore. The ladies had decided that his incessant tears would ruin any blusher, foundation or eye makeup they might put on him.

“Please mother, don’t do this, it’s humiliating!” he cried as she pulled him to the car. Monique said nothing even as her sissy son warned his friend, “Charles, quickly run away, they are going to try to turn us into girls,” Candace squealed.

Charles stopped, and with a wan smile said, “Don’t fight it Candace, it’s all for the best.” Then, to further crush his friend’s hope of escape he added, “Please Candace, from now on call me Susan,” as Candace was shoved, wailing into her mother’s car.

The two femme boys were led from the waiting room of the Doctor’s office, to a change room, where they were both given milking pinafores to put on. Of course they thought these uniforms to be exam clothing. From the change room they were taken by Nurse Strong to a large exam area.

“Candy, you get up on the table to the left, Suzy you get on the other one. The Doctor will be here soon.” As the nurse finished saying this, Amelia Brown entered the room and greeted everyone pleasantly.

“Now let’s see. Candace I’ll examine you first. Now lets take a look at your breasts. My they are just so plump and lovely!” the Doctor exclaimed as she fondled them. “You must be very proud of them dear, they are just so corpulent!

Candace nodded her assent as the Doctor began to examine her genitals, pronouncing her penis and balls to be of an adequate size for a sissy. “Nice and tiny. Just right for a sissy! They need not be too big in any case. As a matter of fact I find large genitals, even in real men to be highly nauseating. I mean, who needs them?” the Doctor asked no one specifically.

Candace began to become aroused over all the fondling of her body, and the doctor signaled Nurse Strong, with a wink, as she instructed her other patient to come with her into the next exam room. “Suzy, follow me. Nurse, would you alleviate Candy’s problem, please?” said the Doctor, as Suzy followed, her heels clicking on the tile floor.

Once Amelia and Susan were in the next room, Ms. Strong said smiling, “Candy dear, why don’t you call me Diane?”

Dr. Brown began her exam of Susan in much the same way. “Your bosom is just lovely! They are so pert and delightful! I’ll bet a slender girl like you doesn’t want them any bigger? More important, I’ll bet your girlfriend, Pam, loves them just as they are.

As she complimented the sissy on his slight gonads, Susan also became erect. “Oh dear, we can’t have this. You can’t leave here with swollen testes. We’ll just have to relieve you. I’m afraid, Susan, that my nurse is now assisting Candy to ejaculate also,” said the Doctor with feigned concern, as she rubbed some cold cream on her hands and began to masturbate Sissy Suzy.

Both Suzy and Candy were now both being fondled in separate rooms. Dr. Brown stayed with a standard masturbation technique for Susan, but Diane Strong decided to use a well-greased, gloved finger in Candy’s rectum, in addition to rubbing her penis testes.

Both girlishly dressed sissy boys whimpered in embarrassment at first, but were soon sighing in delight, just proving that they were a couple of sniveling, simpering, sissies, who sexually, were mere, timid playthings, to be had by anyone who was interested.

They both shivered and gushed as they came, and giggled as the nurse and physician cleaned them up.

While she expelled the enema she thought about requesting a consultation with her aunt, mistress and Dr. Amelia Brown. The party that night would help seal her decision. She was about to request prepping for the possibility of a sex change!

She spent the next two hours tonguing and kissing her mistresses clitoris. Pam loved it and decided that she could really love Susan as a girl. Susan would begin her counseling sessions two weeks into the school year. They would continue until Spring break.

Present at the first session were her Aunt Linda, Dr. Brown and Pamela. Susan listened to everyone, especially Dr. Brown who was leading the session in her office. “Sue, one requirement is living a year as a female. We can count your time so far. Of course, in the meantime we could make some adjustments,” smiled Amelia Brown.

When Sue asked what the adjustments were, Dr. Brown explained, “We could do a breast enhancement procedure and a testicle removal. The enhancement would really improve your figure and the removal would lower your testosterone level and really help your demure attitude. Don’t worry, the enhancement is reversible even if the removal isn’t,” the Dr. clarified.

Susan paused and raised some misgivings, with some slight tears in her eyes. This gave Pam some time to lend support by drying her tears and comforting her. “I have a really close friend, Dr. Lilly Chang. She does these sessions and procedures all the time. She even has some transsexuals and gelded sissies working for her. She loves fixed “girls” very much,” the Doctor added.

“Just think honey. You can live at the house with me. Even the sissy maids can’t do that. They have their own separate quarters, next to the sorority houses. As a fixed sissy you’ll get nearly all the womanly privileges I get,” added Pamela. It took quite a bit of counseling, but finally Susan made the decision to check into the clinic run by Dr. Chang.

She had counseled with Lilly Chang, as well as Lilly’s transsexual nurse Jasmine. Lilly also had a gelded sissy secretary named Cinnamon. Susan had spoken with her also. So with her two-week spring break coming up, Sue checked into the clinic on the first Saturday prior to the break. She was told to prepare for a 5 to 7 day stay.

“The procedure and the physical recovery time are brief dear. It’s the emotional recovery I’m concerned with,” said Dr. Chang. “Being in the country, my clinic is the perfect idyllic setting for a relaxing recuperation,” she added.

Sue arrived with her aunt and mistress. After checking into her room they had a pleasant lunch before the women departed. Sue had a quiet weekend and Monday morning was wheeled into surgery by Jasmine and Dr. Chang. Sue was assisted onto a gynecological table and strapped down, her feet placed into the stirrups.

She’d been given some relaxing drugs at breakfast and went out like a light when given general anesthesia. She was going to have nice B cup inserts put in as well as being “snipped.” She awoke with nurse Jasmine holding her hand and smiling. Sue was beautifully dressed in a gorgeous nightgown. Her hair nails and makeup had been fixed while she was in a deep drug induced sleep.

“Well gorgeous, how do you feel? Here sip some of this darling,” Jasmine said. Sue was quite thirsty. After she took a drink of iced water, she, of course, asked Jasmine if her testicles were gone. “Yes dear they are, but don’t fret. You also have two lovely breasts, and your penis will form a beautiful vagina when you decide to become like me.

Jasmine and Cinnamon took the lovely new girl for a walk around the corridors, and then fed her a lovely but light evening meal in her room. The next day prior to her bath, Susan was able to examine her new breasts and her pubic area. She seemed only slightly sad and was quickly cheered up, as after her bath Jasmine massaged the affected areas with a copious amount of vitamin E oil.

For the next two days Susan had long sessions with Dr. Chang as well as lovely walks with Cinnamon. She really liked the leggy, blond, gelded secretary and they are friends to this day. By Thursday evening when Mistress Pamela came for her, Sissy Sue was ready to head back to Primhurst. They arrived very early on Friday morning and Susan was thrilled to know her things had been moved into the female sorority.

story text

“Dominic’s castration fantasy” from a Nancy Friday book

A young man in his late twenties, Dominic has an innocent face and a nice smile. He’s a blue-collar guy who sees himself as rugged and virile.

I’ve had a lot of girls. I’m always attracted to “take charge” types. My fantasy involves my being the possession of a very beautiful, strong, confident woman. She’s dominant and classy. We live in a spacious contemporary home, which is always immaculate. My duties include cleaning the house, making meals, washing clothes, and giving massages to my “owner”. When she is really tense, I sit on the floor and give her oral, anal and vaginal massages. One day, she comes home raging mad because I have cheated on her with a neighbor. To put me in my place, she has my testicles removed surgically. This gives her much delight.

When the surgery is over, she has me wear short skirts around the house. She has me dress totally as a woman, complete with bra and wig. When she gives a party at her house, she has me raise my miniskirt to show the women “what happens to naughty boys”.

story text

“Neutered by the Vet” by Martha Z. Kleine (foreshadowing excerpt)

She smiled. “Good. We’ll get you a nice docile gelding and we’ll go nice and slow. I can lead your horse for you if you like.”


Nancy grinned. “Castrated male. Remember? They’re much better behaved and far less unruly than stallions. I personally geld all our male horses, some as foals, some when they were too old to breed. Once their hormone levels have dropped they are far better socially with other horses. Stallions really need a confident and experienced handler. I could put you on a stallion, but I think you’d end up on the deck with a broken back and I’d end up rolling you down the aisle in a wheelchair. So, yeah. I think I’ll put you on a gelding.”

Dave shuddered visibly. “Fine, if you think it’s best. God! All this talk about castrating animals and then your dad. Now horses! It’s been like castration city these past two days.”

Nancy grinned and winked at him. “Well, you are talking to the castration queen! I’ve neutered eight cats in less than an hour before. I’ve done standing castrations on horses, where we sedate them, give them a local and whip their balls off where they stand. I’ve also done recumbent castrations where we give ’em a general. I prefer recumbent to be honest. Some horses seem a bit attached to their testicles and try to kick me as I cut their balls off.”

“I’m not surprised. I think I’d try and kick you!”

She laughed at this. “Oh, I’d have to sedate you first! I’ve never castrated a human before. It’s funny, I’ve done SO many species! But I’ve never castrated a human! Perhaps you could volunteer to be my first? It never did dad any harm. I’d have to bank some of your sperm first, of course, in case I wanted babies one day.”

“No thanks, Nance. Can you handle a stallion?”

Nancy shrugged, then paused thoughtfully. “Of course I can! I prefer a gelding though. I like my animals calm, docile, and easy to control. I suppose that means I like my animals castrated!”

“As long as that’s limited to animals.” Muttered Dave.

She laughed and they walked to the stables.

Nancy stopped and looked at the row of five or six horses peeping over their stable doors. She eventually took Dave’s hand and led him towards a mottled grey horse with a timid disposition. “Hmmmm, I think I’ll put you on Felix. He’s very docile, he’s an absolute sweetie. Well, he is now. He was quite a rambunctious fellow before I gelded him. Honestly, if there ever was a good advert for castration, Felix is it.

Dave marveled at the obvious nature of the horse, which seemed totally submissive to Nancy. “Is this the one that kicked you?”

Nancy shook her head. “Oh no, Felix was such a sweetie. I think he knew it’d be good for him. He seemed quite frustrated before. He was very good. He only needed mild sedation and a local. He stood very quiet and still and allowed me to remove his testicles without any fuss. He was completely accepting.”

“This is Piper. He’s my absolute favorite.”

“Gelding, as well?” Dave asked.

“Of course!” she tutted. “We keep mares and at least one stallion, but we only ride geldings. Mares are okay as long as they’re not in heat, but if you want a nice, obedient, easy-to-control horse – you want a gelding.”

story text

“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.