[ No relation to the Gore Vidal books. ]
Tired, haggard, middle-aged Myron comes home from a grueling workday as a corporate drone that was followed by a cramped and frustrating 75 minute commute. He trudges to his bedroom and sloughs off his corporate slave suit and then crosses to the closet to select something soft and frilly to relax in. Refreshed and transformed into her true self, Myra slinks out to the living room, her cock throbbing in her silk panties. She puts on some classical music, mixes a strong cocktail and collapses into a big comfy chair.
There’s an unexpected knock at the door. She pads over and nervously calls out, “Who’s there?”
A muffled voice answers, “It’s your castratrix. The one you ordered.”
“My… my WHAT?!” she exclaims, “I certainly ordered no such thing!”
“Let me in and I’ll explain,” says the voice. Myra is terrified but she is also terrified of her neighbors hearing more of this crazy conversation so she timidly lets the stranger in.
A lovely, but stern looking young woman in a severe dark business suit enters. She is carrying a menacing looking little leather medical bag. Myra invites her to sit down.
The young woman introduces herself as a professional castratrix and explains that they have tracked Myra down from the castration fetish websites she has visited. The mysterious castratrix goes on to say she has come to make Myra’s greatest fantasy come true.
Myra put up a stiff resistance but ultimately caved in since it really was what she wanted.
Two hours later, the castratrix left with two balls in her bag while Myra’s was left with a very empty sac.
[ This story is dedicated to Kendra ]