Tag: medical

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.

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.

“Snip!”

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.

II.

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.

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?”

“No.”

“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?”

“Ok.”

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?

“Yes.”

“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?”

“Yes.”

“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?”

“Yes.”

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

“Yes.”

“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?”

“No.”

“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.”

“Ok.”

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do what?”

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

“No Jen. It was only one of my –“

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

“Definitely not, Jen. Forget about it.

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

“Jen, no.”

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

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

“Well, as long as that’s all it is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh yes,” said Jenny, brightly.

Oh shit thought I, darkly.

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

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

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

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

I stared open mouthed at this.

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

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

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

“What a cute bow,” Dinah said.

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

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

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

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

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

“May I?” Dinah so courteously asked Jenny.

“Please do,” Jenny replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

“But won’t you miss getting fucked?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

The question took my breath away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, all right then.”

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

“Er. No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

That struck me as a nice, enlightened idea.

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

The idea of Sally bringing me off was delightful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s waking up,” somebody said.

Jenny was holding my hand and gazing lovingly at me.

“How do you feel?” That was Dinah.

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

“See if you can get up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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