He thinks for his lover he is agreeing to hormonal implants to make his sex with her better.
She had other plans.

by Vickie Tern

---

 
Authors foreword: More than one reader has asked why me why none of my hero/heroines are ever castrated as they rise toward pure womanhood, their balls cut off preferably without their consent.

One answer is, I prefer my characters to be persuaded that they want to be women, or tricked or cajoled into it, forced into it only if deep down that's what they really want anyhow, and of course blackmailed into it only if they're wimps.

Another answer is, it's never been necessary. Their femininity augments and perfects whatever they already are, and they carry it all with them. Doesn't it?

Still, some fantasies aren't others. Here I've come as close as I can to a Non-Consensual Castration tale, for now. Sorry, no physical pain.

This story is not for anyone below the age of consent. Those who might consent to events depicted herein are also advised to do their own imagining. ~ Vickie

May be copied to any free archive, but do let me know!

---

 
 
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. Langoruous 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 sack 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 the ninth grade."

"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, they 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, confortable, 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 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 agree to this. I don't know where she finds you people. Of course those earlier this year were gay I hear."

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 dripping 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. Unmistakeably. 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 ninth grade! 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 burrowing 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 maneuvred 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.

 

 
 
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