It was after the Gender Wars had reached their natural conclusion.
Before I
became a gyno-warrior, I had worked in a cattle operation castrating
bulls. For some
reason the animals were less nervous around womyn, I think it was because
the bulls
picked up the scent of fear from the men who were subconsciously thinking
that castration
could happen to them too. Of course, the males I worked with tried to
treat me like they
always had treated womyn, and when I wouldn't let them, they called me
butch, bulldagger,
etc. I've always been a dyke, and I would fantasize about doing it to men
like the animals
they are when I was gelding the bulls. There was more than one time one
co-worker got
too fresh and I had to threaten to prune them right there. You'd be
amazed at how fast they
could learn respect.
I enjoyed my job, but when the call to war went out, I was happy
to defend my sex
from the rapist brutes. I rose quickly to lieutenant. I remember one
time when my platoon
captured a male stronghold and let their breeding womyn go and have their
revenge. We
crushed their puny balls beneath our boots and the freed slaves smushed
them beneath their
pretty bare feet. Slow cock and ball torture of the male prisoners was
more than just a
terror tactic, it was just revenge for thousands of years of servitude and
rape. One of my
favorite tricks was to hang them upside down from their balls with a thin
cord cutting into
them, finally they would fall, castrated. All this would be done one by
one in front of the
others, so that they could watch and anticipate how it would feel when it
was their turn.
Some went insane.
Another psychological torture was the 'hotdog grills'. Severed
cocks stuck on
sticks roasting over a roaring campfire, then topped with whatever
condiments one prefers.
A bit tough and gristly, like men themselves, but an acquired taste.
Don't get me wrong, I
didn't go out and kill and eat whole men for sport like some womyn did
(though of course I
fought to defend myself and my sex). I'm a strong believer in animal
rights and am against
butchering even a man. Others would wear the severed cocks on a necklace,
belt or
bracelet, but my mother also taught me not to waste good food, and to
always clean my
plate.
Anyway, you're not here to listen to an old veteran tell war
stories. After the war,
because of my pre-war occupation, I was selected to come here to the
castration camp
where the males were processed into harmless eunuchs for slave labor. (As
you know, all
the 'intractables' were either killed in the war or humanely euthanized
after.) I started out
here on the lines, cutting away the offensive and vile organs with my
sisters, but was
promoted to supervisor and on up to where I am now, running the place.
Still, I like to
come down here to the pits occasionally, to 'keep my hand in' as it were.
One of the refinements I made was assembly (or should I say
'disassembly') line
practice: one wombon would cut the tongue out (couldn't have the lying
male mouth
working, can we, or let some womon start to slip back from beautiful
womon-sex even to
receiving cunnilingus from such a beast just because it was the only thing
available at the
time), another would cut the balls, the last would cut the penis off (to
prevent him from
ever raping again, even without balls, some can get it up). It's hot down
here in the pits,
which is why we always work in the nude. It actually excites some of the
guys to see us,
even knowing what we'll do to them, but many get hard-ons. Some of the
cutters take
advantage of this to tease them. They tell them that they think the men
are cute, that they
can't help them except to give them one last orgasm. The stupid pricks
always fall for it,
they're that desperate. Most of my girls give them handjobs with one
hand, the other
holding the knife. When his orgasm becomes imminent, whoosh, a fountain
of blood
instead. It's at times like that I almost feel sorry for the things, they
look so disappointed.
Sara, that's the tall blonde over there, likes to mount the bound males
and ride them, then
slice them off at the root. She says the splash through the suddenly
severed shaft is more
powerful than any ejaculation she ever felt. Her lover Joni (the pretty
short-haired Asian)
loves to then eat the still-pulsing cock right out of Sara's cunt. Raven
(the muscular Nubian
beauty) prefers to chow down right between the guy's legs, getting the
meat raw and
throbbing, biting it off inch by inch. But I think I've got the best
technique of all. My grip
is so strong I can just grab hold and rip everything out by the roots.
There's actually a term
for it you know, "ederacinism". Mmmm, I'm getting wet just thinking about
it.
Well, we're just about at the end of the tour. In our heyday, we
could process 1000
males a day, there'd be just heaps of cock, balls and tongues everywhere.
We could and
did have orgies in the piles, wallowing around, rubbing it all over each
other, between the
legs, on the breasts. Some of the organs would be sent off to the
specialty food market,
others stuffed as souvenirs of the dying race of males, the rest relegated
to trash or food for
dogs. And to think that there were once hundreds of camps like this all
over the world, and
now only this one, soon to close. Sigh, I will miss the good times here.
But it was
inevitable that we'd eventually run out of men, no more dicks to cut off,
no more balls to
crush underfoot and squish between my toes. Which is why I've taken so
long with you, the
last whole man on the planet. I see you still have a hard-on. Think of
it, the last one. I'll
even let you decide which one of us takes care of it for you. Well?

CBT castration penectomy interest? email twistedone@hotmail.com

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