Date: 12 Oct 1997
Time: 22:40:10
Remote Name: 207.93.153.83
Remote User:
See old archives for Parts I and II.
Alone, in the quiet of my modest home, I soaked up the welcome feeling of comfort being in familiar surroundings. Safely returned to the bosom of my little fortress of solitude I realized that with my little adventure behind me, I was about to embrace my new life of delicious, sexual frustration. I was dead meat. Was it my imagination or had, through random selection, only the most attractive, expressive women shared the flight with me? Were the stewardess flirting with me? Had Dr Tamara called them up and requested the special treatment for me? They fawned over me! Their tender doe eyes batting at me, laughing at my slightest joke, sincerely charmed by my slight remarks, what human male could have withstood such torment of being trapped on the long trans-atlantic flight with a convent of beautiful women? There, in my living room, I tried to put their smiles from my mind as I unpacked, but they were only replaced by Dr Tamara's warm body coming to me. Unable to stand it, I ran to the bathroom, stripping my clothes and propped myself on the toilet in my favorite position. I massaged my nipples, rubbed the spot where my penis had been, closed my eyes and opened the floodgate to the deluge of beautiful faces that engulfed my addled brain. I oozed with pre-cum juices but nothing more. It wasn't happening. I was doomed. I only aroused myself all the more. I climbed into the shower, setting it on cold and other than a lot of screaming and shivering I discovered that freezing my self would do nothing to abate my sexual desire. Over the weeks to come, I maintained my morning walks and added crunches, pushups and chin ups and found it whittled away the extra pounds that I had hauled about over the years. It more importantly helped to blow off some of the outrageous steam I could generate over night. I started and finished cleaning projects and gardening tasks that I had procrastinated for years. I abandoned television, the images of beautiful women were too strong for me to handle. And mostly, I contemplated the intricate layers of Dr. Tamara's torment as it was all consuming, mind set altering and maddening in the worst way. I injured myself with a dildo. I had heard that homosexuals could orgasm with only anal stimulation. I had forgotten that Dr. Tamara had covered this. I rubbed my nipples raw hoping that would drive me over the edge. It didn't. I sat in a house so clean that a speck of dust could not find a place to land, cursing myself for what I had done. I did feel free of my penis. Smiled inwardly at hearing of the plight of the other guys in the office tell of their wrecked marriage stories. Delighted in the extra room in my crotch. Night was the worst as I only dreamed again and again of Dr. Tamara snuggling up against my body and I, helpless to do a dammed thing. I thought I had caught a wicked case of the flu and finally had to go to my doctor when it would not end. With embarrassment, after a stream of very personal, and I thought irrelevant, questions about my sex life, I told him that I had lost my penis in an accident while on vacation in Mexico and the surgery had been badly botched. He looked at my groin, admiring the reconstruction job and said I was suffering from blue balls, a build up of sperm. He then stated with medical detachment that he was going to drain them. My eyes grew wide as plates! I had found a way out of Dr. Tamara's hell! I could only thank the stars I was finally going to come! I watched, trying not to pant like a dog as the doctor prepared me, setting a curved little basin in front of me. He took up a syringe, injected it into my scrotum. Seconds later, I was dribbling sperm with as much thrill as watching paint dry. I looked up distressed. "I'm feeling a little cheated." I told the doctor. He only grimly informed me that with damaged nerves there was nothing he could do, but gave me a prescription to reduce my hormone production. I remembered the hypnosis. This form of medication would make me sick, but I figured: how sick? and since I know it was hypnosis, then I should be immune. I took them before going to bed, hoping to avoid the wet dreams. Within minutes I was on the floor in a fetal position thinking I was going to die, too weak to call for help, puking and dry heaving again and again. I kept thinking it was all in my head, but it didn't work. When it ended, it was daylight outside and I had to call in sick to work. The affect lingered for a week. The thought of the pills caused my stomach to flip flop and I didn't breathe easier until I threw the pills out and the garbage truck hauled them away. I finally wrote her, hoping for a parole for this sentence of cruel and unusual punishment. I never expected this kind of suffering. But there was no reply. I had been cleaning out my closet for the uptinth time when I ran across the Greta Mask and gloves. Smelling the latex, feeling its texture threw the memories of being at Dr. Tamara's to the front of my mind again. Happy times, on my knees, my face between their legs, their powerful orgasms about my head. I couldn't wait for the chance to service them all again. It hit me like a two by four. So bent of rescuing my own needs that I had forgotten the pleasure, the sexual release I got when serving others. The charge I got when I serviced the men as well, either by hand or mouth. I suddenly knew what to do. It was a question of how. I had never been a people person. With or without a dick I was still a dweeb, but the idea was stuck in my head. My only chance at any relief was to provide for others. I started wandering the streets at night, stopping at bars, laundry-mats, supermarkets and church socials only find that I was the same studdering, gutless wimp I had always been. Terrified to approach a girl and frozen like a statue when one said `hi' to me. I wondered why it had been so easy at Dr. Tamara. She said suck him or lick her and I did so with gusto. I wasn't afraid to perform. Or was it Greta? Dr Tamara said it was because they preferred looking at the female form, but was it also to help me get over what inhibitions and fears that I might have had? So into my role that I performed acts of homosexuality that would have otherwise disgusted me? Which now arouse me? I went to the mall and sold a story to the girl behind the counter that it was for costume ball (it was the season) and she was more than helpful in selecting a tight girdle, modest heels, some makeup and even some tips on padding a bra. I then bought a small, but very secure padlock. I shaved my legs (no easy task), then put on my underthings, smoothed out my stockings and padded my bra. I donned my Greta mask and wig. I put on eye liner and blush and amazed my self of how wonderfully feminine I looked. I then took up the padlock, and locked the mask. I slithered into tube dress, its turtle neck concealing my padlock and slipped on the heels. I donned the gloves, rolling the wrists under the sleeve of the dress. I looked in the mirror. I was panting from the tightness of the girdle, feeling the pinch of the new shoes and itching from the tissue in my bra and gasping at how wonderful I looked. I left the key to the mask on the dresser, and headed out. My first excursion was just a walk to the corner store and back. I bought a pack of gum, smiling inwardly as the stockroom boy slipped over to get a better look. I left before he could. After several nights, each one going farther, I finally worked up the nerve to hit the S&M club in the city. The bouncer let me in without a cover, swatting my fanny gently as I walked by. I had discovered that the breast size was in direct proportion with the amount of attention I could get and I took every advantage of it. Not having to worry about weight pulling on my neck and shoulders allowed me to show a rather ample bosom. I hung out in the shadows until I could get a better feel for the place. I learned quickly that I was dressed all wrong to be a slave. I made some purchases at some of the vendors to include a cute latex maid outfit and latex stockings. A posture collar looked so submissive and covered the mask's padlock. I brought a stinging riding crop and simply walked around offering a slaves butt to whip. Sore and warm I returned home each night feeling closer to my goal. I was slowly building notoriety. Tom, the club host called me over one night and gave me a job as a stage assistant for one of the shows. I held the different implements of torture at the ready for the masters and mistresses putting their slave through their paces. Later, I was promoted to waitressing for tips. One night, in between acts, Tom and I got to talking. I had been very quiet until then and he started probing me for what made me tick. I told him in my sexiest voice that my pleasure was in giving pleasure to others. He snorted saying all slaves say that. I nodded as best I could in my collar and told him I could prove it and lifted my skirt. I don't think he was surprised that I was a man, but gawked at my missing member. He brought me over to the light to look again. I told him I had it removed to live without sex for two years, then to spend the rest of my life as a eunuch. I told him I was looking for a master and mistress to serve. He looked me in the eye, checking to see if I were kidding or not. When he saw how serious I was, he knocked over my tray sending glasses and cups shattering to the floor. His face twisted with anger that frightened me. "Bad Slave!" He roared. "Bad slave! Look at this mess!" Quickly I bent to clean it up, but he hooked a finger into one of the rings on my collar and hauled me back up. "Get on stage! You'll pay for this mess with your hide!" Stunned, I stared at him like a frightened rabbit until he bellowed: "Now!" Quickly I sprang up to the stage, stumbling over my heels. I stood amongst the apparatuses, blinded by the lights. Tom's shouting had gotten everyone's attention and now it was focused on me. Tom let me linger there for a bit, trembling at what was to happen next, before he came up on stage. He ushered me over to over head cuffs and strapped my wrists tightly into them. Shamika, Tom's wife, joined him up on stage. She pranced about stage, eyeing me, getting into the impromptu act. Tom was selecting a cat of nine tails. "She wants to be a slave." He announced. "She wants to serve." He touched my ass, feeling it up, checking for padding. "But I don't think she knows how." The first blow came and I jumped from the surprise of it. "I think she needs a little encouragement." The second blow fell with more force, he was testing my limits. "I think..." Shamika announced. "she needs a little guidance on how too serve." She hefted up one of her mammoth, (natural and proud of it) latex clad breasts and put it to my lips. Quickly and began sucking, almost ignoring the falling cat of nine tails against my bottom. We played games for two hours. Shamika bound my fake tits giving quite an amazing show of my ability to withstand a painful ordeal. Tom flamed my bottom, then my knees as he made me crawl around with a tray in my mouth serving drinks. By the end of the night, I was in real pain. But Tom was planning more as he ordered me to follow them to their apartment. There I had to explain to Shamika what I explained to Tom. I also added the part about having my prostrate severed so anal sex was also denied me. Almost pleadingly, I explained the pleasure I got in serving others. Tom put me on my knees in front of the chair where Shamika was sitting. He pushed my face forward into her crotch and I lost not a second putting my tongue to work. Tom then slipped a stool between my legs. He reached under my skirt and slipped a loop over my balls. He wrapped them several times, then pulled them over the stool behind me, tying it to one of the legs. He then tied my knees to the stool and my hands behind my back. An awkward, painful position to say the least. With my balls stretched out over the stool, Tom started slapping them with a riding crop. If there was an interruption in my licking, Tom tugged violently on the rope holding my balls. To say the least I was motivated to bring Shamika to a screaming climax. They took the stool away and tied my knees together and put heavy nipple clamps with dangling weights on my real nipples. I was then ordered to suck Tom off, letting the weights swing and pull on my nipples. When he came, the said it was too late for me to drive home. They dragged out a pop up cage and tossed in a vinyl covered mat. I was then gagged with a special gag that forced my mouth open. This was in case either one of them had to pee or wanted to rape my face they could. During the night, Tom came and pissed once in my mouth. My chocking almost sent piss up my nose. When he was done, he fucked my face brutally, while twisting my nipples. Shamika pee'd twice. Her stream was gentler and I swallowed it easily, licking her clean with my tongue. They released me that morning, informing me that my slave application would be considered. This became a weekly event. During these affairs, friends dropped by and I was ordered to service them. It was here that I met Miss Nina. She was short, with breasts that I have only seen on ancient fertility dolls and a tiny waist drawn tighter with a corset. She said she was half white, half Mexican Indian and all Texan. She was fascinated by what I was and enjoyed tormenting me. She loved latex and enjoyed snuggling against me, enjoying my increasing wardrobe of catsuits and inflatable bras. She told me that if I were to become her slave, she would insist that my breasts be real. (Silicone and saline in her book was real enough) She introduced me to corsets and it did wonders for my figure. The next halloween night at the club, I was her pony girl, crawling about with her on my back from table to table, my ass the target of her riding crop. I found myself a life. I was happy, content and wondering were it would lead. I rushed home from work one afternoon, dropping the mail on the table to get ready to go to the club when I spotted the envelope, its strange foreign postage caught my eye. I ripped it open quickly. It began: "Have you forgotten our appointment?" I was over due. Time had flown with a collage of wonderful experiences, people, and places. I brought it with me to Miss Nina who had believed all this time Dr. Tamara was a story I had concocted to cover my self mutilation. Miss Nina hugged me and said I would be her filly. A few nights later, I was branded on my right butt cheek with her initials. I cried with pain and joy to the applause of the audience who watched my branding ordeal. I was her slave. By the end of the month she was moved in with me and we were married at the town hall. She preferred my face, but I still wore my Greta face to the clubs. I enjoyed serving her 24/7. Massaging her feet when she came home from work, bathing her, dressing her, putting her needs before mine. In exchange she was loving, attentive and supportive and when we played, she was inventive, cruel and sinister, always leaving me wanting more. As my flight to England prepared to depart, she bit my tongue when we kissed. Greta met me at the airport. It almost surprised me. I thought I had looked into a mirror, but I quickly realized it was one of Tamara's clients. I smiled, following her lead through the airport wondering if I knew this Greta, and how she was faring the Penectomy. I noticed her distraction to women as we walked through the airport and I could feel how she felt, having gone through it myself. I actually watched the country scenes flash by as we drove to the house. Dr. Tamara greeted me warmly, as I entered her office. Quickly she pressed for what medical and research information she could learn from my two and a half year sentence. I tried to remain as objective as possible, but soon I was telling her about my new life, my new wife/mistress. My new branding. She smiled, genuinely happy for me, telling me that I was not the first to forget about the castration part of the deal. "A few clients." She informed me. "Have selected not to undergo the castration at all." "What will happen..." I finally asked her. "When my balls are removed. Will I still have the same feelings?" "Of course, that will not change. You'll find your self a little calmer, a little less aggressive, but just as loving and caring as you always have been, unlike my ex-husband. He had not had the same wonderful time without his penis and you have." She smiled to herself. "Where you have grown, he has withered. Torment is too mild of a word for it." She said as an aside. "And will I still wish to serve my new friends?" "Studies show that Eunuchs tend to show a dissintrest in sex and sexual activities. Many of them participate in it to please their partners. I would imagine that you will fall in that category." I had wondered about that on the flight over. "Will I have the same enduring enthusiasm as before." Her flashy eyes seemed to study the question. "You may find a decrease in a sort of Gung-ho-ness. That drive that you seemed to have found might not be there, but I'm sure you find it again in another form." I read between the lines. "Or I might not find it at all." She seemed hesitant to answer. "I think you have learned by now that its not your penis that pleases people. While you will lose desire for sex, you probably won't lose your interest in sex." Probably wasn't good enough. It was that drive that got me out of the house, it got me to meet all those wonderful people. I stopped wasting my time jerking off 10 times a day and got away from the T.V. and out into the real world. Into a life. I folded my hands in my lap, they were starting to tremble. "Doctor..." I started, surprised how dry my mouth is. "I want to undergo the exostration." "You mean, the Indostration?" "Yes. I want my balls permanently placed inside of me. I would like the hypnosis thing left intact. I also want that thing you do to the liver, so that it does not stop." "Its to your kidney." She corrected. "You do understand that I have never performed the reverse of that operation. After performing now several times, I don't think a reverse can be done. If I do an Indostration, there is no backing out. There is no light after the end of two years. Your stuck with an never ending build of hormones for the rest of your life." I was giddy with excitement. The same euphoria I felt reading her letter for the first time, two years ago. "Yes." I gasped. "I understand. Lets do it." "This is a big decision, would you like a day or two to think about it?" "No." I said quickly. She smiled to herself. "Alright then. I will relocate your urethra which will make urination easier, less dribbling. I can also do a little sculpting if you like. To make it look more feminine." I thought about it, shaking my head. "No, I like presenting myself, letting them know right way that I am there for their pleasure, not mine. But easier urination is nice." She agreed, seeing my logic. "Well then, regardless of your urgency, this will require a bit of fasting on your part. We will perform the surgery in the morning, first thing. I will admit, I only imagined after two years of this torment, every one of my clients would begged to be finished off. In actuality, only a select few have asked for it, and since we began Indostration, there have been several requests for that. Fascinating, really. "Now there is only one thing left to resolve." She went on. "Would you like Greta to restrain you? Some of my patients seem to like that." I struggled weakly with Greta, letting her gag me, strip me, change me into my maid's outfit and Greta mask (which I brought with me) and then put my tongue to work. That night, I slept with Dr. Tamara who did everything in her power to turn me on. And it was done. Looking at my smooth crotch fired a spark through me. I marveled at for hours while I recovered, almost feeling my hormones kicking into overdrive. I could not wait to get home and show it off. During my recovery, the Greta before me arrived. I didn't recognize him without his mask, but I recognized his German as he presented me with a new mask. It was a different face and through his gestures, I imagined that he had made it for me. It fit tighter, looked smoother and sexier. The mouth moved more naturally. I thanked him and showed him my Indostration scar. Then he showed me his. One morning, without explanation or preamble, Dr Olefson grabbed me and dragged me into the operating room and threw me down on the table. She strapped me down quickly, then went off to find the rest of her crew and wash up. Gagged, I could not ask what was going on nor did they bother to tell me. She hovered over me as the assistant peeled my mask off, then gave me a shot that knocked me out. Next morning I was in a world of pain. Dr. Tamara rolled over and fetched me some pain killers and water to drink. "That Olefson. I'm beginning to think she's really bonkers. I was discussing your case, telling her how the Greta role was good for you. Well, she decided that you needed a few enhancers. She performed some lipo-suction to narrow your waist a bit. She injected some fat under the skin of your forehead to smooth out some wrinkles. A bit of sculpting to your lips to puff them out. She chiseled some of the bone in your chin to make that a little softer, raised our eyebrows, removed a wart, a mole or two, tucked here, nipped there, and...added a few cc's of saline to your chest." It took several seconds for what she had said to sink in. I sat up hoping to see the mirror, but Dr. Tamara pushed me back down. "You rest up a bit. Your face looks like it went a few rounds with Buster Douglas. There is a lot of bruising and swelling, not much to look at. We'll give it a few days." In a week I was able to look at my face. At first, I thought not much had been changed, but I quickly realized that I was indeed more effeminate, I actually liked the way I looked! Dr. Olefson had done a wonderful job, subtle yet very distinct. I realized that when the bruising and swelling fully healed, all I would need was a hint of blush and perhaps a bit of eye liner to bring out all the feminine quality. As for my breasts, I would have to bind them flat and wear a jacket at work to hide them. I had to admit, they were lumpy, but forming. When fully healed, they would be beautiful. Now, I'm back to the beginning of my story. As I finish typing on my little lap top, I think about my newest adventure about to begin. I fell renewed, rejuvenated. I look younger, thinner, happier. I was anxious to get back home to miss Nina and show her the new me. I don't know if a penectomy is for everyone. For me, it is the start of a new life!
Comments to frodo@connix.com All rights reserved to the original author whomever that may be and my most humble apologies for this continuation if you hate it.
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