By J.A. Loftin - Copyright 1998
During college my sexual orientation was fairly prosaic. I lusted after a variety of women, some attainable, some not. In general, though, my sexual fantasies and activities were garden-variety in nature.
Shortly after I left college a gradual change in my sexual proclivities began to take place. It started simply enough. I read a story in Fantasy and Science Fiction, a now defunct magazine which published short fiction of the ilk its name implies. It was about an ancient leather funnel which the protagonist had purchased at an auction. After bringing the item home, he began having lurid dreams in which the funnel was used to force large amounts of water down the throat of a witch who was strapped naked onto a saddle-like device. I was surprised to observe that I had been aroused by the story’s perversely erotic overtones. I did not dwell on the matter at the time, but looking back I see that as a pivotal experience.
Some time later, while browsing the shelves at Cody's Books, I happened upon a collection of Victorian erotica. Most of the stories in that volume dealt with the whipping of young girls, usually on their bare ass, by an authority figure for some trumped-up misdeed. Initially I found my arousal by the recurring theme somewhat unsettling. However, my uneasiness soon passed. Not long afterward I discovered The Story of O and its publisher’s Blue Moon portfolio. Ultimately I became an aficionado of sexual domination and submission literature.
When I started exploring the Internet I found many Web sites with fiction, some even with purportedly factual stories, covering nearly every imaginable fetish and sexual fantasy. By then it was hardly surprising that I gravitated to some of the more perverse ones. I even wrote stories which incorporated my darkest fantasies and submitted them for inclusion on my favorite sites.
It was at this point that I started to get in touch with my sexual submissiveness. I began investigating what passed for a "Scene" in the area where I live. While I was attracted to the activities taking place, I found the posturing and propensity for stereotype tiresome. I soon realized that even though fantasies involving torture and bondage turned me on—as did watching sessions of others playing out such scenarios—I personally wasn’t into pain and suffering as much as I was into submission. Unfortunately the prevailing appetites of the players invariably included one or the other or both, so I continued to search for a situation simpatico to my sensibilities.
One day I learned of a dating service that specialized in bringing together people with unusual sexual preferences. Ever the optimist, I contacted the agency and made an appointment to go in. The interview was very low key, every effort was made to put me at ease and draw me out. The counselor enabled me to articulate what I wanted, despite my not having had a precise idea of what that was before sitting down with her. Perhaps I only imagined that her eyes seemed to sparkle slightly when I told her I was looking for a woman to completely dominate me sexually. I filled out a brief personal history, made a list of my interests and hobbies, and sat patiently while the counselor took several photographs of me. When we were done she assured me they would be able to find a match. I was advised to expect a call within a week or two.
Indeed, she was right. Veronica called me early on a Saturday morning ten days later. She introduced herself, explained that I had been referred to her by the agency, and suggested that we get together for tennis. She told me she would send a car for me at 11:30. It was all rather abrupt, I hardly knew what to think. Even so, I had long since been ready when a gold Infiniti pulled up to my door at the appointed time.
After a brief exchange with the driver, I settled in for the journey to my destiny. Exquisite violin and cello music emanated from hidden speakers as I drifted off into reverie. I had been unaware that the route the car was taking was in the general direction of the ocean. A glimpse of sand dunes and breakers in the distance caught my attention as we turned onto the coast highway. Before long we pulled into a private road that was nearly invisible to passersby. A minute or two later the car stopped alongside a well-shaded tennis court adjacent to a spacious beach house.
Veronica greeted me as I emerged from the vehicle. She was dressed all in white—halter-top, tennis skirt and Keds—her auburn hair was pulled back in a ponytail. It’s hard to reconcile fantasy and reality in general, but in this circumstance it was doubly difficult. At first I wasn’t sure if I was disappointed or relieved that this athletic woman with pleasant, yet nondescript, features was not the spider woman of my runaway imagination. Her smile and pleasant manner quickly decided me toward the latter. She charmed me immediately with her openness and obvious intelligence. There was not a hint of awkwardness in our initial encounter.
After chatting for a few minutes we went onto the court and began playing. Considering the nature of this meeting, I toyed with the idea of letting her beat me. I decided against that plan because I didn’t want to start off a new relationship on a lie. And besides, I’m not a very good actor. Alas, I was to learn that Ronnie is a formidable tennis player. I held my own and nearly won the first set, but in the end she bested me. Occasionally I was distracted by glimpses of her pubes and ass when her skirt was blown up by a gust of wind, or when it swung open as she ran. But those distractions were not the difference in the game, she won because of her superior speed and shot-making abilities.
We retired to a courtside lanai where a pitcher of iced tea and two glasses had been set out. I poured us each a glass of tea and sat down as she toweled herself off. Ronnie pressed the icy glass to her flushed cheeks and sat across from me with her legs spread apart provocatively. She pulled her skirt up to expose her sex and looked at me intently. Words were not necessary, I knelt before her and proceeded to lick her labium and clitoris gently. So intent was I on my task that I completely lost track of time as I slowly brought Ronnie to several profound orgasms. Finally she pushed my head away and bade me to sit back and finish my tea.
As I did so, she surveyed me silently. Eventually she spoke. “I sense real chemistry, Jim. Don’t you?” A nod and a smile was the only reply I could muster. She reached into a tote bag beside her chair and extracted a white envelope. “I had a contract drawn up that I want you to look over.” She handed me the envelope and said, “Take your time and read it carefully. If you don’t agree to the terms, ring for the driver. You will be taken home immediately. On the other hand, if you are amenable to all the conditions of the contract, as I hope you will be, come join me around back when you have made your decision.” She stood suddenly, then ambled toward the house without looking back.
The contract was simple and to the point, virtually absent of legalese. The gist of it was that I must only concern myself with providing Veronica with pleasure—my own pleasure was to be derived from serving her. I was to move in with her so as to be available whenever she required my services. In addition, I had to give her complete control of my sexuality without knowing in advance what that would entail. The final clause was particularly intriguing…the contract would lapse after a trial period of one year unless I made an appropriate demonstration of my devotion and submission. Veronica alone would determine what that would be. Right down to the ominous possibilities inherent in the extension clause, the terms of the contract were an embodiment of my most secret dreams.
When I came around the side of the house Ronnie was standing in the surf with waves breaking all around her. As the water receded, her beautiful breasts and pubes became visible to my view. I settled into a director’s chair on the canopied portion of the deck and watched her swim and body surf for fifteen minutes or so. Eventually she emerged from the water and headed towards me, stopping at an open shower to rinse off the sand and sea water before walking across the deck, dripping as she went, and greeting me by thrusting her pussy in front of my face and pulling my head into her crotch. I began sucking and licking her sex as bidden. Copious amounts of her natural juices, mingled with residual sea water, flowed into my throat and dribbled down my chin. It was obvious that Ronnie was extremely aroused by the implications of my presence. She ground herself into me and and fucked my mouth with abandon. She grunted and growled and screamed as she rode to orgasm after orgasm. When she was completely spent she collapsed onto a nearby chaise longue. I sat on the deck alongside her and rested my head across her breasts. We stayed like that for over an hour, perfectly content, not saying a word.
The remainder of the weekend was quite eventful. An accomplished beautician was brought in to help mold me into the submissive of Ronnie's dreams. With the exception of the hair on my head, all my body hair was removed—primarily by waxing. I was given a full manicure and pedicure. My feet and hands were soaked to facilitate the removal of calluses and rough skin. I was literally basted with moisturizers and emollients over my entire body. Ronnie was very pleased with the soft feel and appearance of my skin after the beautician was through with me; I made it a point to keep it that way thereafter.
My long hair was styled into a striking androgynous fashion that accentuated the finer features of my face. It was then treated with a special rinse to bring out its highlights, and I was thoroughly instructed in the art of hair care. Arrangements were made for the beautician to visit regularly to maintain the length and style of my tresses, and attend to the general upkeep of my feminine appearance.
Next a nurse practitioner came to examine me. She gave me a very thorough physical and measured every part of my body. Ronnie was on hand virtually every minute that the nurse and beautician attended to me, occasionally offering suggestions or indicating her approval. After the exam she took my hand and led me to a wooden bench where I was instructed to lay on my back with my legs pulled up and spread apart. The nurse then applied a topical anesthetic to the head of my penis and the area between my scrotum and anus. While this was being done, Ronnie positioned herself on the bench directly in front of my splayed limbs, a small camcorder was focused on my genitals.
Oddly enough, throughout all these activities, sexually stimulating as they were, my cock had remained soft. I guess I was becoming acclimated to my submissive role. When the nurse deemed that the anesthetic had taken affect, she swabbed the same areas with an antiseptic solution. Without a word she made a small incision on the underside of my glans at its base, and then she made a corresponding one about a half inch behind my ball sac. She pulled my penis downward along the curve of my crotch and sutured the wounds together. This procedure firmly anchored the end of my penis close to my body, rendering an erection impossible and necessitating that I sit down to urinate. In the days to come Ronnie would often view that footage while I serviced her in some fashion. Sometimes she would play it over and over as she masturbated—it was by far her favorite video.
The nurse gave me the first of what was to be ongoing female hormone treatments, then she was done. Ronnie had me get up and parade around. She continued to film me from every angle. She had me bend over so she could get a good shot of my cockhead held firmly adjacent to my anus. While she was filming she allowed me to stand before a full-length mirror to view the new me. I hardly recognized myself, the image reflected back at me was that of a flat-chested, narrow-hipped woman with a slight air of decadence. From the front it almost appeared as if I had a clean-shaven pussy, my scrotum vaguely resembled labia on each side of the groove created where my cock had been pulled and secured toward my ass.
As time passed the hormone treatments took effect, my hips began to fill out and I developed small breasts. I was required to be naked nearly all of the time, regardless of who was present. Ronnie enjoyed displaying me to her friends or anyone else who had occasion to be in her home. Around the house, when I did wear clothing, I wore sheer thigh-length kimonos or tunics which enhanced my ever increasing feminine charms. Ronnie provided an ample wardrobe of androgynous clothing for me to wear when we went out. Invariably they were designed to provide me with a sensual look, and to be as revealing as possible.
Ronnie preferred to have me service her with my lips and tongue, at least two or three times a day. She was particularly fond of having me suck her toes prior to pleasuring her pussy. One favorite variation involved fucking her with a dildoe strapped to my chin while nibbling on her clitoris. Periodically I was instructed to strap on a large dildoe which she proceeded to climb on top of and ride for hours, playing with my little tits from time to time. Occasionally she strapped on a dildoe herself and fucked my ass while her friends watched and I licked each of their cunts in turn.
We settled into a routine of sorts and time passed quickly. We were both very happy. Our sexual compatibility was simply one aspect of our affinity for one another. So when the end of the year approached I was determined to do whatever she wanted as a demonstration of my absolute submission and devotion to her. In her typical fashion she did not tell me what she had decided upon, once it had been ascertained that I wanted to execute the extension clause.
Ronnie threw a lavish costume party for the occasion. The house was filled with guests in elaborate and imaginative costumes. I, of course, came as a slave, naked except for chains on my ankles and wrists. As a sentimental gesture, Ronnie dressed in the tennis outfit she had worn at our first meeting. The anticipation was palpable as the night progressed. Ronnie waited until almost midnight before she signaled everyone to join her on the tennis court.
A carved wooden armchair was placed near the center of the court, a kneeling pad was situated just in front of it. To the side was a television with video gear attached. Someone dressed as an old time Hollywood director filmed us as we took our respective places center stage. Ronnie gave me a wink and I placed my head between her legs and began a reenactment of our first sexual encounter. Shortly thereafter someone dressed as a nineteenth century doctor, complete with black bag, came up behind me. I was preoccupied pleasuring Ronnie, so I barely felt the prick of the needle as he injected my ball sac with Demerol. At this point the cameraman zoomed in on my balls and magnified images of that part of my anatomy were displayed on the television for Ronnie and her guests to view. I have since watched the footage many times, but at that time I was busy servicing my mistress. The doctor waited a few minutes, then opened his bag and withdrew a scalpel. With quick, deft strokes he sliced the circumference of my scrotum, the skin fell gently into his hand. Next he tied off and then severed the cord attached to each testicle. Watching this on video put Ronnie over the top, she bucked and twitched as she was consumed by a shuddering orgasm. While she regained her composure, the doctor sutured the skin together and left.
In the excitement of the moment, I was only vaguely aware of what was happening. I realized I had just been castrated as the doctor finished sewing me up. I experienced a profound sense of fulfillment and love as I reflected on what had just occurred. From a practical point of view, between the hormones and the chastity anchor, I was essentially neutered already. I knew at that moment with utter certainty the permanence and depth of this commitment would forge an unbreakable bond between us.
And that has proven to be the case thus far. Our love and respect for each other continues to grow. As have my breasts and hips, I might add, now that the testosterone supply has been shut off. Ronnie had each of my testicles dried and sealed in a delicate golden egg. As a symbolic demonstration of commitment and domination, Ronnie has had herself pierced and had one of those custom ornaments attached to each outer labia with thick gold rings. Their gentle tug on her sex is a continual reminder of my ultimate sexual submission, keeping her in a nearly constant state of arousal. As could be expected, the castration video is now her favorite. As foreplay she has me suck, fondle and generally worship her balls, usually while she fingers herself and watches the video of me becoming her eunuch.
END
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