FEMINIZED, FAGGIFIED, AND FIXED FOR LIFE

FEMINIZED, FAGGIFIED, AND FIXED FOR LIFE

Meeah MacKenzie & Kimmie Holland

**ONE**

Stephen Accepts His Fate—Sort Of.

“Oh don’t be such a baby, Steffie,” my wife said, pausing while putting on her lipstick. “It’s not like you even use the silly little things anymore.”

I had come upstairs to the bedroom with the boots I’d just polished. Her boyfriend Max would be by shortly to take her out for the evening and there I was the obedient house-husband helping her get ready, just like a good chastity sissy should.

“But…but twice a month…”

Diana turned from the mirror and I felt my breath catch. God, she was beautiful. How could I allow myself to lose this woman? I would never be able to live with myself.

“Yes, twice a month I remove your chastity cage and milk your sissy cream. Do you think that’s any treat for me? Do you ever think about anyone but yourself, Steffie?”

“No...I didn’t mean…” I didn’t know what to say. The last thing I wanted to do was to make her angry.

“And, really, I can’t believe it gives you any great pleasure either.”

She was right, of course. Twice a month I climbed onto the laundry-folding table in the basement, propped myself up on my elbows and knees, butt in the air, while my wife pushed her fingers deep into my anus in order to “milk” my prostate. I can’t honestly say that it felt good, nothing like an orgasm—well, how I remember an orgasm used to feel before I was forbidden to have them—but the long slow expressing of semen from the tip of my swollen and numb cock gave me at least some relief from the urgent build-up in my balls. Snapping off the lubed rubber glove, Diana never made any secret of how distasteful she found the whole operation. “A necessary evil”, she called it. “I can’t have you going and getting prostate cancer. What a useless pain in the ass you’d be then.”

I knelt in front of her as she sat on the bed and slipped first one, then the other, petite freshly-pedicured foot into the knee-high boots. I oh-so-carefully zipped the boots closed over her shapely calves. It was torture being so close to her beautiful body and being forbidden to touch it. My own wife! But I knew the rules and I didn’t fancy another whipping from Max.

“Just think sweetie,” Diana said, a rare note of tenderness in her voice. “No more sexual frustration, no more guilt at not being man enough to win me back, no more of your little hissy fits.” She prodded my caged genitals with the toe of her boot. “So many problems solved at such an insignificant cost.”

I wanted to tell her that the “insignificant cost” she was talking about was nothing less than my identity, my manhood; but I knew without saying a word, without her saying a word what her answer to that argument would be.

After all, what manhood did I have left at this point?

I saw myself as Diana must see me at that moment. I was wearing a flowered sundress under a frilly pink apron with a big bow tied in the back. My hair was parted in the middle, the sides caught up in pigtails, and the front combed forward over my forehead in bangs. My body was as slender and as smooth as my Diana’s. I was wearing wedge-heeled beaded thong sandals. My toenails were painted bright pink. I no longer had sex with my wife—or with anyone. I was on my knees, helping her get ready for her date with the man who was cuckolding me.

My beautiful wife smiled down at me. I didn’t doubt she was reading my mind; we were still married, after all.

“So you’ll do it then. Tonight.”

It wasn’t really a question. I nodded quickly and looked back down at her feet so she didn’t see the tears that were stinging my eyes. One splashed down onto her boot and I wiped it away as quickly as I could with my thumb.

The doorbell rang.

“Run downstairs and get that, Steffie. It must be Max. Make sure you fix him his Cosmopolitan with plenty of lime zest this time. And be perky. He likes to hear you chatter away mindlessly.” Diana laughed and waved me away. “I’ll be down in ten minutes.”

I had one hope left, I thought, as I hurried downstairs as fast as I could in my clunky-heeled sandals. The internet was full of people who fantasized about such things as I well knew. But no one would seriously answer an online ad from someone looking to be castrated.

Would they?

**TWO**

Diana Can’t Believe Her Luck!

As certain as I was that Steffie’s ad would generate some interest, I never expected the blizzard of emails that arrived over the next few days from men who wanted to nut my poor hubby. I’d had him post the ad in the personals section of exclusively gay message boards, figuring there weren’t likely to be many women interested and even less who’d have any use afterwards for a neutered sissy. You see, I wanted to find someone who might consider something like Steffie a suitable life-partner. After all, he couldn’t go on forever as my “maid.”

As you might expect, most of the replies were from wannabes and guys just looking to role-play. There were the usual weirdoes and potential psychos. Naturally I discounted these right off the bat. Believe it or not, I still cared deeply for Steven; maybe love was no longer the word for my feelings, certainly not the kind between a man and a woman. I guess I was already beginning to think of him sort of as a girlfriend. Anyway, I definitely didn’t want anything bad to happen to him, which was one reason why I took it upon myself to screen the responses myself. I didn’t trust my hubby’s judgment in the matter—after all, he’d gotten himself in this position to begin with, didn’t he? [evil grin]—and I wasn’t sure he wouldn’t try to sabotage the whole plan in the end if he came to his senses.

Curious to see what sort of pictures my sissy hubby posted to advertise himself I clicked open his ad. I’d told him to make sure he showed himself off to best advantage. Over the last two years of his transformation, I’d taken dozens of pictures of his sissy self, so he had plenty to choose from, knowing, as I did from the start that this day would come.

I was pleasantly surprised and more than a little amused to see just how well the little fool followed my advice! I couldn’t have chosen a better selection of pansy shots myself. There my hubby was posing in a barely-there string bikini, a wispy babydoll nightie, and the French maid fetish uniform I had him wear for the New Year’s Eve party Max and I hosted last year. And, just in case, being gay his potential suitor preferred something a little less “girlie,” Steff added a picture of himself in full-bore sissy mode—denim short-shorts, pink ankle socks, and sheer pink tank top. His cheeks were rouged like a doll’s and he wore a pale pink bandana, peasant girl-style, his bangs combed fetchingly forward. With on hand on his hip and the other raise, limp wrist turned up on level with his shoulder, he looked quite the provocative fairyboi. It was hard to imagine a gay top taking one look at this smooth, long-legged wimp and not wanting to fold him over at the waist and fuck out his tight little white ass.

No wonder there were not shortage of willing takers for his anal cherry—and his cute little nuts!

The latter Steffie thoughtfully “showed off,” holding up the hem of a red and white polka dot sundress to present his shaved little nuts and limp pink willie, decorated with a white lace bow! A gift for the lucky taker! Oh, he was just too-too precious for words, my sissy husband!

After a further exchange of emails and narrowing down of candidates, I made my pick: a gay Greek top, hairy as an ape, six-foot-five, two-hundred-sixty pounds. Between his shaggy thighs hung nine inches of uncut male tube and a pair of dark balls, each one as big as my fist. I took one look at this prodigious pure-alpha package and couldn’t help but grin. My poor hubby! He didn’t stand a chance!

*THREE*

Stephen is Turned Into a Fairy Princess Overnight.

As it turned out not only were there real people out there all too happy to castrate a sissy like me—I had a date with one by the end of the week, thanks to my wife.

I was terrified about meeting Nikos for the first time: after all, I wasn’t gay! At least that’s what I kept telling myself—and Diana—not that she was paying any heed to my objections. She just patted me on the arm and said, “Well we’ll see about that soon enough, won’t we? I’ll bet you didn’t think you’d ever be a sissy getting ready for his first date with the man who was going to cut his balls off either, did you? But look at you now.”

She had me there; but the, the way things worked out, I didn’t really have any choice in the matter, did I?

I paced nervously back and forth the night of my date—I kept meaning to say “Nikos”—practically wearing a rut in the carpet until he arrived. Diana thought the sissyboi outfit I wore in one of the pictures I posted was so adorable she had me wear a variation of it for Nikos. I was wearing a pair of pastel lavender short-shorts, a ridiculously tight, half-sleeve pink t-shirt with the word “hottie” spelled out in silver glitter across the front, and a pink scarf for a headband. On my feet I wore a pair of flat thong sandals decorated with rhinestones. The sandals had a hard sole that click-clacked with every step I took across a hard surface, drawing the eye to what I hoped—probably in vain—was a not-too-noticeable pale-pink French pedicure. It was in this get-up that my wife made me answer the door for my date with Nikos.

My eyes were level with the thick thatch of salt-and-pepper hair that sprang from the front of his half-unbuttoned silk shirt. I had to look up—and then up again—to see his face. He towered above me and his well-muscled body must have been at least twice as heavy as mine. A big-bad-wolf smile spread across his face under the thick Tom Selleck mustache. He held out a hand as large and dark and hairy as a bear’s paw. It seemed to make my own comparatively pale, dainty hand vanish.

“Steffie,” he boomed out so loud I was afraid the neighbors would hear, “so nice to meet you.”  He looked me up and down appraisingly, like a man buying a prize animal. If I’d hoped they weren’t terribly noticeable, he dashed those hopes at once by saying, “I like the toes.”

Then, effortlessly, he pulled me against his chest, crushing me against the hot, hairy, manly-scented bulk of him. I made a small whimper of protest but it was too little, too late. He kissed me right on the mouth! It all happened so fast I was stunned and by the time I recovered he was leading me click-clacking down the front pathway to his car, in clear view of the neighborhood, his big hand resting easily and possessively on my silk-encased fanny.

Things, I’m sorry to say, went rapidly downhill from there.

Nikos took me to one gay club and then another…and then another, each one raunchier and rowdier than the last. After a while I just lost track. Everywhere we went he made a point of showing that I belonged not just with him, but to him. It seemed he kept a propriety hand on me at all times, on my bare thigh, on my ass, around my waist. In a downtown leather club, he even slipped his hand down the front of my skimpy shorts, gave me balls a firm squeeze, and looked me seriously in the eyes. “I hope you understand, Steffie; these belong to me now.”

Diana had taken the chastity cage off me for the evening and my cock gave an involuntary little throb in his rough, masculine palm. I told myself it was only because it was so long since anyone had touched it. Nikos made suck my precum off his thumb.

There was a dungeon in the basement of the club and that’s where Nikos led me next. He strapped me into a leather harness and I found myself dangling four feet from the floor—cock-high and helpless—like a piece of meat in a butcher shop. My mouth had already been used three times by three different men when Nikos took his out of my weary mouth and spun me around so that he had a perfect shot at my defenseless rosebud.

Even with all the butt-plug and dildo training Diana had me endure, Nikos still hurt going in, but once in, it wasn’t nearly as bad as I imagined it would be from the looks of the monster he was endowed with. He grabbed the harness and used it to thrust in-and-out of my rapidly stretching hole, grunting and moaning and slapping my asscheeks as a couple of guys wandered in to watch and jerk themselves off into my face.

With my shorts and panties stripped off, my own cock and balls were bouncing around with every one of Nikos’s violent thrusts.

“Oh no,” I moaned, as I felt the orgasm building in spite of myself. “Oh please no god no no no no no…”

It was no use, my little cock twitching and it started spurting, my sissy cream pattering on the tiled floor. As I came, my sphincter naturally began massaging the big dick stuffed in my butt and with a final grunt of animal pleasure, Nikos began unloading in my bowels so savagely I was afraid I might be thrown out of the harness altogether.

It was very nearly dawn when Nikos brought me home at last. As they left for work, the neighbors were probably wondering who the wrecked-looking slut was staggering barefoot up the walk on the arm of the bouncer-type, her sandals dangling from her fingers. Nikos gave them something further to ponder when he kissed me “good night” at the front door, practically fucking me again right there on the stoop. I had the feeling the situation wasn’t going to remain a mystery for long, even if no one had recognized me yet from my increasingly sissified appearance in the neighborhood over the past several weeks.

There was nothing I would have liked better than to slip unseen to my little corner in the cellar and try to forget the entire evening—but as luck would have it my humiliation wasn’t yet complete.

“Is that you Steffie?” Diana called from the kitchen where she and Max were having their morning coffee. “Come in and say good morning for goodness sake. We’re dying to hear about your first date.”

If it was embarrassing enough to have experienced the events of the night before, it was a hundred times more recounting them in detail to my wife and her lover. But they insisted on hearing every mortifying detail.

“So,” Diana giggled, “tell us. Are you still a virgin or what?”

I must have blushed every shade of red in existence when she told me to turn around, bend forward, and pull down my shorts and thong panties. Both of them burst into gales of laughter when I pulled apart my gummed up ass cheeks for them and they saw my swollen, sore, and cum-filled little hole.

“How cute,” Diana squealed and clapped her hands in delight. “It looks just like a plump little cream puff!”

“A strawberry cream puff I’d say,” Max added wryly.

Could it possibly get any worse than this? Even if they’d allowed me to keep my worthless balls, could I have been any more effectively emasculated than I was at that moment?

**FOUR**

Diana Attends Stephen’s “Farewell De-Balling.”

Ah, but it was already long decided that my poor hubby was not going to be allowed to keep his nuts. Max and I determined they simply must go, and, of course, Nikos could hardly wait to harvest them. He thoughtfully invited Max and me to the nutting ceremony. Needless to say, we enthusiastically accepted the invite.

It was a catered affair and Nikos had hired a photographer to capture the whole thing on video. A finished DVD would be presented later to all the guests and then sold over the internet. Max and I were impressed; Nikos was really determined to do this thing right!

Steffie, the ungrateful little bitch, was more depressed and agitated than ever, but I assured him that those feelings would pass once his little sack was snipped. “Look on the bright side,” I said, “at least you’re going to be allowed to keep that worthless little pecker of yours.”

“But it won’t work anymore without my testicles,” Steffie whined. He really was getting tiresome.

“So much the better,” I snapped. “They never worked worth a damn anyway.”

That sure shut him up.

Max and I arrived fashionably late at Nikos’s townhouse the night of the party. I was glad to see there was quite a nice turn-out for my hubby’s castration. I found him lying on his back, bound to the big, modern-looking table in the dining room. His hair was styled in a cute China-doll pageboy  and decorated with a bridal tiara of rhinestones and frothy white tulle. He was cinched snugly into a lacy white corset done up with pink ribbons clipped to his white fishnet stockings. A pair of dainty silver sandals completed his outfit; except, of course, for the vibrating dildo clearly stuffed into his distended asshole.

Nikos decided to make my hubby and his soon-to-be-harvested nuts the table’s centerpiece. A rubber ring tightly constricted the top of Steffie’s sack so tightly the purple skin was stretched shiny. Around his tied-down body, a generous selection of food and beverages was arrayed. My hubby’s nuts looked about to burst! I’d never seen anyone’s balls so badly swollen and such an alarmingly unnatural color. I couldn’t help but wonder if they weren’t already dead.

Even so, Steffie’s cock was fully erect—even if that’s not saying much!—and also tightly banded to prevent any accidental relief from the small, egg-shaped vibrator buzzing away merrily on the little orgasm “trigger” just below my hubby’s darkening glans. A puddle of clear pre-cum had already collected in and around his pierced navel and some of the gay guests made use of it as a sauce in which to drip their cocktail shrimp.

By the time Max and I mingled our way to the munchies, my poor hubby was in quite a bad way. He seemed somewhat groggy and out-of-it, his eyes glazed over, probably the effects of whatever drug it was that Max had given Steffie to deal with the pain and fear of his imminent castration. Still, he recognized me through his anesthetized stupor.

I eased a cube of gourmet cheese off a toothpick with my teeth and jabbed it into Seffie’s obscenely swollen balls. The lashes of his heavily made-up eyes fluttered and his focus instantly improved. His lipsticked slut-mouth trembled and tried to form some words, but it was really quite hard to hear him over the music the DJ was playing. I’m no lip-reader, but it looked as if my poor hubby were begging me for help.

Silly boi!

I lifted another toothpick to my mouth. This one spearing a small cocktail frank. I gave hubby a slow, sexy wink and dipped the mini-wiener into the “special sauce” pooled in his navel. Then I popped the sausage into my mouth and deliberately chewed it into a pulp. A good thing the stylist had thought to use waterproof makeup. Realizing all hope was now lost, tears shimmered in Steffie’s big dark eyes. Max laughed, leaned over, and sneeringly congratulated my hubby on his big day.

“Enjoy your new ball-less life, you pitiful fucking pansy.”

One of Nikos’s guests, a friend who worked as a male nurse at one of the local hospitals, was there to direct the operation to ensure that everything was done correctly. He’d assisted at several medical castrations for testicular cancers and such so he was experienced with proper procedure and precautions. He would make the initial incision down the center of Steffie’s ball-sack, cut out the nerves and veins and stuff, cauterize the wound, and show Nikos what to snip in order to make hubby’s castration complete.

I guess this is the point in the story where the poor sissy eunuch finally gets one last chance to spurt his cream, isn’t it? Not so, I’m afraid, for Steffie. Alas, hubby already had his last cum some time ago. There’d be no more spurting for him—which had to have been most unbearable torture of all the tortures that Steffie had so far suffered,  since the vibrator stimulating his straining cock to the brink had been mercilessly teasing him with relief for the last two hours straight.

Well, the main event was at hand at last. The nurse made the incision and retracted the flaps that used to be the scrotum of my hubby, laying open the sack where his little nuts were still cozily nestled. Someone thoughtfully held Steffie’s head up so he could see the moment he officially lost his manhood, but the big sissy squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head wildly from side-to-side as if trying to wake up from a bad dream. He was bawling and begging and crying for help. One of Nikos’s friends offered to gag Steffie but Nikos thought my hubby’s futile pleadings all part of the night’s entertainment.

All the same, Steffie’s carrying-on was reduced to little more than a hushed and incoherent babbling when Nikos pulled the first of my hubby’s testicles out of the ruined scrotum with a pair of long, surgical steel forceps. Nikos stretched the cords still attaching the ruined ball to my poor hubby to such a comically absurd degree it was impossible to see how it could be saved even if anyone tried. With a flourish, Nikos brandished a pair of shiny scissors to the cheers of all present, grinned down at Steffie and asked, “Ready, darling?”

Steffie had probably gone into shock by the time Nikos snipped the testicle free, laid it on my hubby’s hollow tummy, and repeated the operation on his second ball, completing his total emasculation. Everyone applauded, including me and Max. I can honestly say that in all the years we were together the moment he lost his balls as the wettest my hubby had ever gotten me! The nurse cleaned and stitched up Steffie’s wound and the party continued into the wee hours. The next morning Nikos sent a couple of men around to pick-up the boxes of Steffie’s stuff still in my cellar. I had already filed for divorce. Good thing, too; I was two months pregnant with Max’s child.

**EPILOGUE**

In Which Everyone Who Matters Lives Happily Ever After.

Every good storybook romance ends in a wedding and this one’s no different, except it ends in two. Little more than a month after Diana and Max were married, Nikos and Steffie tied the knot in one of those states that had legalized gay marriages. It may not have been exactly the sort of wedding Steffie had ever dreamed he’d take part in, but it was legally binding all the same.

Instead of a gown, the bride—Steffie, of course—wore crotchless panties and a tutu; instead of rice, “she” was pelted with used condoms. At the reception, Nikos fed her tidbits of her own balls which had been skewered and bar-b-cued on a shish kebob. Then Steffie went from table to table thanking each guest by offering her ass or mouth to anyone who wanted to use them. Everyone had a blast—most of the guests more than once!

What more is there to say except they all lived happily ever after, more or less—in Steffie’s case, with less.