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Castration is Love Chapter Four

by David Witheld 4 days ago in relationships / fetishes / erotic
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Banded

Chapter Four

I came instantly awake.

I had seen the phrase written but didn’t really understand it. Now I do.

One instant I was asleep, a deep, dreamless, restful sleep. The next I was fully awake, knowing what would happen in a few hours.

Millie was asleep beside me, looking even younger than her 18 years. Her face was perfectly smooth, utterly unlined. Her hair was flyaway, the short cut of that almost baby-fine blonde hair forming a halo around her face. She had tossed the covers away during the night, and her breast, a B cup according to the tag on her bra but looking larger on her small body, was beautiful, the nipple and areola smooth, relaxed, a shade darker than the surrounding skin. Her hips flared in a very womanly way, and the smooth silk of her bright blue panties showed them off nicely.

I watched her sleep until my need to pee got the better of me.

I eased out of the bed, moving slowly, not wanting to wake her, and then padded, naked, into the bathroom where I sat to pee, not wanting to make any more noise than necessary.

I went into the kitchen and started the coffee brewing. Then I sat and thought.

“Second thoughts?” I asked myself.

“No,” I replied to myself, “but I AM understandably nervous.”

I jumped and yelled a little when she put her hands on my shoulders.

She kissed the top of my head and, almost as if she read my mind, asked, “second thoughts?”

I caught her hand and held it, caressing it with my cheek, and said, “no Millie, but I AM nervous.”

She chuckled deep in her throat and said, “good. I am SO ready to marry you.”

I grinned up at her. "Good, no second thoughts or good, nervous?" I asked.

"Yes," she said with a giggle.

I leaned my head back, looking up at her and accepting one of her morning upside-down kisses.

“Don’t worry about me,” I said, turning and standing, “I’m just being silly. Sit, let me make some breakfast.”

It struck me then, as I was whipping the eggs, getting them to the proper color and consistency to make one of gramma’s omelets (buttercup yellow, the eggs with just a splash of milk), how over the past year I had fallen into the complete reversal of roles she doubtless had intended all along.

And I smiled as I worked the eggs.

I served her breakfast, happy to do so, It seemed natural to put on the little bib apron and fry the bacon, drop the toast, pour the orange juice, and set her breakfast before her with a smile and a happy, “I love you.”

We ate in one of those companionable silences only couples comfortable with each other can achieve. There was no need to fill the silence with small talk.

When we were done she stood, still dressed in nothing but her panties, took my hand, and led me into the bathroom.

“Can’t have you all smelly for your special day,” she said, turning the water on in the shower to run hot.

When I reached for her panties to strip her she chuckled and said, “no, honey, this is your special day. I’ll take care of everything.

In the shower, she washed my face and then my hair, and then my body, being careful and thorough. She even did my scrotum and balls, carefully and thoroughly, for this one morning anyway overcoming her aversion to touching those “nasty things.” She dried me then, being careful to not make me cum and waste my “specimen.”

She was obviously excited. She was giggly and girlish and excited. I liked her like this and was glad I was part of the reason.

I played my guitar for a while, but nothing sounded good. I tried my Xbox, but couldn’t concentrate. Yeah, I was pretty distracted.

Finally, it was time.

“Come on, baby,” she said, offering her hand.

It was funny, in a way I suppose. In my head, I was prepared. Hell, I was looking forward to this day. But my body sort of refused to move when I told it to stand up.

She giggled and tugged and finally got me to my feet.

I didn’t say anything as she led me to the car and then drove us to the clinic.

I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised when Bonnie, the cute blonde “observer” from the other day greeted us at the employees' entrance and led us into one of the examination rooms. My nerve almost failed when I saw that chair with its stirrups.

“Bathroom?” I said. I knew I was going to be sick.

Millie understood and led me at a run three doors down and then shut the door behind us.

I was sick. Violently sick. I threw up and she rubbed my back, crooning a soft little litany - “That’s right, baby. Get it out. I’ve got you. Go ahead.”

It wouldn’t stop. I was gagging and retching. I couldn’t catch my breath.

“Oh God,” I moaned, “get my pants off of me,” and my body tried to throw up again but I was empty and all that came up was bitter bile and thick mucus.

I felt her fingers trying to get my belt loose but another wave of nausea took me and when I retched I filled my pants.

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” I gasped and threw up again.

The door opened and Virginia came in.

She chuckled and patted my head.

“Don’t worry,” she said to Millie and me, “it’s just nerves.”

I threw up, well, tried to throw up, again.

She opened the door and said, “get me a bottle of Pedialyte, a Code Brown kit, a gown, and a set of scrubs.”

“Stay with him, honey,” she said, “until this passes and then clean him up and bring him down to the Room.” Even feeling the way I was, panting, a bit light-headed, I couldn’t miss the way she capitalized “Room” when she said it.

I don’t really know how long I stayed like that, on my knees, my face in the toilet, with Millie comforting me. God knows it felt like hours.

Finally, it passed. I could breathe normally which meant I could smell the mess.

And I threw up a final time.

“Oh God,” I said, well, I gasped, “I’m sorry.”

She was smiling, an indulgent smile.

“Are you okay now?” she asked.

“I think so,” I said, being honest.

She handed me the bottle of Pedialyte and said, “drink this, let’s make sure it stays down.”

It was an odd taste, kind of like Gatorade. But it stayed down.

After a couple of minutes, she said, “Okay, stand up now.”

I managed to get to my feet, albeit a bit wobbly.

She untied my sneakers and got them off and then undid my belt, unzipped my jeans, and pulled them down as a unit.

“Ewwwwwwwwww,” she said, scrunching her nose, looking even younger than she is.

She stood and started the water running in the sink.

“You,” she said, chuckling a little deep in her throat, “my love, are a Goddam mess.”

I didn’t say anything.

She pulled off a couple of yards of toilet paper and scooped up the first of the mess. Then she dropped it into the toilet, flushed, and did it again. By the time she had the worst of my crap in the toilet the water was running hot and she pulled one of the blue surgical towels from the pile on the tray that was the “Code Brown Kit,” wet it with the hot water, and started washing me down. I leaned against the sink and accepted her help. I was in no condition to clean myself up.

After the, well, the sponge bath, well, the towel bath I suppose, I was more or less back to normal. I put my arms into the holes in the gown as she held it up, and smiled as she tied a little bow at the neck.

We held hands as we walked down the hall to the Room and I chuckled as I realized I was thinking of it as a proper noun.

“Now, David,” Virginia said, “up on the chair, feet in the stirrups. You know the drill now.”

So I did as I was told.

“Oh my,” she said, giggling, “all snugged up, aren’t we.”

She went to the cabinet and got one of those delightful hot towels and wrapped my crotch. The warmth was nice and I felt my scrotum relaxing.

She handed me a pill and a glass of water. “Take this, David.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Don’t you trust me?” she asked.

I chuckled, took the pill, washed it down, and asked again, “what is it?”

She smiled at that. “Just a Versed,” she said, “a little bit of a sedative

“Now, David,” she started again, “Bonnie and Bevvy are here again today. Will it be okay if they observe?”

My head was starting to spin a little. That Versed is good stuff.

“Sure,” I said and wasn’t surprised to hear myself giggle a little.

“We need to give the hot towels a chance,” she said, “so come on honey.”

Virginia and Millie left and I was alone with my thoughts and my hot towel.

So I had a conversation with myself.

“Do you really love her this much?” I asked.

“I do,” I replied.

“Enough to let them take your fucking BALLS?!” I asked.

“Yes,” I replied, “that much.”

“You’re okay with being a eunuch?” I asked.

“I wish it was different,” I said, “but I love her.”

Well, that conversation went on for a while, but it was circular. One side was afraid, but the other was just too Goddam head over heels, crazy, stupid in love to ever say “no” to her.

The door opened and they came in, Virginia, Marie, Bonnie, Bevvy, and Millie.

“Okay,” Virginia said, “let’s see how we’re doing.”

She pushed the gown up, unwrapped the still-warm towel, and I felt my scrotum, loose, as my balls settled into the warm sack.

She handed Millie the collection bag and said, “go ahead honey, take one last specimen.”

I was hard when she tightened the little bag on and started masturbating me.

The thing was, I felt no embarrassment at all, being watched by two women and two girls as my soulmate did it.

The Versed took away the thrill. My ejaculation was a mechanical event, my body responding to the friction of what she was doing. Nothing more than that.

My scrotum tightened again, though, and Virginia carefully wrapped it in another of those towels.

“Now girls,” she was saying, and her voice was pure pedantry now, “this is the Elastrator.”

She might have been talking to them, but I couldn’t help but hear. It’s not like she was trying to hide it from me.

She was showing them a complicated device. With a series of hinges and levers, she put a small green band, almost a thick rubber band, across four posts and then squeezed the handle. When she did, the posts spread, stretching the band into a trapezoid shape.

“Stick your finger in here, honey,” she said, and Bevvy giggled and did.

“When you release, the band will tighten like this,” she said, and the trapezoid got smaller until it was touching her finger. With a final little jerk, the band tightened with an audible little snap.

Bevvy jerked her finger back.

I didn’t know what to expect but she stopped moving and looked at the tight band on her finger, almost a green ring.

“Now that’s not too bad, is it?” Virginia asked and Bevvy said, “no.”

Bonnie giggled and held out her hand. “Do me,” she said.

Virginia showed Bevvy how to load the band onto the device and Bevvy made a ring for Bonnie. They both giggled.

I held out my hand.

“Do me,” I said, curious.

Virginia handed the device to Millie who stretched the green elastic band across the pegs and opened it up.

She took my middle finger, of course, and held my eyes as she slowly released the pressure, letting the band grow smaller until it was touching the circumference of my finger, high, close to my palm.

“Ready?” she asked, smiling at me.

“Yes,” I said.

She pulled the device away and the band closed with a little snap. There was a bit of a sting when the elastic struck, and pressure, but nothing painful. I suppose every kid has wrapped a rubber band around a finger several times. It felt like that.

“And when it’s done its job,” Virginia said, and slipped the bent end of an odd-looking pair of scissors under the band, the shape of the scissors letting them under the band without cutting skin. She snipped and the band fell away.

“Millie,” Virginia said, “Bonnie and Bevvy would like to try to put the band on. We’ll cut it off and you, of course, will perform the final honors. But would that be okay with you?”

I could see the thought lines between her eyebrows before she said, “yes.”

“David,” Virginia said to me, “is it okay with you if the girls practice?”

I chuckled, the Versed making it all kind of funny to me, and said, “sure. It’s not like I have any modesty left.”

Virginia unwrapped the towel, adjusted the stirrups forcing my legs apart, and smiled down at me.

“Last chance to say ‘no,’ David,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

Bonnie giggled as she lifted my balls and gently worked them into the trapezoid of the opened-up band.

“Now easy, slowly,” Virginia said, “it’s a gift, not a torture. You don’t want to hurt him.”

I watched and smiled, she was so cute in her concentration. Her tongue peeked out of the corner of her mouth as she focused. There was some pressure as the band slowly tightened and then that little snap, a bit of pain, no worse than when I got my balls crossed up when I sat wrong, and an odd little sensation as my balls were forced forward.

“Are you okay,” she asked, oddly shy.

“I’m fine,” I said, smiling, “you done good.”

She giggled at my poor grammar.

“And now,” Virginia said, handing her the little cutter scissors.

Again, the tongue peeked out as she concentrated. Then a touch of cold as the stainless steel touched skin and a sudden release of the pressure.

Bevvy was next. She wasn’t as careful and I yelped when she released the band before it was fully reduced, the snap feeling like a light kick in the nuts.

And finally, Millie took the device. She kissed me, said she loved me, and asked, once more, if I was certain.

I laid my palms on her cheeks and smiled at her.

“Take them,” I said, “make me yours.”

I liked very much, on some level I don’t really understand, that tears were running down her cheeks as she worked my balls into the device, slowly tightened the band, and then pulled the device away, that final little “snap” making me groan just a little.

Virginia reached down and lifted my balls, checking the band for a proper, well, “fit” seems like a silly word. A proper “installation,” I suppose is better.

She smiled and said, “welcome to the Family,” and kissed me.

Then she started talking to Millie.

“Now don’t be shy with these,” she said, handing her one of those clear amber pill bottles we’ve all seen, “there will be pain as the blood supply is cut off. He’s in for a rough two days, so make it as easy as you can.”

Millie was crying, not bawling, more like weeping, tears on her cheeks and her nose running onto her lip.

“Okay,” she said.

Virginia smiled. “Are you good to drive?” she asked.

“I’m okay,” Millie said.

“Then take your boy home,” she said, and even with the Versed running through my veins I noticed the reference to me as a “boy.”

“Be nice to him,” Virginia added, “this is a big step. And we’ll see you Saturday for the wedding.”

Millie helped me into the scrubs. My pocket stuff, keys, pocket knife, wallet, and cellphone, were in a little plastic bag along with my belt. My jeans and boxers were, I presumed, destined for the landfill.

She drove me home and for the rest of Thursday and all of Friday she kept me in a bit of an opioid-induced haze. There was pain as my testicles died, but the drugs kept it at bay. I was in a sort of a twilight haze until she woke me on Saturday morning.

relationshipsfetisheserotic

About the author

David Witheld

College degrees in teaching, history, and economics.

Veteran, Vietnam ERA but I never, EVER, put myself in the same league as those guys who went over there and did it. I was an Air Force analyst.

Retired now, and write for fun and profit.

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