New Story 'Madam, Me and It' - Part I - Prologue

Ok. Thank you all for the comments. A story has come to mind. Female dominant, male sub. I trust  all will enjoy. Look Saturdays for the continuation.

I like the ideas offered for a forthcoming story but for me to write the story first has to excite me. So I have limitations. Hope this does not disappoint. 

*********************************************************************************

Madam, Me and It

Copyright 2012

by Chris Bellows

Prologue

“I assure you, they are not functioning, Mr. Grieves. The discoloration of the scrotum suggests limited circulation... quite limited. Your non existent sperm count confirms it.”

I am stunned, the explanation offered with such smooth nonchalance. I suppose one should generally expect such a professional tone and demeanor in a doctor’s office, but not when the words so dismally describe the state of one’s testicles.

The doctor continues. Do I detect that she represses a smile? I convince myself that it is my proclivity, my insatiable desire for aloof commanding women, that imparts a degree of Schadenfreude. Real or imagined?

“Without performing exploratory surgery, I would surmise that the nerves and vas deferens have some how been crushed... squeezed in some inordinate manner. Not my business to do pathology... forensics if you’ll excuse the term... but have you been in contact with any farm apparatus? It would almost appear that in some manner a tool for emasculating livestock has been applied... at the base of the scrotum... just under the penis.”

She does not use the term Burdizzo, but I know it is to that which she refers. It’s my pitiful lifestyle of kink... reading too many Chris Bellows fantasy stories... which brings such awareness. Appearing to be an exotic set of pliers, the device grips the scrotal sac as described and in a brief instant of pain closes to neuter the likes of goats, sheep and cattle by crushing the nourishing arteries, the life sustaining nerves and most importantly the sperm ducts... the vas deferens.

“Yet it appears some degree of circulation continues. But for how long I cannot say. The damaged vessels may heal. We could open you up and hope to abet that process, but to what end? The testicles have been permanently rendered useless and in being invasive there could be further harm.”

I nod, wondering if my facade of calmness adequately cloaks the rage and disbelief.

“I advise that you examine yourself closely in the shower each morning. If anything changes... deeper discoloration for instance... call us immediately. Gangrene, Mr. Grieves... not a trivial matter. If such manifests you’ll require an orchidectomy... quick and simple... but I assure you quite necessary.”

My balls are doomed... not ever again to function... whether dangling between my thighs or within the imagined trophy case of the calloused doctor.

Damn this penchant of mine! Why do I fantasize that she collects male organs?  

“Mr. Grieves, it may not be appropriate, but I recommend you seek other help regarding this matter. Most of the male testosterone is produced by the testicles. Therefore it is not just the production of sperm which has been curtailed. You’ll need hormone treatment, which I can prescribe. But there is no point of beginning that until... well until certain issues are resolved.”

“Issues?” managing to muddle through my shock and finally utter a word.

“If your condition has been self induced... and I am not coming to any conclusions... then beginning hormone treatment would be contrary... counter to what something within is dictating.”

Such is not the case, but the woman is suggesting I attempted to castrate myself.

“There are clinics where, after thorough psychological diagnosis, your inner conflict can be surgically resolved.”

Gender reassignment surgery! She really must think I am indeed desperately conflicted.

“Do you really think the hormone therapy is necessary?”

Now she smiles... not my imagination.

“Well, we can wait. But without it within days you’ll find yourself quite torpid. There will be weight gain... and other undesirable effects.”

Remaining silent, I do not want to know the other undesirable effects. But the doctor now seems to derive a certain glee and continues.

“Yes, your penis will begin to shrink, the nipples will become puffy and quite sensitive. There will be intense mood swings.”

There comes an unprofessional snicker.

“Think of those emotional times going through puberty, Mr. Grieves. Only now the slow changes will not result in the acceptable... at least I don’t think such will be acceptable.”

She pauses, letting the horrifying words rattle about my shell shocked limbic system. The latter words suggest she is convinced the damage is self induced.

“With the hormonal imbalance, your emotional and psychological needs will transform. Unless you have motive... are prepared for radical change, I suggest some daily pills. It will forestall most of the effects of emasculation.”

“Most?”

“Sex. I cannot predict your level of drive. There will be no production of sperm, that’s over. And with its curtailment sometimes the subconscious just allows desire to dissipate. Bulls rampage, steers just sort of amble about, if you catch my drift.”

I am not appreciative of the analogy, comparing my status to that of cattle being fattened for slaughter.

“I’ll take the pills.”