From Husband to Castrated Sissy

From Husband to Castrated Sissy

Kimmie Holland

“Oh my god!”

My wife looked up over the muscular shoulder of the huge black guy nailing her on our bed. Her long tanned legs wrapped around v-shaped torso. “Hi honey. What are you doing home early?”

“Kelli what the fuck’s going on here?!”

At that, the black guy turned and shot me a nasty glance. “What’s it look like we doing, genius? I’m dicking your old lady. Now get out of here fuckshit I ain’t finished.”

“Better go downstairs dear,” Kelli said, smiling. “I’ll be down later to explain.”

Of course I was shocked, but what else could I do? I went downstairs poured myself a drink and then another. I was already half plastered by the time she came down. She was wrapped in her bathrobe. Behind her was the black guy wrapped in mine.

“Kelli,” I stood up too quickly. The room swayed. I sat back down with a plop, nearly missing the couch entirely. I wiped my nose with the back of my hand and sniffed hard. It was no use trying to disguise the fact that I’d been crying. “What is the meaning of this?”

“It’s simple Kenny,” my wife said. “Carlos and I are lovers.”

“How long…” I choked up.

“Is that really important?”

“How long?” I demanded, starting to feel angry.

“A year and a half.”

“A year and a half!” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My wife was fucking another man for a year and a half and I hadn’t suspected a thing! “Why? Why Kelli, don’t you love me?”

The black guy rolled his eyes and muttered something about me being a lameshit faggot but I ignored him for the time being. I’d get to him later. He poured himself a drink and made himself comfortable in my easy chair. He turned on the TV.

“Kelli, I want an answer!”

“Oh Kenny, what do you expect me to say? Of course, I love you. You’re like…I don’t know, my best friend or something.”

“Your best friend?! Kelli, I’m your husband! Your lover!”

“No more asswipe,” Carlos said from the easy chair. He’d pushed it back, his feet up.

“Tell him to leave,” I demanded of my wife. “Tell him you want him to go. Now.”

“I can’t do that, sweetie,” my wife said.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want him to leave.”

Carlos chucked at that. “She don’t want me to leave, you hear that sweetie?”

“Well I’m telling you. Get out. Get out now, you son of a bitch!” I shrieked. I was practically hysterical.

“Just shut the fuck up,” the black man said, sounding almost bored. “You’re ruining my good mood.

I started towards the man in my chair, dressed in my robe, who’d just had his cock in my wife.

Kelli laid a hand on my arm. “Honey, don’t.”

“Like hell I won’t.”

The black man sighed, put his drink down on the table, and calmly pushed the chair down to get to his feet.

Behind me, I heard Kelli say, “Be careful Carlos. Don’t hurt him too much.”

I’d like to think I could blame the booze I’d drunk, but the fact is even if I’d been cold sober and he’d been drunk, I don’t think the results would have been any different. He was huge and strong, and it couldn’t have taken any more than one blow, although I don’t even clearly remember that. What I do remember is that he slapped me upside the head with his open palm and it was all over for me. My knees buckled and I crumpled to the floor in a heap. Carlos sat back down in the easy chair, picked up his drink, and continued watching television. Kelli was kneeling beside me, asking me something, but I couldn’t hear her voice. Everything sounded like I was underwater. Then I passed out.

* * *

When I came to, Kelli was still kneeling next to me, but I was no longer in the living room. I was in the basement lying on one of the beach lounge chairs that we put out on the deck in the summer. My wife was undoing my pants and pulling them down. She had already removed my shoes and socks. I was still pretty groggy so it took me a while to realize that my shirt had also been removed. I was naked from the waist up and my arms were raised over my head, my wrists tied to the bar running along the top of the chair. By the time I managed to make sense of what was going on, Kelli had tied my ankles to the bottom of the lounge chair.

“I really wish you hadn’t provoked Carlos like that. But I guess it would have come to this anyway.”

“What are you talking about? Kelli what’s going on? What’s happening?”

I tried to keep the panic out of my voice, but it was impossible. The sympathetic look on Kelli’s face scared me more than anything else.

“It won’t be so bad once it’s over. You’ll see. It’ll help you adjust to…umm, things.”

“What things? Kelli talk to me, please.”

“Your attitude honey. It’s too bad you had that little outburst. Carlos wants to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Kelli, I don’t understand.”

My wife gave me a little kiss on the forehead. “You will sweetie. Soon.”

Then, to my surprise, she began to attach a small bullet vibrator to my penis with a few elastic bands, and turned the control onto high. She giggled when, in spite of myself, I became almost erect.

I felt myself blush because just then Carlos came down the cellar stairs and stood over the chair where I was lying.

“Is the bitch ready?”

“All ready,” my wife said, standing.

The black man sneered when he saw my erection. “Is that it? That’s all there is to him,” he laughed.

My humiliation deepened, but I’d learned my lesson. I wasn’t about to antagonize Carlos any further, especially not as helpless and exposed as I was.

“Fraid so,” Kelli grinned. “Not very big is he?”

I couldn’t believe what was happening to me, nor could I stop it. The vibrator attached to my cock was having its predictable effect. I strained against the plastic ties binding my wrists and ankles. It was no use resisting. I gasped as my cock spurted onto my belly.

“And not much lasting power either,” my wife concluded, shaking her head disapprovingly.

“Well we’ll be fixing that problem.”

Kelli snickered.

I had no idea what they were talking about, but my mind was still cloudy, not just from the beating I’d taken, but now also from the vibrator, which continued to buzz away, and had already begun to revive my spent cock. The black man squatted down on one side of the lounge chair and my wife on the other side. While Kelli held my balls up in her soft palm, Carlos slipped a small leather noose over the sac, right at the base of my cock shaft. Was this some sort of kinky sex game? Were they going to try to prevent me from cumming? Between the vibrator and Kelli’s hand, but also the black man’s manipulation with the leather noose, I was half-erect.

“Wait,” I gasped, “that’s…ugh…that’s too tight.”

“Not yet it aint, princess,” Carlos laughed.

He had pulled the leather lasso closed so tightly that it already looked like my balls were detached from my body. They looked like a couple of bright pink plums ready to burst.

I groaned as the breath went out of me and felt nauseous.

“What…what are you doing?” I cried, when I was able to catch my breath. I was panicking, and not even trying to control it this time.

“Sshh,” my wife said, smoothing my hair back like a mother comforting a child. “Enjoy it. While you can.”

Before they turned off the light and left me there, my wife and her lover stood by the side of the chair where I lay and looked down at my quivering, bound body. Unbelievably, I was shivering to another orgasm, but this one much weaker than the first, and with hardly any expulsion of cum. My tied off balls were already aching.

“How long,” Kelli asked.

“By tomorrow morning,” Carlos said. “It’ll already be way too late.”

I saw a wicked gleam in Kelli’s eyes I’d never seen before. She was looking down at me as she kissed her lover deep and full on the mouth, his hands exploring her ass. It was then I knew that she wasn’t the least bit regretful of what her boyfriend was doing to me. That, just the opposite, she wanted it as much, if not more, than he did.

* * *

I guess I hardly need explain that it was the worst night of my life. My wife was upstairs fucking another man in our bed while I lay in the basement waiting for my balls to die. Because now I understood that’s what they had planned for me. I struggled against my bondage but it was no use. I was too weak, too exhausted, too defeated. I lay back on the lounge chair and tried to concentrate on the pleasurable feelings the vibrator was still milking from my cock and to ignore the fatal throbbing of the tight ligature that was strangling the life from my testicles.

I came again, but so weakly it hardly resembled an orgasm at all, just a spreading tickling-itching warmth deep inside my tummy. If I spurted at all, it was little more than a few tiny clear droplets.

By now, I’d even stopped crying. It was time to face the facts. I had lost my woman to a superior male and nothing could change that. Kelli preferred Carlos and his big cock. I was expendable. The only hope I had to stay with her was to find some innocuous role in her and her new man’s life.

So I was relatively calm when Kelli came down to check on me sometime in the middle of the night. I was touched that she’d thought of me. She checked my testicles and gave me a long knowing glance. But this time it wasn’t wicked, but full of tenderness and sympathy.

I knew what she’d seen. The last time I dared to look between my legs I saw that my tied off scrotum had turned an alarming and unnatural muddy purple color.

“They’ve already begun to die,” Kelli said, matter-of-factly. “There’s no going back now.” 

I felt one last tear roll down the side of my face. 

She lifted my head and gave me a few sips of water. Then she explained how things would be from now on. She knew I still loved her and she admitted she still had tender feelings for me, too. She just didn’t feel sexual to me anymore, and hadn’t for a long time. She had talked Carlos into letting me live with them but I had to know my place. I was to be, more or less, their servant, but, of course, I’d always be free to go if that’s what I chose. They wouldn’t keep me against my will. She didn’t think I’d cause any trouble, since she doubted that I’d want everyone to know I wasn’t a man anymore, but even if I did, she and Carlos would swear that I’d castrated myself in despair when I discovered she was leaving me for another man. Then again, she added pointedly, if I made too much of a nuisance of myself, Carlos could always simply revert to his original plan, which had been to make me disappear. Permanently.

“But I really don’t think that will be necessary, will it sweetie?”

“No,” I whispered, stunned at how close I’d come to ending up a murder victim.

Kelli smiled, patted my head, and ask if she could get me anything else before she went back to bed. I asked her for a blanket. It was cold in the cellar and, besides being naked, I found losing my balls and Kelli’s recent revelations to be particularly. She pulled out an old quilt stored on a shelf in the pantry and covered me. Then she bid me a good night and returned to her lover’s arms, leaving me to mourn the death of my manhood alone.

By morning, Carlos examined my ball sac, stood up, and with a self-satisfied smirk announced that it was done: I was officially a eunuch. Kelli said, “Congratulations honey,” and that was that.

I was given instructions not to try to remove the leather cord from my blackened testicles so as to avoid infection; instead, the dead flesh that my balls had become would dry up and fall off by themselves, “like a pair of rotten grapes,” Kelli laughed. And that’s just what happened. At first, the smell was pretty bad and I was the butt of a lot of Carlos’s jokes. Kelli had me use her perfume to scent the panties I now wore all the time and that helped. Eventually, though, the flesh dried up and no longer smelled and sort of began flaking away. One night I took off my panties and found the remains of what used to be my scrotum and testicles at the bottom.

I’d had a while to get used to the idea of being a feminized eunuch by then. I felt a little down, but what was done was done. I took like a lot easier now. As the saying goes, I just didn’t sweat the small stuff anymore.

* * *

Three years later and Kelli and I are still together. We’re still married, at last legally, but naturally I don’t have any conjugal rights any more. I don’t miss the sex so much as I miss the intimacy I used to share with my beautiful wife. Nowadays I’ll often do her hair or nails, usually at the salon where I now work part time, but the closest I come to real physical intimacy is when I’m occasionally asked to give her a totally platonic massage. I took a short course in therapeutic massage since Carlos enjoys a relaxing massage at the end of the day.

Carlos moved into the house shortly after I was castrated. Needless to say, he shares Kelli’s bed. I’ve made up a small room in what used to be a storage area under the stairs. There are no windows but I’ve decorated it bright and cozy.

Along with the massage course, I also took enough cosmetology courses to do some hairstyling at the salon. Between my part-time work at the salon and my full-time job as a homemaker for Kelli and Carlos, I’m kept pretty much on my painted toes.

Yes, I keep my toes polished, as well as my fingers. My body is always waxed smooth and while I can’t quite be mistaken for a girl, my personal appearance makes it quite obvious that I’ve been feminized. With each change, Kelli assured me that Carlos would lose a little more of the hostility he still had for me even as a former male. And I was happy to discover that my wife was right. As I started adopting more and more feminine traits, Carlos stopped seeing me even as a former male, and more like the subordinate femme sissy that I’ve become. The latest change—a pair of 36-inch breast implants—were the most successful. Now Carlos no longer even refers to me as “he” and “him.” It’s strictly “she,” “her,” or what has become my girl name, “Kimmie.” Sometimes, when Kelli is having her period or just isn’t feeling well or not into it, Carlos will have me kneel down and blow him. I’ve gotten to be pretty good at it and I have to admit it does give me a nice sexy feeling to have him shoot his huge load into my mouth and to swallow the same hot cum that he shoots into my wife’s cunt.

As for my sex life, that’s pretty much it. I don’t have a lot of desires in that department, which I guess is pretty lucky since I don’t have much means of satisfying them. Mr. Richard, that’s the owner of the salon where I work, has taken a liking to me and we’ve gone on a few dates over the last three months. I’ve gone down on him, too, and he’s even taken me in what he calls my boi-pussy. That actually feels the best of all now that I’m stretched out and it no longer hurts. Mr. Richard is gay so he likes me in-between girl and boy and doesn’t want Kelli and Carlos to have my penis removed. He likes to play around with it while he’s fucking me in the boi-pussy, even though I cant really get hard anymore or cum, even with the testosterone pills he sometimes feeds me.

Well, luckily for him, Kelli and Carlos don’t want my clittie removed either. Not now, anyway. They say they like it to be a reminder of my status as a neutered femme sissy. So everyone is happy with the way things are, even me, I guess. I don’t think about it too much anymore. I’ve gotten used to my life the way it is. I find it almost impossible to imagine what it was like before.