She knew what she was doing, my mistress, Janet. She was always assertive. Dominant. At the beginning of our relationship, I was largely just a booty call for her. She would take every opportunity to fuck me; even make me cum. Gradually it would become “not yet” and “Not until I tell you to.” Eventually she was making me work for my orgasms. Making me beg to be allowed to cum. Without even realizing it I was allowing myself to become enslaved. There was no doubt about it, she owned me. Made me her bitch.
Almost two years on, we lived the female-led lifestyle 24/7. In the interim, Janet had introduced other elements of dominance into our relationship, included full-time chastity. Our early relationship of frequent orgasms had gradually evolved to complete orgasm abstinence. I had not even seen my own erection in a year, although I had seen her lover’s stiff cocks. Occasionally, she’d feel the itch to be fucked, but she would always find a stunt cock to service her. She’d never let me out of chastity.
Recently, she had taken an interest in female lovers. I found it oddly exciting to see her fucking another woman, even though I never received any personal sexual satisfaction. Janet started bringing women home with greater frequency, usually after a “girls’ night out.” They were always “soft” woman, not dike-like or overtly lesbian. But they’d do lesbian things like scissoring and going down on one another. I usually wasn’t allowed in the room when Janet was fucking another woman, but I would hear them and the sounds of grinding, licking and moaning were unmistakable.
A week ago Janet brought home a black woman. She had brought home plenty of white woman and occasionally women of other races, but “Queeny” as she called herself, was the first black woman. Queeny was different in other ways. She had a harder edge than the other women. She was more dominant, not just towards me, but towards Janet as well. She was bossy, in and out of bed. I overheard command Janet in the bedroom. She would say things like, “Stick that tongue in deeper, bitch.” I had never heard Janet spoken like that to by anyone.
None of the woman Janet brought home were invited back. It was like Janet enjoyed the conquest but was bored easily. I was surprised therefore when Queeny returned a second time. Janet’s deference towards her was also surprising. While Janet would often order me to do things for her guests, I noticed she would do things for Queeny herself, both in and out of the bedroom.
By the third visit, it was clear Queeny had started fucking Janet with a strap on. Although I did not see the act, the slap-slap-slap sound was unmistakable. The sounds Janet made suggested pain, and I imagined she was sometimes assfucked. I also heard sounds of impact play, spanking, or maybe slapping. Once Janet came out of the room, still naked, to get something to drink, and I could she her ass cheeks and face were red. She seemed embarrassed and commanded I go to my room. Still dominant, over me at least.
Four weeks into their relationship, Queeny had largely ignored me. She would come over every few days, have sex with Janet for an hour or two, then leave without hardly speaking a word to me. Focused on her relationship with Queeny, Janet also largely ignored me too. On the fifth week, things would change. One weekday evening, Janet came home from work and broadly announced that there would have to be some changes, without immediately offering specifics. “Queeny is going to move in with me.” As asked her what that meant for me and she only offered a general response, “Queeny won’t live with a man.” I thought Janet was telling me I would need to move out, but she didn’t specifically say that.
Several hours passed before I mustered the courage to continue the conversation. “Janet, does this mean you want me to move out?” Janet’s answer was unexpected. She explained I had two choices, move out or become a girl. I asked her what it meant to become a girl, and her response was that I would need to become Queeny’s bitch. Girl, bitch, what the hell was she talking about. I thought at first, she was talking about feminization, you know, wearing dresses and makeup, but she had something else in mind.
Growing weary of tiptoeing around the subject, I asked Janet to be more specific. Queeny wanted me castrated and to undergo “behavior modification”, whatever the hell that meant. This was wacko. She wanted my balls cut off. I dismissed the idea out of hand and told Janet I would move out. Janet asked me to reconsider, but this was nuts.
We agreed I would move out on Saturday, three days away, giving me time to gather my things and find new accommodations. Over the next two days I started to gather my things and plan to move out. I grew melancholy at the prospect of no longer having a partner. Janet continued to try to convince me to stay, under Queeny’s conditions. She was frank, “You haven’t been using you balls anyways.” She seemed to be making a joke of it.
My preparations were punctuated with frequent interruptions to talk with Janet. She talked about the “advantages”, like I would have to wear a cock cage anymore. I couldn’t believe we were talking about this. I started asking question and Janet explained that Queeny had experience with such “transformations.” That I would live with her until the transformation was complete, then we could all live together.
I started asking practical questions, as if having your balls cut off was practical. How long would it take? Is it painful? What about sex? What else was involved? Janet didn’t have answers. She seemed to know less about the subject that I did. She suggested I visit Queeny. I imagined Janet was talking about me meeting Queeny for coffee or something while she explained how my junk would be cut off, but Janet said Queeny would only meet with me if I agreed to spend at least a week at her house.
I found myself packing a bag, to leave my current Mistress’s house (for a week) and move in with a potential new Mistress. First, I couldn’t believe I was considering this, and second, I had no idea what to pack. I ended up packing like I was taking a vacation. I even packed a bathing suit. In the end, I wouldn’t need anything but my toiletries.
A short Uber ride and I was standing on Queeny’s porch, ringing the doorbell. She answered the door and spoke perhaps more words to me than she had in the past five weeks. “I don’t allow boys in my house, bitch. Leave all your boy things on the porch and come inside. I wasn’t sure what she was talking about. “The clothes, bitch. Leave them on the porch.” My suitcase was filled with “boy clothes.” I opened it and ended up just taking out my toiletries before closing the suitcase and hiding it behind some bushes. Queeny supervised with a strict expression on her face.
Thinking I had completed the task she had given me, I asked her if I could come inside. She barked, “What about that shit you’re wearing?” She wanted me to strip on her front porch. I looked around sheepishly to see if anyone was looking, then slipped out of my clothes. I stood in front of Queeny naked, except for my cock cage. She stepped aside and I walked into her house.
The inside of Queeny’s home could be described as sterile. There was no artwork on the walls. The furniture was non-descript, sort of modern. Queeny led me to the living room and took a seat. I started to sit down across from her but she chastised me, “Who invited you to sit down, bitch?” This set the tone for an explanation of her “house rules.” I was to address her as Mistress. I wasn’t to speak unless spoken to, and only then if an answer had been solicited. All the rules were typical for a D/s relationship. She acted like she already owned me, and by agreeing to come to her house, I suppose she did.
The first day in Queeny’s home was mostly about her expectations. I was naked the whole time. She gave me chores so I would “pull my weight.” I cleaned the kitchen and the bathroom. As evening approached, I helped prepare a meal of pasts. She showed me how to prepare it to her liking, al dente. After I had cleared the table and cleaned the kitchen, I found Queeny in the living room with a glass of red wine. I asked if there was anything else I could do for her. She told me to massage her feet. I complied while she sipped her wine.
We still had not discussed sleeping accommodations. I noticed there was only one bed. Before I could ask, Queeny offered, “You’re sleeping on the couch, bitch. We’ll start working on you in the morning.” She didn’t explain what that meant, but having finished her wine, she simply got up, went to her bedroom, and closed the door.
I had made breakfast before Queeny woke up, but she didn’t like scrambled eggs and insisted I remake them over-easy. During breakfast, Queeny made derogatory comments about my appearance. “First, we need to get rid of that man lettuce.” After breakfast, I cleared the table and was working to clean up the kitchen when Queeny came in and announced it was time to go. She handed me a genderless garment, sort of a Lycra onesie.
I quickly dress and followed Queeny out the door. A short time later, we arrived at a beauty parlor. When we got inside, I was the only man, and the only white person. Queeny nodded to one of the women and led me into a room in the back. The woman followed us. Once the three of us were in the room, Queeny faced the woman and simply said, “Hair … gone. I was told to undress. I was embarrassed for the woman to see my cock cage, but she didn’t seem to even notice it.
Over the next two ours, the woman applied wax and removed every piece of hair from my body. When she got to my groin, she pulled a twisted my cock cage to reach the hair benight it. I winced in pain as she worked but let out an audible squeal when she waxed my balls and asshole. I looked like a hairless mole when she was finished. My skin was pink and raw. “Time to get your nails done, bitch.” I reached for my Lycra onesie, but Queeny slapped my hand, then led me outside.
There was a half dozen women in the parlor, some employees and what appeared to be two patrons. They all looked up at me. The women laughed as I ineffectively shielded my cock cage with one hand while being led to a chair my Queeny in the other. Two women worked on me, one applying fake fingernails and the other giving me a pedicure. I looked at myself in the mirror as the women worked on me. Like my original experience with Janet, I had not given explicit permission to be changed, but was simply allowing it to happen.
When the nails were done, a pink polish was applied as another woman plucked my eyebrows. When they were finished, makeup was applied to my face. When finished, I looked more feminine than masculine. Queeny handed me my Lycra onesie and we left after I was dressed. Back at Queeny’s house, she had me strip after we were inside, then she led me to her bedroom. There were restraints, cuffs, at the four corners of the queen-sized bed. She ordered me face down and then cuffed me spread-eagle.
“It’s now time to work on your pussy, bitch.” I knew exactly what she had planned for me, or at least I thought I did. My cheek planted against the bedspread, I watch Queeny strip down to her panties and bra before donning a strap-on. I told her that I never had anything in my ass, but she simply said, “Good, I love deflowering virgins.” Without ceremony, she mounted me, pushing her plastic cock in me without any effort to prepare me. I cried as she fucked me for ten minutes.
Just as quickly as she had started, she demounted me, standing beside the bed to unbuckle the strap-on before letting it fall to the floor. Stepping out of view for a couple of minutes, she returned with a bowl of ice and a device. Showing me the shiny steel device, she explained, “I am going to elastrate you. Elastration is a bloodless method of male castration. It simply involves putting rubber bands around your nasty balls until they fall off. It takes about six hours for the testicles to shrivel and die, and about a week for them to fall off.”
I protested and was afraid Queeny would begin elastrating me while I was still in bondage without my permission, but then she asked nonchalantly, “Do you want that nasty junk removed so you can become the person you’re destined to be?” I didn’t know how to answer the question. I laid quietly until Queeny held my balls, circling them with her thumb and index finger like the rubber band she was proposing to strangle them with. Reminding me again, “You don’t really use these anyway, do you, bitch?” I remained silent.
I was once again passively giving a woman permission to dominate me, but this was different. Queeny handed me the bowl of ice. “Cool your nuts, bitch.” I sat on the edge of the bed with my balls sitting in the bowl. They first turned white, then blue. After about twenty minutes, Queeny reached down and crushed one of balls between her fingers. I hardly felt a thing. “You’re ready.” She used the elastrator to put three elastic bands around my balls. Within minutes, I could no longer feel anything when I touched them. Exactly twenty-three days later, my balls fell off along with my cock cage.
Flash forward eighteen months, Queeny had completely feminized me. My hair was shoulder-length and styled. I had learned how to do my own makeup and nails. Hormone therapy had begun cultivating a more feminine appearance. Facial and body hair had been reduced and increased body fat was promoting female body contours and caused the formation of small breasts. Queeny had replaced my wardrobe with slutty clothes. Like Janet, I had become Queeny’s harlot. She enjoyed taking her two white bitches out in public. She’d often dress us alike. Sometimes she fuck both of us at the same time, both in the ass. We had become one happy female household, just the way Queeny like it.