Castration - Reality or Roleplay?

A year ago I would never have imagined that I’d have reason to write about the relief, thrill and delight I’m feeling at still being able to look forward to Mistress Maggie’s testicle torments; the delights of having my ball sac sewn together, having them stapled into one homogenous blob, or stretched beyond endurance in that over engineered wooden stretcher. Even the thought of powerful electro sensations round my balls, having them stung with potent nettles, or any number of other ball torturing activities that I might have shuddered at in the past will now bring a smile to my face, after so nearly becoming detached from my little spheres.

My sleek latex Mistress.

Mistress had given me a vague glimmer of what I could expect in my calling mail . . . your sleek latex Mistress expects her operations will have you simmering with delight as you are moved from one tight situation to another. . . Well, this slave does appreciate more than a little tightness, especially where latex is concerned, but no doubt Maggie’s reference to a tight situation would likely end up being something far more sinister.

True to her word Mistress greeted me in her sleek outfit of matching teal blue top and hot-pants, her nyloned legs had a light sheen and were on full display making her look as stunning as ever. I was a little breathless when I arrived, early as it turned out, but Mistress was keen to proceed and was half way up the stairs before I’d had time to remove my coat and shoes. Forever thoughtful, she stopped and waited for me to join her, in very close visual contact with her delightful derrière. I tried to explain that the clock in the car was slow and I thought I may be late so had needed to rush to the door of the Chambers. I needn't have bothered, Mistress is never very interested in excuses as her slaves should ensure mistakes never happen.

In the Playroom the normal routines were performed; latex gloves and socks on, everything else off and bend down at the feet of my Mistress ready to perform worship to her black, high heeled shoes. The insertion of my new ribbed butt plug was achieved with relative ease, I must admit that though the plug is a good tight fit, it could not compare with the tighter and potential life changing event which took place later in the session.

I had been entrusted to launder a pair of Maggie’s lace panties and bring them to my session, there was a slight hiccup in the pleasant flow in proceedings when I was asked to hand them over for examination. I have already had one very poor attempt at cleaning Mistresses panties and had suffered the consequences, so I had spent a lot of time carefully hand washing them in non-bio, I’d rinsed them in nice floral scented conditioner and hung them out to dry. I was pleased with the results; not so Mistress. Out came her examination light and after close scrutiny and fiddling with the stuck up corners of a tiny ribbon embellishment, she pronounced that the delicate pink bow on the front had not been ironed! Marks of seven out of ten was all I received, apart from the marks left imprinted across my backside, made by the hairbrush which Maggie admonished her slave with for his poor laundry-ship. I was disappointed with the low marks but of course there is no appeal system as Rule 6 applies: Mistress is never wrong.

With a deep breath and the pull of a zip both myself and my spanked ass were soon snugly fitted in my plum catsuit. Could this be one of the tight situations mentioned in the mail? It certainly felt nice and comfortable and tight to me, but once again my tight suit could not compare with what came later. I think I’ve lost a little weight and while Mistress gave her rubber slave a dust and polish to remove the inevitable excess of dressing talc, she said how delighted she was with how the suit now fitted.

Training was going well so far, I stood and waited for Mistress to rifle through her hood drawer in search of a latex pull on hood with perforation at eyes, and there was a little natural humour as Maggie tried to get the tight hood over my big head. Out came the cleaning towel to dry off my moist hair, and finally after the fourth attempt, a little huffing and the odd puffing the hood was on. A few minor facial adjustments and I could see adequately through the perforated eye holes, which would be the most vision I was allowed until we returned from the Clinic.

What followed marked a distinct step forward in my complete submission and acceptance of Mistresses total authority over her slave. As per the proverb: as you sow, so shall you reap, the consequences of the next part of my training were issues that I had 'wished' upon myself. The first involved my suggestion to use the facial aperture in Maggie’s new Clinic couch as a securing point for a slaves head, not in a conventional face down massage position, but allowing the rear of the slaves head to rest in the opening and be securely strapped down to make any head movement impossible. And boy, did I get the rewards for my suggestion!

The strong clear plastic straps that Mistress has made for the couch are very effective at confining the torso, while the two tan leather straps buckled tight across my forehead and mouth held my head like a vice. For want of a better word, my second ‘reaping’ came as somewhat of a surprise to say the least. A shiny medical instrument in the form of a pair of steel pliers was positioned in front of my perforated eyeholes for me to see.

‘Do you know what these are slave?’ A long time ago I had inadvertently marked a photo of an elastrator as a Flickr favourite. I really am unsure why and quickly decided it best to delete it, knowing how such an instrument could give life changing results in the hands of a sadistic Flickr viewer. Too late, the seeds were sown. Maggie must have spotted my favoured picture and thought about making the idea a reality. ’It’s an elastrator Mistress’, I suggested and her gleeful response was quite a bombshell for me. ‘Yes slave and I am going to use it to castrate you.’ You may find it hard to believe, but in that instant I really had no thoughts other than the promise I had made to Mistress. . . I promise that I will do my best to . . . willingly do whatever Mistress asks, immediately and without question.

De-nutting in progress - Do not Disturb!

Mistress wheeled her steel trolley a little nearer to the operating area and raised the couch to her comfortable working height. She kept referring to my operation, explaining what would be done, how multiple bands would be used to help speed up the process of detaching my balls, warning me that it might hurt and how I’d be gagged if I made a fuss, or screamed with the pain, before announcing that she was ready to begin and the first band was going on now.

It actually didn't hurt but felt quite snug. As extra rings were gradually added, the compression in my ball sac increased, while the area where the castration rings were being deployed gained a tighter feeling. The only bit that was even slightly uncomfortable was when one of Mistresses bands came off the elastrator prematurely, pinged across my balls and ended up somewhere on the Clinic floor, probably where my balls would end up once they dropped off. Oh well, should make for easier tidying up after the op. My cock was kept out of harms way by the clever use of a leather strap, until, one after the other, ten bands had been gently elastrated on to my ball sac. Maggie then patted my balls and indicated that all we had to do was wait. Strangely, as I lay there about to lose my balls, I could still manage a raging erection each time Mistress patted the tight sac and asked me 'Can you still feel that sensation slave?'. It’s clear that the operations Mistress had referred to in her calling mail were tight enough to have my excess body fat bulging out around her restraining straps and provided an even worse tight situation for her slaves manhood.

Maggie praised me for being brave and caressed her rubber patient, then with an air of disappointment in her voice she said that she’d changed her mind and decided not to castrate her slave, for today at least, as she gets far too much enjoyment with putting my nuts into various predicaments and laughing at the results. Hence my opening remarks about welcoming their stitching, electrocuting, nettling etc. I was to be left with a pair of fully functioning balls and each of the ten bands were teased off and consigned to the waste bucket.

If you are on Flickr there is some video footage of my castration HERE but may not be available on all devices.

Mistress may have been performing a very professional role play scenario, but from the moment I was strapped down the whole event seemed very real to me. I thought Maggie really wanted my balls as a trophy and quite frankly, I was in a mind set whereby I was ready to say farewell to them by the time she removed the bands, and desperately hoping that Maggie would still get enjoyment from playing with a de-balled slave.

Simmering with delight.

After the relief of retaining my balls, we moved back to the Playroom where the Throne, the Gas Station and the folding chair were all set out neatly by the window. What I didn't see but definitely noticed was the feeling of my butt plug being removed to be replaced with an inflating, vibrating one. Another of Mistresses little quirks had me witness what 16 pumps looked like before I was bent over the throne to have it stuffed up my royal ass and promptly pumped up to the desired proportions. The vibrator was turned on and set quaking at a magnitude which would cause fracking protestors to palpitate, I was strapped into a tight and heavy leather corset and securely bound to the bondage chair. Unusually my arms were kept free, but Mistress had made sure her restraints were buckled behind me, way out of reach with no quick chance of escape.

My full vision returned when Mistress began attending to my headgear, the Israeli gas mask she fitted on me had nice big eyes and I could watch my owner as she checked the controls on her Gas Station and brought out the breath-play hoses. A familiar noise exploded when Mistress adjusted a tap and I started to bubble my breathing through the liquid filled bottle. I was a little disappointed when the bubble bottle provided essence of tap water and not essence of Mistress; that very heady, exciting, sexy smell that I have grown to love over 5 years exposure to Mistress’ nectar. However, slaves cannot be choosers and the potion Maggie had me breathing through carried the latex smell of the tubes, mixed with the merest hint of clinical chlorine.

To a slave who had so recently thought I was to become Maggie's eunuch, I was absolutely delighted when Mistress said that she'd be joining me in the bubble bottle experience and seated herself on the folding Playroom chair. She donned her own gas mask, an identical model to mine, and attached her breathing hose to the Gas Station. At the turn of a tap, my regular bubbling was joined by the softer, gentler, quieter bubbling of my Mistress. Relaxing now on the carefully positioned chair she casually rested her feet across my lap and we sat there in our latex drinking in the bubbly atmosphere, or ‘simmering with delight’ as Mistress had so accurately put it.

And I realised why the chair and Throne had been so precisely placed. I was able to gently caress and stroke Maggie’s beautiful feet and legs in their shimmering sheer tights for a long time, but the prospect of having my hands surreptitiously stray above her rather nice knees had been removed by Mistress and her cunning bondage. I could only look on and dream about caressing her beautiful thighs. I stayed stroking and caressing her legs and looking adoringly at her superb but definitely out of bounds body for as long as my owner wished, complete with a full set of balls and happy in the knowledge my Mistress might still find an amusing use for her little sphericals. I was a happy and content slave.

I experienced quite a few extremely tight situations today and am so thankful that I left with my balls intact, ready to be toyed or sadistically manipulated by their owner on hopefully many more occasions, and that nagging question of whether it was reality or role play when Mistress Maggie was 'castrating' her slave? Either way, I moved that bit closer to total ownership and acceptance of anything my Mistress wishes to do to her slave.

A very professional role play or a change of heart? That is the nagging question that only time will resolve.