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“Mounded” by Paul B.

This is the original story by Paul B. that introduced the concept of “mounding” — one of my all-time favorite erotic stories and the basis of all the “mounding” photo story series I’ve produced. Enjoy. Mark & I met at a party for mutual friends.

The first time I saw him, I froze. It was hard to talk, and I klutzed like a kid on his first date. Who wouldn’t? At 6'4", Mark towered over me. His craggy face & rough hands told of the years on the west Texas plains. The long face of a Trail Boss, crowned by a tight Marine horseshoe flattop and a bristling moustache. Both brilliant silver colour.Deep tan- icy blue eyes… add his penetrating baritone drawl (think- Sam Elliott) and you can imagine how I shook when he walked up to say hello.

There was no way that a guy like that would go for a guy like me. He was simply too much. I tried to get away from him. No go. He clapped a hand firmly on my shoulder and kept me glued to him for the entire party.

We did coffee after the party. He managed to calm me down. I finally stopped squeaking at him. It went fine after that.

To this day I don’t know what he sees in me. What the hell? I’ll enjoy it for as long as it lasts. We hit it off right away. Within two weeks, one of us was always staying over at the other’s place.

He’s quite a dominant guy. He has his ideas, and you live with them. Maybe I had “submissive” written all over my face. From his first order I fell lockstep into line.

For instance: he shaved my moustache off of me few weeks after we started seeing eachother. Having a ‘stache was a privilege reserved for him alone. He tested me every morning w/ a credit card for missed spots. He found anything; it was back for another shave.My body hair went down the drain, permanently, a month after that.

Without a 'stache I tend to look very soft and rather boyish. Not feminine, but am often taken for a sissy.No matter how I pleaded to get my moustache back, he refused.He had only to rub his bristly face over my boyish one to make me quiet down and behave.

…well, that and the 15-minute butt blistering that ended any further protest about my grooming…

Once the body hair went I really felt soft and vulnerable.

Also, he gave me an estrogen-treated lotion. Every day, He puts on a pair of gloves and smoothes the lotion all over my body. Twice a week he bends me over for a hormone shot as well. It really has worked. My skin has become a creamy colour. It’s as soft as a baby. Must work a bit deeper- even my scent has become more like that of a little boy.

His final word was:

“Enough of the macho pose- it’s bullshit. You’re a soft & gentle kind of guy. I love you for it. I want the world to see you this way.”

As part of my softening up, Mark threw away my jeans and boots. He decided that I’d now be dressing like a wimp.

He also firmly planted a set of brown horn-rimmed glasses on my nose.

The treatment hadn’t left me looking like a girl. It left me very round and weak looking. Overall, he’s made me look like a sissy boy on his way to Sunday School.

He says that looking this way makes me more docile & cooperative. He thinks that my attitude has improved.

His pet name for me is “Softy”. That’s okay. Some of the other things still bother me. He refers to me, when we’re among friends, as The Missus ! That’s still hard to get used to. That’s embarrassing, but now it’s embarrassingly accurate.

We like bondage games. No real limits. We’re adventurous.I noticed right away that Mark likes to tuck my genitals down under when he’s screwing me. He got a strange glow everytime my cock and balls disappeared back behind. He soon began having me tuck back and wear extra tight jockey shorts.

All of this happened over a period of months. Before I knew what was happening, Mark had molded and trained me to be his idea partner. What the hell ? Mark’s a hunk. Mark’s a catch. I’m really a lucky guy. Something about him just made me look for ways to keep him happy.

Six months later, he issued the order:

“Let’s go pack up your gear. You’re moving home for good.”

It took no time to get into the swing of his life.

I work from home, so doing the household chores is easy. Mark’s a doctor, so he puts in some very long days. Luckily he’s a urologist, so he’s rarely called out on his off-hours. He works very hard so I really never minded taking care of him. He’s domineering, but very affectionate. All I have to do is obey him and he looks after me pretty doggedly.

Yeah: we take pretty good care of eachother.

His circle of friends took to me right away. They’re great people. Mainly medical men and their partners. We all see eachother very frequently. Life is good.

Doctors are a clannish bunch. They really do gravitate toward eachother in most social situations. The partners have to accept this and just let them go. No big deal. Some very close friendships with the other doctors’ spouses. We’re a very tight group of guys.

We often have eachother over to dinner. Usually, the Docs hang out on the patio while we help the host finish setting up dinner. After dinner the Docs usually retreat to the den while we hang out in the kitchen or on the patio. Most of the spouses are in the creative fields, so we have a great time batting ideas around.

Around Christmas of our 2d year, we all gathered for a big holiday feast. It was a great time. After dinner, the spouses retreated to the kitchen for the next rounds of holiday cheer. Aaron, a group mainstay, had been in the hospital recently so he was on light duty. We kept him on a stool, helping out mainly by mixing drinks.

Just to be sociable, I asked Aaron how his appendectomy had gone. He got the most enigmatic smile, made another drink, and simply said:

“fine.”

Later the other spouses had settled into a deep conversation. Aaron caught my eye, motioning me toward the back hallway. We went into one of the guestrooms.

“Wanna see something ?” Aaron chuckled w/ a glint in his eye.

Before I could answer, he undid his pants and started to slide them down.

Oh great, chuckling to myself. Here’s where the drunk shows off his appendectomy scar. Aaron must’ve read my mind. He shook his head and started to pull down his briefs. With a triumphant smile, he pulled away his shirt to reveal…..

….his nearly empty crotch…I simply stared, unable to react…

Aaron had always had one of the larger hunks of meat of the group. It was common knowledge. After that many pool parties, you know these things. Now, it was gone. Gone, too, were the pendulous conjones that graced his considerable tool. In its place was a very prominent pubic mound. It was a larger version of a woman’s crotch. It had rather well fashioned, but prominent lips.

“A sex change ?” was all I could ask.

He hadn’t been in the hospital long enough. He was too well recovered, this soon afterward. He still looked like a man. But he had very feminine looking genitals.

“wow” was all that would come out…

He pulled up his pants and said:

“I’ll be over tomorrow morning. We’ll talk.” as he headed out of the room.

He turned to pause as he exited the room with the parting comment:

“By the way, hon: your husband does incredible work. Thank him for us, will ya ?.”

With a wink, Aaron melted back into the kitchen group.

I had to fire up a joint to compose myself. It took a few minutes to rejoin the group. The evening wound down to a pleasant end and everyone left in high spirits.

We were too tired to do anything but cuddle up that night. We enjoyed some very intimate pillow talk and faded out.

When I passed on Aaron’s message, he just chuckled and said:

“Good to hear.”

I went to sleep as mystified as ever.

II. Next Day

The next morning I got Mark off to work. No major projects were in the offing, so I just finished up some sundry odds and ends in my office. My schedule was cleared out for the morning. Whatever Aaron had to share needed to be heard w/o interruption.

The coffee had started running when he finally called. He’d be right over. My curiosity was killing me. This was so bizarre. Why had he, so gifted in the meat market, gone ahead and had everything cut off ?

This proved to be a mistake, relating it all to transsexualism. More than a few had crossed my path over the years. I knew the lingo. Words like “transition”, “dressing in the role”, and “hormone therapy”, rocketed through my mind. Obviously none of these terms applied to Aaron.

Finally the doorbell rang. I nearly yanked him into the kitchen. Maintaining a decent interval, before throwing the proverbial Twenty Questions, was hell !

Finally: “what happened ?”

“Well, at the last pool party, I noticed something. Most of the partners really weren’t pushing much in the way of a basket anymore.”

A day later, his husband brought it up. Aaron was told that, yes- most of the wives had been altered by Mark. They had lost the use of their dicks and balls in a temporary procedure. Nothing was amputated, just placed where they couldn’t get at them.

Dr Steve told Aaron that the surgery tended to make the subjects more docile and amenable to discipline. Without the thrusting genitals, they tended to turn inward behaviorally. They also seemed more content to stay home, attending to their husbands and their duties. Once “mounded”, the subject began to act & feel more completely like a traditional wife. At least half of the wives had been Mounded.

“It was then” Aaron sighed, “that Steve told me that I would be joining them.” He looked very resigned to it. Not happy at all.

He then told me that Mark had actually invented the new surgical procedure. Mark’s nurse, Robert, had been the first to undergo the alteration. Robert’s husband “volunteered” him as a guinea pig. After a couple of years, Mark had reversed the Mounding. Robert was restored to completely functional manhood.

“The experience seems to have done something to his mind. He still Hops To when given an order by his husband. It’s as though being tucked left him a trained dog.”

Aaron came over and braced my shoulders. The look in his eyes was one of deep concern. He just shook his head. He looked around the room, then whispered:

“Paul- you’re next.”

He told me that he’d overheard Mark and Steve discussing me. The other doctors were wondering why Mark had left me intact for so long.

“One way or the other, you’re going to be on the table by this time next week. Some of the doctors have been invited to observe.”

With that I started pouring drinks. We both needed it. Aaron started talking, then chattering, and finally melting down into a gut wrenching crying jag. He hated what had been done to him. He felt like Steve had sent him off to be fixed. He knew that at the next pool party, everyone would know what had been done to him. The other doctors had started treating him in a very patronising manner. Nothing he said carried weight anymore. When voicing an opinion, they simply smiled and disregarded him.

Even worse. Steve was now opening doors for him. He pulled out Aaron’s chair at a restaurant the other night, seating him as a gentleman would a lady. The waiter hadn’t batted an eye when Steve had ordered for the both of them.

Aaron told of the times that he’d get very horney. He could feel himself getting hard. He’d ache to get off. It’d drive him crazy. He’d tried manipulating his new Mound, but could never seem to get himself positioned just right. Fingering only hurt. Rubbing didn’t seem to do much besides leave him sore and frustrated. Getting Off by himself had become impossible.

He’d reach a fever pitch. Steve would simply laugh and bent him over the couch. He’d grease Aaron’s asshole to dripping wet and ramm him home. The friction and the rhythm of being fucked did something that had never happened before. Aaron would come while being fucked. He could feel Steve’s cock bouncing and sliding against his own imprisoned member. Deep inside of his body, the shockwaves of being fucked were jacking his dick. He could feel his dick getting harder by the minute. So long as Steve fucked him, he felt good. Once, Steve pulled out. The good feeling went away. When Steve pushed back in, the feeling came back.

Steve would pump and hammer away at Aaron’s back end. He’d slip an arm around his waist, keeping Aaron tight against his thrusting cock. Steve would push his open palm against Aaron’s mound, rocking it in tune to the butt ram that he was dishing out. Steve’s hand, massaging his Mound, would remind him of how it used to feel when a hand would grip his cock.

Aaron almost started crying again, as he told how his Mound lips had swollen and started throbbing. They felt wonderful, and it horrified him !

Steve would come with a heavy blast. His big old cock throbbed against the walls of Aaron’s ravaged asshole. The throbbing triggers an atomic blast from Aaron. The orgasm shakes everything within him. Unable to pump straight out like before, Aaron’s buried cock simply throbs and vibrates inside his pelvis. His rectum, his bladder, his pelvic bones took the shock and bounced it back into his imprisoned tubesteak. Aaron’s Mound lips pulse in a gentler counterpoint to the shaking of his cock. Steve often pushes his head down, forcing him to watch as those lips quiver. The lips grow moist from the precum, then grow slimy as the strongest orgasm of Aaron’s life cascaded out of the feminine folds of his altered crotch. The spluge erupts in one continual gush. It coats Steve’s hand and runs down Aaron’s leg. Aaron’s pelvis bucks and quivers. Steve’s dick still buried inside of him. Steve continues to nibble on his ear. Steve massages his spluge-coated hand all over Aaron’s throbbing Mound. It feels so good- better than fucking had ever felt before.

That was the worst of it. Aaron hated being fucked. Now it was one of the few ways that he could get off. Now he desperately craves it.

And now, he can only get off with Steve’s help. Steve decides when, and if, Aaron will have an orgasm. He’s now completely and absolutely dependent upon his husband’s help to get off. Now, he had to please Steve in every way in order to be given release.

Only Steve’s cock, or Steve’s tongue, can give him the release He has to beg and plead and jiggle like a damn hussy to get Steve’s cock inside of him.

“It’s awful. I love him, but it’s awful to have to NEED him to Get Off. It’s awful.” “I want to be a man again, b-but it feels sooo good to be played with like that..”

He lost it again. He fell against me, bawling like a baby. Still in shock, I just let him go until this gusher ran its course.

“Two years. At least two years, it’s going to be like this. If I act up, Steve says my Restoration will be delayed indefinitely.”

I really had no idea what to say. Possible solutions rang thru my head.

“Had you thought of going to another doctor ? Maybe someone could get this thing reversed.”

Aaron just gave me a very resigned smile and shook his head.

“Nah. Nobody can help me. Besides, I’d lose Steve and (god help me) I love that SOB more than life.”

“Only Mark knows how to do this. Only Mark can UNdo it.”

Aaron finally pulled it together. We finished our drinks. He cleaned up. He left with the repeated warning of what awaited me.

Shock and denial carried me thru the rest of the day.

Mark came home about 6. Dinner went as usual.

We settled into our evening routine. Mark finished some paper work. I cleaned up some business blown off by the day’s revelations.

After a couple of hours I noticed Mark looming over me. He had That Twinkle in his eye. He gave me a couple of blasts from a pipe, then said:

“Steve tells me that Aaron spilled the beans.”

“Yeah. He was here this morning. Really messed him up. I’m afraid.”

“nah” Mark drawled as he put his arms around me. He rested against me, then continued:

“y'know what a drama queen Aaron can be. He’ll get used to it.”

“oh. okay. He looked pretty bad today.”

Mark slapped me on the back, took my hand, and led me out of the office.

“Actually, I’m kinda glad that he ran his mouth. There’s something that I need to run by ya.”

He kissed me, then finished:

“You don’t have to say yes right now. Just hear me out.”

With that, we went into his office. We sat down, and he started to explain what he wanted to do to me.

He explained that he’d developed a kind of surgery. Mark had developed it as a kind of disciplinary thing for the docs’ spouses. It was the ultimate chastity control. The subject’s cock & balls were put back into the body, leaving them out of reach. It tended to render them more cooperative by reshaping their genitals. When completed, the subject’s crotch looked very feminine, indeed. Most patients found it hard to be rebellious or uppity while sporting a pussy. He produced pictures. Theses were guys that I saw every day ! I was still in shock. It had been perfected and that he’d performed it on about half of our circle’s spouses.

It wasn’t castration. It wasn’t permanent, unless the parties decided to leave it that way. A few incisions were made, then the subject’s testicles and penis were tucked way back into the body. The empty ball sac was used to shape a feminine looking set of vulva lips.

No loss of hormones. The subject retained use of his balls. The surgery was much less invasive than was Sex Reassignment Surgery. The recovery time was less than a third. He reiterated that it could be reversed at pleasure of the husband.

Mark explained that some of the doctors had commented about my bulge at the last swim party. They’d wanted to know why I hadn’t undergone the surgery myself.

He admitted that he’d wanted to Mound (his term) me since the first moment he’d seen me. He told me that I’d look spectacular, and that he’d be very pleased with me this way. It’d be the perfect cap to his general aim in softening me up.I’d only have to stay Mounded for a couple of years. Then, if I proved cooperative, he’d let me back out.

As his spouse, he felt that it was my duty to set a good example for the rest for the rest of the circle.

His whole manner was very matter-of-fact. He drawled and smiled like an old country doc. This old country doc was telling me that he intended to cut and resculpt my crotch !

He let it drop. Told me that he’d give me some time to think about it.

We went to bed and fucked like dogs. III. Cut & Sew

A few months passed after Mark had made his rather bizarre request. I’d nicely, but firmly, turned him down flat.

He took no offence. He simply kept slipping in the suggestion whenever he could. After awhile, he simply stopped asking.I stayed gaffed, behaving myself. I applied myself more fully to keeping him happy. For months, even Mark would mention what a good boy I’d become. It appeared that Mark had forgotten about the issue.

I caught myself replaying details of Aaron’s tearful story at the oddest times. More than once, A quick thought of how it would be like kicked me into some terrific orgasms. Sometimes I’d wonder if it would really be so bad. No- no way !

We continued to live as always. Mark using and enjoying me as he wished. He even introduced me to the wonderful world of medical play. Kinky as I am, the number of things that you can use an exam table for amazed me. Believe me, guys: you haven’ lived until the Old Man has treated you to a Full Male Pelvic Exam ! …so nice…..

One Saturday morning I awakened to the sting of a needle in my butt. Mark picked me up & hustled me into his exam room. Very groggy. No thoughts of anything. I simply enjoyed the warmth & safety of being carried in his burly arms. I thought nothing of it. Mark gets horney in the morning. We went into his exam room. He hoisted me, positioning me on his exam table. I was still pretty out of it from lack of sleep. No desire to resist him.

Without a word, he slid a 6" posture collar around my neck. It held my head rigid in a forward position. The chin plate shoved my face up and out, vulnerable to almost anything.He secured the collar firmly to the head of the table.

By now, I started to float in a really great tranquiliser haze.

Mark rolled me over, as far as my locked down neck would allow. He started to play with me…mmm…so fine….he started massaging my ass, stroking my balls as he slid a couple of fingers into my bung hole. His skilled hands quickly found my prostate. He tickled it at first. His playing fell into a rhythm. My body moved and flowed in perfect time to his practiced hands. Still in a happily drugged grog, it felt as though Mark’s other hand appeared out of nowhere to stroke my cock. It felt odd- his usually rough hands, clad in a heavily lubricated glove. Still it was just unusual enough to be kind of fun. Trusting soul that I am, I just ebbed & flowed in a blue eon of body tides.

I barely noticed that someone was strapping me tightly into this position while Mark kept me jacked and pleasured.He pumped my ass, stroking me more quickly and firmly than before.I blasted into orgasm, my body gently bucking as it emptied completely.

Sleep started to overtake me. I felt Mark’s stubbled face as he tenderly kissed me.

“Felt nice, didn’t it ? Kind of a nice way to wake up.”

“yaahmm.” was all that I could mumble. Mark was still gently milking my dick as he rested his face against mine.

He stroked my dick a bit more firmly. In the same kind, mellow tone of voice, he then told me:

“Hold onto this memory, Softy. It’ll be the last time that you feel this for quite awhile.”

Before I could react, I felt a sharp pin prick in my middle back. Mark just chuckled. He gently massaged me. As he continued, the sensation of touch started to fade away. I could still sense him, but only thru a feeling of pressure.

I fought to wake up, trying to protest. No go. Still too groggy to talk. My body went limp as a rag doll. My head was tightly secured to the table. Everything within me tried to buck free. No go.

Another sense of being tapped appeared on my lower back. It followed with a light “crunch” sound. A strange sensation of cold followed, spreading its way down my legs.

Mark appeared over my head again.

“That’s done.” he pulled up a stool, seating himself directly in my line of sight.

He gently stroked my face; leaned over to give me a kiss. His expression stayed sunny. His voice carried the firm tone of an admonishing father. He sat back on the stool and relaxed.

“Now, you’ve been around long enough to know what just happened.” “ I just gave you a spinal anaesthetic, and something to keep ya calm.”

All I could do was lay there. I knew better than to move after a Spinal. Tears began to flow. He really was going to alter me afterall.

“Mark. Please…no…” was would mumble from my groggy lips.

The icy beams of his eyes locked on mine. He kept his gently admonitory tone. He leaned over, gently placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

“Now, now..no need to be blubbering over this.”

“But wwwhy ?”

“You know. This is what I want. When I ask you about this, I’d rather you’d hopped on the table willingly.” “ 'guess what has to be, has to be..”

My face locked in terror.

“Relax, Softy. It’s not as though I’m taking your dick or turning you into a girl.” “I’m just tucking everything away so you’re not so distracted. That’s all.”

The noise of someone else working the room started up. Mark just kept talking to me, reassuring me. His west Texas drawl working its hypnotic charm.

Finally someone rolled me over. I was strapped firmly to the table. Thru a blur of tears I saw the lithotomy stirrups being bolted into place. Mark and Robert (I should’ve known) each took a leg, slipping me into place.

Mark patted my shoulder again.

“Time to scrub, kiddo. Don’t worry. You won’t feel a thing.” “Just keep your mind on how much you’re pleasing me right now.”

He vanished into another room.

Disassociated impressions. I watched Rob strap my arm to a sideboard. He hook up the IVs. I didn’t feel much of anything. Rob took hold of my dick, threading a catheter carefully inside. He hooked it to a bag and went on w/ the prep. Vague images of Robert, vanishing between my legs w/ a razor and shave cream. Cloudy memories of being painted- the nauseating smell of Betadine paint. My lower body vanished behind a blue drape.

A Mayo stand appeared beside my head. Aaron streamed into view. He began daubing my face with some kind of lotion. It dried quickly, leaving my face feeling very tight.

Mark reappeared. Robert gowned, gloved, and masked him. From my helpless position, I noticed that two or three other forms joined my husband below the sterile field.

“Well, gentlemen: The Missus, here, has finally decide to give in and set a good example for the rest of our partners.It’s really an easy piece of surgery. Just some simple tucking and rearranging.”

The other figures nodded and glanced at eachother. I must’ve blushed. This was humiliating. The bastard was going to un-man me in front of our friends. New tears blurred my sight.Mark’s drawl cut thru my agony.

“It’s okay, Honey. Nothin’ to be embarrassed about. We’re all friends here.”

He turned to the other men.

“Since we can’t seem to get Softy’s face smooth enough w/ simple shaving, "Aaron has offered to depillate. We’ll repeat that at intervals. In a year, we’ll send Softy in for electrolysis to clean up what ever’s left.”

“Looks like you’re getting a real Day of Beauty here, eh Softy ?”, one of the guests piped up. Everyone laughed.

When the chuckling died down, they all began.

Aaron took what appeared to be an electric razor from the stand. With short, deft strokes, he buzzed and swept slowly over my face. The hair yanked away, mercilessly caught in the drum of that infernal machine. He ripped and yanked. My face was on fire as he ruthlessly took my beard away from me.

In awhile, every stitch of hair was gone from my face. No beard. My upper lip smooth as a little boy’s. Aaron soothed it with some more lotion, but my face was on fire.

It somewhat distracted me from what was happening to my groin area. There was no pain. There was only a strong tugging sensation, some pressure occasionally. Thank god I was so doped. Thank god that Aaron was so energetically hurting my face. Mark was giving a blow by blow as he went about his work.

“A few quick strokes to the scrotal sac. There: this gives you your material to work with.

Making a midline incision, Mark had run the scalpel down the length of my scrotum. Cautery stopped the bleeders. Some vessels were simply sutured. They’d be used to revascularise the finished Mound. Mark had shredded my ball sack into ribbons ! The gallery didn’t seem phased at all. They watched w/ rapt attention.

My hacked scrotum was packed and tucked out of the way.

A strong tug followed. Mark continued to work, Rob handing clean instruments. Bloody tool dropped casually onto the Mayo stand.

"Now, the testicles are freed from their sheathing. Some dilation of the inguinal canal is needed here.”

I felt a push.

“Hmmm….looks like we headed off the start of a hernia problem here.”

He called in my direction:

“See, Honey. I told ya that I’d always look after ya.”

I had visions of it all. My bloody ball sac: hanging in shreds, in the open air. My nuts: exposed for this group of men to see. Mark had so masterfully anaesthetised me that he could’ve castrated me right then and I wouldn’t have known it.

No bottom had ever felt so helpless and exposed as I felt right then. The tears could no longer come. I felt very numb inside. He was refashioning me to his pleasure.

“Gentlemen, now comes the tricky part.”

A strong tug pulled against my body, followed by some intense pressure. It felt like a weight had been dropped on my balls. No pain, just a strong sense of pushing.

I could only lay there, my mind sending up a bloody picture of the festivities below. Mark, picking up one of my bloody balls. Seeing his gloved hand shove it through the small hole, back into my body. His hand shoving the cords in after it. I could almost feel him fingering the hole as he rearranged everything.

“There we go ! Balls all neat and tidy and out of the way.”

Applause rang out from the guests.

“Good show !”…had to be that obnoxious Dr Swinton…

“Wow. I’m really gonna miss those low hangers at the next pool party.” …from some smartass…

..to which Mark’s peeved drawl replied: “And you’ve done a good turn in keeping your hands off of those low hangers, Jack. hehehehe… love ya like a bro, but what’s mine is mine.”

The guests chuckled at that.

“Now that his conjones are no longer swinging free, let’s go to work on his penis.”

Rob handed off a few strange looking retractors at this point.

“we clamp the penis..like..so ! There. That way, when I begin to free it up from its ligaments, it won’t retract into the perineal cavity until I’m ready.”

“Hey, Softy: Rob’s holding your dick as we speak.”

Assisting with later Moundings, I learned that the shaft and the underside of my penis was now firmly clamped in a tight metal tube. The head mushroomed out, wide and full. The underside of the clamp was attached to a hemostat that held it all closed. Rob was holding my mutilated dick by the clamp.

The sound of the cautery zaps filled the air. The smell of burnt flesh made me freeze. My husband was, at that very moment, cutting around my penis. He was cutting open, and dilating, the central passage in the mid scrotal area.

My imagination was my worst enemy right then. Without ever seeing it all, I knew what was happening. I could see my penis, clamped and bloody, being stretched out of the way. Some of the internal length of my dick was also stretching out of the hole right then. Rob would pull it to the left, then the right, as Mark sliced open the skin around it.

Some sense of pressure against my penis. Mark was slitting the skin from the base, part of the way up.

“We don’t completely sever the penis. You notice that I’ve left a few thin flaps connected to the surrounding pubic area. This way, he retains sensations.” Mark’s chuckle baritoned off of the surgery walls.

“And when he’s been an especially good little boy, I’ll show him just how much fun he can have. Due to mechanics, he’ll be completely dependent upon the Old Man for his fun, however.”

Rob pulled a retractor off the Mayo. Something bumped my groin. Rob had hooked one end of the blunt retractor against the wound, pulling the hole farther open.

“As you can see, the penis really does extend quite far into the body. My sweetheart here has as much inside as he ever showed outside.”

His mocking drawl called out to me:

“Damn, Honey ! Never woulda known that you were so well endowed.”

Again the mocking laughter. Something inside of me seemed to die. I just wanted to ball up, cry until I couldn’t cry anymore. Run away and cry somewhere safe.

“No matter. We’re gonna be 'hiding his light under a bushel’, as the Good Book says.”

He returned to work.

Rob checked the clock. He motioned to Aaron. Aaron put down the epillator. He picked up a reloaded syringe and jabbed it into a portal on my IV stand.

Mark snipped and sutured farther into my body, stopping when he felt satisfied.

“Just…about…ready…there ! Got it. A space has been created to hold the tucked penis.”

With that, my penis was gently pushed back into my body cavity. The sinus packed in upon itself, but my urethral tube held straight and true.

“As you can see, my Beloved here won’t be pulling his pud anytime soon.”

Mark began drawing the sides of the wound together. He drew some folds of my slashed ball sac around the head of my penis, creating a kind of a hood. He tacked the hood around the base of the head, using finer sutures to anchor the folds more firmly into place.

With that, he gripped the head of my dick with another retractor. He wiggled the head a bit to make sure that it wasn’t held too tightly.

“He’ll retain sensation. He’ll even retain some expansion of tissue when aroused. I don’t like to pack it all too tightly because his internal hard-on will need somewhere to go.”

The group nodded, acting as though this hadn’t occurred to him.

Mark then tilted the clamped head slightly downward within the wound area. It was all still loose enough to allow for that.

“This is, for all intents & purposes, a temporary procedure. Urethral rerouting is neither required nor desired at this point.”

“What I’m doing is positioning the head so that his urine stream will flow at an easier angle. It’s just like pushing your dick down to aim at the urinal.”

I felt some pushing, my mind flashing vivid pictures of the bloody stump being moved around and positioned.

“He will, of course, be sitting down to pee from now on.” a chuckle arose from the entire room. "By tilting his little pee-pee this way, he won’t have to bend so far forward to keep from messing the floor.“

A whole room of friends, discussing my urine habits.

Mark then anchored the head of my dick into a suitable position. He sutured, again, to allow for a certain amount of movement.

Rob motioned to Aaron, who placed another wrapped bundle on the back table.

"Ah yes. The Plastic pack. Now comes that touch of creativity: my favourite part.”

Mark peeked over the top of the screen, checking on me as he had thruout the procedure. He spoke in a calm, reassuring voice.

“Almost done, Softy. Your BP & respiration are holding fine.” “How’re ya bearing up ?”

At that point, resignation had brought a sense of calm. No use fighting or crying. I’d been neutered and could do nothing about it.

“I’m okay.”

“Love you, Softy: real proud o’ ya.” “ Not many men would make this kind of a sacrifice.”

The room agreed. Someone whistled a few bars of “What I Did For Love”. One day, I WILL discover the bitch queen and pay back !

Mark clamped the sides of my perineal opening together. The head of my dick, and it’s surrounding hood, now squeezed slightly. He made sure that the wound held firmly, then had Rob open the Plastic Pack.

Taking the remaining ribbons of my ball sac, Mark drew up the tissue against my body. He used tiny hemostats and clamps to move the sac around. He fiddled and repositioned everything again and again for a few minutes. Finally satisfied, he started sewing and fashioning my outer Lips into place.

He first tacked the lips together on my abdomen, over the top of my penis head. Slowly, carefully, he pleated and sewed. He worked from top to bottom. Soon he had everything in place. A few extra tightening sutures caused the lips to billow out slightly, at the appropriate places.

Some surgical glue was used on this stage. Healing would progress more quickly with less scarring.

“How I do this is purely by personal preference. Some men like their guys to be as tight and as flat as a little girl when they’re done.” “Personally, I love a lucious set of pouty lips down here. I’m making Softy a bit more blowsy and more prominent than usual.”

Some suction. The last clamp on the Mayo. The last instruments taken away. Rob applied the bandages and took away the sterile field.

I lay there: open and naked to the world.

“Well, gentlemen: here we are. Softy has been securely tucked and mounded. All of those masculine distractions are safely out of reach.” “No low hangers, no annoying dick to swing at the world.” “For all intents and purposes, his penis is now a cute little clitoris, nestled in a neat, marriage-appropriate packaging.”

The guests stepped forward to view his work. They were impressed.

“Very nice. So neatly done, you would’ve thought that there was no surgery involved. ”

“Yes. Mark- I’m impressed. Can I bring Simon in next week ?”

“Jeff really needs to have this done. He’s been cranky and independent acting lately.”

“An hour on the table should calm him right down.” was Mark’s sage reply.

Mark took a pointer from the Mayo stand, using it to point out certain features. He was treating me like a teaching doll, of some kind.

“The nicest part is this: no masculine arrogance, but no gender confusion, either. Softy is still very noticeably male. His Mound could never be mistaken for a real pussy. Softy remains a male, but a very blunted kind of a guy.”

Mark flashed a broad, blissful smile at me as he spoke.

“And you can reverse this at any time ?”

“Completely reversible, within reason. I’d advise, however, that the subject remain Mounded for an absolute minimum of 2 years between procedures. Healing issues, you understand.”

The guys thanked him for the demonstration. They filed out to where Aaron was serving drinks & snacks. I could hear the low level of conversation as I lay there: bruised, humiliated, and fixed like a family pet.

IV. Recovery

Must admit. Mark’s surgical skills are pretty awesome. No post-op complications. No pain- only some soreness. The catheter came out after 4 days.

I was still pretty upset. Mark kept me mildly doped up. This was more for his convenience, I guess. He’d check in on me several times a day. Not that I said much to him.

At night, he’d slip into bed beside me. He’d cuddle me close to him. The first night I tried to shove him away. Failing that, I tried to role over away from him. No go. Too weak and too doped. His muscled arms pushed me flat on the bed, then pulled me up tight against his body. His moustache would brush my face. His bristly night beard would scratch and tickle my denuded face. That hurt. His bristles reminded me of the beard that I’d never be able to grow again. Locked in his furry arms; my naked torso against his furry pelt. I felt so small, so helpless, and so naked. Inspite of my anger, it felt really nice to have a man hold me in such a protective way. Even the man who’d chopped up my groin and made me into a capon.

The second night, I simply burst into tears and sobbed myself to sleep. I dreamed of masturbating. The dream was so real that I actually felt my dick in my hand. I’d be pulling and enjoying it. The sensation of my dick against my hand. My mind even supplied the throbbing and pulsing for me. I gushed a river- then woke up.

…my hand was laying against the padded briefs. I pressed against my crotch. The padding gave, and gave, and sank under my hand. I felt the pad pucker and wrap tightly against what he’d done to me. He’d really done it. My cock & balls were gone. It wasn’t a dream.

Mark didn’t wake up, but he did pull me more tightly to his body. His hand reached up to wrap the back of my head. He really was asleep. He cuddled and rocked me gently.

Every night went like this for about a week.

The bed rest was welcome. Robert took care of my household chores while I was laid up. That bit of help began the slow road to forgiving him his betrayal.

The heavy bandages came off with the catheter. They were replaced by a maxi-pad and a tight pair of briefs. The pad filled out the briefs. When I looked down, nothing seemed any different. I couldn’t bring myself to look at it.

Since I refused to look at it or even touch it, Mark would undo my bandages every night. He gently cleaned the area, putting on a new pad. As the soreness subsided new sensations took over.

Mark started bringing in a small basin of warm, soapy water. He’d pull me out of bed, transferring me to a padded chair. He’d finish cleaning me up, then linger w/ a new towel. Light strokes against my resulpted groin. It tickled. The bastard actually got me to laugh a bit.

Sensation was returning. The warm terry cloth was the first thing I felt as my Mound began to wake up. I resisted the pleasure. My new pussy was quite sensitive, but not bad.

Mark was retuning my crotch to accept and enjoy a whole new range of pleasures. I was able clean myself. He wouldn’t allow it. This was his fun. It was obvious that he was enjoying this intimate view of his handiwork. He was definitely getting a thrill over my discomfort.

Even when I started getting up & around, Mark would march me into the bathroom at a set time of the day. No arguments. He’d set me on the toilet. His rough hands would firmly spread my legs. I would be required to sit straight, at attention- legs spread wide to let him sit comfortably.

He would gently soap my pussy, applying just the right amount of pressure and friction. Mark’s practiced hands would spread the foam until it reached every crevice. He’d gently tickle my new lips, making sure that I became aware of every contour of my new crotch. Mark would often cup his hand underneath. He’d slide a finger into my ass, tickling me there. His hands were so long that he could rest the ball of his hand against the opening to my lips. Then, he would gently push against it as he thoroughly cleaned my pubic area.

My pubic hair had started to grow and itch. He would cup my pussy in his hand as he gently rubbed the warm lather into the bristles. As I healed, he seemed to get a thrill out of cupping my crotch and giggling it.

I really felt the loss of my dick and balls. No obstacles to his hand. One finger in my ass, and nothing but his rough hands held closely against my bottom- all the way to my pubic patch. The steady healing began to loosen my lips. The swelling subsided. My pussy lips began to move against the pressure of his hand.

His cleansing sessions took longer than necessary. He’d just sit there, stroking and massaging me gently. He’d often break into a growling baritone hum as he went about his work. Some goofy little song, something that told me that he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

He made me feel like a new toy. No longer a man. Not a woman. He’d cut me and reshaped me into some- thing- that pleased him immensely. Feeling his callused hands tickling my softened thighs was a rush. All privacy barriers melted. His violations left no doubt that he would enter any part of me at any time. There were no locked doors. I would always be available to him. That sense of his power over me was awesome and comforting at the same time. He’d taken my dick and balls away from me, but had taken wonderful care of me as well. I felt very safe and happy with that.

He was obviously pleased with my current, neutered state. That felt nice. I’d begun to enjoy our sessions.

We began to chat about the day’s events while he played with his toy. This was our quiet time together.

He’d often catch my eye, giving me that cowboy twinkle and smirk that had landed me to begin with. I was still a little mad at him, but he knew that I was melting fast. That sonovavitch…he had me, and he knew it…

In two weeks, the cleaning actually triggered my first Internal Hardon. The head of my dick really began to react to its new hood of lips. I felt a spasm- like when a guy flicks his tongue on the tip of your dick. Then I started to get hard. My dick was so effectively imprisoned that the lips gently squeezed it w/o any touching. I could feel my dick fighting to escape its imprisoning folds. It tried to jut outward into a man’s hardon. I could feel it quiver inside me, pushing against the walls of my pelvis. No go. Its burst for freedom was hopeless. Mark had anchored the Little Fella too perfectly into place. The abdominal walls had closed tightly. The head of my dick was only able to rise a fraction of an inch within its hood. It was locked firmly inside of my body. Out of the way. Out of reach.

It felt pretty nice, like that morning hardon, just as you wake up. I relaxed inspite of myself. My Little Bud was starting to sing, and my whole pelvic area was humming along with it. Inspite of myself, my body would start to move. The tightness inside was like nothing I’d ever felt before.

Of course, right then he’d be done with me. First a warm water splash from a pitcher to rinse, then he hit my crotch with a steady stream of very cold water. wow! My Little Bud would jolt back into its hood- all tiny and frustrated. My pussy lips would contract, puckering back into chaste order.

As he patted me dry, he dropped down to put my pussy at eye level.

“Not yet, Little Guy…hehe..you have some rest & some more healing to do first.” …he’d drawl to my frustrated penis. And chuckle.

Then he’d pad me, put me into my briefs, and stand me up. Theses sessions always left me weak-kneed.

He always fit my pad so that it pressed tightly. Looking down, I could see the unbroken curve as my briefs puckered between my legs. Even then, I hadn’t yet been able to look at my naked pubes.

Mark would always wrap an arm around me. He’d nibble my ears, then toddle me off to be with a growling:

“C'mon, Softy. Let’s hit the hay.”

After that first experience with a hardon, I’d find myself trying to nuggle my crotch against some part of his body. It was almost involuntary. I needed to get my pussy that close to him. I tried to be cool about it. No go.

Mark would just chuckle, roll me over, and pull me close. His bulge would hit me in the ass. It took every ounce of control not to beg him to fuck me right then.

“Slow down, cowboy. You’re gonna be like this for a very, very long time. Give it a chance to rest.”

And then he’d sometimes add: “God knows, you’re not gonna get much rest, once you heal.”

We’d drift off to sleep. Having him drape his hand on my empty crotch was feeling pretty nice by then. We were starting to feel more like a real husband & wife than like two men. A couple of years like this ?

Well…okay….I think that I can handle it….just a couple of years…

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