A Gift From James

by Chris Bellows

  My words were overwhelming. And with his funk, I repeated the information almost every day to ensure the shocking messages were perceived.

  Dr. Alice tested James’ hormone level every morning. It was sinking rapidly, which she relished in pointing out to him.

  Afterwards she went skiing with Ms. D and James was mine for the entire morning. I worked him relentlessly.

  For lunch, Dr. Alice and Ms. D returned and I supervised while James honed his serving skills in our suite. Ms. D was enthralled with the look of James in heels, and the practice continued.

  Afternoons, a naked James was led to the spa’s beauty parlor where the time consuming process of depilation continued and with his diminished male hormones, the removal was permanent.

  His hood was no longer deemed necessary and an emasculated James was free to gawk all he wished at the spa’s nearly naked female staff. While all his body hair was being removed, he stared with lust at the beautiful young girls who closely inspected his skin and zapped away the numerous offending follicles. His keen interest reminded me of a recently neutered dog that continued to mimic the impossible act of fornication, his alteration not fully comprehended.

  James’ empty scrotal sac became quite the center of attention at the spa and Ms. D instructed that I allow any and all to examine it. During those interludes, even I felt a degree of pity for the newly altered James. A callous dominant female guest would toy with the fleshy pouch and comment, humiliating James to no end.

  “What happened?” was the typical mocking taunt. And James would just bow his head in shame.

  But I must confess to a deep feeling of fulfillment despite the pity. I was continuing in the family tradition. In the Chinese culture, that is important.

  Alice

  With the second removal, I stayed another two weeks. I was stretching my stay and had a doctor friend cover for me in St. Paul. D was in heaven, and I could not help but stay and revel with her in finding the most perfect of male subjugants.

  With James’ wealth, D no longer needed to work and in a way I was envious but also happy for her. And James’ analingus was improving rapidly.

  But alas, it finally came time for me to part. I scheduled the operating room for one more procedure than reserved a seat on the afternoon train to Calgary. From there I would fly home.

  Yes, James found himself strapped once again into the chair and his wild look of apprehension indicated great concern for his remaining male appendage.

  Not to fear James. I had promised D a rather unique modification, and I made it a parting gift.

  The long nerves remaining within the sac would be put to use. Since D did like the look of withered scrotal flesh on the altered male, and left to time the pink bag would indeed shrink from sight, a small addition was required.

  I had purchased some heavily gauged gold rings and with another application of procaine, I carefully pierced James’ hairless scrotum making sure that on both sides the penetrating circles of gold intercepted the still sensitive nerves. It took time, but it was worth the effort. When finished I attached a pair of cute bells then permanently closed the rings. When I flicked them with my fingers a pleasant ringing sound was heard and James’ penis ever so slightly twitched, indicating that I indeed attained the objective of stimulating the two nerves.

  James was now belled like a cat. His every movement would cause the relatively weighty bells to move and remind him of his altered state. And the slight pulling would serve to stop the scrotal sac from atrophying.

  I stepped back with a smile to admire my own work. It’s always interesting being face to face with a male I had recently castrated. Curiously, the hormonal changes diminish the rage and anger you’d expect to encounter. James just looked at me like a puppy, patiently waiting to be released.

  “Not yet, James. Another memento. Those were for D. But these are from me to you.”

  I retrieved two more rings. This time I skipped the procaine and merely stepped between James’ forcibly spread thighs, pinched his left nipple and plunged a needle through it.

  James screamed.

  The newly sensitive, more feminine then masculine pink nubs invited attention and I could not resist. With another plunge and another scream, I pierced the right, then attached a pair of rings with identical bells.

  Again I stepped back and surveyed my work. With the nipples symmetry is important and I had not lost my touch. They were perfect, the ornaments hanging at precisely the same level.

  “You won’t soon forget me now, will you James,” I cooed in a soothing voice.

  “With every step you take, with every motion you make, the sound of your bells will remind you of Dr. Alice.

  “Laitai will take you back to the suite...au revoir.”

  I simultaneous flicked both scrotal bells, then gently slapped my hand across his chest striking the nipple bells. He yelped in pain. I strode out listening to the satisfying sound of my ringing handy work.

  D

  Well, all good things must come to and end. But with the financial resources at my command, not necessarily as quickly as need be.

  After Alice left I made some phone calls. How much could a locomotive possibly cost?

  And sure enough, it did not cost that much. I leased one of reasonable speed and power and specifically asked for Jake and Luther as my crew. They were scheduled to arrive in three days, which fit perfectly with the progression of James’ training and cosmetic transformation.

  And so for the last three nights, Laitai and I poured over maps, seeking places to visit which were accessible by train. And, of course, an important criteria were stops where we could show off James.

  During the last week, I was introducing James to the thrilling look and feel of feminine silk on his newly sensitized skin, Alice and I having made sizable purchases of lady’s garments for him in Calgary.

  And it was amusing to see him take to the frilly and brief attire we had selected. I suppose for James it was better than nothing, which is exactly what he had before my generosity. But still, when permitted feminine covering, there appeared on his face a most convincing look of satisfaction, despite the concern over the slight sound of bells beneath.

  So when traveling, my effeminately attired James became Jami. His only other choice was to go naked and display to the world the remains of his bejeweled genitals...so he chose to travel as Jami, and he listened attentively to instruction on passing as female.

  And so it came to our last evening at the spa. Jami had taken every meal in our suite with Laitai insisting on a special diet. As a treat, and a bit of a test, I decided to take him to dinner in the formal dining room.

  I dressed him like a cheap hooker, and was even able to find a skirt short enough so that the very bottom of his scrotal bells hung below the hem, thus proving a wonderful cacophony as he perambulated into the spa’s crowded cocktail lounge.

  After some four weeks, most of the guests and staff had encountered Jami, so his initial visit to the lounge and adjoining dining room was not too shocking. But one very handsome woman kept looking at us. She sat at the end of the bar and was known to all the staff. And judging from the manner in which she spoke and they listened, she was a person of authority.

  When our barely clad waiter came to serve us, I discreetly inquired about the woman.

  “That’s the manager of the spa, madam,” was his polite reply.

  I excused myself to Jami and left to introduce myself to the woman. We talked then I returned.

  What a small world!

  Jami and I proceeded to have a wonderful meal. I ordered for him, of course, and knowing all the foods he disliked, made certain his plate was filled with all the spa had to offer.

  Jami

  We returned to our suite after dinner. Ms. D had been drinking wine and was very relaxed. Over dinner she was constantly slipping her hand under my blouse and toying with my nipple rings and bells. It was quite embarrassing, particularly when the newly sensitized areolas erected
under her touch.

  For some reason she had Laitai strip me and put me in suspension. I had not been so constrained since the second removal, Ms. D deeming my time better spent with head between her thighs. Or lying supine, knees to chest and watching Ms. D’s beautiful and firm breasts as she thrust the ‘man spreader’ into my waiting aperture.

  So I knew something was afoot. But there I hung, helpless, sans hood but with wrists and ankles cuffed behind me. The configuration highlighted my missing testicles and the bells hanging in their place continuously rang with every slight motion. I indeed thought about Dr. Alice and her skilled but evil hands.

  Then a knock came at the door and a large waiter entered with an ice bucket and bottle of wine. He looked at my nakedness, glanced down to the source of the ringing and smiled. He opened the bottle and as a sort of gratuity, Ms. D stroked his massive penis to erection and fondled his intact scrotum. She did this while looking at me with a sardonic smile. I flushed with the degradation of being so taunted, forced to watch as an intact male obediently tumefied for my owner.

  Then he left leaving the door ajar, much to my chagrin.

  Ms. D spoke. “We’re going to have a visitor, Jami. She says she knows you.”

  Within ten minutes a woman stepped through the door without knocking. She was of my age. Trim. Confident. Handsome. She said hello to Ms. D, and was introduced to Ms. Laitai as the manager of the spa.

  Then when she turned and looked straight at me, her mischievous smile simultaneously rocked my cortex along with the recognition of her name.

  It was Eve!

  “Well, James. Long time no see. Or should I call you Jami?”

  Then she laughed. And it was such a familiar laugh. The timbre was matured but the staccato was the same, which most found pleasant, except if they were the target of her derision, in which case the sound could be most irritating.

  And hanging helpless, naked, and newly emasculated, I could not help but feel her ridicule, particularly when my physical reaction to her presence caused my bells to ring.

  She poured herself a glass of wine and stepped closer. Laitai had had me spend the entire afternoon in the spa beauty parlor. Over the past four weeks, just about all my body hair had been removed and my cranial hair, approaching the length of a page boy style, had been meticulously coiffured. My effeminate appearance was being enhanced each day, and Ms. D insisted on what she termed ‘mirror time’, where I was placed before a mirror and forced to perceive each progressive step of my transformation. Ms. D would stand beside me and effusively compliment me on any recent change, such as my plucked and trimmed eyebrows, further tearing down what little male psyche that remained.

  “You look as young as when I last saw you Jami. But you’ve changed in other ways.”

  I seethed and struggled against my bonds, as Eve laughed at her own joke and the loudly ringing bells. She then reached out and toyed with my scrotal bells to emphasize the change. And more frustratingly, I felt my penis stir. I closed my eyes afraid that Eve would notice, and of course she did.

  “Goodness. Some things don’t change though.”

  She laughed again and this time Ms. D joined in the mirth caused by my embarrassment. I felt the blood pumping throughout my body. I opened my eyes and looked down. ‘Little Dickey’ had risen again. The rage was indescribable and yet, I felt oddly servile. As angry as I was, if released I would probably have found myself trying to masturbate for her, this time in vane and under the most humiliating circumstances imaginable, without the ability to perform and ejaculate for her.

  The women talked. At length. About me. About my childhood experiences with Eve. About life. About Ms. D’s plans for me. About Eve’s wonderful job as manager of the most elite yet sordid vacation destination in North America.

  The two women got along famously with me as the common denominator. And I just hung in my harness, physically comfortable but psychologically tormented.

  The wine bottle was about to give up its last drop when Eve turned to Ms. D, sanguine with their compatibility.

  “You know D, there was one thing I always wanted to do. Well, to be honest more than one thing, but perhaps you can humor me.”

  Ms. D nodded, seeming to know what it was.

  “Go ahead, Eve. I doubt if he’ll complain.”

  Eve put down her glass, arose and approached with that appealing smile which she had used to con so many. She stood before me and laughed softly. My penis was still semi erect.

  “It’s my turn with Little Dickey now, Jami.”

  And she began to play. Her fingers were experienced. Firm yet soft, she knew the male organ. She also seemed to realize that the scrotal rings were a source of arousal and she toyed with them with impunity, seeming to taker great delight in the sound of the bells.

  Life is filled with irony and I had suffered through so much. But this could not be exceeded.

  A lifetime of fantasy was coming true. The beautiful little girl, to whom, for whom, with whom, I masturbated from the beginning of puberty, actually since before puberty, reached out and stroked my weakened, hormone deprived manhood. And it felt so good!

  “It always was small, Jami. But so delightfully obedient to the whims of a firm woman. You’re going to miss your nasty habit of displaying it to girls.”

  I closed my eyes and she worked silently. Had I not been harnessed, I probably would still let her play, as humiliating as it was, her manipulating fingers were fulfilling a lifelong fantasy. All the reminiscences came back. From the mink cage to graduation. I concentrated. I so wanted to perform for her one more time, only this time as I had so long fantasized...with the pleasure of her touching and feeling the male organ that so attracted her youthful curiosity. I so much wanted her to squeeze the very last drop of male essence from me. For ‘Little Dickey’ to manfully erupt and soak her with the puissant semen which I had for so long mentally stored for her eventual return. To impress her with my power and potency.

  I felt that special valve open and then...nothing happened.

  “Wouldn’t you like to come for me, Jami?”

  Eve’s mocking words, carefully chosen from our childhood rendezvous enraged me. She fully understood my impotence.

  But Ms. Laitai had warned me. Her words echoed in my mind.

  “When aroused, the castrated male will feel as though he is about to sneeze but cannot. Each time it will be an initially pleasant but then increasingly frustrating sensation. For the rest of your life in every sexual encounter, you will experience the feeling that you are very close to climaxing but never will. And when you feel that way, as the mental torment grows, at your request, I will cane you, mercilessly. The pain will become your only relief. And you will ask for more and thank me for it.”

  I had no reply to her taunts and could not satisfy her, yet Eve would not stop. I ground my hips toward her. She reached up and played with my nipple rings. I tried so hard to ejaculate for her. There was nothing. Not even the ‘dry’ climax of prepubescence.

  Finally, I opened my eyes and looked into Eve’s. Beautiful but evil, we just stared as she smiled and stroked. I thrust my hips toward her in one last futile effort. She laughed harder and said again, this time in the feigned voice of the 13 year old girl in the basement...

  “Wouldn’t you like to come for Eve, Jami?”

  I turned to Ms. Laitai. There she stood, dour, perfect posture, white blouse, black leather boots and skirt. She looked back at me without expression. I never thought I would think of her canings as refuge, but I mouthed the words she was expecting. She in turn looked to Ms. D for guidance. My merciful owner granted me relief from the ‘sneeze’ that wouldn’t come.

  “Eve, perhaps you’d like to watch Jami being caned.”

  Laitai

  Yes. My skills were at last put to the ultimate use.

  Jami’s penis was ‘cliff hanging’, a term used by sexologists for the inability of the aroused organ to achieve orgasm. So common is it in the castrated male, and so m
entally torturous that most seek to entirely avoid situations where arousal may occur.

  Avoidance was not possible for Jami.

  Fortunately, I possessed the antidote.

  With Ms. D’s suggestion I released Jami from his harness. With the spa’s thoughtfully designed rooms, it only required a few minutes and some simple lengths of cord to secure Jami prostrate on the floor. In deference to my observers, I positioned him with his head at their feet.

  I made sure to restrain his ankles, so as to widely separate his legs. This configuration serves to part the buttocks and maximize the area of flesh exposed to the cane.

  As a treat for Ms. D and Ms. Eve, Jami’s wrist cuffs were released from behind him then attached to cords hung from ceiling hooks. As I tightened, Jami’s arms were raised, then his shoulders and head until his face was at the level of Ms. D’s lap.

  Even before I began, Jami’s nipple bells began to ring with his movements, and Ms. Eve smiled with the sound.

  I selected a particularly long and thin cane. Such wears quickly, but the pain is most excruciating. And I did have a large collection from which it could quickly be replaced.

  Jami

  I discovered that evening how thin a line there is between pleasure and pain. And how being placed in the most debasing of positions, naked and prostrate before my childhood friend, can serve to so enhance the physical pain of a thorough caning. The mental trauma approached the level of the physical.

  Ms. Laitai’s quick work in restraining me left my head just inches from Ms. D and Eve. I could almost lick their knees and could see that Ms. D wore no undergarments. With my arms held above, my spine was uncomfortably arched backwards but it would soon be of little consequence.

  I only had to hold the position as Ms. Laitai anointed my buttocks with her special lotion. Then she began and the relative discomfort of my arched back paled in comparison to the searing heat.