Alexandra

I’m so fortunate to have met a man that became my slave four years ago, and recently allowed me to have him gelded. I’ve since named him Attis, after the legendary mortal that first castrated himself to honor the great mother goddess. I commanded him to write his own story, which follows my brief comments, because I thought that would be the best way to let people realize how positive our mistress-slave relationship is. After all, I don’t keep him chained all the time when I’m out, and he could leave at any time if he really wanted to. Many “normal” people would consider our relationship sadomasochistic, but then so many of them lead lives of such boring monotony.

Certain things he said in the first few months of our relationship revealed to me his deep desires, though he may not be aware of that. So on that first day after three months of “normality” when he first assumed the slave role, I knew he really wanted to be left trussed up naked in my basement that night, as he relates. Fulfilling his fantasy of submission encouraged my dormant fantasy of domination, though initially I probably lagged behind him in finding our mutual roles. I should never have condescended to a discussion of his being castrated, but should merely have commanded it as the duty of a slave to his mistress’ whim; I knew by then it would please him to see me holding his severed testicles in my hand, as I did after the operation. That was a moment of such rapture for both of us, as it inseparably bonded us for life, and I knew I would have to be an even more forceful mistress to make him happy.

As will be clear from his account, Attis is a true exhibitionist, and really wants his body to become a stunning object and a work of art, on display for all to see, whether to laugh, or mock, or admire. He really enjoys being trussed up spread-eagled naked, displaying his now-gelded and soon to be fully tattooed body. And now I so much enjoy seeing him that way, he offering his naked body to me and through me to the world, and I so proud, knowing now that he’ll be my slave forever to do with as I please. We’re really loving collaborators in the project now, I the active paintbrush, he the receptive canvas. After reading his account, I’ve planned a special treat for both of us.

I’ve already had the tattoo patterns drawn, and I’ve arranged for the tattoo artist to accompany us this year to the Burning Man Art Festival in Nevada, where nudity is commonplace. I’ve arranged to rent an RV to drive there. Attis will be trussed up naked each day, and he’ll be on display to thousands as a living, evolving work of art. We’ll begin with the penis tattoo, as I know that will provide my slave the greatest humiliation, and the greatest pleasure. It would also make a great documentary. The penis tattoo isn’t going to be integral to the design, because recently I’ve decided to have his cock removed as well; it so much spoils the clean lines of his new eunuch’s form. We’ll be leaving an untattooed area on his body, because I think a skin graft over his groin will be needed to achieve the look I want in the end: no cock, no balls, no vagina, just an inconspicuous little pee-hole in a smooth mound. No hurry, maybe in a year or two. This time, when I decide the time is right, it will truly be a command to him, and, I hope, a surprise. My creation: not an androgyne, but a perfectly sexless being.

Meanwhile I’ll also have to look into some of the European fashion shows, where nude male models have been used as decoration in past shows. Attis would make the perfect accent, led naked by a chain across the catwalk by a haughty model in high heels carrying a gelding clamp, he like a sleek neutered greyhound.

Attis’ story in his own words…(I’ve made a few minor edits correcting grammar.)

I haven’t worn any clothing for four years, though my castration is more recent. My mistress commanded her slave to write this account, and she says she’ll try to have it published.

About three months after our “normal” sexual relationship started, one day I suggested she tie me up in the basement. Being a naked slave had been one of my fantasies for a long time, but I’d never revealed this to her. I’d noticed two of the steel support posts in her basement were less than six feet apart, so I suggested she tie my wrists and ankles to the posts, spread-eagling me wide apart. I still wasn’t sure what her reaction would be, but she jumped at the idea; it turns out she’d always had this fantasy of having a naked slave to toy with; I suspect many women do, but don’t have the courage to carry this out fully, and perhaps many men don’t have the inclination to really and truly become slaves to the woman that owns them.

After tying me up, my mistress went back upstairs and shortly came back down with her video camera, which she set up on a table pointing at me. She’d never taped any previous sexual intimacies. She did some relatively tame things, like rubbing olive oil into my skin all over to make it glisten, then decorating my body with glitter; paddling my behind with a board; and sticking her vibrating dildo up my anus. After about an hour, she said, “Time for bed…but you’ll stay here tonight, slave.” She went upstairs, turned out the light, and left me tied up till the morning. She left the dildo up my ass; it was heavily ribbed and stayed there all night, and took what seemed like an hour before the batteries wore down.

This went on a few days each week with new variations for several months—I still had my own apartment then—when we decided to make our fantasies permanent. I was unhappy at my job, and my mistress made enough at hers to support us both. She also has a large house on fifteen isolated heavily-wooded rural acres that she inherited from her mother, with a large fenced back yard and no close neighbors. I moved in and the first thing she did was to burn all my clothes in a bonfire in the back yard; I was now truly a totally naked slave who didn’t own a stitch of clothing, just as I’d dreamed of being for years. It was then decreed that as a lowly slave I had to crawl on my hands and knees, and couldn’t get up without her permission; if I wanted her attention, I’d have to whimper and lick her feet. She also gave me a list of chores, and told me I’d have to have dinner ready when she came in from work each day, and then lie down prone on the table while she spread the meal across my naked body. After she finished, I could then have my meal out of a dog bowl on all fours.

After a year, my mistress starting networking and discovering other people, men and women, who shared her fantasy, and she decided she’d pimp me out. Her only condition was that she had to be there to observe, to make sure her property wasn’t damaged. Once or twice has she had to ask someone to leave when they started getting too rough, but she soon had a regular clientele of around a dozen people she could trust not to do anything that would cause me permanent disfigurement. She likes to videotape the sessions if the clients don’t mind.

Once a month she’ll invite the clients over for a picnic while I’m trussed up on display. Sometimes they’ll set up the garden hose and just let it soak me for hours; other times they’ll take turns painting my body, or tar and feather me (using molasses and confetti). And they’ll compare notes on what each did with me during their nighttime private sessions, which often brings back fond memories for me. I should say that early on my mistress obtained a round metal hoop that she hung from a high tree limb. The hoop hangs on a rope that goes to a windlass, and I’ll stand within, my limbs spread in an “x”, as she binds my ankles and wrists; she must have had the hoop specially made to fit me, with two small rectangular platforms welded on for me to stand on. She’ll then raise the hoop with the windlass so the bottom is a few feet above the ground. Most weekends I’ll be in the hoop all day, as she sits in her chair nearby, sips lemonade, and reads. It’s such an idyllic life.

The idea of making me a eunuch came up gradually. Since I’d become her permanent slave, I no longer penetrated her anyway. I couldn’t touch her unless with permission, and I was her compliant toy. My mistress started telling me about the great mother goddess Cybele, whose priests dedicated themselves to her service by self-castration. She suggested my gelding could be the only permanent declaration and mark of my dedication to her. At that point I’d already been her naked slave for more than three years. We love each other, but it is only by the roles of mistress and slave that we have each come to a realization of our own inner needs, she for domination, and I for total submission to her will.

It may be weeks between times my mistress deigns to allow her slave to speak. She relaxed the usual mistress-slave rule to ask me about being gelded, and I totally agreed each time she asked over a period of several months. However, she knew the risks of castration, and additionally she decided that it had to be done very cleanly. “I want my slave nice and smooth down there,” she said. Also, she made some discrete inquiries with the clients and eliminated those she thought would have problems with my gelding in advance. “How about I have the slave castrated?” she’d ask. Apparently she could tell from the initial reaction which clients would, and which would not, still enjoy me as a eunuch.

I don’t know how she did it, or how much it cost, but my mistress eventually found a doctor willing to perform the surgery at home. The doctor turned out to be a woman, and maybe she was fulfilling a fantasy of her own by taking off a guy’s balls. She did a good job using a local anesthetic, and the pain was only annoying for a few days. My testicles were preserved and sealed in a plastic rectangle that sits on my mistress’ desk as a paperweight; inside a little brass strip is inscribed “The gift of Attis to Cybele.” She decided to tan my scrotum; I now proudly wear it as her gift on a leather thong around my neck as an additional mark of my dedication to my goddess and her love for me, a love so great that she would take the pains to permanently modify my body to make it more pleasing to her, a love so great that she would proudly allow her slave’s body to be viewed and shared with a few others like her, like an art collector showing a rare piece to fellow connoisseurs, allowing them to touch and handle it.

After a few weeks my mistress held a “coming out” party to introduce my newly-gelded body to the regular clients, with me trussed upside down in the hoop outside to better show me off. I was so proud of her when she caned me on the ass a few times, stuck a dildo in my anus, and then said, “Behold my eunuch slave boy.” She then invited them to run their hands over the now-healed vacancy where my sack had once been. When she served snacks she dumped a mound of guacamole dip there, and I was the serving bowl.

It’s been six months since I’ve been cut, and I haven’t noticed any really negative effects. I swim laps in the backyard pool daily and have a regular exercise regime to keep my body in shape, so maybe this helps. She daily runs her hands along my entire body, feeling and checking the muscling, to make sure I don’t go soft. My mistress insists that her slave keeps trim, and she has picked up a few new clients who are fascinated in having a eunuch as a plaything. I only wish she could walk me out in public naked in a dog collar and chain so she could have the joy of showing off her naked eunuch slave to everyone. I imagine also having a little collar and chain on my penis attached to the dog collar, pulling it up tight on my belly so everyone can clearly see I’ve been gelded by my mistress, and the exquisite pain I’d experience having my penis tugged at with each step.

After my cutting, my mistress got a depilatory laser and carefully removed the traces of body and facial hair, in preparation to next having me tattooed from feet to forehead to wrists, including my vestigial penis. This time she hasn’t asked my opinion; maybe now that she’s taken away my balls she sees me more as her slave than before, which really pleases me. She’s come a long way. I like to imagine the tattoo needles pouring the dye into my skin, making me ever more her slave. When the tattoo’s finished, I hope she’ll take lots of pictures and circulate them widely.

My mistress also videotaped my castration. Actually, she’s got quite a library of videos of her slave submitting to her will by now, and I hope she’ll preserve them and try to get them published. She says that when I die, she’s going to have a taxidermist preserve and mount my body, and then leave it to a sex museum she knows of; she thinks “Tattooed Gelded Sex Toy” would be a good name for the exhibit. I was so honored by that. Maybe they can play some of her videos to go with the display of my body, especially the castration and the tattooing. I hope I can die young so my body is still in good shape.