Martin opened the letter that had been delayed due to a postal strike had arrived that morning from the TLD. He read it again but could not or did not want to believe it; his application for a Testicle Licence had been turned down and an appointment at the Castration Clinic had automatically been made for that very afternoon!

Since the Women’s Domination Party had begun to win power throughout Europe and North America over a decade ago, the position of men in society had gradually been weakened and, with scientific and medical advances that allowed the production of artificial sperm, men were more and more becoming obsolete. All male children were now castrated shortly after birth as a matter of routine but males born before the date of the Infant Castration Act were allowed to retain their testicles – until now. Now every male had to apply for a Testicle Licence. To be granted a licence he had to meet strict criteria and, if married, also needed the approval of his wife. Martin had recently split from his wife and she had refused to sign the documents so his licence had been refused…

Martin arrived at the clinic and approached the reception desk and handed over his appointment letter. The beautiful young receptionist, who had long blonde hair and wore a low-cut satin blouse that struggled to contain her ample breasts, took the letter and glanced at it before entering his details into a computer. She told him to be seated and that the assessment nurse would call him for examination when she was ready.

After a few minutes Martin heard his name called and turned to see a nurse of about 23 years of age with auburn shoulder length hair and wearing a crisp, white, uniform dress. Her name was Emma and she showed him to a side room and told him to strip; put on the garment supplied and then put his own clothes in a chute. She would come back for him in 2 minutes. Martin stripped off and then held up the garment – it appeared to be a ladies-style leotard, made from white rubber and with zips at the groin and rear! He struggled into the leotard and sat gasping for breath just as Emma reappeared. She took his hand and led him through the door and into the examination room. The room had a desk, two chairs and an examination table. A second young and very gorgeous student nurse with short blonde hair, and a slim figure, called Sarah was waiting there. Martin was made to mount the table on all fours. His wrists were bound to the table by leather straps and similar straps were fitted across the back of his legs, just below the knees after his legs were spread slightly apart. Sarah pulled on pair of latex gloves and reached between his legs, feeling for the zip. By now Martin’s cock was rock hard, despite his fear and it sprang out of its rubber prison. Emma giggled and said “that won’t be doing that for much longer”. Sarah felt it and stroked it as Emma felt then measured his balls with callipers. She then gently tugged at them, pulling them down in the sac. “Nothing special”, said Emma, “a simple chemical job”. “Aw”, Sarah said with a tone of boredom in her voice, “they’re always chemicals; why do I never get a good surgical removal or a crushing”? “Never mind that”, Emma retorted, “just let Sister know that we’ve assessed this one and to prepare the Castration Chamber. And take his notes with you”.

She unlocked Martin’s restraints and sat him in the chair. “Now”, she began, “this procedure won’t hurt, it’s a couple of simple injections of castration fluid that will destroy your testicles from within”. “A rubber ring will be placed over the base of your ball sac and the injection administered”, she continued. “Once the chemical process has begun, the ring will be removed. The testicles will break down inside your scrotum and will become liquid within 24 hours. The liquid will be absorbed by the body quite harmlessly”.

It wasn’t long before Sarah was back. “Sister is ready for this one now,” she said. Martin was then taken to the Castration Chamber, where he was made to lay on his back with his legs in stirrups. He saw the sister filling a couple of syringes from a vial. She was a really sexy lady, maybe in her late thirties and with a fantastic body. As she turned toward him, Martin was transfixed by her breasts and looked straight down her cleaveage as she leaned over. She moved round and her long red hair cascaded down the back of her dark blue uniform dress. Emma fastened the straps on his wrists and Sarah those on his ankles – he was now immobilised and his heart was pounding as he saw the sister pick a syringe and hypodermic needle from the tray. Emma unzipped Martin’s leotard and sprayed his sac with the anaesthetic spray. “The chemical works better if there is less in the testicles to dilute it”, said sister to Sarah. “Can you pump him, please”? “Yes, Sister!” was the reply. Sarah took hold of Martin’s cock, which quickly hardened, and began to pump it. Martin was writhing around with pleasure, as he smelled the perfume of Emma, who was behind him and leaned over so that her breasts pushed against his head. He looked down his body at the sexy young student nurse who was pumping him faster and faster. The sister was looking on and holding a syringe in one hand. She stroked the inside of his thigh and at the point he came, his jizz squirting up and and curving in an arc to land in Sister’s cleavage. As Sarah slowed the pumping and shortened the strokes, Sister held his left nut twixt finger and thumb, pushed the needle in and injected the contents of the syringe into it. She quickly, and with practised skill, repeated the process on the other. As Martin lay panting he didn’t even know that he had been castrated.

Martin was released from his bonds and Emma led him to a shower room. She said that he should deposit the leotard in the chute and his own clothes were waiting for him in a package in the changing room. Martin showered and as he dried himself off he opened the package. These weren’t his clothes. What the hell was going on, he thought to himself as he saw a pair of satin knickers, a satin corset, bra, skirt and blouse… He got up and, with the towel around him, went to the door. Just as he reached it Emma was there. “These aren’t my clothes”! he exclaimed. “Yes they are Martina”, said Emma, “You have been enrolled in our feminisation programme…

The end