Today I was told I'm going to the vet for my first annual check up. It made me both very excited and very nervous. I've heard rumors of what happened to other ponies at the vet. Some of them say it's the best trip they ever take, others tell of horrible fates that befall the unlucky. What would be in store for me?

Then the mystery was revealed. I was informed I was not to be a breeding stallion. I was getting gelded. The terror I was gripped with was tangible. I was left to contemplate my handlers' decision while my appointment was scheduled, over a month in the future. Not an hour would go by that I wasn't paralyzed with fear thinking about it. I began to have nightmares about the visit. I wasn't sure I could go through with it, did I really want to be a gelding?

After several weeks, I came to the realization that it didn't really matter if I could go through with it, or if I really wanted it. A warmth and calm came over me, my handler had said yes, and I was determined to make her happy. I wanted it to be done, I wanted to see her smile, but above all, I now knew that I wanted to be gelded.

Nightmares turned to daydreams, terror turned to fantasy. I turned to vast reserves of castration research and story archives, drooling over the possibilities awaiting me. I began discussing the plan with fertility experts, friends and anyone who would listen. I was positively bubbling with excitement over my visit to the vet, and kept trying to push the date up closer and closer.

When the day finally arrived, I was nervous, but anxious to have it happen. Most of the morning was spent worrying at the last minute about whether or not it was wise to play around with such a significant change to my body. Logic very soon got the boot and desire replaced it. Wise or not, I was getting what I wanted and nothing was going to stop me!

A temporary method was selected, superheating in my case. My testicles were to be boiled until the sperm was long dead and the glands were cycled into recovery mode. If all went well, for the next two weeks I would experience all there was to experience as a gelding, and then be presented with the option of returning to stallion status. Was I ready to handle the emotional toll a hormone drop brings with it? Would I want to go back?

I was told to strip of all my human clothing, tacked up in full pony regalia and ordered to the vetrinary chair, where I would remain until I was no longer male. My stall nameplate was hung above the chair with care. All the implements were laid out beside me on a table, neatly arranged and very welcoming somehow.

I looked first to the blankets, very pretty and blue. Then I saw the thermometer and gel packs, which led me to take note of the crock pot, the very cauldron of doom. I couldn't help but notice the scissors and lace, worried that she may have changed her mind to a much less temporary cutting instead.

And then she put on the gloves. Those amazing pink latex gloves just took my breath away, how cute and adorable they made her look, with her smile and her kind words, she could have anything she wanted at that moment. And what she wanted was to begin!

An insulator was slipped over my testicles, which were then pulled out and tied off to prevent their running away from the pain. A hole was cut into one of the blankets and slipped around my groin like a medical shroud, protecting everything but that which was to be destroyed, and giving me a sense of security about the whole affair. I would not be exposed, merely watched.

The first pair of heating packs was applied, steam coming out of the pot, temperatures even a hot tub wouldn't approach. When she said 115, I wasn't sure I could start off that hot, but as she slipped one under me and another sandwiched in on top and wrapped it tightly in the blanket, I slipped off into pony land.

It was so warm and comforting, like a soft grip gently holding me, wishing me a safe journey. I felt relaxed and subservient, I could feel the pony encompassing my soul. Briefly distracted from it, she swapped out for new, warmer packs, but to me, they felt as safe and soft as the last, only more so. I closed my eyes and smiled around the bit, this was what I had wanted for so long.

I'm not sure how many more times she traded out hotter packs over the next couple of hours, I remember one more, but I know it was several. I was having alot of trouble keeping my head from rolling back with pleasure, I was dazed and unaware.

A brief glimpse of vision, she had pulled her hair back into a tight pony tail, and there was a glass of a bubbly liquid in her hand, a toast being made. It didn't make sense at the time, my world was warmth and heaven, thoughts of ponies running through the fields, cart races and show circles. All I knew was she looked even more amazing than she had before.

Other people started arriving at the vets, they had come to watch. Friends, some of them. Another pony. A cute couple that I couldn't place but I knew instinctually I wanted to be in between in bed. I faded out some more. Caterers were called, somewhere along the lines the temperature read 129. One degree below the safety margin before serious damage was done.

As dinner was served and more friends arrived, I began to come to more clarity. Still a pony at heart, but cognizant of the words being used and the actions taking place. 153 I think the thermometer said, and things were beginning to feel hot.

For the first few seconds, it hurt. I breathed faster, I tensed up, I hugged the cold metal of the chair to try and drain away any heat I could from my body and that made it all better. As I grew accustomed to the heat, it just felt warm and wonderful like the rest again.

I watched with wonder at those watching me. Did they think as highly of me at this moment as I did of them? Were the smiles on the few shared by the many? Was the conversation about cutting my testicles off and bypassing the pleasantness and joy of the heat going to be heeded? Why did that make her smile so wide?

"Just one", she said, inquisitively. "It won't be that bad, and you'll still have another for next time." I could do nothing, frozen in panic. Would she do it? Would I even think about stopping her if she did? Would she know to take the right one? Wait, why the right one? what was I thinking? Was I seriously contemplating giving her that which she seemed to want so much, before I even found out if I wanted it?

She kept asking, I finally managed to shake my head. She quickly put in hotter packs, over 180. It burned, but then she told me how good I was doing, and how happy I was making her, and it all went away. Replaced by more warmth and happiness, comfort and security. How could something so traumatizing feel so good? Then the bad news came.

"Get yourself ready", she said, "because next time I come back, we're going for the superheating, and we're not going to stop until it's finished." I nodded, and knew I was in for a challenge. No longer was I calm, the ponies running through my head had faded away, I was left to cope with the worst of it by myself. And here she came.

She added another insulator to my groin, she wrapped my balls tighter. Tighter still, I motioned with my hands. And she did. Tight enough to hurt. But looking at it, it should not have hurt, it was no tighter than normal. The swelling did not register. The burns did not register. The video camera was started.

The thermometer stopped going up at 190. Such an odd even number, hadn't seemed to show it was going to stop, and then it did. Was it accurate? Was it at it's upper limit of measurement? The steam was so great, could it be reading low? The logic was back. Not the best of times. She picked one up, immediately yelped in pain and dropped it with a splash. And then there was fear.

She grabbed it and quickly put it in an insulated pouch so she could hold it. Then another. She asked if I was ready, tossing it from side to side to avoid burning herself. I remember the fear, the shaking, the terror. I think I responded somehow, but I don't know.

In the new packs went, one underneath, one on top, everything wrapped tight. The stopwatch was started. Four to six minutes to suffer until the next pair came in hotter still. The heat was intense. I was told I was hyperventilating. I tried as hard as I could to stay in place. I had just started to get use to it, to be able to cope with the heat, to handle the pain, when it was removed.

I opened my eyes, just in time for the all consuming pain of the next pair being wrapped in. It hurt so much. I could feel it burning my right thigh through the insulating blanket. I had to adjust and get my thigh away from it. Big mistake. Now there was nothing to take my mind off of the pain in my balls.

I struggled, I squirmed, I was told not to knock anything loose. I was warned not to knock off the name plate. I sat as still as possible to make her proud, and without the distraction of squirming the heat only felt worse. I could barely stand it. Grapes were fed, my favorite treat.

Nothing else existed. Just her smile and the pain. It got worse. Did she switch packs again? I did not know. Something was said about no insulating pouch, to make it more effective. Effective indeed! I groaned, I could feel damage being done, it was no longer pain, it was injury. She started calling out the time on the stop watch. I was halfway there, only a few more minutes to go.

I tried anything I could to make it hurt less. The metal of the chair had warmed up all over from me hugging it so often. Spreading my legs and trying to relax my groin was not helping anymore either. The lace was burning now, a coil of superheated constriction, transferring the heat straight past the blanket and into my core, it had to come off.

I motioned, she untied them. But she was not done. The heat was returned. The injury was in flames. I could feel my scrotum sizzling. I couldn't take it. I asked for a break, and she compromised with only one heat pack. For a little bit, that was warm and cozy again and I started relaxing. All was becoming well. Then the flesh wound hit me again. I asked again for a break, but she chose to stop.

Everything was removed, all untied, all uncovered, all aired out to cool off and stop the cycle of pain. And then a new pain hit me. Everything was so cold! It felt like I had had my balls dipped in a vat of dry ice! I had to scramble fast, I had to cover them back up, I needed the warmth of the gel back!

All that was available was the blanket that had shielded me. It was not warm enough, but bundled up all in one spot, it would do. And so I rocked, holding this red hot blanket over my crotch, feeling nothing but the not quite as sharp sting of cold, asking for the heat back.

No heat was given, and while they arranged a test to see the extent of the damage, I slowly began to feel the blanket. First it became merely cold, then it was neutral, and finally, it began to be warm. The blanket was removed, and the air no longer stung.

For the first time, I could see those prized possessions I had given up. They were as red as a lobster anywhere they weren't bruised. How were they bruised? A mystery to me. My penis was heavily bruised too somehow, and very pathetic looking.

Yet I did not wonder if it was worth it, I knew it was. I knew this was for the best, I knew this was what I wanted, and I saw it in her face. Would I do it again? Absolutely. But I realized I could not, looking at the burns, until I had healed. I wanted more now, but I knew it could not be safely done.

The fluffer came by again, ice in hand. Ice? Why ice for something that wasn't warm, to me at least, I did not know. She had checked it earlier, and now she was icing it down. The ice did not have time to feel cold, it just melted right away and my cock felt wet.

I could not feel pleasure, I did not think it would rise, but the fluffer worked her magic, and what magic she does work. It rose, and rose, and rose some more. She rubbed, she sucked. Then, a twist. She warned me, and she bit. She bit some more, harder.

Now she had what she wanted, the knowledge that she could safely and that I could handle it. So bite she did, often and at length. Gnawing, grinding, interspersed between sucks, rubs and licks. It was so wonderful, it felt so good, but the pleasure did not extend into my recently baked organs. They hung there, uninvolved.

The fluffer worked and worked, endlessly and diligently, her skills far too good for it to take this long. It was pure bliss, but nothing was happening. A suggestion from the crowd, go for the prostate. A finger inserted, my soul touched, seconds later the explosion!

I was thrown by the intensity of it, I was shocked by the sudden onset of it, and it just kept going and going. I was spurting and spurting like I would never spurt again, until I could spurt no more. She was covered, I was twitching and drained. The last few futile strands slowly oozing out.

My handler reviewed the results, as did the expert sitting in to verify the success, and finally they were shown to me. Thin, watery cum, only the hint of white, nothing at all like my normal production. I was no longer a stallion. The thought sunk in, and I was filled with glee.

The pony in me returned. I was ordered to clean up the vet's office, because of the sheer quantity of overflow I had spewn. Pictures were taken, poses were had, the fluffer returned washed down and dried off. More grapes were fed. The pony took over again.

I was congratulated by several, some of them I heard, some of them I understood. The smiles said all I needed for those I didn't. I was asked if I wanted to be taken out of my tack and released to be human once again. I could not bear the thought, I was too happy to allow it.

After returning from the vet, after the pony was put away back in his bag, I began to realize the sting. Any touch, any movement, any waft of air, any heat at all, my scrotum screamed in pain. I learned to be very gentle with it. I was teased, and I myself found the situation humorous.

Someone suggested aloe to soothe the burns. I said it wasn't that bad and that I didn't need it. As the hours racked up, it got worse, and worse. Finally, it hit me. They were right. Aloe applied, everything was perfect. No more sting, no more pain, no more sensitivity. Only a mild tenderness and soreness. Chalk one up for common sense.

The next morning, the most amazing thing happened. I awoke to a flaccid cock. Marvelling at this turn of events, I toyed with it. Nothing happened. The fluffer messaged me to check in, I told her all was well and explained the current situation. In doing so, thinking about being castrated began an erection, and play with it I did try!

But that also got me nowhere. It felt nice, not nearly as nice as the fluffer had the night before, but it wasn't even remotely near enough to maintain interest. Flaccid once more, I felt it had finally been done. I was gelded, my life was changed, the pony was taking over. I was the pony.

I drifted back off into the most contented sleep I had all night. Dreams of the night before enhanced my euphoria. Everything was as it should be in my life.