Her eyes narrowed; her lips pressed against her glass. Red wine filled her mouth and as she swallowed, she licked her lips, and pondered, giving herself enough time to process that statement. He had made it clear that sex was not part of the agenda for him, that it was, if ever, about love, and that he had lost connection with his fantasies when he had his balls surgically removed. A string of shallow questions followed.

“Do you get horny?”

“Not really.”

“Do you ejaculate?”

“Not in the same way, but sometimes a small amount.”

“Can you still get hard?”

“Yes.”

“Would it bother you if you didn’t have sex again?”

“Certainly not.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

“It is true. It really doesn’t bother me at all.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet his. They were mesmerising, and she looked straight through him, making him feel exposed and nervous, his heart beating fast in his chest. He giggled nervously – like a girl. He had never met a Mistress before. His castration was no act of submission. It was entirely his own decision, and, in truth, there was something about the whole dynamic that had previously frightened him, though he was finding himself drawn to her charms like a moth to a flame. She knew that his answers would soon be revaluated, after all, she didn’t doubt her own sexual prowess. She was enough to tempt Jesus himself.

The pressure stayed on during the course of the conversation, though Madam softened slightly. The questions she posed to the eunuch pushed him to rethink much of which he had come to know about himself. She amazed him. Her beauty, and understanding, her awareness, and compassion, and her raw sexuality were things that made her the Mistress she was. Years of fearing nobody would accept him, and suddenly here he was graced with a woman that not only found him fascinating, but was mercilessly flirting with him. He found himself naturally submissive. Apologising for his own perceived inadequacies, and wondering why she may be interested in him. He was under her spell. His hands itched to touch her, to see her pleasured. He held her hand, stopping himself from sensually stoking her arm. He blushed.

“Do you want to stroke me?”

“Huh?” He looked awkward.

“Do you mean excuse me?” she snapped. “I said, “Do you want to stroke me?”.”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Off you go then.” She said ignoring his question.

Madam moaned as his hands wandered up her arms to the back of her neck. She adored attention. Her breathing became more like a purr, and the eunuch felt himself becoming aroused. It was an odd sensation, and something that took him quite by surprise. It wasn’t the same as before the operation. It didn’t feel sordid, and wrong. He wanted to please this amazing woman, to give her pleasure for understanding him. To see her sated. Thankfully, she invited him home.

Stroking turned to kissing, and Madam begun to writhe, excited at the prospect of this sexless being serving her sexually, with no pleasure for himself. She became wet and ready, and pushed his hands down to touch her. She began talking to him about how it would be for him. How he would be denied orgasms, and yet, expected to give her all she desired. How he would never ever get to fuck her; how he would be her eunuch slave. Within seconds she was cumming. She ejaculated, and it shocked him. Her eyes, drenched in sensuality met his, and she began to laugh. He was prudish – such a girl.

As he lay there in her arms, he realised that again he was hard, and that he craved a release. He didn’t understand what was happening to him. Before her, that was a part of his life that was not important, and yet now he felt himself compelled. She turned to face him, stroking his penis.

“I’m going to have to inspect you. You’re such a horny toad, I just don’t believe you have had the op, and frankly, if you have, perhaps we should send you back the doctor that performed it.”

She pulled the skin that had once housed everything that made him male. He moaned, feeling vulnerable and enjoying the intrusion. Humiliation had such an appeal. It felt as if she truly was an Empress, checking her slave for suitability.

“Oh dear, what is this? Foreskin. Eeugh. That will have to go.”

“Oh no Madam. I wouldn’t do that.”

“You would do as you were told, and be grateful that I wasn’t asking for a penectomy.”

Although he knew he wouldn’t do either, a ripple of delight flowed through his synapses. She talked about him with such a disregard for his feelings. As though he were just her property. He thought about all the things she would have done to him had he had not have been castrated already and for a split second had a pang of regret. Oh, the emotions. The up and down, the delight and despair she was causing him.

“Do you want to cum, eunuch?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, Madam.”

“Yes, Madam. Please, Madam.” He pleaded with her. He wanted to think of her doing as she would with him. Giving him no choices. He wanted to think of her face as she had orgasmed, peaked by thought of his asexuality, and his inability to have the unadulterated fun

that she enjoyed so frequently.

She begun touching his cock, and then she asked how he touched himself. He showed her that he could masturbate like a girl rubbing a point that his balls had once obstructed, and orgasm without touching his cock, which seemed to delight her. He told her how his climaxes were different now too. How they took work, and felt dissimilar to the ones he had when he were male.

“Well, you are certainly not male now. You are such a girl. What a delight to be rid of your bollocks, so that you could discover your clit. You can cum like a girl now too. A nice, slow, languid orgasm, building up, without the testosterone to put you to sleep after, can’t you, bitch?”

He came everywhere. It was as though he was in tact. He had not had such a mess in years, and it stunned him. It was not as much as Madam, with her masculine, forceful orgasm, but it was certainly something. His eyes rose to behold her glory, and she smiled at him knowingly. He wanted to thank her, but she silenced him. The power she felt at corrupting the asexual was enough. He could worship her silently.

The next day brought even more revelations. They started with a corset, stockings, suspenders and a burlesque headpiece.

“Put them on.” she demanded. “You are both male and female. You are an in-between. You need to explore this side of yourself. You need to be shown what a girl you can be, especially after your behaviour in bed last night, Julie.”

He couldn’t believe it. Julie! Now she was even taking his name. Nobody had ever been remotely curious in exploring this with him, and here she was demanding that he put down his masculinity all together. His girly side was something he had shut down, to give him maximum opportunity of going along unnoticed, and here she was celebrating his femininity. She had yet again flooded him with her remarkable nature, and he itched to dress as she demanded, though kept modest as to not show her how much he would enjoy it.

They suited him. He looked like a girl. Yet again she eroticised it for him, telling him how he would be her bitch, and how perhaps the boys would never know he was a eunuch. How he would have to change her sheets when she took lovers, and how he was merely a companion, and not her alpha male; how he could never be that to her. Thoughts from the very back of his mind begun to surface, and again she had flicked his switch. He sat on her knee, and allowed his girly behaviours to show. He confessed to crushes on boys, and admitted that he felt more sexual still as a girl.

“We need a refund on you, don’t we?” she said, smiling.

“Yes!” he laughed, feeling like a teenager in puberty, with a sexual awakening in the face of asexuality.

God. What was happening to him? He was suddenly able to be everything he was, and he wanted it all, and here she was teasing him with it. He could hardly bear it. He asked if he could touch himself.

“Absolutely not. I let you cum once to know what you were missing. You told me you wouldn’t be bothered if you never came again, and you can prove that to me. In fact, I think I am going to sleep with your flatmate. The one you fancy. I can shut you in the room next door and make you listen. Perhaps you will think of bending over dressed like a girl for him, eunuch. Perhaps I will make you watch. Perhaps you will clean me after - cuckolded and forced into slavery. Poor, poor you.” she laughed.

He couldn’t bear it. Frustration consumed him, and she had him trapped.

“You aren’t bothered if you never cum again, are you?”

“I didn’t mean it. Please Madam. Please let me cum.” He begged, knowing her power and fearing she would never again permit him the pleasure he felt climaxing with her.

“Well see.” she said, though it will be all the more likely if you get your foreskin removed.” she smiled.

She had him where she wanted him. He was dependant on her for sexual satisfaction, which she had delivered in the form of opium. Where it would go next was entirely up to her.