>>24700008 (OP)
Mr Muhurta Dirgadingdongling, from Hawkshead, Cumbria, woke up one day with the desire to become a woman. A woman he already was, internally: he enlarged his breasts; depilated his body, except for the pubic patch that he shaped into the Dharma wheel in memory of home; bleached his skin; and when offering poojas to Krishna assumed the role of the female soul cavorting with the wonderful and zesty black god. His genitals, however, bothered him - they didn't give him peace: he felt his balls in his sari as he walked; he saw his dick and balls in the shower; and at night, every time he turned he woke up, angry and trembling, because his balls rolled touched his feminine legs. Now he sat on the seat of his toilet, strained rust brown, and held in his hand the last wonder of modernity: a plastic castration device.
He put the balls within the plastic tube that looked like a scabbard, except for two holes on the sides, and winced, already feeling the visceral tugging pain below his navel as the device stretched his sac and strangulate his gonads.
"Soon, Lord Krishna, I'll be your best and only wife," he prayed, silently, in the sanctum of his feminine soul.