Limp-Dix. It Works! By Throne

Limp-Dix. It Works! By Throne

A sexist husband has been treated to make him change his ways. His genitals have been shrunk, and he has been rendered impotent. T

LIMP-DIX. IT WORKS! by Throne

The doorbell rang and Ellie went to answer it. She was pleased to see Donna Dee there. The woman was a court appointee who visited regularly to follow-up on how Ellie's husband was doing with his therapy.

"Come in," Ellie said with a winning smile. "Thank you. Is Bob home today?"

Ellie laughed. "He's always home. The poor dear doesn't want to be seen in public, considering his current condition."

"It's part of his treatment to have contact with others."

"I know. What I'm doing currently is to have my girlfriends over so he can spend time with them."

"How's that working?"

"He's totally ashamed to be seen wearing lingerie and such. I keep explaining to him that, with his past offences toward women, it's necessary." She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "He was such a pig back then. Always drooling over ladies and making crude remarks. I'm grateful that he was put on this new program."

"That's the consensus opinion. The wives who have reported their spouses and gotten them convicted all agree with you." She took an e- pad out of her voluminous shoulder bag and turned it on. "Just let me call up his file." After a moment she said, "Ah. He's been on Limp-Dix for two months. How is he reacting to that?"

Ellie chuckled. "Well, he hasn't had an erection for weeks, and the

last ones were all half-soft anyway. Bob also isn't able to ejaculate, no matter how much he plays with his flaccid penis. And the organ in question has shrunk to almost nothing, along with his balls."

"Did you remember what I said about testing him?"

"Absolutely. I dress sexily, talk dirty, and touch him. It drives him crazy that he still gets so excited but then that's as far as it goes.
I'll admit that it makes me laugh in his face when he gets so frustrated that he begins to sniffle and pout."

"Fine. That's part of the plan. And how about the other drug, Hair- Away?"

"Excellent. He doesn't have a single active follicle anywhere below his eyebrows. And those have been thinned and shaped by me. That way, they go along with the rest of his new image."

Donna nodded. "That's all encouraging. But I'd like to see him for myself, if that's all right with you."

"Certainly. The more contact he has with females, the better, as far as I'm concerned. In fact, I have a girlfriend stopping by soon." She got up. "Let me go and get him. Oh, and he's not called Bob anymore. His new name is Barbra. I know it's not overly original, but I like it. He, however, does not."

She whisked out of the room. Ellie heard her speaking and someone mumbling in response. Then she came back, leading Bob by the hand, as if he couldn't be trusted to walk by himself.

Ellie was saying to him, "I'm sorry I had to take you away from your home shopping show, sweetie, but Donna is here to see you."

The man she was guiding still had short hair, but it had been shaved on the sides and dyed yellow on top. What was equally striking was his outfit. He had on a gold dress that would have been perfect for a pre- teen girl to wear to a party. Along with that were green knee socks and Mary Jane shoes in emerald. Bob had a comical frown that would have been perfect on a cartoon character. He avoided eye contact with Donna. When the visitor saw that, she made a note on her electronic screen.

Donna said, "Hello, Barbra."

He held his elbows close to his sides. "That's not my name." His voice was high and soft, thanks to certain conditioning techniques.

"It isn't currently, but your wife is welcome to request a change through the courts."

Ellie volunteered, "I was thinking that his middle name could be Fussypants, to fit his attitude."

Donna smiled approvingly. "I like that. Or it could be his first name. Take some time before you make a decision." She turned to Bob. "Do you

think the Limp-Dix is working?"

He thrust out his lower lip. "You know it is. My... p... p... p..."
He exhaled defeatedly. "My wee-wee got very small." More conditioning had affected his vocabulary.

Donna wanted to know, "Would you like to show it to me?"

His cheeks got pink. "I don't want to." He scuffed his shoe against the carpet. "But I know I have to."

With one hand he held up the front of his dress. The other went to the elastic waist of his panties, which were covered with overlapping tiers of ruffles, in pink. He worked the undergarment down until his bald pubic area began to be exposed. A few more tugs uncovered his genitals, or what was left of them. Between his hairless thighs was a tiny penis and two miniature testicles. His lips began to quiver.

"Don't be sad," Donna said with false sympathy. "Just remember how you got yourself into this situation, Barbra. Didn't you harass your secretary? And stalk one of your coworkers? Hmmm? And weren't you a frequent customer of prostitutes, who you insisted had to use their mouths on your cock and then thank you for letting them do it? Of course," she said with special pleasure, "that was back when you had a cock." She consulted his file. "Quite an impressive one, too. Would you like to see the picture of it, from before you started treatments?"

He flinched. "No, thank you."
"I think you should," she advised as she turned the device around.

Bob was confronted by an image of his male member as it had once been, with hair above it. He bit his lips to keep from whimpering. She let him have a good look at what he no longer possessed. Slowly, she turned the screen away from him.

She asked Ellie, "How has he been doing with that teasing that you mentioned?"

"It's been rough on him. I'd estimate that his arousal factor never dropped below 100%. Now, after not be able to get relief for weeks, its level must be off the charts."

"Could I have a demonstration, for my progress report?"

"Sure. I don't think Barbra will mind." She locked eyes with her husband. "Will you, dumpling?"

He hugged himself. "You know I don't have a choice." "We can discuss it if you'd like. I could take off my top and..." "No," he blurted. "Please."
"But you love to see my breasts."
"I know, it's just... just..."

"Oh." She acted as if the answer had just come to her. "It's just that it adds to your excitation. I understand. If I'd thought of it earlier, I would have worn a bra. You can see my nipples poking out against this thin, soft, clinging blouse I'm wearing. That must be so distracting for you, while you're already constantly horny. Poor baby."

He stood there, seeming like he was trying to fold up and vanish into himself. Instead, when she wiggled a bent finger, he moved closer. She undid the buttons of his dress and bared his smooth chest, parting the fabric enough that his nipples were on display. She moved her hands toward them slowly... slowly. Her fingertips danced over the twin

erogenous zones. Bob gasped. He panted. She diddled his nips while he shifted his feet this way and that but was careful not to move beyond her reach. The lower portion of his dress was back down in front but everyone there knew that no matter how much his libido was stimulated, his minimalized pecker would not rise. It would feel like it was trying to but failure was inevitable. Memories of successful stiffening in the past tormented him. When his wife at last stopped, he appeared to shrink, though that illusion was simply from him sagging all over.

Donna consulted her screen once more. She asked, "Barbra, do you ever think of Marisol?"

"My secretary?"

"Former secretary," Donna gently corrected. "But yes. Her." She turned the device again so he could see the image of that woman he remembered so vividly. She had a dusky complexion and long dark hair that fell in thick waves. "This shot is from her recent vacation in Cancun. The settlement she got from her suit against you paid for it. You do understand, don't you, that all of your considerable personal assets were seized and none of them can legally be returned to you."

"Yes," he answered sullenly, his attention fixated on the image of Marisol, who wore a string bikini and smiled as she raised a tropical drink.

Donna consulted columns of figures and words. "Right. Your wife will be financially comfortable from now on, since everything left has been reassigned to her, including those hidden accounts you had."

Ellie reminded him, "Donna was curious about whether you fantasize much about Marisol? Do you?"

"I try to," he said sorrowfully. "But it doesn't... I can't..."

Donna offered, "It gets you sexually excited in your mind but that doesn't translate into any stiffness where it counts."

"Right," he said with a catch in his voice. "I want it so bad." "Should have thought about that before you behaved improperly."

He said, "I knew a person could get into trouble but never thought it could happen to me. The program was so new, I didn't even know if it would last as long as it has."

Donna informed him, "It's being expanded all the time. You'll have plenty of company in the Peanut Prick Club. In fact, we'll be putting fellows like you in touch with others of your kind. If your wife is willing to take you, now that your driving privileges are gone, you'll be able to go to those get-togethers often."

"I'll be delighted to transport him there," Ellie said. "I hear the limp ones will be putting on fashion shows and little performances."

"And they'll be serving tea and mini-pastries to the wives who attend. It's all part of our effort to reform them."

Bob was upset. He didn't want still more folks seeing him in his reduced state. As if on cue, the doorbell rang again. Donna politely asked him to go and answer it. He went reluctantly. As he had feared, it was his wife's friend Clair. The tall woman gazed down at him and smirked.

"Hello, short stuff," she said. "And I don't just mean short in height." She breezed past him.

Soon she was seated on an armchair, across from the sofa occupied by the other two females. Clair patted her lap and called to Bob. He trembled as he approached her.

Ellie explained, "Clair is very hands-on when it comes to helping Barbra. In his old life, he always had a crude remark and a leering expression for her." She wanted her husband to tell her, even though she already knew the answer, "What was it that especially attracted you to Clair?"

He opened and closed his mouth several times before he could form words. "It was her big... br... br... boobies." That speech conditioning had done its job well.

When he got to the new arrival, she helped him up onto her lap. That put him into direct contact with her angora sweater, the front of which was well-filled with oversized chest-pillows. She pulled in his head,
so that one side of his face was pressed to her bounteous bosom. His attempt at speech came out in broken syllables, as if he was about to speak in tongues. Though there was no glossolalia, he did continue his fragmented failures at communication. Clair gently stroked his oddly colored hair and blew into his ear. Her hand dipped down and snuck under his dress. No one could see what her fingers were doing there, but it wasn't hard to guess. He squirmed nonstop while the three women chatted casually.

Ellie opened up a subject he didn't want to hear about. She said, "I'm still going out with George and we've grown so close. He's tender and respectful and quick with compliments. Everything that a certain somebody else wasn't."

Claire inquired indiscreetly, "How's the sex?"

He wouldn't want to listen to his wife's answer under any circumstances, but especially not when the woman making the inquiry was massaging his incapacitated and miniaturized member. To have to listen to Ellie talk about how she was cuckolding him stung his still functioning male pride. They had left him with that segment of his old personality just to taunt

him. There he was, on Clair's broad lap, with his cheek pressed to her warm hooters, while she overstimulated him, having to hear about how pleased his spouse was with the man who had replaced him. It was sheer mental agony. At the same time there was that sexual ecstasy. Too bad for him that the latter component couldn't lead to true fulfillment.

Bob's wife enthused, "George could write a book on how to satisfy a woman. He knows so many ways to push my buttons. And he's so caring while he does it. What a relief to finally have a competent bedmate."

Clair impishly asked, "And does he have the right tool for the job?"

"You know he does, after how I've raved about it. That man has a real porn-cock, if I may be so crude."

Inevitably, that turned Bob's thoughts even more to his own endowment, once so reliable and now permanently out of service. He mourned his loss all the time. Even so, there were special moments like this one, when he reached new depths of regret. As the women delighted in reminding him, he was the cause of his lost abilities.

Just when it seemed like the atmosphere might grow stale, with the guests deciding to leave soon and grant Bob some respite, Ellie spoke up. "Why don't you get into that new outfit I got you, Barbra? I'm sure my friends would like to see you in it."

"Don't want to," he grumped.

"Now, now, sugar."

He hated being talked to like a child, especially when dressed like one. He was fighting against whatever had been done to his mind, trying to find phrases with which to defend himself against these endless indignities, when Clair spoke up.

The big woman said, "I'll bet this cute pumpkin is just afraid of dressing herself wrong-way-around. She can be such a ditz. No problem. I'll take her to her room and play Aunt Helpful."

Ellie said, "Thank you, Clair. His tasteful togs are on the bed." She added unnecessarily, "On top of the Sponge Boy spread."

Donna broke away from her professional demeanor to joke, "That's appropriate for Barbra, now that she's a spongy boy where she doesn't want to be."

All three women shared a laugh at Bob's expense. Clair stood him up, got off the chair, and put a hand on his shoulder, to steer him into his lavender bedroom. He detested having been ejected from the master bedroom, where his wife still slept. Sometimes she would allow him to lie down with her, purportedly for a nap, but in reality, for an extended session of tease and denial. He also hated the colors in his own room, which were mainly lavender blue and lavender green, dilly- dilly. He wanted to revolt against it all but every time he tried to summon up the willpower to act, it was just like his sexual situation -- all good intentions and none of the desired results.

Clair saw what waited on his bed and exclaimed, "How darling. Look what I'm going to dress you in, Barbra."

He insisted, "I can dress myself."

"No, no. Only a minute ago, you were being stubborn about it. And I don't want you to embarrass yourself by putting your panties on the outside, or something equally ridiculous."

Why were they always talking like he was an idiot and couldn't do anything for himself? It was beginning to make him doubt his own competence in even the simplest matters. Maybe that was their intention. How far could they push him in that direction? He dreaded

to think about it. He was snapped back to the present when Clair clapped her hands in front of his face.

"Pay attention, honeybunch. Auntie Clair is going to help you get changed."

He didn't like that she called herself that. She wasn't his aunt. She was the curvy lady he had lusted after before his transition. Now she was the zaftig female who tempted him to seek what was perpetually beyond his reduced capacities. His dress was still unbuttoned in front. She wetted the ends of both her forefingers in her mouth, making a sensuous show of it, then used them to toy with his nipples. It produced such intense sensations that he became faint. Clair switched from doing that and, while he was still dazed, effortlessly got him undressed. He had to stand before her in the nude, with his absence of body hair and genital reductions shown off as if he was a sideshow freak.

She stepped back and took out her phone. "Picture-taking time," she sang out merrily. "Let's pose you. Put one hand on your hip and the other on the side of your head. Ha! That's my nudie cutie. Turn that frown upside down and smile. Come on, Baby Barbra."

Her words made him want to crawl under the bed and stay there. What he was expected to put on made everything worse. On the bed was a baby doll nighty top that would end just below his nipples. There were matching panties. Both were in blushing pink and made of satin. No, no. He couldn't put those on. Yet he had no choice. She alternated taking pictures with getting him into the shiny slippery items. Their touch ignited his nerve endings. Clair made sure to make lots of physical contact. She chuckled at how unmanly the girly sleepwear made him.

Wanting another specific pose, she told him, "Suck your thumb. And use your other hand to pinch your earlobe."

Clair wasn't done dictating what he wore. She produced a bonnet in the same color as his humiliating clothes. It had an oversized brim that came down on the sides, framing his face. There were long ribbons, which she insisted on tying for him. She made a big bow under his quivering chin. That was followed by still more embarrassing photos. His knees got weak. He was in danger of collapsing. Bob got some relief when Clair sat him on the edge of the bed. However, she only did that so she could fit booties over his feet. They had strong elastic around their tops, to prevent them from slipping off.

"Aren't you just the sweetest?" the big woman asked rhetorically. "Let's show wifey and that nice Miss Donna how you look."

"No," he said petulantly.
"Does Aunt Clair have to spank Barbra?"
He got up, all sullen and slump-shouldered. "No. I'll be good." "It doesn't count if you turn into Franny Frown. I'll still have to tan

your fanny if you forget to smile."

He made himself grin, which created a rather bizarre effect, since he was still grumpy. Clair liked the state she had put him in. It would still show when they got back to the other room. She walked ahead of him, knowing how the sight of her swaying ass would add to his discomfort. When the other two females saw him in his infantilizing outfit, they openly laughed. Bob balled his hands into fists but didn't lose that grim grin. Clair directed him to toddle around. His exaggerated baby waddle triggered fresh chortles from the audience.

Clair told him, "Now get down on all fours and show us how you can crawl, Baby Barbra."

He sank down unhappily and did as she said. Just then, the doorbell sounded once more. Bob didn't understand. Who else could it be? Because he was on the floor, he was spared the humiliation of having to answer it. His wife went. He heard the door open. Then she was talking to someone who answered in a male voice. She addressed him as George. It was the new man in her life.

"Meet my special friend," Effie invited as she returned with a tall well-dressed guy holding her hand. Donna liked the use of that euphemism, with 'special friend' plainly meaning 'bed buddy'. Bob cringed at it. George sneered down at him.

The new arrival said, "I'm glad to finally meet Barbie in person."

"And Barbra is happy to meet you," Ellie supplied, as if her husband couldn't speak.

George got directly in front of him, squatted down, and tickled Bob under his smooth chin, where whiskers would never again grow. "Coochie, coochie, coo."

Bob wanted to say something but all that came out was a gurgle. Being in those clothes had tapped into another part of his conditioning. He mewled helplessly.

Straightening up, George said, "I have the piece of furniture we talked about. It's right out front. Let me bring it in."

What he came back with gave Bob new reasons to be upset. It was like a highchair, but built to adult proportions. Also, the legs were short,
so someone in it would be low, as if they were sitting on a standard chair. It had wheels on its back legs. George roughly yanked Bob to
his feet. He sat him on the chair. There was a separate tray, which he locked into place. Cuffs on the arms and legs went around Bob's wrists and ankles. The bigger man demonstrated how the imprisoning chair could

be tilted back and rolled around.

He told Ellie, "I can park the little darling by your bed, if you'd like. That way, she'll have a perfect view of anything that happens there."

Ellie said, "That would be ideal. I imagine Donna has all the information she needs."

"I certainly do," said the official. "My report will recommend continuing all treatments and adding a new one. To go with that one, we'll send you a supply of disposable adult diapers."

To hear that news distressed Bob. He tried to tell them they couldn't give him an unreliable bladder, but instead began to burble happily. It was as if he his mind had been affected to respond that way to the change.

Clair said, "I've seen what I needed to. Now I'm ready to be Barbra's sitter whenever you and George want an evening out. The little one was able to be left alone before, but with what comes next for Betsy Wetsy, that won't be advisable."

"Thanks so much, Clair," Ellie said sincerely.

The wife walked the others to the door and saw them out. She came back to see George rolling Bob's new chair away. After it was positioned by the bed, the happy couple stood there, kissing. They began to undress each other, caressing every bit of skin they uncovered. Partway through their disrobing, Bob found his voice enough to attempt a few words. That was when his wife shoved an oversized pacifier between his lips. The lovers finished getting naked. They made themselves comfortable on the wide bed. Bob had to watch their extended foreplay. Then came the real sex, confirming his status as a cuckold. He couldn't help envying what the other man used to pleasure Ellie, which Bob now lacked thanks

to Limp-Dix.

Bob's conditioning made him suck hard on the pacifier, with his lips going in and out. He realized that he was duplicating the rhythm that George's pelvis had set. Bob couldn't help it. Inside his satin panties, his shrunken penis throbbed incessantly. He was desperate for the culmination of his desire that would never -- could never -- be achieved.

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