Becoming a Guardian

The attendant smiled automatically, without any real emotion. “Come in,” he said.
“Congratulations on surviving your Guardian training.”

I looked at him, a little confused. Surviving?

He must have read my mind, or was used to it. “There’s less than half your class left, right? The
rest washed out? Have you ever met a Guardian wash-out? Of course not. Once you commit to
the order, you’re a Guardian for life, whether we accept you or not. So, like I said,
congratulations.”

He didn’t really sound like he was joking. I never really thought about it, but of course, I hadn’t
met any Guardian wash-outs. Ever.

The Guardians were everywhere. They all looked the same. They wore identical armoured suits
and matching faceless helmets. Those suits could withstand desert heat, arctic cold,
underwater, and chemical weapons. And gunfire and knives of course. There were no names,
no insignia, no ranks. They never spoke, although everyone assumed they spoke to each other
through a system in their helmets. They’d foil a robbery. They’d help an elderly lady across the
street. They’d kill a hostage taker. They weren’t dispatched or commanded; they were simply
there. It didn’t matter: they kept the peace. It worked too. Crime was at its lowest level in fifty
years.

It was a lifetime commitment. You left everything behind, but you became part of something
greater. Ever since I was little I remember wanting to be one.

“Now if you’re not too modest, you’ll have to step out of that training suit, so we can get you
set up with your Guardian suit.”

This time, he had to be joking. Modest? The training suits were white skin-tight lycra that left
nothing to be imagined. They sealed at the back. Every morning, for the past six months, at
0600h, we’d be sealed up into them. Every night, at 2000h, we’d be released. They were
meant to make us unconscious of our bodies. They were also meant to train us at a
subconscious level. The liquid waste management system of the Guardian armour worked
best, we were told, if it wasn’t flooded with urine, but rather slowly trickled into through the
day. Therefore, we were to just urinate throughout the day as required. They wanted us to
reach a point where we didn’t even think of it. I’d lost all self-control of my bladder weeks ago.
My groin was soaking wet even now, and salty stains ran down my thighs and the backs of my
legs from previous wettings. The lycra suit did nothing to hide that, either. I didn’t even feel it
anymore.

Feces on the other hand worked best in the Guardian suits if it was deposited on a regular
schedule. We were encouraged to evacuate our bowels first thing in the morning before being
sealed up in our suits. I’d only been forced to defecate in my lycra suit a couple of times before
I got in that rhythm. For most of the class, it had been a week at most.

The attendant walked around behind me and unsealed my training suit, peeling it off me. He
raised an eyebrow as my 8-inch penis flopped free. “You must have been popular at the
barracks,” he said.

I had been. The barracks had been just one, big, open room. Once we were out of our training
suits for the night, we had a couple of hours free time before lights-out. Many of the guys had
worn shorts or trackpants or boxers during this time, but I’d never seen the point. It’s not like
the training suits hid anything anyway, especially after you’d urinated into them. They became
practically transparent. So I just remained naked in the barracks. There were maybe six of us at
first that did. By about half-way through the training half the guys that were left were doing it.

I’d never considered myself gay. But we were giving up everything to be Guardians, and that
included sex. In fact, part of the medical process of being stuffed into the Guardian suit was a
chemical hormonal blocker that effectively neutered us. Oh sure, all the plumbing was still
there, but all the taps were turned off. No sex drive. No erections. So when that young recruit
had come up to me and offered to suck me off one evening a week into training, I’d figured
what the hell. I’d seen him watching me since that first night I’d remained naked in the
barracks. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen, five years younger than me, and with
all of us already completely hairless (another chemical cocktail) he looked even younger than
that. He took my shaft into his mouth timidly at first. I could feel the shake in his hands as he
grabbed my butt, like he wasn’t sure of himself, like he’d maybe never done this before. I
could see the uncertainty in his eyes, like he couldn’t believe he’d made the offer. He was
wearing cotton boxers, and I could see his erection building in front of them. Soon he fell into
the rhythm. The tip of his tongue slid out from between his lips and tried to reach my ball sack,
but with me now fully erect, he couldn’t get close enough. He choked as I humped his face,
driving myself deeper and deeper into his throat as his teeth scratched my shaft and his
tongue tickled the underside. He must have known the climax was coming, but I had him by
the back of the head now and wouldn’t let him off. I shot my load deep into his throat as his
hands clenched onto my ass cheeks.

He lurched back as I spasmed again and again. The last shot covered his face. He lay on his
back, gasping for air, the tip of his penis poking out through the slit in his boxers. The other
trainees were all around us. Most were still clothed, but some were openly masturbating. After
that, the evenings tended to be more about sex than anything else. Three days later the same
kid let me take him from behind. Like I said, I never considered myself gay, but it was only
natural. There were no women in the Guardians. And soon, there’d be no sex at all.

A month later I returned the favour to the kid. I felt my sphincter clench as the quivering tip of
his penis brushed it, and then all at once he was inside me, gently rocking, thrusting his hips,
but hitting me harder and deeper each time. I clenched my teeth against the pain, but my
penis grew hard as a rock below me, hanging below my stomach as I crouched on all fours,
with this juvenile behind me like I was a bitch in heat. One of the other trainees lay down on
his back below me, and started playing with my cock with his tongue, his own penis tenting out
of his nylon track pants right below my face. I reached down and licked the tip through the
nylon. My butt-hole tightened as my own climax sprayed all over the guy on the floor, and that
was all it took to take the kid over the edge. He screamed as he thrust again, and again, and
again, shooting his load deep inside me.

I still don’t know if I am gay, or what. Now that I was standing here, ready to suit up as a
Guardian for the first time, forever, and leave the old world behind, I suppose it doesn’t really
matter.

The attendant slipped a collar around my neck and touched a button on it. Suddenly my body
felt twice as heavy, but when I tried to move, nothing happened. He then started placing
probes and sensors all over my body, working downward from my chest and back, the
equipment that would connect my body to the Guardian suit. The gear would monitor medical
status, and dispense whatever drugs were necessary to keep me at peak condition. While he
worked, he was checking things off a clipboard.

He picked up a large, stainless probe. It must have been two inches in diameter. He walked
behind me with that. The metal was cool as brushed my butt cheeks. He felt around with his
fingertips until he found my sphincter, then guided the ten-inch probe into it. We’d been
warned about that. It was the device the handled solid waste while sealed up in the armour. “I
bet your glad you let that recruit fuck you,” the attendant said casually, then with a smooth
but forceful shove he drove the probe into all the way into me. Medical rivets dug deep into
my muscles, securing it there. It was there forever now. “I bet you wish he’d had a bigger cock,
though,” he added. Then he came around the front, examining my groin. “Oh,” he said as he
reached my groin area. “That’s unfortunate.”

Unfortunate? I looked up at him. “It seems you’re allergic to the hormonal inhibiter that kills
your sex drive,” he said, holding up a syringe. “About one in a thousand are. We won’t be able
to administer it.”

It was made very clear to us that one of the conditions of being a Guardian was to give up sex,
completely. It wasn’t going to be that hard, because they were going to erase it from our
minds anyway, killing the drive. Otherwise, sealed up in that armoured suit for life with no
chance of release would drive you insane.

“You mean, I can’t be a Guardian?” I choked. It was all I’d ever wanted. And of course, now I
knew that wash-outs didn’t survive the day, so that didn’t help my mood.

“We have more than one way of inhibiting the sex drive,” the attendant said. He put the
syringe down and grabbed what looked like a large, barbed fish hook. “Don’t worry,” he said.
He grabbed my 8-inch cock and drove the hook into the bottom of it, right through the shaft
until the bloody barb was sticking clean out the top. I screamed. It wasn’t pain though. I felt it,
but somehow it wasn’t pain. It was a tightness, or a throbbing. I screamed in shock. A line was
tied to the hook. He tied the other end off to a machine beside me, so it held my penis up and
out of the way, exposing my scrotum. He then picked up a small scalpel, and cut into the skin,
methodically peeling it away from my body. Again I could feel it, but the sensation wasn’t pain.
It was like a pinch. If it weren’t for what he was doing to me, I might even have enjoyed it.

“Wait!” I cried, although it came out breathless. He ignored me anyway, tossing the skin of my
nut sack into a mirrored dish on the table, and then grabbing a laser cutter. My testicles were
just hanging by a small cord, leaving thin bloody marks where they brushed against my inner
thigh. With two small flashes of light, they fell away, cut off and cauterized in one motion.

I watched in morbid fascination as he turned his attention on my penis. Blood ran freely down
the shaft from where the hook had speared it. A small trickle ran from the tip. He made an
incision above where my shaft met my body. Blood ran again. He then cut around the shaft,
into my groin. I could feel the pinch as his blade bit into me. I could feel the warmth of the
blood on my thighs. Still no pain. He was quick. A made a few more quick incisions and then
grabbed the head of my shaft, releasing it from the wire that had been holding it. He made a
deft pull, and raw flesh tore out from inside me. It was still attached to me, but now more than
nine inches was outside me. He’d severed the muscle from around the root. Only now did he
take his blade and slice into my penis.

This time I managed a stronger voice. “Please,” I said. “Wait.” And he stopped. He’d only
parted the protective outer tissue so far. He hadn’t gone very far.

“You can’t stop this,” he said.

“I know,” I said. I looked down at the ruin in my groin. “I don’t want to. If I’m going to make
this sacrifice, I want to be the one that does it.”
He raised an eyebrow at that. “If I release you,” he said. “It will no longer block the pain. It’s a
package deal.”

I hesitated. But only for a moment. “I understand.”

The attendant touched a control on my collar. The pain washed over me. It was the only thing
in the world. I screamed. Then I took the scalpel. Blood started to pour out of the damage to
the shaft as my member tried to go erect. I couldn’t believe it. It was like it was happening to
someone else. Then I lay the blade in the incision he’d started. The scalpel was very sharp. It
took only two passes, and the ruined meat dropped away.

“That was very well done,” the attendant said, gingerly taking the scalpel from me, then he
touched the control on my throat and the pain was gone again. He sprayed some medical skin
over the wound, after he inserted a long catheter with a hose hookup: the other half of the
waste management system in the Guardian suits.

By the time he’d finished with the probes and sensors on my legs the new skin had dried. Aside
from a small hose connection sitting in the middle of my hairless groin, flush right into the skin,
you couldn’t tell I’d ever had genitals.

“You’re ready to be fitted for your suit, now,” the attendant said as he attached the last lead.
“Through that door.”

He released the collar again, removing it this time. There was no pain. The spray-skin had done
its job. I took a step, and nearly tripped. I could feel the massive probe spreading my colon.
Every step sent a little jolt across the small of my back. They said you’d get used to it. I guess I
had to believe them.

Of course there was also the feeling of weightlessness between my legs. You don’t notice the
weight of your package; it’s with you every day. I now understood how much weight had been
there. Then I gritted my teeth, and walked purposefully to the door.

I never expected there to be a crowd in the next room. But of course, the medical process took
less time than the actual fitting of the suit and the armour, and it was after lunch already;
there’d been many recruits ahead of me. All heads turned as I walked in, naked and completely
neutered. It was already too late to try and hide the fact, and there were a dozen guys there,
waiting for their turn to be fitted. After the initial shock passed I noticed then: they were all cut
as I was. We were all fully neutered, with just little hose connections for urine mounted in our
groins.
There had never been a chemical. You were a Guardian for life. Why would you bother keeping
what you would never use again? One of our class was just finishing with his suit. The two
attendants riveted the back plates on, and then secured the small life-support pack. There
were no zippers on these suits. These were for life. The new Guardian turned to face us, as we
stood naked, hairless, and neutered, waiting our turns to join him. Then, without a word, he
turned and left the room.

We’d soon rejoin him.