A Roman woman and her daughter

The mansion of the Roman patrician Cordelia's family, due to the wealth of its owner, stood out from other noble houses in its size and the luxury of its decoration. The layout of the mansion itself was quite standard—a rectangular building with small windows, numerous rooms, and an inner courtyard with fountains—but the area of these rooms and corridors, the presence of a colonnade, and the decoration with various types of marble and expensive stone, even the size of the fountain—all this indicated the solid position of the estate's master.

I sat before his wife, Flavia, who was telling me about her daughter's illnesses, but I couldn't get these floor mosaics and the sun-drenched

inner courtyard out of my head. She was telling me about the back pains that had plagued her daughter, Veveia, all her life, and about her hopes connected with my coming here, while I was thinking about how beautiful the bathroom in this house must probably be.

"Your fame is growing," Flavia was saying. "That's why I invited you here. They say your hands can work miracles and heal the most incurable patients."

This was, of course, untrue, but I was too lazy to fight the rumors. The art of healing in the Eternal City was not at such a high level as I would have liked, so any decent healer, distinguished for the better from the numerous charlatans, quickly gained a semblance of popular fame. So it was with me. Yes, I could get people back on their feet and relieve joint pain, but the rumors about me, as is usually the case, attributed completely miraculous abilities to me.

"In any case, I hope you can help her and her back. And understand—she is a girl with peculiarities, and I ask you not to pay attention if she behaves somehow unusually..."

I nodded my head. Frankly, I didn't care at all.

"But there is one small 'but'," Flavia said after a pause. "Men are forbidden to enter my daughter's quarters. She... she doesn't always control herself, and we want to avoid any possible problems."

"I assure you, there will be no problems from me," I said.

"I believe you," Flavia replied again after some pause. "But... I would like to avoid any misunderstandings."

"Well, then you will have to refuse my services," I shrugged.

I was silent, beginning to suspect where she was heading.

"Forgive me, but you will have to undergo one small procedure... I understand it will be difficult for you at first to get used to the old life, but believe me, you will quickly adapt. You know which operation I'm talking about... After that, you will gain access to the women's quarters of the city's nobility. And I can be at ease about my daughter."

I resolutely rose from my seat, understanding that I had nothing more to do here and that I needed to leave this house as quickly as possible. Of course, I understood what she was talking about. I had seen those who had gone through it, and the prospect of becoming like them did not appeal to me at all.

"No, forgive me, but this is not for me. With all due respect to your husband and your daughter, I cannot agree to such a thing."

"Well..." my interlocutor said with some hesitation. "I will pay you well."

I smiled politely:

"Money will not compensate me for that loss."

Flavia was silent for a few seconds.

"You understand, I am a mother..."

She looked behind me. I turned around and discovered fat, fleshy eunuchs who had appeared as if from nowhere, resolutely heading towards me. And where had they been hiding? I didn't even have time to step away from the chair before they grabbed me with their thick hands so that I couldn't break free. The eunuchs lifted me into the air, carried me out of the living room, and bore me down the corridor. Flavia walked behind.

I jerked my arms and legs, but my strength was not enough to offer worthy resistance. Like a pack mule, I was delivered through the sun-drenched inner courtyard to some small, uninhabited room, where they laid me on a high stone table standing in the center. The eunuchs tied my hands and feet to iron rings attached to the sides of the table, and Flavia took out a curved, sharp knife and slit my tunic in the crotch area, exposing my shriveled, frightened manhood.

"You will heal my daughter, and I will pay you. Pay you well. Of course, you can go to court afterward, but do you need that? What is lost cannot be regained, and my husband is an influential man... The absence of male strength will open doors for you into many noble houses."

I hastily began to explain that I did not want to rise in the houses of the Roman nobility at such a price, but a eunuch's hand unceremoniously stuffed a piece of rag into my mouth. They lit a stone stove to heat the instruments. Flavia passed the blade of the knife over the flame several times to avoid the risk of infection, approached me, spread out on the table with my legs shamelessly parted, and with her left hand firmly grasped my poor scrotum, squeezing my balls in her palm.

"I hope you don't die," she said quietly. "I wouldn't want to lose such a doctor."

I wailed into the rag at the thought that I was about to become like these fat, powerless castrates who had dragged me here. Oh, my poor member, from which I poured seed into a woman's womb! It would never harden again, and I would never again insert it into anyone's warm flesh! And why did I ever agree to come here? Flavia pressed the knife blade to the skin of my scrotum and, pushing it in, began to cut open this sac with sharp movements. It was so painful that I tensed like a string and squealed into the rag.

One cut was followed by another, and then I felt her fingers unceremoniously penetrate inside my storage, squeeze my testicles, and pull them out. A eunuch squeezed the spermatic cord with red-hot tongs, burning through it, and Flavia cut it with her knife, separating the first testicle. I wheezed and begged God to deprive me of consciousness so as not to experience this pain, but darkness still did not come, and after the first testicle came the second, and again the red-hot tongs closed between my legs, and Flavia triumphantly raised her palm with my second testicle.

"You see! You endured it. There is no more male strength in you, but we need to trim something else."

She pulled back the skin from the head of my penis, squeezed the head itself with her fingers, and with red-hot scissors pinched it at the base, squeezing the scissor handles until this piece of flesh separated from the penis, leaving a blunt stump at its end. I lost consciousness when this wound was cauterized, and in that was my salvation...

I came to closer to evening, lying in some house on a couch, covered with a blanket. It was a brief awakening; I felt pain between my legs and fell into oblivion again. The next time I woke up because an unfamiliar woman lifted my head and tried to give me warm water to drink. In a half-daze, I felt them changing the bandage between my legs, but the pain was already less. The pain in my scrotum quickly passed, only my shortened penis still made me groan. And then they woke me up so that I could urinate into a specially brought basin with a groove leading from it.

They sat me on the bed, brought the groove to my penis, but when I tried to release the accumulated fluid from myself, the pain made me scream and lose consciousness again. I was still too weak. A few days later, I was washed for the first time. The penis was not yet fully healed, but it no longer hurt. A small tube was inserted into the hole of my urethra so that nothing would grow over. I could already stand, and so they washed me standing, one of the maids pouring water over me from a jug, and the other rubbing me with a washcloth. I felt an unfamiliar emptiness between my legs from the absence of the contents of my scrotum, and my shriveled, shortened penis had acquired completely childlike proportions. The woman squatted down and began to wash my crotch, saying:

"Don't worry so much about this piece of meat. It only brings trouble anyway. So what if it won't rise anymore? You have no balls, which means you have no desires. You'll get used to feeling nothing between your legs, and then there will be no reason to grieve. If you don't want it anyway, what difference does it make whether your member works or not? You are castrated, which means any woman in Rome can entrust you with the most intimate secrets. This will give you such privileges that you will even be glad you were freed from lust."

Flavia told me the same thing later when she came to visit me and brought with her a small wooden box with patterns carved on the lid.

"These are your jewels. Keep them," she said to me, suddenly switching to the informal 'you'.

I opened the box and saw my two dried little testicles lying on a velvet bed, as well as a tiny piece of flesh that had recently been my glans. It was so strange to contemplate my treasures, separated from my own body.

Flavia slipped her hand under my blanket and felt my empty scrotum with my penis.

"I think you are safe now," she informed me. "You will get used to being a eunuch, believe me. Surely, you already feel calm between your legs, and soon you won't even remember that your penis could harden. Of course, you are now incapable of copulating with women, but that's such a small thing... Don't worry about two testicles. I have lived a long life, and I can tell you for sure that it's nonsense. Your penis is now soft, and your cheeks will be smooth, but there is nothing tragic in the position of a eunuch. Eunuchs are valued now. I think you will soon be ready to begin treating my daughter."

Before visiting my new patient, I was given an inexpensive tunic to replace my torn one. I wrapped a bandage around my thighs over my crotch. Flavia's daughter, Veveia, lived in one of the mansion's rooms, in the antechamber of which her eunuch slept. He let me inside, and, looking at his corpulent body and sleepy, indifferent, smooth face, I again caught myself thinking that the same thing awaited me. The eunuch closed the doors behind me, and I walked to the high bed on which a girl lay under a canopy.

She was not asleep: Flavia had warned her of my arrival. We greeted each other. I noted to myself her thinness and asked her to undress and turn over onto her stomach. She undressed completely naked and stretched out on the bed face down, exposing her back to me. Yes, her spine was curved. I poured a little fragrant oil onto my palm, rubbed it, and began the procedure. My hands slid over her skin, kneading every bone, every cartilage. I began to apply each of the exercises I had invented to her back in turn, stretching the muscles and acting on certain points. Veveia writhed from painful sensations, sometimes moaning, but here I could not help: in my work, there is no recovery without pain.

Then the moans stopped, and for about two hours in complete silence I worked magic on her back, sweating as if I had spent the day plowing a field, the muscles in my arms were already aching, and Veveia lay without a sound, obviously no longer experiencing such pain as at the beginning. I stopped, she understood that was it, slowly turned onto her back, and looked at me. I thought our greeting would remain the only words spoken here, when suddenly she said:

"Now the front."

"What front?" I didn't understand.

"Massage me in front."

"I am supposed to treat your back, and nothing more..." I began, but she interrupted me, grabbed my hand, and pressed my palm to her crotch.

"Feel that? You have gentle hands. Undress and give me pleasure."

I completely did not expect such a turn; blood rushed to my face, I jerked my hand away, having managed to feel the softness of her mound. Veveia sat up on the bed.

"Come on then! Take me!"

She looked at me with a painful, greedy gaze. I had seen such a look in people afflicted with mental illness. I stepped back, remembering her mother cutting out my testicles. She surely knew it would end like this and decided to protect her family from any incidents. The empty scrotum guaranteed that her daughter would remain untouched. Veveia jumped off the bed, approached me, and whispered:

"I want to feel your member."

And before I could say anything, she grabbed me between the legs, squeezing my scrotum. I saw her eyes widen when she felt the emptiness and softness under her palm, how a contemptuous-smirking grimace appeared on her face.

"Ah, now I understand. You can't. Mother has been at work here too."

She knelt down, parted the edges of my tunic, and pulled off the bandage. She took the stump of my penis with two fingers and giggled:

"They trimmed your tip, I see. And gutted your scrotum. Mother did this, right?"

She stood up and pressed against me, looking into my eyes. Shamelessly, she began to rub her crotch against my stump.

"Did you squeal when they castrated you? Or did you lose consciousness? You're a eunuch now, what a pity... I dream of a member, but I only see castrates with flabby little dicks. Instead of hard male tools, you carry childlike pale pee-pees below the belt, soft as butter... Women's openings no longer tempt you, do they? Maybe you wanted to impale me on your rod, but alas... You are a castrate... A eunuch... And you cannot enter me. Do you feel my hole? You can only rub against it with your flabby appendage. Look at me! I am all burning, and you are completely incapable of satisfying me. Mother sends only eunuchs to me, disgusting, fat, and lazy ones. I hate you all!"

I want a man, and you are a ball-less boar, just like all before you. You will also be fat and lazy. Here, admire my slit, castrate! I would like to see how they cut off your balls... I wonder, was it forced? Or did you come to mother yourself, pulled out your scrotum, and placed your unnecessary balls under her knife? I know many agree to this voluntarily and part with their scrotums and penises without regret. What did you feel when she took out your balls? Did you scream in horror or grunt joyfully? Did you at least cum one last time before that, did mother jerk you off or castrate you like that? And did you like being castrated by a woman? Did you like that a woman made you incapable of sleeping with other women? Maybe you even got hard when she brought the knife to your balls? Tell me, did you get hard? Are you glad you were castrated, eunuch?"

She said all this in a rapid-fire manner, passionately pressing against me, and looking into her half-mad eyes, I understood why her parents hid her from everyone in this room. Her illness was not only physical; it broke out in such outbursts of emotion. I pushed her away from me and, without saying a word, went to the doors. Naked, she shouted after me, calling me a eunuch and a castrate.

I opened the doors and went out. The eunuch-servant, paying no attention to Veveia's shouts, to which he was apparently already accustomed, closed them behind me. Going out into the inner courtyard, I sat on a stone bench and pondered, looking at the fountain. Her mother had been right. I had worried about what it would be like to be castrated, and now I had emptiness between my legs, and I had just spent two hours with a naked woman and did not desire her.

And I no longer saw any tragedy in this. My two testicles lay in a box, and I was insured against love's torments. Peace enveloped me.

I drove all unnecessary thoughts from my head and simply watched the flowing, sparkling in the sun's rays, water, thinking of nothing.