Devoid

Call it whatever the hell you want. Me, I don’t dwell on such 
spiritual matters anymore. I’ve resigned myself to reality.

I am what I am. And what I am is a eunuch.

That’s right, a eunuch. Testicular cancer, the doctors said. Cancer 
of the balls. Termites in the plumbing, and just like that, at age 
25, with only two sexual experiences under my belt, my manhood was 
erased forever.

back to index

“Devoid,” part 1
by c.w. cobblestone

Let me explain something right up front: I didn’t choose this way 
of life. It chose me.

I guess you could say I was born under a bad sign. Call it Fate. 
Call it predestination. Call it bad Karma - some inevitable force 
of nature that comes back to haunt you for crimes you committed in 
a former life. 

Call it whatever the hell you want. Me, I don’t dwell on such 
spiritual matters anymore. I’ve resigned myself to reality.

I am what I am. And what I am is a eunuch.

That’s right, a eunuch. Testicular cancer, the doctors said. Cancer 
of the balls. Termites in the plumbing, and just like that, at age 
25, with only two sexual experiences under my belt, my manhood was 
erased forever.

I’ll never forget the look on the doctor’s face when he told me the 
bad news. He seemed devoid of any emotion whatsoever. I realize 
doctors have to detach themselves from their jobs - that’s probably 
the only way they can maintain their sanity - but you’d think even 
a doctor could show a little compassion when he’s telling a guy 
he’s about to lose his balls!

“Mr. Stewart, there’s a strong chance we may have to remove both 
testicles,” the doc explained in a lukewarm, professional tone, as 
if he was a mechanic telling me I might need a new muffler. “I’m 
sorry, but we got to it too late; from what our tests show, 
complete removal may be the only way to keep the tumor from 
spreading.”

I looked deep into the doc’s eyes. He wasn’t joking. 

Finding out you have cancer is one thing, but this was something 
else altogether. I was literally numb, and I stood there like a 
mute idiot in front of the doctor for some time while he consulted 
his charts. 

Finally the shock wore off and the questions began to form in my 
mind: Were there any other options? Would I really have to lose my 
testicles? He did say there was “a strong chance,” he’d have to 
remove my balls; didn’t that also mean there was a chance he 
wouldn’t have to do it? Besides, what if the doctor’s wrong? Should 
I seek a second opinion? 

How could I ever live a normal life without my balls? 

Why me?

I suppose I could’ve opted out of the surgery, and simply allowed 
the cancer eat away at me. But I wanted to live. 

Life without balls had to be better than no life at all, I figured. 
So I agreed to let them operate.

I was scheduled for surgery early the next week. The doctor said it 
was imperative that he operate as soon as possible, to keep the 
cancer from spreading. 

I drove home in a daze, haunted by the same questions, over and 
over: 

How could I ever face life as less than a man?

Why me?

I called my boss and gave a scant explanation. I informed him that 
I had cancer, and that I’d be laid up for awhile. But I didn’t tell 
him the exact nature of the cancer - he didn’t ask, and I didn’t 
tell. My boss was perfunctorily sympathetic, and he assured me that 
my job would be waiting for me when I got back on my feet.

With that out of the way, I called my parents down in Florida. This 
time, I knew I’d have to come clean and reveal the specific nature 
of my illness. 

I told my mother first. She sounded quite upset, and she made plans 
to fly down to Indiana so she could be with me during the 
operation. I tried to convince her not to bother, but she insisted.

My father reacted differently. He sounded very jittery throughout 
our whole conversation, and I could tell he was anxious to get off 
the phone as soon as possible. I guess I can understand that, 
coming from another man. Men don’t even like to think about having  
their balls cut off. It makes them shrivel up like nothing else in 
this world!


*   *   *

I truly don’t know how I made it through the week. I tried to keep 
my mind occupied by doing odd jobs around the apartment. By the end 
of the week, my place was as clean as it had ever been - I even 
ended up painting every room in my apartment! Nothing worked, 
though. The same question kept nagging me: 

How could I ever face life as less than a man?

I must’ve masturbated 20 times during that week. I wanted to get in 
as many sessions with myself as I could -  I knew I might not get 
another chance. I’d go through the normal routine, sifting through 
my box of female domination magazines until I found one that suited 
my fancy; then, with the trusty bottle of lotion at my side, I’d 
proceed to jack off, fantasizing about the woman of my dreams, the 
dark, evil Bitch-Goddess who made me do her bidding.

But even masturbation didn’t help me forget. On the contrary, every 
time I approached orgasm, I kept thinking, “this could be the last 
time I ever cum!”


*   *   *


On the eve of my operation, I was admitted to the hospital and 
thankfully given a room by myself. I tried to get some sleep, but I 
couldn’t close my eyes for even a second. I alternated between 
crying like a baby and morbidly playing with my balls...caressing 
them....juggling them back and forth...stroking them for possibly 
the last time. 

How could I face life as less than a man? A man without balls is 
less than a man...isn’t he?

A man without balls isn’t a “he.” Or a “she,” for that matter. He’s 
an “it.”

Morning was a long time coming, but eventually - despite the fact 
that I was probably about to lose my testicles - the sun did rise. 

The sun just doesn’t care, does it?

Hell, I told myself, there are a billion people in China who could 
give a rat’s ass whether or not I had a pair of nuts hanging 
between my legs. This isn’t the end of the world, I kept trying to 
convince myself as the nurses wheeled me into surgery. This isn’t 
the end of the world...


*   *   *

The room was purple-black. My eyes were useless; there was nothing 
to see. For untold hours, I stared into the void, seeking comfort 
in the blackness.

After what seemed like an eternity of oblivion, something began to 
stir. I felt some kind of deep atmospheric disturbance, something 
supernatural. 

Suddenly out of the darkness came a light. 

I watched in fear and wonder as the dim shaft of milky-white 
glitter began to slowly form over my bed. I tried to close my eyes, 
but I couldn’t - it was as if God himself was forcing me to stare 
at the light! It was faint at first, but the twinkle kept getting 
brighter by the second. Angry red smoke started to billow from 
somewhere deep inside the glow. Out of the bloodstained  fog 
appeared a woman, the Bitch-Goddess of my dreams, her pale, vampire 
skin glowing like silken neon. She was wearing a leather death 
suit; in her hand was  a curved, ornate dagger. 

This woman, this heavenly demon apparition, began to float slowly 
toward me, the smoky air sustaining her. A menacing smile twitched 
on the edges of her sanguine lips as she glided to my bedside. The 
Bitch-Goddess sensuously pulled the covers off my naked body, 
exposing me. Then she spread my legs and moved in with the knife.

“Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!”


*   *   * 

The moment I woke up from the operation, I knew the deed had been 
done. It hurt like crazy down there...but it also felt...different.

I wanted badly to peek, but my genital area was covered in 
bandages. I laid there for awhile, gnashing my teeth, fighting the 
urge to rip off the dressing and take a gander at my new genitalia -
 or, rather, lack thereof.

Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I simply had to have a 
look! I tentatively peeled off a corner of the bandage and moved 
the catheter tube out of the way. The scab was just beginning to 
form, and the area was still very bloody, so it was difficult to 
tell exactly what I was going look like down there once everything 
healed.

But one thing was clear: My balls were most definitely not there!

I stared at my bloody, gelded crotch for at least an hour. Then I 
closed my eyes and took a trip to Hell.


*   *   *


I stayed in the hospital for nearly a week after the operation. My 
doctor praised my hale recovery, and assured me that the procedure 
had been a success.

I suppose that depends on your definition of “success,” I thought 
bitterly. Here I was, lying in a stinking hospital bed without any 
balls, and this guy is telling me the operation was a success?!!?

“If the operation was such a goddamned success, why the hell don’t 
I have any balls down there?!!!?” I screamed at him. “That doesn’t 
sound much like success to me, you son of a bitch!” For the 
thousandth time since the operation, I started weeping.

The doctor put a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. Then he told the 
nurse to increase my medication.

Those first few days were a perpetual black inferno of tears and 
anguish. An emotional tidle wave battered me to and fro like a pair 
of underwear in the spin cycle. Looking back, I realize it was a 
massive hormonal change causing my melancholy moods. I couldn’t 
stop crying; my cheeks were literally rubbed raw.

But as the week passed, I managed to snap out of it somewhat. I 
tried to focus on the things I could be thankful for. At least they 
got the cancer out, I told myself. And I seemed to be recuperating 
quickly. 

I was going to live!

In a few months I was able to walk without limping. A little while 
after that, I went back to work. I started out slowly, only working 
three days a week at first. My boss surprised me - he bent over 
backwards to accommodate my illness. I could tell everyone at work 
was curious, so I told them I'd had an operation for prostate 
cancer. They all accepted my explanation with no further questions.

As the doctor had predicted, I began gaining weight. He said it was 
normal for people in my “condition.” But it wasn’t the kind of 
weight gain adults usually experience - my body was accumulating a 
layer of soft, flabby, white baby fat. And I noticed that my boobs 
were starting to get a little bigger as well.

Meanwhile, down below, I was shrinking fast. My sex drive had 
diminished a thousandfold, and my penis - never too big to start 
with - began to atrophy from lack of use. A normal man has a number 
of erections during his sleep, which exercises the muscles of the 
penis. But in my “condition,” my dick was about as lifeless as a 
beach ball full of bullet holes.

The doctor told me I could alleviate these side-effects somewhat by 
taking hormones. But my medical plan didn’t cover medication, and 
the pills were way too expensive for me to pay for out of my own 
pocket.

Besides, who gave a shit what I looked like? What woman would ever 
want a eunuch, anyway?

My family began treating me differently after the operation. It was 
subtle, but I could tell their attitude toward me had changed. My 
parents never called me anymore. Every once in awhile, I’d go to my 
brothers’ or sisters’ houses for birthdays and whatnot, but I could 
tell they didn’t look at me the same way.

Oh, sure, they all tried to be casual about it, but it seemed like 
everyone was skittish around me. Especially the guys. I suppose I 
can understand why - I guess you could say I felt their pain.

I can also understand why everyone seemed to be so focused on my 
new status as a gelding. Our entire culture revolves around sex, 
doesn’t it? Sex in commercials, sex in the movies, sex on the 
Internet - so where did that leave me, a man with no sex? Inquiring 
minds wanted to know, and while nobody in my family ever actually 
came out and broached the subject, I could tell it was usually at 
the front of their minds.

I was dealt a severe emotional blow a few months after the 
operation. I was visiting my brother Rodney and his wife Nicole. We 
had a pleasant enough time; we played Trivial Pursuit and sipped 
brandy all evening. The game lasted a good three hours, and by the 
time Nicole finally rolled a pair of sixes to ice the win, we were 
all more than ready to call it a night. It was getting on 11:00, so 
we said our good-byes and I headed out the front door.

When I got to my car, I realized that I’d left my keys on Rodney’s 
coffee table, so I went back to the house. It was a warm night, and 
the windows were open. I could hear Rodney in the living room, 
talking to Nicole.

“Damn, I wonder if he can have sex,” Rodney said to his wife. “Does 
it even get hard?”

Nicole giggled. “Well, no offense to your brother - but even if it 
did get hard, I don’t know what girl would want it! No 
balls...that’s kind of creepy.”

I stood there on the porch holding my breath, perversely hoping to 
hear more. But they immediately moved on to another subject, so 
after a moment I rapped on the door. 

When Rodney answered my knock, I could tell he was afraid that I’d 
heard them talking about me.

“Uh...I left my keys on the table,” I said awkwardly.

“Hang on. I’ll get them.”

He ducked into the house and returned a second later with my keys 
in his grip. He passed me the keys, then shook my hand. “Listen, 
I’ll see you later, okay?” His voice was flat. I quickly said 
goodbye, and drove home feeling as sad as I ever had in my life.

*   *   *

As the months wore on, I tried my best to adjust to my new 
existence. I went to a couple of the counseling sessions prescribed 
by my doctor, but I stopped going after a few visits. What the hell 
was the counselor ever going to tell me? He could never understand 
what I was going through - he had a healthy pair of testicles 
hanging between his legs! When he went home at night, he was able 
to bang the shit out of his wife! Any time he wanted, he could beat 
his meat and have a cool, satisfying ejaculation! This guy couldn’t 
tell me a damn thing! So after a few sessions, I stopped going.

*   *   *

It was a slow, but steady descent, and about a year after the 
operation, I finally hit rock bottom. And, believe me, you know 
rock bottom when you hit it.

I was sitting in the bar after work, drunker than a skunk. It was 
getting to be a habit. That night, while staring into yet another 
empty shot-glass, I decided to take a good, long look at my life. 

All I saw was a world of shit.

Forget about the fact that I didn’t have any balls - I wouldn’t 
have had much going for me even if I’d had a pair of hairy plumbs 
tickling my thighs. I was stuck in a nowhere job as a  clerk. My 
job only provided partial medical coverage, so my operation left me 
holding a bill for almost $7,000. I lived in a shitty apartment, I 
had no love life, my family was uncomfortable around me - and my 
car, a 1982 Ford LTD, was a piece of shit that spewed oil every 
five blocks.

So I said fuck it. From now on, I vowed, I’m going to do what makes 
me happy. Fuck trying to put on an act! The only way I was ever 
going to be able to crawl out of this hole, I knew, was by being 
totally honest with myself.


*   *   *

I must’ve read the ad a hundred times:

“Mistress Desire, blonde vixen, looking for passive, generous men 
to kiss my  boots. Submit to me now! Call (800) MDESIRE.”

Now, that ad might sound tame to folks in New York or LA - but down 
here in lower Indiana, you just don’t see items like that in the 
personals section of the newspaper. I was surprised the paper even 
printed it, to tell the truth. I guess they needed the advertising 
revenue.

But when I saw the ad, something inside me caught fire. For the 
first time since my operation, I felt a distinct rumbling in my gut.

All my life, I’d secretly fantasized about being a slave to a 
beautiful woman - and all my life, I’d tried to push those 
fantasies out of my head. Those thoughts weren’t normal, I was 
certain. What could possibly be normal about enjoying pain and 
humiliation? I can’t tell you how many times I threw away my 
magazine collection, determined to repent, only to find myself 
driving up to Chicago to stock up on new porno material.

One thing is certain: I sure as hell never thought about actually 
living out my sick fantasy. Heck, I couldn’t even admit it to 
myself, let alone admit it to some girl! Even before my operation, 
I was too insecure in my manhood to even think about compromising 
myself by confessing my submissive fantasies to a woman. No way! 
When I was around the ladies, I felt compelled to act 
fearless...macho.

Of course, it was a total load of bullshit. Deep down, women 
intimidated me, and I think they knew it, too. That’s why, before 
my operation, I’d only had sex twice - and even then, it didn’t 
exactly inspire fireworks. The only way I was able to cum both 
times was by imagining that the girls were going to whip me after 
I’d finished fucking them.

But that was then. It was a whole new world order now. So, I 
figured, why the hell not? If I couldn’t actually have sex, then 
maybe the next-best thing would be to hook up with a woman like 
Mistress Desire. 

What did I have to lose?

I finally talked myself into it: I took a deep breath and dialed 
the 800 number. After three rings, a woman’s voice answered.

“Hello?” Her tone was curt, but her voice was sweet.

I cleared my throat. “Uh...Mistress Desire?”

“Yes?”

“Ummm....how do you...uh...I’d like to set something up with you.” 
I was sweating so profusely, the phone kept slipping off my 
ear. “Uh...how much would it cost for...uh, us to get together?”

“I don’t talk about that stuff over the phone,” Mistress Desire 
said crisply. “I always make sure to meet people in a public place 
first. Then we can discuss all the details.”

“Wh-where would you like to meet?” I asked, my heart thumping 
ferociously.

“The Rock and Bowl,” she said, referring to a popular bar in a 
nearby suburb. “Hang on a second - let me look at my book.”

After a few minutes, she came back to the phone. “Tuesday, 7:30,” 
she said. “I’m free then. Is that a problem for you?”

“Uh...no...no, Tuesday shouldn’t be a problem,” I croaked.

“Good,” she said. “Remember - if you stand me up once, I’ll never 
talk to you again. What’s your name?”

I wanted to lie, but I found myself blubbering, “P-Peter.”

“Okay, Peter. I’ll be the blonde sitting alone at the bar. Ask for 
Debbie.”

“Uh....okay,” I said dumbly.

“Good-bye, Peter,” Mistress Desire said abruptly. Then the phone 
went dead.


*   *   *

I knelt on the floor, furiously yanking my floppy little dick. The 
stimulation felt good, sending a little tingle from the head of my 
penis to my stomach. I had my femdom magazines spread out on the 
floor, and my trusty bottle of lotion nearby. Even though I knew I 
couldn’t cum, I was still hoping to have an “orgasm.” It was 
difficult, but if I played with myself long enough, a shuddering 
type of feeling would overcome me - the closest to orgasm I could 
ever get. Sometimes, I’d even dribble a little puddle of watery 
discharge.

I kept imagining what Mistress Desire would look like. She said she 
was a blonde! And she sounded so sexy over the phone! For the 
hundredth time, I counted the days until Tuesday.


*   *   *


The Rock and Bowl, as its name suggests, is a combination bowling 
alley/rock and roll bar. The place is huge - I think there are 
something like 50 bowling lanes there. 

I arrived a half-hour early and found a table near the bar. A disc 
jockey occupied the north corner of the bowling alley, kicking out 
loud heavy metal songs through a pair of huge speakers. Even though 
it was Tuesday night, the place was pretty crowded; it must’ve been 
a league night or something.

I quickly tossed back two shots of whiskey. I was so nervous, I 
probably could’ve drank the whole bottle. But I stopped at two - I 
didn’t want to be drunk for my first meeting with Mistress Desire.

I could see why Mistress Desire chose to meet here. We'd easily be 
able to talk, and with the music blaring over the loudspeakers, and 
with most of the customers occupied with their bowling, nobody was 
liable to hear us. 

A little after 7:30, I saw a blonde woman walk in. My heart jumped -
 she was lovely! Could it be her? I held my breath.

The woman was so stunning, I didn’t notice at first the tall man 
holding the door open for her. They both paused for a second in the 
doorway, surveying the situation, then they walked slowly and 
confidently into the bar. They looked like any professional couple: 
The blonde wore a conservative blue dress - not frumpy, but not 
exactly sexy - and the man had on a shirt and tie. They looked to 
be about my age, 25 or 26, and the man, like his companion, was 
also quite good-looking. But it was the woman who stole the show. I 
didn’t dare hope that she would turn out to be Mistress Desire!

The man leaned in close and whispered something into the blonde’s 
ear. Then they parted company.

I watched as the woman then made her way to the bar. As soon as she 
sat down, she lit a cigarette and began coolly casing the room. We 
made eye contact and a shiver ran through me. I knew right away 
that it was her. She must’ve recognized the drooling look of a 
prospective slave, too, because after a moment she smiled and 
crooked her finger at me.

I could barely move my feet as I plodded across the bar toward her. 
Mistress Desire was even prettier up close! The fair-haired beauty 
wasn’t exactly the gothic, raven-haired Bitch-Goddess of my dreams, 
but she was unquestionably a woman of equal beauty and splendor.

“D-Debbie?” I asked as I cautiously approached her. She smiled.

“You know it’s me, Peter,” she said. “Sit down.”

I wiped my sweaty palms on my trousers and took a seat at the bar. 
Mistress Desire didn’t waste any time, launching immediately into 
the interview.

“So, Peter, you answered my ad, so I’m assuming you want to kiss my 
boots,” she said with a wry smile. “What makes you think you’re 
worthy of such a high honor?”

I didn’t know what to say. “Well...uh...I don’t know...I would be a 
good...a good slave for you.” I nervously looked around the bar, 
hoping I was out of earshot of the other patrons.

Mistress Desire noticed my apprehension. “Don’t worry, Peter - 
nobody can hear you,” she said, slightly irritated.

“I’m sorry. I said I would be a good slave for you.” This time I 
said it with a little more confidence.

“Well, that remains to be seen,” Mistress Desire said 
flatly. “First of all, are you a cop?”

“Me?!!? Oh, no, not at all.”

“Good. This isn’t illegal, but I always like to make sure anyway.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t exactly contributing much to the conversation. I 
couldn’t even look the woman in the eye - she already had me under 
her spell! She had an ironic manner about her, as if she were 
amused by the world’s absurdity. I felt about an inch high in her 
presence.

I sat there with what I’m sure was a stupid look on my face, 
nervously playing with the straw in my drink. Mistress Desire 
noticed my anxiety and smiled.

“This is your first time, isn’t it, Peter?”

“Y-yes, Mistress Desire,” I said. “I’ve never done anything like 
this before.”

“Call me Mistress Debbie,” she said, crinkling up her nose. “I 
hate ‘Mistress Desire’ - that was my husband’s idea.”

She had a husband?!!? That was a surprise! It must’ve been the guy 
she came in with, I surmised. 

What kind of a husband would allow his wife meet other men like 
this - and even suggest names for her to use? 

Mistress Debbie saw the look on my face and smiled again.

“Peter, my husband and I have an understanding,” she 
explained. “We’re both dominant, and he would never let me whip 
him. But I’m a dominant woman, Peter, to the core. Ron introduced 
me to this lifestyle, and I found out that it’s right up my alley. 
But, like I said, Ron’s dominant, too. So he lets me find guys like 
you who will let me take out my frustrations. It’s not like I’m 
making love to my clients or anything. Besides, the extra money 
helps pay off Ron’s student loans. 

“He’s an architect,” she added proudly. “He graduated last year. 
He’ll be making big money in a few years - he’s not doing bad now - 
but those student loans are a pain in the ass.”

I was surprised Mistress Debbie was sharing all this with me. It 
was almost as if we were friends who’d met for lunch or something. 
This was normal conversation, and Mistress Debbie seemed like a 
normal, wholesome young woman. She was nothing at all like I 
thought she would be - I was expecting my cruel Bitch-Goddess, who 
would berate me at every turn. Mistress Debbie wasn’t a vampire; 
she was the girl next door.

Aren’t they always?

We ordered another round and sipped our drinks in silence. My mind 
started wandering, and I thought about the man I’d guessed to be 
Mistress Debbie’s husband. From what I could recall, he seemed like 
a virile man. He probably had a big pair of hairy balls dangling 
between his legs, I thought gloomily. I knew he was somewhere in 
the bar watching us, but I didn’t dare turn around and try to look 
for him.

After a few minutes, Mistress Debbie put her drink down and 
continued her questioning.

“Peter, do you have any health problems I should know about?” 

I froze.

I knew the subject would come up eventually, but I hadn’t expected 
to have to tell her so soon!

How could I tell Mistress Debbie about my condition? I couldn't. 
But, then again, I knew if I lied, she’d probably ban me from ever 
seeing her again. And I certainly didn’t want that to happen! I was 
quickly becoming infatuated with the gorgeous Mistress 
Desire/Debbie, with her easy manner and ironic smile. I was hoping 
this first meeting would turn out to be the beginning of a long, 
happy relationship - even if I did have to pay for it.

So I cleared my throat and spilled my guts.

“Uh...um...well, Mistress Debbie...I think there’s something you 
should know about me,” I said, trying to be brave. “I had an 
operation...and...well, I don’t have any testicles. I’m a eunuch.”

Mistress Debbie looked absolutely bowled over. She grabbed for her 
drink, almost knocking it over in the process.

“A eunuch?” she repeated, a strange curve to her brow. “You mean to 
say....you don’t have any balls? Oh, my god...you’re kidding!”

“No...I’m not kidding,” I said. Her reaction wasn’t entirely 
unexpected. “I had testicular cancer last year,” I explained. “They 
had to remove them.”

“Wow.” I could tell Mistress Debbie was at a loss for words, and 
for a brief second I felt the pendulum of power swing over to my 
side. She stared at me long and hard, her eyes ablaze with thought. 

Finally, Mistress Debbie got her voice back. “Peter, I’m sorry, but 
I just don’t know what to say," she said. "To tell you the truth - 
and I hope this isn’t insulting to you - but I find the idea kind 
of exciting! A eunuch slave! I hope that doesn’t insult you, Peter. 
I don’t mean it that way at all.”

“Insult me?!!? No, absolutely not! Not at all!!” I was elated, and 
I didn’t care how obvious I was about it. She hadn’t recoiled in 
horror, as I’d feared! As a matter of fact, she even said the idea 
of my being a eunuch was exciting! Never in my wildest dreams did I 
think anyone could ever find me exciting!

Mistress Debbie suddenly pushed back her barstool and stood 
up. “Stay right here, Peter,” she said. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

I knew exactly where she was going: She was off to tell her husband 
that she’d found herself a eunuch slave! My first instinct was to 
turn around and see where Mistress Debbie was headed, but I was 
afraid she’d get mad if she caught me spying on her.

I sat there at the bar absorbing my drink, my knees shaking 
uncontrollably. Finally, when Mistress Debbie returned, my worst 
fears were confirmed: She wasn’t alone!

“Peter, this is my husband, Ron,” Debbie said, gesturing toward her 
husband. He looked even taller up close. He stuck his big hand out 
and I meekly shook it.

“Hello, Peter,” he said a bit condescendingly. “Nice to meet you. 
So, Debbie tells me you’re a eunuch.”

Well, he certainly didn’t mince words! “Y-yes. Yes, I am,” I 
answered in a soft voice. I was totally intimidated by this man, 
this virile stud who probably nailed Mistress Debbie to the 
mattress three times every night. Ron’s eyes were a deep blue, a 
stark contrast to his swarthy features. Those icy eyes seemed to 
bore into my very soul.

“Well, I thought I’d seen everything, but this is something new to 
me,” Ron bellowed as he took a seat next to his wife. “Tell me, 
Peter, what exactly are your fantasies? Why did you call Mistress 
Desire? What are you looking for?”

I couldn’t believe he was asking me these questions! Unlike 
Mistress Debbie, Ron wasn’t interested in pleasantries; this guy 
was hard-core!

I looked beseechingly over at Debbie, but I got no help 
there. “Answer the question, Peter,” she said. Her tone was 
friendly, but firm.

I knew I’d have to cooperate if I ever wanted to spend time with 
Mistress Debbie, so I gave in. “Uh...well, my fantasy is...well, I 
just want to be treated like a slave,” I stammered. I couldn’t 
believe I was actually telling another man my deepest secret. But 
Ron had a way about him, a imperious, Alpha-male bearing that made 
me want to roll over submissively and spread my legs like a whipped 
puppy.

“Go on,” he said, leaning back and draping his arm around his wife.

“Umm...that’s it, I guess,” I said. “I just want to be a slave.”

“Well, we just might be able to arrange that, Peter,” Ron said 
airily.

“Are you into pain?” Debbie asked.

“No, not really. I guess I’m just into the mental aspect of it.”

Ron smiled at his wife. “Too bad,” he said. “Debbie really likes to 
lay into a slave’s ass!” 

“Oh, no, don’t get me wrong!” I hastily exclaimed. “I didn’t mean 
that I didn’t want to take pain - if that’s what Mistress Debbie 
wants. I just meant....”

Ron waved his hand. “It’s all right; don’t worry about it, Petey,” 
he said, chuckling. “I understand. It’s perfectly all right.”

Mistress Debbie leaned over and kissed her husband. “He’s a cutey, 
isn’t he?” she asked Ron, motioning to me.

Ron turned toward me again and appraised me for a good ten seconds. 
I cringed under his frosty, silent stare. “Yeah, he’s not bad,” he 
finally said, rubbing his chin. “Not too bad...”

Mistress Debbie reached out and touched my cheek lightly with her 
palm. “So, what do you think?” she asked her husband. “Should we 
allow him to take the next step?”

Ron nodded, his eyes still transfixed on me. “Yeah, I think so,” he 
said. “In fact, I want to try out the merchandise right now.” Then 
he addressed me: “Listen, Peter, you passed the test,” he 
said. “I’m thinking we should go get a room at the Hyatt, so we can 
get to know each other a little better.”

His words struck me like a Mike Tyson right hook. Did he mean that 
he actually wanted to be in the room when Mistress Debbie and I got 
together? I hadn’t anticipated anything like that at all! My mind 
reeled at this unexpected twist. 

Strangely enough, though, the idea wasn’t totally unappealing to 
me. I stole a glance at Ron’s crotch, and wondered what his balls 
looked like. Were they big? Hairy? Did he scratch them when he woke 
up every morning?

I snapped back to my senses. “Um....sure, I’d like to....get a 
room,” I said. I couldn’t believe what I was agreeing to! I tossed 
back the rest of my drink. Mistress Debbie and Ron also emptied 
their glasses, then Ron told me to go pay the bill.

As we were making our way out of the bar, it suddenly occurred to 
me that I hadn’t asked how much all this was going to cost. I 
debated whether or not to ask. Mistress Debbie and Ron seemed bent 
on having a session with me, but I only had a couple hundred bucks. 
If this was going to be a thousand-dollar venture, I wanted to tell 
them up front that I wouldn’t be able to afford it.

I decided the best policy would be to let them know. “Um....listen, 
I only have about $200 - ..”

“That’ll be fine, Peter,” Ron cut me off. Then he chuckled and 
nudged his wife in the ribs. “That’s an ironic name for him, isn’t 
it? ‘Peter!’”

Mistress Debbie giggled and looked at me. “I’m sorry, Peter, but 
that was funny, you have to admit!”

“Yes, Mistress Debbie.”

Ron took his wife by the hand. “Peter, you follow us. We’re in the 
red Chevy truck over there. We’re going to the Hyatt downtown, on 
Fourth Street - you know where it is, in case you get lost?”

“Yes...I know where it is.”

Ron leaned in close to me. “Good,” he said. “But from now on, 
eunuch boy, call me ‘sir.’”

I couldn’t believe this was happening. “Yes, sir,” I croaked.

Debbie sniggered. “He’s a natural,” she said. “We’ll have him 
trained in no time!” She gave her husband a wet kiss, then they 
turned and walked across the parking lot.


*   *   *

I followed closely behind the red truck, staring at Debbie and 
Ron’s silhouettes through their back window. My hands shook non-
stop the entire ride. I don’t know how the hell I made it to the 
hotel without crashing!

We pulled up alongside each other in the parking lot, then 
congregated outside the hotel lobby. Ron told me to give him the 
$200. I did, and he went inside to pay for the room. I was glad 
they didn’t want me to pay - I was all tapped out! I think I only 
had about ten bucks to my name.

I stood outside in the parking lot with Mistress Debbie while Ron 
checked in. I was so nervous, I was afraid to say a word to her. 
Mistress Debbie didn’t seem to notice, thank goodness; she was 
watching Ron through the lobby window.

After a few minutes, Ron came back out, brandishing a room 
key. “Room 266,” he announced, handing me the key. “Go upstairs and 
let yourself in. Then I want you to strip completely naked and 
kneel on the floor, just inside the door. Wait for us there. Debbie 
and I are going to the restaurant to have a bite to eat. We’ll be 
up in a little bit. I had the clerk give me two keys, so don’t 
freak out when the door opens. In fact, you can hang up the 'do not 
disturb' sign on the door, so the maid doesn't walk in on your 
sorry ass!”

With that, Ron took his wife’s hand and they leisurely made their 
way down the hall toward the hotel restaurant. I hopped the 
elevator to the second floor and found our room. It was all the way 
down the hall, by the ice machine. As soon as I was safely inside 
the room, I took all my clothes off, per Ron’s instructions. Then I 
knelt about 10 feet from the door and waited.

Even though I knew Debbie and Ron would likely be gone for at least 
an hour, I remained dutifully on my knees. I desperately wanted to 
be a good slave - and good slaves don’t disobey orders. So I stayed 
put, like a good boy.

While I knelt there, I had a lot of time to think. The main 
question on my mind was: What was I getting into? For all I knew, 
Debbie and Ron might’ve been a couple con artists; they might be 
halfway to Kokomo with my $200 by now, I thought. 

Or, worse, they might’ve been psycho. How did I know they wouldn’t 
come back and slice me into a million pieces?

But for some reason I trusted them. Especially Debbie. It was 
weird - in my fantasies, the dominatrixes were always cold, 
unfeeling bitches. I never imagined that a Domme could actually be 
human, like Mistress Debbie.

Ron, though, was a different story. While Debbie certainly seemed 
capable of inflicting the worst kind of pain, there was something 
about Ron that made me tremble. He didn’t speak to me as an 
individual, like Debbie did; it was clear from the start that Ron 
thought of me as nothing but an inferior.

I kept playing his words over and over in my head: “From now on, 
eunuch-boy, call me, ‘sir.’” 

‘Eunuch-boy!’ The icy timbre of his voice told the story: Ron 
obviously wasn’t playing a fantasy game. He saw me as less than a 
man - to him, I really was a ‘eunuch boy.’ And I knew if I ever 
wanted to develop a relationship with Mistress Debbie, I was going 
to have to submit to her husband, too!

I was so lost in thought, it was almost a half-hour before I 
realized my knees were aching from kneeling on the carpet. I wanted 
badly to stretch out, but I was sure Debbie and Ron would pick that 
exact second to come back, and I’d be caught disobeying an order. 

While I knelt there waiting, I kept looking down at my clipped 
genitals. This would be the first time anybody would see me naked 
since the operation. Would they laugh? That would be the worst, if 
Mistress Debbie were to laugh at my gelded genitalia.

Then again, part of me wanted them to laugh.

Finally, I heard two voices in the hallway outside the room. Then I 
heard a key in the door. 

It was them! This was it!

Ron entered first, carrying a large brown paper bag. Debbie came in 
after him, closing the door behind her.

I was tingling all over, and my heart was thumping like a busted 
engine. Debbie and Ron approached me, sending a shot of icy fear 
through my spine. I stared at their shoes. I didn’t dare look up.

“Well, well,” Ron said. “I see you know how to follow directions. 
That’s a good start, Peter!”

Debbie nodded. “A slave’s first priority, Peter, is to obey orders. 
You’ve done that, and I’m proud of you!”

“T-Thank you, Mistress Debbie.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said, casually walking over to the bed and 
kicking off her shoes. Ron put the paper bag on the table near the 
window, then he took a seat next to his wife. They both sat there 
for a moment, saying nothing. I didn’t know whether they were 
looking at me or not, because, like I said, I was too afraid to 
glance at them.

It was Debbie who first brought up the subject: “So, Peter, I’ve 
never seen what a eunuch looks like before. Let’s have a look-see - 
lay down and spread your legs.” She had an amused twinkle in her 
voice that made me cringe. 

As I laid back, I was able to steal a quick glimpse at Mistress 
Debbie. She was smiling at her husband, and he was smiling back. 
They were sharing this moment, this kinky experience, as husband 
and wife. It was painfully obvious that they were both on the same 
side - I was the odd man out.

I closed my eyes in shame as they both leaned down to inspect my 
genitals. My ears were hot with humiliation as they discussed my 
condition as if I wasn’t even in the room.

“You can hardly see the scar,” Mistress Debbie gasped. “That looks 
weird...no balls!”

“Look how small his dick is,” Ron said, chuckling. “Jeez, he 
doesn’t deserve to have nuts, with a little dick like that!”

Mistress Debbie giggled. “Awwww, don’t be mean, Ron!” she 
chided. “I think Petey’s got a cute little dickie! Look, it’s so 
soft and pink!”

Ron nudged my dick with the toe of his shoe. “Does this thing ever 
get hard?” he asked me.

I was so embarrassed, I had to swallow three times before I could 
answer. “Sometimes, sir, it gets a little hard. But 
not...like....normal.”

Ron chuckled. “Well, that’s pretty pathetic, Peter. Pretty 
pathetic.” He clapped his hands three times. “Okay, slave, back on 
your knees,” he ordered. I quickly resumed my kneeling position, 
keeping my eyes cast toward the carpet. I wanted to cry, but I bit 
my lip and held it in.

Debbie sat back down on the king-sized hotel bed. “Peter, are you 
ready to serve us?” she asked, crossing her legs. Her blue dress 
rode high on her perfect thighs. If I'd been a real man, I’d have 
certainly had a hard-on from the leg-shot she was giving me.

“Are you ready to serve us, Peter?!!?” she asked again, this time 
with a twinge of impatience in her voice.

“Yes, Mistress Debbie.”

“Well, then, go to the table and fetch that bag,” she 
commanded. “Bring it to me. Quickly.”

I dove across the room and handed the bag to Mistress Debbie. She 
began dumping its contents onto the bed. I didn’t have to use much 
imagination to figure out what the hairbrush and the thin, blue 
ropes were going to be used for. The shoehorn, however, had me 
perplexed - and worried.

Debbie saw the look on my face and laughed. “Peter, we hadn’t 
planned on having a session with you so soon, so we had to 
improvise a little,” she explained. “We didn’t bring our toys with 
us today, so we stopped at the gift store in the lobby and picked 
up a few things. I hope you don’t mind,” she added archly.

“N-No, Mistress Debbie...I don’t mind.”

Ron approached me from behind and without warning, he cuffed me 
hard over my ear. “Well, that’s good of you, slave!” he said. “‘You 
don’t mind?!!?’ Listen - we don’t give a shit whether you mind or 
not! You got that, you dickless little wimp?”

His tone was sinister. This was getting serious.

“No...no, sir....I-I mean, yes, sir....I-I’m sorry, sir!” I didn’t 
know what else to say - I hadn’t really done anything wrong, other 
than respond to Mistress Debbie’s question. But I instinctively 
knew my best bet was to apologize anyway.

Debbie looked at her husband. “Honey, why don’t you tie him up nice 
and tight, so I can do my thing?” she asked, a quiver of 
anticipation in her voice.

Ron blew his wife a kiss, then grabbed me by the hair. “Okay, let’s 
go - up on the bed, slave!” he ordered, pulling me in the direction 
of the bed. I yelped as Ron yanked my hair by the roots, but that 
only got me another cuff on the ear.

I scrambled onto the big bed, then Ron went to work. He took the 
thin rope off the bed and deftly tied my hands together in front of 
me. “At least we don’t have to worry about this one jacking off!” 
Ron joked as he put the finishing touches on my bonds. “He doesn’t 
have anything to jack off!”

I heard Mistress Debbie giggle behind me. Then she came into my 
line of vision and took the hairbrush off the bed. “This ought to 
warm that ass a little. Roll over, Peter!”

I struggled to obey her order, but with my hands bound so tight, it 
was tough to move. As soon as I got into position, the blows began 
to fall. 

While Debbie was wailing my ass with the brush, Ron took a seat on 
the bed near the pillows, his crotch only inches from my face. I 
could feel him watching me.

“Do him harder, Debbie!” Ron coached. “Bust that ass!”

Mistress Debbie increased the force of her blows until tears 
started streaming down my face.

“Look, Deb, the little eunuch is crying!” Ron teased. “Jeez, honey, 
I don’t think the queer is slave enough to take what you have to 
dish out!”

“Oh, I think he can handle it,” Mistress Debbie bantered back. “He 
hasn’t asked me to stop yet. I think the little slut likes it!” 
Debbie punctuated the seven words of her last sentence with hard 
slaps with the hairbrush.

For a second, Mistress Debbie stopped whipping me, and I thought 
the worst was over. How wrong I was! She simply switched hands and 
began beating me left-handed.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the carnage stopped. I 
buried my head in the sheets and sobbed into the bed while Ron 
congratulated his wife on a job well-done.

They let me cry for a few minutes, then Ron barked, “quit your 
blubbering, slave, and get back on your knees!” I moved as fast as 
I could, but my ass and upper legs felt like they were on fire. 
Apparently, I didn’t move quickly enough for Ron, because he 
grabbed a handful of my hair and made me move faster.

“Don’t wimp out on us now, slave,” he said. “I haven’t got my 
cracks in yet!”

Mistress Debbie took a seat on the bed, smiling from ear to 
ear. “Do him good, honey,” she told her husband. “You know how 
horny it makes me!”

Ron didn’t need any further cajoling. “Bend over slave. That’s it - 
get that ass high up in the air where I can reach it.”

He gave me a few light preliminary blows with the brush, then 
stopped. “Deb, throw me that shoehorn, would you?” Mistress Debbie 
tossed the shoehorn to her husband. I gasped in horror as I felt 
Ron push it against my asshole.

“Are you a virgin back here?” he asked as he poked the shoehorn 
delicately around my rectum.

My teeth were chattering. “Y-y-y-y-es, sir, I am,” I whimpered.

Mistress Debbie laughed. “Well, Peter, you won’t be for long,” she 
sang. “Ron just loves putting things in slaves’ asses - don’t you, 
honey?”

“You know me too well, Deb,” he answered. “But, damn it, we forgot 
to buy Vaseline. I guess I’ll have to dry fuck him with this thing.”

I was understandably scared to death as I felt Ron begin to push 
the shoehorn deeper into my butt. It felt horrible, like the skin 
around my ass was going to be ripped off. Ron was apparently having 
a hard time jamming the shoehorn up my ass, because after a moment 
of laboriously trying to work it into my hole, he stopped.

“Slave, go into the bathroom and see if there’s any lotion in 
there,” Ron barked. I got up and literally ran into the hotel 
bathroom. Sure enough, there was a small basket on the sink that 
contained a sewing kit, soap, shampoo - and hand lotion. I had a 
difficult time fishing the bottle out of the basket - my hands were 
still tied - but I managed.

After I gave Ron the lotion, I returned to my position. I cringed 
as I felt Ron apply the cold cream to my asshole. I never felt so 
humiliated in my life, with the lovely Mistress Debbie looking on 
from her perch on the bed, a crooked little smile on her face.

As soon as I felt the shoehorn being shoved into my ass, I forgot 
about Mistress Debbie. I let out a loud yell - but again, all that 
did was piss Ron off.

“Shut up, slave!” he ordered as he continued directing the 
shoehorn’s excrutiating journey into my bowels. “If you don’t keep 
your mouth shut, I’m sure I can find something that’ll keep it shut 
for you! Maybe a taste of my dirty underwear will shut you up!"

That was all the incentive I needed. I bit my lip and took it like 
a man.

After the shoehorn was far enough inside me to ensure it wouldn’t 
slip out, Ron took his turn at blistering my ass with the 
hairbrush. He was beating me twice as hard as Debbie had. I could 
hear him grunting behind me as he delivered each blow, and the 
sweat from his efforts landed on my back.

From the sound of her girlish squeals, Mistress Debbie was really 
enjoying herself watching my punishment. "Oooohhh - that's it, make 
that butt turn red! I'm getting horny already!" she purred to her 
husband.

I lost count after 40 blows. I must’ve taken at least 75 from Ron, 
in addition to the 50 or so Debbie had given me.

By the time Ron threw the hairbrush down and joined his wife on the 
bed, I was reduced to a blubbering mass of flaming flesh. My 
backside was numb from the whipping, but I could still feel the 
plastic shoehorn throbbing deep inside me.

I gradually came to my senses, and I worked up enough courage to 
peek up through my tears at Debbie and Ron. They were making out! 
Ron had his hand up Debbie’s dress and was jamming his tongue down 
her throat! 

I watched in silent wonder as husband and wife went at it with a 
passion I knew I would never know. Debbie was breathing hard now as 
Ron increased the tempo of his strokes. She started humping her 
pelvis up and down like a savage animal, begging her husband to 
fuck her.

Through my haze of pain and humiliation, my penis actually got 
hard. It wasn’t a ‘normal’ man’s erection, but the little guy was 
standing up on its own! That was a rare occurance, let me assure 
you! I surruptitiously reached down and began stroking my penis, 
watching as the action on the bed got even hotter.

I was so wrapped up in my own pathetic attempt at self-
gratification that I didn’t notice Debbie staring at me at first. 
It took a few seconds before I engaged eye-contact with her, and 
when I did, my blood ran cold

“Like what you see, Peter?” she asked sweetly, her eyes half-
closed. “Ron’s quite a hunk, isn’t he?”

“Yes, Mistress Debbie.”

Ron shot me a quick look over his shoulder. “Look at this, Peter,” 
he said, moving aside so I could see his wife’s crotch. Her white 
panties had a huge, round wet spot on them. “Look at that pussy, 
slave - something you’re never going to get.”

Debbie giggled. “Don’t rub it in, Ron - I think the poor dear knows 
he can never get any pussy!” she said. “Although, lookit - he does 
have a little boner down there!”

I closed my eyes. I couldn’t believe I was actually living through 
this experience - it was almost like watching a movie. Mistress 
Debbie was now beginning to resemble very much the cruel Bitch-
Goddess of my dreams. And, although Ron’s presence wasn’t exactly 
what I’d had in mind when I’d decided to call Mistress Desire, I 
strangely felt right at home with both of them as my masters.

At that very moment, something clicked, and I had an incredible 
moment of clarity. I realized that all the heartache I went through 
after my operation was my training ground for this very moment. I 
knew that, somehow, it was my destiny to serve this arrogant, 
yuppie couple - if they would have me, that is.

I looked longingly at Debbie. She was nibbling on her husband’s 
ear, moving her leg up and down Ron’s torso. She was so utterly 
elegant and beautiful, it made me hurt inside! 

Debbie was a hard one to figure out. In the short time I’d known 
her, I could see that her moods shifted like the tides. One minute, 
she would be almost nice to me. During those moments, she had a 
certain tenderness about her that came through, even though I was 
in the role of slave. But then, like a sudden tempest, she would 
turn into a cruel little bitch.

Ron brought that out in her. She seemed to be almost deferential to 
her husband. It was a subtle thing - he didn’t treat her like a 
slave - but it wasn’t hard to tell who wore the pants in that 
relationship.

Ron rolled over and lifted his wife’s skirt. “Take off your 
panties, Deb,” he growled. “I’ve got to have that pussy now!”

Debbie let out a little squeal and shimmied out of her underwear. 
When she had her panties down to her ankles, Ron helped her take 
them off. He turned around and tossed the panties toward me.

“Here, slave, have a whiff,” he leered through the side of his 
mouth. “You might as well get a taste of the good life, too!”

Debbie playfully hit her husband on the shoulder. “You’re terrible, 
Ron!” she tittered. “Leave the poor thing alone!”

“Fuck him!” Ron roared. “I don’t wanna talk about him right now - I 
want you!”

Ron jerked his pants down and tossed them casually on the carpet. 
Next came his underwear.

I gulped when I saw Ron’s genitals. He wasn’t John Holmes or 
anything, but he did have a long, fat cock.

And his balls! They were hairy, and they were big. Whiskered, egg-
shaped testicles. Ron’s nuts. The family jewels, dangling without a 
care between his legs. It was the first time in more than a year 
that I’d actually seen a pair of testicles, and I stared in jealous 
submission.

Debbie noticed me and laughed. “Honey, I think the eunuch is 
peeking at your balls!” she said.

“Well, let the sorry mother-fucker look!” Ron shot back. “I told 
you - I don’t give a fuck about him right now!”

With that, Ron plunged into his wife and began fucking her brains 
out, while I knelt on the floor, still holding Mistress Debbie’s 
panties. I tentatively put them to my face and inhaled her musky 
aroma, which mixed with the fishy scent eminating from Ron’s hot 
dick. The room was filled with scents that brought out my inner 
animal, and for a brief moment I was transported to the jungles of 
my ancestors...

Ron was the king lion, Debbie the sated lioness. I was the whipped 
cur, beaten in the oldest game in the world - the game of survival. 
Ron, the king lion, would be able to successfully carry on the 
family name, while I tiptoed through the jungle, fearful of 
offending the king lion or his lioness, lest they cease to have 
pity on me and eat me for dinner...

I actually saw Ron’s balls twitch as he had his orgasm. He let out 
a loud, wounded howl and plunged his hips faster and faster into 
his wife’s waiting nest. I watched Debbie’s face as her husband 
came inside her: Her red lips formed a heavenly ‘o’ and her eyes 
were squeezed tightly shut. The gutteral sound was low at first, 
rising in volume with each passing second: 

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmyyyy
yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyygggggggggggooooooooooooooooddddddddddddddddddddd!”

Debbie started bucking her hips like an unbroken bronco. It was the 
first time in my life I’d ever seen a woman have an orgasm, and it 
was the most erotic, bestial thing I could’ve ever imagined.

When it was over, they both flopped in opposite directions, 
exhausted. Ron was sweating profusely as he layed back on the bed. 
Debbie held a pillow over her face and mewed like a kitten into the 
soft fabric.

After a moment, they again reached out to each other, tenderly this 
time. Ron gently rubbed the back of his hand against Debbie’s 
breast, while she teased her husband’s earlobe with the tip of her 
finger.

“That was amazing!” she cooed. “After all these years, honey, 
you’ve still got it!”

Ron smiled. “Peter sure thinks so - don’t you, Pete?”

“Yes, sir.” It felt strange to have the attention focused on me 
again.

Debbie rolled over and opened her legs. “Look at that mess, Peter,” 
she said, pointing to her cum-filled pussy. “Mean, old Ron made a 
big messy-poo in my pee-pee,” she said in a mocking, baby-talk 
tone. “Petey, can you do Mistress Desire a favor and come over here 
and clean up her boo-boo?”

I moved as if in a dream, crawling over toward my beautiful new 
mistress. She had a glazed look in her eye that I can’t describe. 
It was the look only a fellow superior would understand - certainly 
beyond my realm of comprehension.

Just as I was about to put my mouth on Debbie’s vagina, Ron reached 
out and grabbed my hair. He yanked my head back painfully.

“Hang on, Deb,” Ron said. “I gotta check something. Open your 
mouth, slave.”

I didn’t know what was going on, but I obeyed Ron’s order. He began 
peering into my mouth like a dentist.

“I’m checking for open sores,” he explained. “I don’t want you 
giving my wife AIDS.”

Debbie laughed. “How can he have AIDS, Ron?” she chuckled. “He 
can’t have sex!”

Ron pushed my head back, satisfied that I was clean. “Well, I’m 
still gonna have the eunuch take an AIDS test,” he said. “Somebody 
could’ve fucked him in the ass, and he could’ve gotten it that way.”

He looked at me, and I immediately dropped my eyes. “Listen, eunuch-
boy, if we’re going to take you on as a full-time slave, you’re 
going to have to get an AIDS test,” he repeated. “I might want to 
tear up that asshole someday.”

Debbie patted her bare thigh. “In the meantime, Petey, get your 
wimpy ass over here and clean me up!” she smiled.

“Yeah, since you can’t produce your own sperm, you might as well 
get a reminder of what a real man’s splooey looks like!” Ron 
sneered. 

“And tastes like!” Debbie chimed in.

Ron laughed as he lit a cigarette. He passed the Marlboro over my 
head, and Debbie took a drag. 

“I hope you’re getting your two-hundred dollars’ worth, Peter,” she 
said with a giggle as I lowered my head to her crotch.

*   *   *

After everyone was cleaned up, I remained on the floor while Debbie 
and Ron informed me of their plans. They didn’t want to continue 
meeting people through their want ad. The whole idea of taking out 
that ad was for them to find a permanent slave. They were looking 
for one steady person who would pay for the privilege of coming to 
their house two or three times a week to clean and attend to their 
personal needs. Eventually, when Ron’s student loans were paid off, 
they planned to move to a bigger house, taking their slave with 
them as a live-in servant.

“But everyone we've met so far was a dud,” Debbie said. “None of 
them worked out. But you, Peter...you’re perfect.”

When she said that, I felt like I was basking in the sun’s rays. 
Ron noticed my joyous mien, and quickly brought me down a peg.

“You’re a natural slave, Peter,” he said seriously. “But you have 
to understand something: If we decide to take you on, you’re going 
to have a life of hard work ahead of you. You’ll be treated like 
what you are: A slave. Your needs will not be an issue. This is a 
lifetime contract, and we expect you to live up to it with 
everything in your soul. Do you understand?”

I nodded, unable to find my voice. Debbie was looking at her 
husband, admiring his take-charge attitude.

“Peter, I think you’re going to work out fine,” Debbie said. Then 
she turned to her husband. “Thank god - I won’t have to do the 
laundry anymore!!”

"No, honey, you won't," Ron smiled back. "And just think about it - 
long, lazy days by the pool, with our own eunuch slave running 
around fetching things for us!"

Debbie sighed dreamily. "It's so erotic, isn't it?"

"Mmmmmm."

Nothing more needed to be said.


PART II - THE DAILY LIFE OF A EUNUCH SLAVE...COMING SOON TO A PORNO 
SITE NEAR YOU! (or, when I get the time to write it!)