I apologize for the long text, but I hope it proves worthwhile for you nonetheless.
Note: This story is pure fiction, and all characters involved are of legal age. It deals with the following themes: Femdom, CFNM, ballbusting, humiliation, cannibalism, and, of course, castration.
Alessandro studied his reflection for the umpteenth time. He smoothed his hair—even though there was nothing to smooth—straightened his bow tie, which was already sitting perfectly, and brushed imaginary dust from his lapel. He knew he looked good—like the professional waiter he was.
If only this weren't his first shift since graduating from the waiter academy... Today, he had to prove his skills and show that all that training had been worth it.
Alessandro was a twenty-two-year-old, tall and slender man, with a handsome face and sleek black hair. He was clean-shaven, and the waiter’s uniform his boss had given him was of top-notch quality. He tried to convince himself that he not only looked the part but actually knew his craft. He simply had to give it his all!
After all, he wasn't serving just any ordinary guest today, but Madame Dulcea Măcelaru—the most important regular, or rather the matriarch, of "Fiona’s Finest." His boss, Fiona—a petite woman in her late twenties with short, strawberry-blonde hair and freckles—had told him a lot about Madame Măcelaru and how indispensable she was to the establishment.
She appeared only once a month, but when she did, she ordered a very special menu—one available exclusively at "Fiona’s Finest" and solely for her. And she paid a price for it that was enough, on its own, to keep the business running.
It annoyed him greatly that Fiona wouldn't tell him what the dish actually consisted of. But that wasn't really his concern; he just had to serve it. After all, preparing the menu was Marta’s job as the chef.
Finally, it was time to leave the men’s changing room—a room he didn’t have to share with anyone since he was the only male employee. He found that a bit odd, too, but perhaps Fiona was simply extremely picky about hiring men because she wanted to provide a safe workplace for her otherwise all-female staff.
Alessandro was certain that they were safe with him. Of course, he had the occasional improper thought—who didn’t?—but he knew how to keep his hands to himself and avoid saying anything even remotely inappropriate.
Outside, he immediately ran into Stella, the head waitress and his superior.
"Ready, busboy?" she asked coolly.
"My name is Alessandro, and I’m a waiter," he said as calmly as he could. "Yes, whatever," said Stella. "Anyway, Madame Măcelaru has just arrived. You’d better get out there and greet her!"
A short while later, Alessandro carried a tray with a glass of champagne into the dining area and headed toward the only occupied table.
The woman sitting there put her phone aside and glanced at him. Her eyes roamed over Alessandro’s entire body. Yet it seemed to him that her gaze lingered for a particularly long moment right at his crotch—long enough to make Alessandro feel uncomfortable.
He wondered if she was scrutinizing him so closely because she was looking for a hot fling and wanted to gauge how well-endowed he was. But then he pushed the thought aside. What could a woman like her possibly want from a man like him—someone who, in her eyes, was little more than a boy?
Besides, he was aware that his pants were a bit too tight in the crotch, leaving little to the imagination regarding his anatomy should he become too excited. He had nearly complained to
Fiona about it but ultimately didn't dare; he didn't want to seem ungrateful or overly forward for a novice.
Yet he took this as permission to study her more closely as well.
He guessed she was in her late forties or, at most, her mid-fifties. And even though she was more than twice his age, he found her incredibly attractive.
She had broad hips, a slight paunch, and large, soft breasts that, while slightly sagging, invited a cuddle. Her face showed a few fine lines, and her red lips formed a warm smile. Her hair was styled in a voluminous layered cut and dyed a dark brown that matched her eyes perfectly.
Her outfit consisted of a form-fitting sweatshirt dress—also in dark brown, almost black—that accentuated every curve, paired with black high heels. The overall impression was one of understated elegance. Alessandro quickly tried to shift his focus away from his guest's appearance and back to work when he noticed his penis beginning to stir inside his pants.
"Good afternoon, Madame Măcelaru," he greeted her. "My name is Alessandro; I’ll be your waiter today. May I offer you a glass of champagne to start?"
"Good afternoon, young man—you must be the new one. Fiona has already told me about you. And I must say, she spoke of you with great admiration. They say you’re a true professional," she said in a calm, smoky voice that sent a shiver down Alessandro’s spine.
She exuded a truly commanding presence. He felt a faint urge to drop to his knees before her and kiss her hand—or perhaps even the tips of her shoes. Yet he pulled himself together and maintained his disciplined composure.
"You are too kind, Madame," he replied, offering her the tray with a slight bow. "I am merely a novice. Should you have any complaints about my service, please let me know so that I may improve. May I take your order now?"
Madame Măcelaru picked up the glass with a graceful movement and held it against the light, as if checking its cleanliness, before finally taking a sip. It took less than ten seconds, yet to Alessandro, it felt like an eternity.
"Very well," she sighed. "Let me think."
Alessandro noticed himself becoming slightly impatient and immediately felt guilty about it. Yet he wondered why she was taking so long, given that she always ordered the same menu anyway. She took another sip, licked her lips, and finally said to him:
"Bring me a plate of Rocky Mountain Oysters with cream sauce and a glass of L'Ermite Ermitage Blanc."
Alessandro dutifully noted it down and bowed again.
"Very well, Madame."
Another shiver ran through his body, centering on his groin, as he imagined such a lady—radiating pure eroticism—eating bull testicles, just as the recipe for "Rocky Mountain Oysters" required. He wasn't normally prone to castration anxiety; yet at the mere thought of it, his testicles seemed intent on retreating into his underbelly. And yet, he was also strangely aroused.
"Well?" Stella asked, eyeing Alessandro suspiciously as he entered the kitchen, shielding his groin with the empty tray.
Stella was around thirty, slender and petite; she wore her long black hair in a severe bun, with only two strands framing her pretty yet stern face. She was leaning against the counter, evidently having just been deep in conversation with Marta, the cook.
Marta was a busty woman in her mid-thirties with blond hair tucked beneath a chef's hat. Her flushed face, featuring a short, broad nose, always wore a slightly mischievous look. She was sitting on a chair right next to Stella. Her blouse was wide open, and her apron sat low, revealing a deep cleavage that inevitably drew the eye—especially Alessandro's, as he could not escape the view from his elevated vantage point.
Right now he became painfully aware of how tight his pants were, and he took great care not to shift the concealing tray too much.
“Um… she'd like a plate of Rocky Mountain Oysters with cream sauce and a glass of L'Ermite Ermitage Blanc,” he repeated the order.
“She'd like what?” Marta exclaimed in surprise.
“Just great!” Stella snorted. “Now that's something new.”
“Excuse me?” Alessandro asked, confused. “Isn't that what she always orders?”
“No, it isn't!” Marta cried. “And we aren't prepared for that at all! You need bull testicles for that, and we don't have any testicles in stock!”
“Well, actually, we have two,” Stella said, nodding in Alessandro's direction.
Alessandro blushed. “Ha. Ha. Very funny, Stella,” he said with forced cheerfulness.
Marta leaned forward, accentuating her ample cleavage even more, and fixed her gaze on Alessandro's crotch.
"Actually, that's not a bad idea," she said. "They'd be a bit small, sure, but definitely fresh!"
"Can we please stop making jokes at my expense?" Alessandro sighed. "And instead, think about a practical solution? Maybe we can offer her something else, or perhaps quickly procure some bull testicles from somewhere."
"What? And disappoint our best customer and then make her wait?" Stella exclaimed angrily. "Do you want us to have to close? No!" she yelled. "Drop your pants! We'll take your balls!"
"Oh, stop it, Stella! I am serious!" Alessandro cried.
"So am I," said Stella, approaching Alessandro threateningly.
"No!" he shouted. "You can't just chop off people's body parts and serve them as food in a restaurant! That's inhumane and against all laws of food safety! And I certainly don't agree with this!"
"Oh! But you already did—when you signed your employment contract!" Stella retorted with a mischievous grin. "I guess you never read the fine print, did you?"
"What? What do you mean by that?" asked Alessandro, turning pale.
At that moment, the door opened and Fiona walked in. The petite businesswoman, with her short strawberry-blonde hair, looked displeased. "Why is my most important guest out there waiting for her drink?"
"We’ve run out of testicles," Marta answered. "And Alessandro here refuses to do his job and sacrifice his balls for the sake of the guests—and for the good of us all!"
"That is truly outrageous of you, Alessandro! And not very cooperative or even professional!" Fiona exclaimed, wagging a finger at him.
Alessandro threw his hands up in frustration and dropped the tray, causing his erection to become visible beneath the fabric of his pants. Marta and Stella giggled.
"Have you lost your minds?" he shouted. "You can't force me to get castrated over a food order! That violates my bodily autonomy—and on top of that, it would be cannibalism!"
Fiona placed her hand against her forehead and sighed. "Let me explain your rights and obligations to you," she said.
She took out a tablet, opened a document, and zoomed in on the view. "By signing this contract, you have pledged to do everything in your power to fulfill the guests' wishes—no matter how peculiar they may be or what costs they incur for you, even if it involves inflicting non-lethal physical injury on yourself. Should you fail to meet these obligations despite having the means to do so, you must pay me one million dollars in compensation. A refusal would plunge you into a debt trap for the rest of your life—and so early in your career, that would likely mean it goes straight down the drain. Or do you think anyone would hire you as a waiter after that? Especially if Madame Măcelaru has you on her blacklist. She can ruin your career prospects in any profession!"
Alessandro examined the fine print he had been shown and began to tremble as the truth dawned on him.
"That... that's blackmail!" he exclaimed. "And I'm sure that clause has to be invalid."
"You can challenge it in court, of course," said Fiona, "but I doubt you have the means to do so. By the time you get justice, your life will long since be ruined—even with those ridiculous balls of yours still between your legs."
"But... but I wanted to get married and have kids one day!" Alessandro exclaimed in frustration.
"Aww..." said Marta. "Youthful dreams! How sweet!" Stella merely yawned, covering her mouth with her hand.
"Yeah, yeah, blah, blah..." said Fiona. "You rarely get what you want—at least not when you were born a have-not. Now get the lady her drink while we get everything ready, and then bring your damn balls back in here! And don't you dare try to run off. I’ve got you by the balls—thanks to this!" She held up the tablet displaying the contract.
Alessandro returned to the dining area with another tray—this time carrying a bottle of L’Ermite Ermitage Blanc, an exceptionally exquisite and expensive white wine, along with a glass.
His legs were unsteady and cold sweat trickled down his face and neck, yet he strove to maintain his balance and an air of composure. He felt as though he had stumbled into a surreal nightmare.
Like any young man, he tied his happiness to a fulfilling sex life, and now he faced the very real threat of losing his manhood—his virility, his literal testicles—simply to satisfy the culinary cravings of a wealthy lady. After that day, he would never be able to have sex again, at least not in the normal way. His plans to start a family would be ruined, and he might not even have the option of pleasuring himself when aroused or simply feeling down—assuming he could still feel arousal at all.
Yet the prospect of spending the rest of his life in poverty, stripped of living out his passion for service, seemed even bleaker and more terrifying.
Fiona would never let him out of this, and the other two were obviously reveling in malicious glee at what lay in store for him—at what they were about to do to him!
There was only one person who could save his testicles now: Madame Dulcea Măcelaru! If only she would change her order!
But perhaps therein lay his salvation! She had no idea of the consequences her choice of dinner held for him, and in a way, she too was a victim, as she would be tricked into unknowingly eating human testicles.
Alessandro decided to warn her and tell her everything, so she would realize that Fiona and her employees were a bunch of lunatics! She would surely call the police, "Fiona’s Finest" would be shut down, and he would make it home with his balls intact and remain a man.
"Please accept my sincerest apologies for the delay, madam," Alessandro began as he arrived at the table. "We became engrossed in conversation in the kitchen. Unfortunately, preparing your meal will also take a little more time; so, I have brought you some more wine—on the house, of course—to help pass the time while you wait."
Madame Măcelaru gave him a smug smile as she watched Alessandro pour the wine. When he set the glass down in front of her, he leaned forward slightly so he could whisper in her ear.
“Madam, I must ask you to leave—or at least change your order. These people are criminals! They’ve run out of bull testicles for your meal, and now they want to blackmail me into letting them use mine instead! Please go and call the police; otherwise, these madwomen will castrate me and serve you my testicles for dinner!”
The whole story sounded absurd even to Alessandru’s own ears, but he didn’t know what else to say to convince her.
Madame Măcelaru’s smile widened. She turned her head toward him and replied, “Don’t worry, my dear. I know what you’re afraid of, but I assure you, your testicles will be very tender and delicious!”
And at that moment, her hand shot forward, grabbed Alessandru by the testicles, and began to rub them—almost tenderly—through the fabric of his pants.
Alessandru recoiled, but the lady tightened her grip, making him gasp.
"You’d better go back inside now and help with the preparations! Out of sheer kindness, I’m overlooking the fact that you tried to deprive me of my pleasure—but if I don’t go home satisfied and happy today, I’ll ruin more than just your sex life! I promise you that! So get moving, little boy!"
She let go of him, and Alessandro hurried away, though he wasn't fast enough to avoid a quick smack on the butt as he turned. Behind him, he heard Madame Măcelaru’s mocking laughter.
Alessandro couldn't believe it! It was a conspiracy! The whole thing had been planned and staged from the very start—just to use his testicles for a dish! He had to get out of there immediately!
Of course, he couldn't run for the front door; he would have run straight into the arms of Madame Măcelaru, who surely would have stopped him somehow.
Instead, he tried to reach the emergency exit at the back. He ran past the kitchen door, turned the corner, and placed his hand on the handle to open the door when he heard a woman's voice say, "Oh no, you don't!"
A sudden, searing pain shot through his groin. His legs gave way, the breath left his lungs in a shrill scream, and he collapsed.
Alessandro clutched his testicles and curled up in the fetal position. The faces of three women appeared above him.
"It was obvious he’d try to back out," said Stella; she was still holding the meat mallet she had just used to smash Alessandro’s balls from behind.
"Yeah, they all do. They always try to save their nuts, as if they were something special!" Marta agreed.
"To them, they probably are something special—and that’s exactly why castrating them is so much fun for us!" said Fiona, kicking Alessandro in the butt.
The three of them lifted him off the floor and carried him into the kitchen. Alessandro was still in too much pain to put up a fight.
In the kitchen, they laid him on a countertop and secured him with straps that had been discreetly installed there long ago.
Before Alessandro could even protest, Marta shoved an apple into his mouth and secured it with a strip of cloth tied around his head.
Once they had fastened the straps, Stella began removing his shoes and everything he was wearing below the waist. His legs were secured in a spread-eagle position to allow better access to his testicles.
"Whew!" Marta exclaimed, whistling appreciatively through her teeth as Alessandro’s manhood was exposed. "Our little boy’s toy is certainly impressive. That cock is easily seven or eight inches long. No wonder he tried so hard to save his balls and keep it going!"
"Oh, come on!" Stella scoffed. "It isn’t even hard! And even if it were—to me, it looks more like six or seven inches at best. It’s not exactly huge, and his attempts to protect his virility were pretty pathetic, too! But I do appreciate that intimate shaving is a standard among young people these days. It saves so much time!“
Marta turned her head: "What do you think, Fiona?"
The owner and manager of "Fiona’s Finest" was standing at the end of the counter, right where Alessandro’s head was resting. She leaned forward, grabbed the head of his cock, and stretched it out. Alessandro groaned.
"It’s not bad," she said, "but I’ve seen bigger cocks—and thicker ones, too. But we’re about to find out just how big it can get."
"Yes, Alessandro!" Marta cried. "Because we have a little surprise for you! Trying to run away was a bit naughty of you, but you still get to cum one last time!"
"Yeah, yeah," Stella scoffed, "but only because Madame Măcelaru insists that your very last load of sperm be destroyed inside her stomach."
"That’s why you’re going to get milked properly now and then your cum will be added to the sauce!" Marta chirped happily.
Fiona leaned down even further until her breasts pressed against Alessandro’s face. Under different circumstances, Alessandro might have enjoyed it. Fiona had beautiful, soft breasts, and getting a handjob from his boss while nearly suffocating in her tits—that would have been a tempting prospect for him just an hour ago.
Fiona jerked him quite roughly with her hand while Stella kneaded his testicles.
It didn’t take long for his cock to swell to its full size of about seven inches. Shortly after, he felt his testicles pulsing and his penis throbbing in Fiona’s hand. She must have felt it too, for she pulled a small bowl closer and positioned the tip of his penis over it.
It happened just in time, as his hot cum shot into the bowl almost instantly.
"Not even three minutes!" Marta laughed. "Our little waiter is a real quick-shooter!"
"It’s a good thing his balls are being removed now," Stella commented. "I’d castrate a lover who turned in such a lackluster performance on the spot, too!"
"And rightly so!" Marta laughed, giving Alessandro’s testicles a smack that made him flinch.
By now, Stella had placed a small case on the tray between Alessandro’s legs and drawn up a syringe.
“It’s just a local anesthetic so you don’t pass out from the pain—after all, you still have to serve later.”
With a quick prick, Stella injected a portion of the syringe’s contents into each side of his scrotum, then repeated the same with his testicles in rapid succession. It hurt like hell, but the apple in his mouth instantly stifled any scream of pain.
Stella lifted Alessandro’s testicles and rolled them back and forth in her palm.
“Can you still feel that?” she asked him with a smile.
Alessandro stared at her, his eyes wide. It was the first time he had seen her smile genuinely. Apparently, the prospect of cutting off a man’s testicles filled her with joy.
Then she set down the testicles, put on surgical gloves and a face mask, rubbed her hands with disinfectant, and reached for the scalpel.
Alessandro felt hardly anything as she made the incisions and removed his testicles from the scrotum on both sides. Marta assisted by wiping away blood and handing over and taking back instruments, while Fiona held his penis out of the way the entire time.
When Stella had finally clamped off Alessandro’s spermatic cords, she reached for a small pair of scissors.
Alessandro closed his eyes as she lifted his right testicle.
“No,” said Fiona, “you should watch! It’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience!”
Reluctantly, Alessandro opened his eyes—just in time to see Stella close the scissor blades and sever the cord.
She carefully placed the organ into a small dish and handed the scissors to Marta. Marta giggled as she took his left testicle in her hand and held the scissors up for everyone to see.
"Look closely, boy!" she cried excitedly. "This is where your last—oh-so-wonderful—ball says goodbye!"
She positioned the blades against the spermatic cords and made the cut.
The testicle came free and was set down next to its counterpart. Alessandro let his head fall back with a sigh of defeat.
Marta took the bowl containing the semen and the dish with the testicles and set to work, while Stella was busy stitching up the incisions and tending to the wounds.
"We left the little sac of skin for you," Stella said. "You can fill it with testicular prostheses later, if you want to pretend you’re still a man."
Alessandro wept silently as his head rested against Fiona’s bosom and she gently stroked his hair.
Dulcea Măcelaru’s eyes lit up, and she smiled as the double doors opened and Alessandro entered the dining area for the third time.
He appeared calm, yet it was the calm of resignation—the resignation of a completely broken man.
He wore a shirt with a bow tie, a black vest, and shoes and socks, but nothing in between—save for a second black bow tie neatly draped at the base of his limp, hanging penis.
Madame Măcelaru’s gaze lingered on that spot, and she studied it with great interest.
The head of his penis was still reddened from Fiona’s firm grip, as was his slack scrotum, which swung back and forth like a small flag with every step.
Her gaze wandered up to Alessandro’s eyes; they looked sad, and his puffy eyelids clearly betrayed the fact that he had been crying.
Dulcea Măcelaru pressed her lips together before twisting them into a knowing grin. Seeing him like this was clearly a personal highlight for her.
Fiona, Marta, and Stella followed Alessandro’s trail; it almost seemed as though he were being accompanied by three nannies, all meticulously ensuring that their little boy didn’t botch his big moment.
Yet Alessandro had no reason to back out now. He had already lost any sense of personal dignity or masculine pride—after all, he was now carrying the very thing that had made him a man on a tray before him, ready to be devoured by a woman.
"Most esteemed lady," he announced in a distant, almost monotonous voice, "I present to you the dish you desired: Rocky Mountain Oysters, prepared from the freshly harvested testicles of a human male—with a personal recommendation from the whole staff and me."
Thank you for your very personal contribution,” she replied with a mocking undertone. “You’re such a well-mannered boy—well, former boy. As a reward, I insist that you keep me company and witness my enjoyment.”
Naturally, a man’s testicles are much smaller than a bull’s, and so was the dish on Madame Măcelaru’s plate compared to regular Rocky Mountain Oysters.
Alessandro’s deep-fried balls, served with a bit of salad and lemon, looked like something from a five-star gourmet restaurant—the sort of thing one ordered for prestige rather than to fill one’s stomach.
The usual cocktail sauce had been replaced by a white cream sauce with a peculiar, salty flavor.
It would have been possible to eat it all up within seconds, yet Madam Măcelaru took the time to cut the balls into tiny pieces and savor every single bite.
And with each bite, she glanced over at Alessandro, who was still standing beside her, forced to watch with tears in his eyes.
Finally, she finished and elegantly dabbed her mouth with the napkin.
"I thank you all," she said contentedly. "That was exquisite, once again! And a special thanks goes to you, young... well... non-man."
She turned to Alessandro, reached between his legs, and toyed with his limp scrotum and penis.
"And what a well-behaved little prick you have now! I simply can't get over how cute it is!"
Alessandro trembled. How many more humiliations would he have to endure before he finally collapsed completely?
Madam Măcelaru let go of Alessandro’s ruined manhood, stood up, and stretched.
"And now it’s time for you to get something to eat too, former boy!" she announced.
Everyone looked expectantly at Alessandro, who gazed at Madam Măcelaru in utter confusion.
"I’m sorry, ma’am," he stammered, "what do you mean?"
"Well, you'll see," she said. "And now, on your knees!" she commanded, pointing downward.
Alessandro knew there was no point in resisting—half-naked and surrounded by vicious women as he was. Besides, it was precisely that impulse—to throw himself on his knees before this woman—that he had felt when he first saw her. So why not do it now?
No sooner had he sunk to his knees—as if in prayer—than Madame Măcelaru lifted her sweatshirt dress, exposing her sex to him.
"Thank me now for relieving you of the burden of manhood, and eat my pussy!" she commanded, taking a step toward him.
"Um..." Alessandro swallowed hard. "Thank you..." he began, but got no further, as his face was buried beneath Madame Măcelaru’s outer labia and a tuft of pubic hair.
"Enjoy," she said. "Your performance will determine the extent to which I support your future career as a eunuch servant."
Alessandro inhaled the musky scent of her vagina and thrust his tongue as deep inside as he could. Then he began to lick like never before, as if it were the most delicious ice cream.
Madame Măcelaru started moving her hips back and forth as if riding a rodeo bull and moaned, "Oh yes, that’s good—right there! There’s nothing better than riding the face of a young man you’ve just had castrated. Aah! Oom... Yeah!"
Stella and Marta giggled softly as they filmed the scene with their phones.
"I’m glad you’re happy with everything," said Fiona.
"Yes, oh! You made a great choice there! He reminds me of my stepson back when I brought him here!"
"Oh yes, I remember!" Fiona replied. "That was right after you had your ex-husband castrated and stripped of his fortune during the divorce! How is your stepson doing now?"
"Ooh!" Madame Măcelaru exclaimed with delight. "I got him a job with a friend of mine! He scrubs floors and licks boots—just like the good, naked eunuch slut he is!"
"Speaking of naked—have your sons-in-law settled into their new lives yet?" Fiona chatted on.
"Ha! Ah! Those fools still think my daughters will unlock their cocks one day, and they’re still so embarrassed about having to clean my hou... ahh! house naked! Little do they know, I threw away the keys to those chastity cages ages ago! They won't see their cocks again until they get divorced and castrated."
Fiona, Madame Măcelaru and the other two laughed in unison while Alessandro kept liking and sucking.
Later that day, Alessandro entered the tiny office at the back of the restaurant that Fiona used. He was wearing his own clothes now but moved somewhat awkwardly in them, given he was missing something crucial.
Fiona was busy typing at her computer.
"What is it?" she asked. "Um... I’m sorry, Fiona," Alessandro said sheepishly. "But Stella has already left, and she didn’t tell me when my next shift is."
"There won’t be a next shift for you," Fiona replied. "You don’t work here anymore!"
Alessandro gasped. "But why? After everything I’ve been through!"
"I’m sorry, Alessandro," Fiona said, continuing to type, "but your testicles were an essential part of your qualifications. So, unless you manage to grow a new pair within a month, I have no further use for you."
"But... but I’m still a trained waiter!" he cried.
"Yes, sure," Fiona said, without even looking up. “But honestly, I can’t keep every guy who delivered the oysters for Madame Măcelaru’s dinner, otherwise, my restaurant would be crawling with eunuchs who might scare off any new man I want to hire for his balls! No, Alessandro, you have to go! But don’t be too sad; I’ve got a new job for you, somewhere else! Ever heard of Lady Lorena’s ‘Empress Palace’? It’s a holiday resort exclusively for wealthy ladies. They love being served there by a naked man — with a limp cock, no balls, and round buttocks that are perfect for spanking! Of course, they’ll make fun of you, but they pay well, and no one outside those walls needs to know you’ve lost your balls. Besides, you’ll be able to put those newly discovered oral skills of yours to good use there. I’ve already called them; they’re coming to pick you up any moment now.”
Alessandro frowned. “Do I have a choice?” he asked meekly.
“Nope,” said Fiona. “You’re under contract. I can transfer you wherever I want. That too is in the fine print, just like the clause stating you can’t simply quit on your own! You really ought to read the fine print next time you sign an employment contract. But as it stands, you’ve basically signed yourself into slavery.”