Not wild about this artist but she is the real deal, a (gay) woman that gets off on depicting castration fantasies. Here’s her Twitter. This image is bloodier than usual for her.
Performed by another man, I believe. It’s bizarre that he has a strong erection during the procedure. It also doesn’t show both balls. And I suspect the cutter is not a medically qualified professional, which is not something I approve of or endorse.
Here’s his DA gallery.
In a small town, many women have written letters, all asking for the same thing. They want the circuit castratix to visit their town. Whether they fear their husbands straying away, want to stop them from getting jealous or simply wish to make their partners a little better behaved, they all have petitioned her.
Clad in black, her favored tools on her belt, there is no mistaking the castratix. When then men see her they shudder, as they know they will visit her soon. Although not every man will be castrated, each of them will visit her to have their genitals examined; she is an expert urologist.
The town hall has been co-opted as her surgery. Queuing down the main street the entire male population wait nervously. Beside them much of the town’s women are there to makes sure none try to escape. It is agreed amongst the women that the men don’t need to know what the castratrix will do to them until it is their turn.
When they get nearer the front of the queue, they can see the fate of their fellow townsmen. Some walk away relieved, their faces flushed and their balls still attached. Others are ushered away groggy, their hands reaching downwards and their scrotums empty.
Jon is escorted behind a curtain. The castratrix, with neither contempt nor compassion, orders him to strip. She takes one look at Jon’s stiff penis and orders him onto the table. He gulps and complies. With a practiced efficiency she secures his wrist and ankles to the table, and pulls a partition over his abdomen.
“This won’t take long,” she says. Jon can only sit and wonder what his wife had ordered. She had complained about his attitude recently and he suspected she wanted to see other men. He will find out soon enough.
Irrespective of whether his balls are soon to be removed, the castratrix inspects them thoroughly. Her gloved hands pulled on his sac letting her work her fingers round his testes. It was uncomfortable, but his penis stood as stiff as a mast.
There was a pinching, a quick sharp pain that was gone as quickly as it came. He felt more tugging below, not his genitals but around them. Breathing deeply, he tried to relax.
“There we are, all done,” she said as she pulled the curtain back. There was more kindness in her voice than there had been earlier. He could strain up to take a look down his body. He could see she had a jar in hand. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Her smile seemed only to widen as his eyes settled on her jar, or rather its contents.
Two pallid lumps were floating in the liquid, each with a thin red tail. “Look at what you have just been freed from.” Her voice was almost saccharine as she gave the jar a healthy a shake. “You may feel a bit down, but this is for the best, your wife certainly thinks so.”
She released Jon from his restraints and had him sit up. “Your wife opted for removing the scrotum too, it looks so much neater. Why, you wouldn’t have known there had ever been testicles in there.”
Jon was given a pair of white panties, tight and packed with medical gauze. It would keep his surgery site still and help his recovery. Gingerly he put on the rest of his clothes and let himself be led out of the building.
He walked out of the building and saw the queue of men outside. What was it in their eyes when they looked at him? Pity, contempt or fear, it didn’t matter. By tonight many of them would be men no longer, just like Jon.
Six months later and the town had settled into a new rhythm. Men who had once been good friends now had nothing to do with each other if one of them had balls and the other didn’t. Women who had had their hubbies fixed largely relegated them to domestic duties, while they had casual sex. The situation may not have sounded ideal for the new eunuchs, but they were too docile to protest. Simply put, they had neither the physical or metaphorical balls to complain.
Jon was cleaning the house. He kept his body free of hair, as his wife insisted and he did housework naked, as his wife insisted. Home life was a lot calmer, he and his wife never argued. They always did whatever she thought best and if he had a rare moment of disagreement, she would walk over to the mantelpiece and shake the jar that had Jon’s manhood in it. That always quietened him.
Their sex life was unrecognizable. Sometimes his wife would tell him to pull on his “weenie”, as she called it. He couldn’t get hard, but it was still somewhat pleasant. She seemed to enjoy tracking how it got smaller as time went on. She had got him a vibrator so he could entertain himself, while she invited a man over.
Jon had been very sulky when he lost his balls, but now he recognized that there was new enjoyment in his life. He lost his still intact friends, but there was a kinship with his fellow eunuchs. They lived stress free lives and did not have to worry about male bravado or being able to pleasure women. In time he came to recognize his wife had made the right call when the circuit castratrix came.