You lay still, silent, not yet struggling. The lower half of your body is hidden from view.

The scent of sweet perfume mixes with what you assume to be shaving foam.

Finally she pulls the curtain aside.

‘Nice and smooth down there,’ she smiles, consigning the razor to the bin. You notice an empty jar placed ominously at the foot of your bed.

Her hair is tucked back into a neat bun and her lips are a perfect shade of red. She looks nice. But she isn’t. She spares the small talk.

‘Now I have three favoured methods,’ she explains, placing a £2 coin on the medical tray beside your bed. It accompanies an array of surgical and sterilized instruments some of which you recognize most of which you don’t.

‘My choice depends not on the pain tolerance or preference of my victim but on the toss of a coin.

‘I might as well explain them all to you so you know what to expect.’

‘The Burdizzo,’ she begins, holding aloft an exceptionally large pair of pincers. ‘The cords feeding your testicles are crushed so they simply shrivel and die. It makes a lovely crunching sound…like biting into fresh celery.’

She snaps the tool shut so it’s teeth bite hard together. A shiver runs through you but before you’ve had time to digest one fate she has moved on to the next.

‘The Elastrator.’

A smaller although none the less menacing instrument comes into view.

‘This works on the same principle. The device is used to stretch and position a very tight rubber ring behind your testicles cutting off their circulation. They go numb then die in a very short time and will probably/hopefully drop off within a fortnight. I’ve been told the pain is similar to a bad stomach-ache.’

A dull ache has already begun to throb deep inside you. She snaps on a latex glove and continues.

‘I’ve saved the best until last. The knife.’

The evil glint in her green eyes momentarily detracts from the scalpel as the light catches its freshly sharpened blade.

‘It’s not a sophisticated surgery,’ she assures you. ‘A quick slice, a sharp tug and a few stitches and you will be good as new – if not better. I won’t go in to too many gory details. I’m sure your imagination is already running riot.’

The ache is replaced by a sudden stabbing pain and with one adept flick she spins the coin in to the air above. You watch as it falls, realizing she’s still grasping the scalpel in her other hand.

‘Heads I win, tails you lose,’ she winks, silencing your protests with a single gloved finger held to your lips.

The procedure begins.

N.B. For those of you with balls for brains, this is purely a role-play scenario. I do not engage in actual castrations.