Cut Down to Size
A Fictional Story by EunuchSupreme.
“Initial here,” she said, pointing to a dense paragraph with the tip of her nail. “And here. And the box on page seven.”
He scrawled his initials without reading. He’d already signed a dozen similar forms. Penile augmentation was a serious procedure, he told himself. They made you sign all kinds of waivers.
Nurse Odette watched him with cool amusement. “You know what you’re getting, Mr. Cal?”
“I’m going from five inches hard to eight,” he said, trying to sound confident. “That’s the surgery. Penile enlargement.”
“Mmm.” She clicked her pen. “Whatever you say.”
Across the prep room, a second nurse—broad-shouldered, freckled, with her scrubs stretched tight over her arms—snorted. Her badge read Blair. She folded a blood pressure cuff and didn’t bother to hide her grin.
“Let’s see the patient’s baseline,” Nurse Blair said. She pulled a paper measuring tape from her pocket. “Drop ’em.”
Cal’s face burned. He was already half-hard from nerves and the clinical cold. He pushed down the thin hospital gown. His cock rose to its full five inches, pink and eager, bobbing against his belly. He’d always thought it looked okay. Average. Maybe a little thin. But these women looked at it as a joke.
Nurse Odette pinched the tape at the base and ran it along the top. “Five inches,” she announced. “Fully erect. Cute.”
Nurse Blair wrote it down. “Thin too. Like a breakfast sausage.”
“A breakfast sausage has girth.” Odette laughed. “This is more of a cocktail straw.”
Cal’s cock twitched. He hated that their contempt made him harder. His shaft leaked a clear bead. Blair noticed.
“Oh, look,” she said. “It likes being mocked already.”
“Told you,” Odette said. “He checked the Nasty Nurse Post-Op Protocol box. Signed the fine-print addendum. He wants us to be mean.”
Cal swallowed. He had checked that box. It was part of a fantasy he’d always had—being humiliated by dominant women. He thought it would be hot to wake up bigger and still get verbally degraded. He never imagined they’d take it this far.
But the addendum had been dense, and Odette had been watching him with those amused eyes, and he’d signed. He’d signed all of it.
—
When he woke, the ceiling lights were too bright. His mouth tasted like copper. His incision site throbbed under layers of gauze. He blinked and saw two figures at the foot of the bed.
Nurse Odette was holding a metal ruler.
Nurse Blair had a clipboard. She was already laughing.
“He’s awake,” Blair said. “Perfect timing.”
“Mr. Cal,” Odette said sweetly, “how are we feeling?”
“Groggy,” he managed. “Did it work? Am I… bigger?”
The two nurses exchanged a look. Then they both burst out laughing. Not polite laughter—deep, gut-level cackling that bent Blair forward and made Odette brace a hand on the bed rail.
“Bigger?” Odette finally wheezed. “Oh, honey. No.”
She snapped on a fresh pair of gloves. The sound made Cal flinch. She peeled back the gauze with slow, deliberate care. The bandages came away in sticky layers. When the last strip fell, Cal stared down at himself.
His cock was smaller.
Not just smaller—radically, absurdly smaller. Flaccid, it lay against his thigh like a pale, chubby inch of flesh. The surgery site was clean, but the proportions were unmistakable. It looked like the cock of a very small boy.
“What the fuck?” His voice cracked. “What—what did you do?”
“The surgeon performed a penile reduction,” Nurse Blair said, tapping her clipboard. “You signed the consent. Page fourteen, paragraph C. ‘If the attending physician determines the patient’s penile dysmorphia is psychological rather than anatomical, a corrective reduction may be performed to align physical presentation with clinical reality.’”
“I didn’t—I wanted eight inches!”
Odette laughed again. “You wanted eight inches, but you had five. Dr. Vane thought five was a delusion of grandeur. So she surgically corrected that delusion. You should be thanking her.”
Cal tried to sit up, but the anesthesia made his limbs heavy. His heart pounded. Bile rose in his throat. “This is malpractice! I’ll sue!”
“Sure you will,” Blair said. “Or you could read the addendum you initialed. You agreed to the Humiliation and Reduction Contingency. It’s all notarized.”
Odette held up a glossy photograph—Cal’s own signature, followed by a neatly typed clause. He recognized his sloppy initials. He had signed it. He’d been too turned on by the idea of nasty nurses to read what he was agreeing to.
“We’re not monsters,” Odette said. “We’re giving you exactly what you asked for. You wanted us to be nasty. You wanted to be humiliated. Now you get the full package.”
She picked up the ruler. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”
Despite his horror—or because of it—Cal’s little cock stirred. It swelled slowly, rising from its cushion of pubic fat. Blair reached over and flicked a gloved finger against the tip. He gasped.
“Oh, it still works,” she cooed. “Just smaller. Much smaller.”
Odette measured from base to tip. “Two point five inches,” she announced. “Fully erect. That’s not even a dick anymore. That’s a clit.”
Blair leaned in for a closer look. “I’ve seen women with bigger clits. I’ve seen actual clits bigger than this.”
Cal’s face burned. His cock twitched again, a thick drop of pre-cum beading at the slit. The nurses noticed immediately.
“It’s leaking,” Odette said. “The little nub is so happy to be laughed at.”
“Pathetic,” Blair agreed. She dragged the tip of her finger through the moisture, then held it up to the light. “Look at this. A single tear of baby juice. Crying because it got cut down to size.”
Cal moaned. He couldn’t help it. His hips lifted off the bed, seeking more contact. Some warped, deep part of his brain had flipped a switch. The horror and the humiliation had fused into white-hot arousal. His new tiny dick ached. His balls—still normal-sized, which made the contrast even more absurd—tightened.
“He likes it,” Odette said. “Look at him rutting into the air like a horny little dog.”
Blair grabbed his shaft between two gloved fingers—two fingers completely covered the entire length—and began stroking in short, terse movements. It was more a pinch than a handjob. Her thumb smeared pre-cum over the tiny head. Cal’s whole body shook.
“Please,” he whispered. “Please—don’t stop.”
“What was that?” Odette cupped a hand behind her ear. “Speak up, little man. Use your words. Tell us what you are.”
“I’m—” He swallowed, humiliated beyond speech. “I’m small.”
“You’re not small,” Blair said, tightening her grip. “A small cock is four inches. A small cock is three. You are nothing. You are a tiny-dick baby with a two-inch nub who got surgically reduced because even five inches was too much for you to handle.”
Cal sobbed and bucked. His cock was so small now that her two fingers looked enormous around it. The visual made his head swim. She worked him faster. Odette pressed a gloved thumb against his balls, rolling them like marbles.
“You wanted to be eight inches,” she sneered. “And instead you’re a clit with a pulse. What do you say to the nursing staff, Mr. Cal?”
“Thank you,” he gasped. “Thank you for—for reducing me. Thank you for cutting it down.”
“Good boy.” Blair’s thumb flicked over the tiny frenulum. “Now cum. Show us what that pathetic little thing can do.”
Cal lasted three seconds. His orgasm hit like a seizure—hips snapping, toes curling, a thin rope of cum spurting from his two-and-a-half-inch cock. It leaked pathetically over Blair’s gloved fingers, not shooting, just bubbling out. She kept stroking him through it until he whined and tried to squirm away.
“That’s it?” she laughed, wiping her fingers on his hospital gown. “One squirt? My clogged sink has better pressure.”
Odette clucked her tongue. “So much for the big man who wanted eight inches.”
Cal lay there, panting, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, his deflating nub twitching against his thigh. He had never been more ashamed in his life. He had also never been this hard again within thirty seconds.
Nurse Blair noticed. “Look at that. It wants more.”
“It always wants more,” Odette said. “That’s the problem with little dicks. Insatiable, but useless.”
She splayed a hand on Cal’s chest and pushed him down. “You’re on the post-op observation schedule for the next six hours. Nurse Blair and I will be checking your vitals and your… progress every thirty minutes.”
Blair grinned and snapped a photo with her phone—a close-up of his two-and-a-half-inch erection, still slick with cum, next to the ruler for scale. “For the medical record,” she said.
Cal didn’t protest. He didn’t ask if she would delete it. His tiny cock twitched weakly, and he realized with a fresh wave of humiliation that he was already looking forward to the next measurement.
“Please,” he whispered. “Can you measure it again?”
The two nurses laughed, loud and cruel, and Nurse Odette reached for the ruler.
—
Nurse Odette clicked the metal ruler against the bed rail. The sound echoed in the small recovery room. Cal lay there, chest heaving, his new two-and-a-half-inch erection twitching against his thigh. A thin line of spit-clear pre-cum still connected his slit to the sweat-damp sheet.
“You want it measured again?” Odette asked, dragging the cold edge of the ruler up the inside of his thigh. Cal shivered. “Of course you do. All little boys want to see how short they really are.”
Blair was already leaning against the counter, arms crossed under her chest, watching with the lazy satisfaction of a woman who had seen it all before. “Get him hard again first,” she said. “Proper baseline. We need erect length, not that half-mast bullshit.”
Cal’s face burned. He was already hard—harder than he’d been in years, thanks to the shame clawing up his spine. But as soon as Odette wrapped two gloved fingers around the base of his shaft, he felt himself strain further, the tiny head swelling to a furious pink. He was fully erect now, all two and a half inches of it.
“There,” Odette said, pressing the ruler flush against the top of his cock. She squinted. “Two point five. Exactly. Not even a quarter of a ruler.”
Blair let out a low whistle. “I’ve seen bigger clits on a bodybuilder. And those are just side effects from steroids.”
Cal whimpered.
Odette pulled the ruler away and held it up next to his face so he could see. The two-inch mark sat just below his navel; the tip of his cock barely cleared the quarter-inch marker past it. She wiggled the metal. “This is what you wanted eight inches to look like? You couldn’t even fill a standard cylinder for a blood test.”
“I’m sorry,” Cal whispered. He didn’t know what he was apologizing for—being born small, wanting to change it, signing the wrong forms. But the apology felt right.
Blair pushed off the counter and strolled to the foot of the bed. She plucked a tongue depressor from the clean supply tray and held it beside his erection. The wooden stick was a full five inches long. His cock looked like a sad stub next to it. “Look at that,” she said. “You’re half a tongue depressor. The board we use to push patients’ tongues down is double your size.”
Odette laughed and tossed the ruler aside. “Maybe we should start calling him Tongue Depressor instead of Mr. Cal.”
Cal’s cock throbbed. A fresh bead of pre-cum bubbled at the tip and dripped down over Odette’s still-wrapped fingers. She didn’t wipe it off. She simply held her hand up for Blair to see.
“It’s leaking again. Poor little nub thinks it’s a real cock.”
“It thinks it can fuck,” Blair corrected. “That’s the saddest part.”
Cal closed his eyes, mortified and burning. He wanted to cover himself, but his wrists were still loose at his sides, and every time he tried to move, the IV line in his arm pulled. The nurses had made no move to untie him, because he wasn’t tied. He simply lay there and let them mock him. And his traitorous body loved it.
“Please,” he gasped. “Please keep going.”
Odette arched an eyebrow. “Keep going with what? The measuring? The laughing? Or the two-finger stroking we gave you earlier?”
“All of it,” he admitted. “I want—I need to be humiliated.”
Blair and Odette exchanged a long, slow look. Then Blair bent down, brought her face close to his tiny erection, and blew a cool stream of air across the head. Cal’s hips jerked off the bed.
“Aww,” she cooed. “The little thing flinches. Just like the patient.”
Odette tapped two fingers against his hip. “Let’s do a post-op functional test. See what this reduced equipment can actually accomplish.” She turned to Blair. “Get the catheter tray. And the speculum.”
Cal’s stomach dropped even as his cock twitched. “What—what are you going to do?”
“Don’t worry,” Odette said sweetly, peeling off her soiled gloves and snapping on a fresh pair. “We’re not going to hurt you. We’re just going to evaluate the surgical outcome.” She paused. “Well, not hurt you much.”
Blair returned with a sterile tray covered in a blue drape. She set it on the rolling cart beside the bed and pulled the sheet down to Cal’s ankles. His legs were bare, his body exposed, his tiny cock standing straight up like a perverse finger pointing at the ceiling.
“Sit up,” Odette ordered.
Cal struggled upright, the head of the bed automatically rising with a soft whir. Now he could see everything: his pale thighs, his normal-sized balls looking absurdly large beneath the two-point-five-inch shaft, the two muscular nurses looming over him in their scrubs.
“First test,” Odette said. She picked up a sterile cotton swab—the kind used to collect a throat culture—and held it next to his erection. “Length comparison. Record it.”
Blair made a note on her clipboard. “Cotton swab: three and a half inches. Patient: two and a half inches. Patient is two-thirds the length of a Q-tip.” She looked up. “Should we write that in the permanent record?”
“Absolutely,” Odette said. “Medical findings must be documented.”
Cal squeezed his eyes shut, but the image burned behind his lids: his cock shorter than a cotton swab, shorter than a tongue depressor, barely visible between his thighs. He felt a fresh rush of blood to the tiny organ.
“He’s reacting to that,” Blair observed. “Pulse is up. Respiratory rate elevated.” She tapped the pulse oximeter on his finger. “SpO2’s fine. He’s not dying. He’s just a masochistic little freak.”
Odette picked up a clear plastic specimen cup. It was one of those small urine cups, about four inches tall. She uncapped it and held it near his cock. “What do you think, Blair? Would he even be able to get it in there?”
Blair snorted. “Barely. And only if the cup was warm and wet and told him he was a good boy.”
“Let’s test.” Odette positioned the open cup just above the tip of his erection. The opening was maybe two inches wide—plenty. But as she lowered the cup over his shaft, his cock disappeared entirely inside the plastic container. The rim of the cup sat against his pubic bone. Not an inch of him poked above the edge.
Blair burst out laughing. “He fits in a urine cup! The whole cock, balls-deep in a sample container. That’s not even a dick anymore. That’s a lab sample.”
“Make him hump it,” Odette said, and grabbed Cal’s hip. “Go on, little man. Fuck the cup. Show us your best.”
Cal moaned in shame but obeyed. He bucked his hips, thrusting his tiny cock against the smooth plastic. It was too wide, too smooth to create any friction. All he could do was smear pre-cum along the inner wall and watch as his balls slapped against the rim. It felt absurd and degrading and so, so good.
“Faster,” Blair commanded. “Like you actually know how to fuck.”
He tried to go faster, but there was nothing to grip. After thirty seconds, his cock began to soften, unable to maintain without proper stimulation. Odette pulled the cup away, leaving a string of milky fluid bridging the gap.
“That’s pitiful,” she said. “You can’t even stay hard long enough to finish. The reduction made you even more useless.”
Cal sagged against the raised bed, panting, his semi-hard nub now barely two inches. He felt tears prick his eyes again, but they were tears of shame and arousal, not fear. He wanted more. He needed them to keep degrading him.
“Second test,” Blair announced. “Masturbation endurance.”
She grabbed his left hand and placed it over his cock. His own fingers wrapped around the entire shaft, thumb and forefinger meeting at the tip with room to spare. He realized, with a fresh wave of horror, that two fingers could cover him completely—and his own hand was proof.
“Go on,” Odette said. “Jerk yourself off for us. Show us what a big man you are.”
Cal stroked himself. It was almost impossible—there was so little to hold on to. His hand moved in short, awkward twitches, more like rubbing a button than pulling a shaft. The pre-cum coated his fingers, making a slick, wet sound. The nurses watched silently, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.
“That’s not stroking. That’s trying to start a fire with a matchstick,” Blair said after ten seconds.
Cal whimpered and came. It was a pitiful little spurt, barely a teaspoon of clear fluid that dribbled over his knuckles. His cock pulsed weakly in his grip, then deflated to a soft, pink stump.
“Ten seconds,” Odette said. “I’ve seen premature ejaculators last longer with a feather.”
“The man who wanted eight inches,” Blair added. “Can’t even last ten seconds with his own hand.”
Cal lowered his hand, staring at the thin smear of cum on his fingers. His chest heaved. He felt empty and humiliated and buzzing with humiliation.
“Now,” Odette said, her voice soft and dangerous, “the final functional test.” She pulled a small, silver speculum from the tray and spread it open to about two inches wide. The metal glinted under the fluorescent lights. “Can this reduced cock actually penetrate anything? Or should we just list you as permanently retired from vaginal intercourse?”
Blair laughed. “Put him inside that and see if he can even reach the hinge.”
Odette brought the open speculum toward his groin. The narrow end was about an inch and a half wide, and his flaccid cock was even smaller now. She positioned it so that his limp nub rested against the cold metal.
“Go on,” she said. “Get hard. Try to get inside.”
Cal tried. He focused on the humiliation, on the cold metal, on the two women laughing at him. His cock twitched, began to swell, and then—nothing. He couldn’t achieve more than a pathetic half-inflated state: too much shame, too much overstimulation, too much reality.
“He can’t even get it up,” Blair said. “What a waste of surgical resources.”
Odette snapped the speculum shut with a metallic click and dropped it back onto the tray. “Well, that settles it. Penetration is off the table. Going forward, your role will be strictly oral and service-based. You’ll be trained to eat pussy like a good little dickless slave.”
Cal’s stomach flipped. His cock twitched once more, then lay soft against his thigh. “Please,” he whispered. “I want to serve.”
The two nurses looked at each other, then at him. Odette smiled—a slow, predatory curl of her lips. “Get on your knees,” she said. “Nurse Blair and I are going to conduct a very thorough oral examination.”
The bed lowered automatically as Cal swung his legs over the side. His feet hit the cold linoleum. He slid off the mattress and onto his knees on the hard floor, the hospital gown falling open around him. His tiny cock hung soft between his legs, utterly useless.
Blair hiked up her scrub pants and stepped forward, planting one foot on the edge of the bed. She wore plain black underwear beneath, already damp. The scent hit Cal like a wave. His mouth watered.
“Open wide, Tongue Depressor,” she said, pressing the crotch of her panties against his face. “Let’s see if that mouth works better than your dick.”
—
The cold linoleum bit into Cal’s knees as Blair ground the damp crotch of her panties against his mouth. He opened wider, tongue pushing past the cotton, seeking the heat beneath. The fabric was soaked—she’d been wet for minutes, maybe since the first measurement. That realization made his useless little cock twitch between his thighs.
“Look at him,” Odette said from above. She’d pulled up a stool and now sat with her legs crossed, one scrub-clad foot bobbing. “Finally found something he’s good at. And it doesn’t require an inch of dick.”
Blair grabbed the back of his head and yanked him closer, pressing her clothed cunt hard against his nose. “Breathe through your mouth, Tongue Depressor. Oh wait—you can’t. Your mouth is full of my pussy.”
Cal moaned into the fabric. Her scent flooded his sinuses—salt, sweat, the sharp tang of arousal. He lapped at the cotton, tasting her through it, while his hands hung useless at his sides. She hadn’t told him to use them, so he didn’t dare.
“The surgical outcome is clear,” Odette continued in that mock-clinical tone. “Patient’s penis is non-functional for penetrative intercourse. However, oral aptitude appears promising. Recommend comprehensive retraining as a service-oriented patient.” She paused, and Cal heard the scratch of pen on clipboard. “I’m writing this in your chart, by the way.”
Blair finally hooked a thumb under the waistband and pushed her panties aside. Her bare cunt met his tongue, smooth and swollen, the lips parting around his mouth. She tasted strong now—copper and citrus and raw need—and Cal devoured her like a starved man.
“That’s it,” she breathed, rocking her hips in slow circles. “Put that overeager tongue to work. It’s the only part of you that doesn’t disappoint.”
He latched onto her clit and sucked. She gasped, fingers twisting in his hair. Above him, Odette laughed.
“Don’t get tender with her. She likes it rough. Use your whole face if you have to—lord knows you’ve got nothing else to offer.”
Cal thrust his tongue as deep as it could go, nose buried in her trimmed pubic hair. His jaw ached. Drool dripped down his chin and mingled with her wetness. He could hear the slick sounds of his own service, obscene and rhythmic. His cock, pressed against his thigh, had begun to leak again, a thin trail of pre-cum cooling on his skin.
“Tell me what you are,” Blair demanded, grinding downward.
“Mmm—your urinal?” he mumbled against her flesh.
Odette cackled. “Oh, that’s perfect. He knows he’s a toilet.”
“I’m a toilet,” Cal repeated, the words vibrating against Blair’s cunt. “I’m a hole for you to use. I’m nothing but a tongue and a pair of knees.”
Blair came with a shuddering groan, her thighs clamping around his head. Hot fluid gushed over his tongue and chin. He drank it greedily, swallowing every drop, even as she pulled away and left him gasping, his face glazed and dripping.
“Your turn,” Blair said to Odette, already stepping back to lean against the counter, tugging her pants down further. “I want to watch him earn his discharge papers.”
Odette uncrossed her legs and stood. She was taller this way, towering over him as he knelt on the floor. She unhooked her scrub pants with slow, deliberate fingers, letting them pool around her ankles. No underwear. Her cunt was completely bare, the lips already parting with arousal, a glistening slit between muscular thighs.
“I’m going to sit on your face,” she said. “And you’re going to thank me for every second of it. Understand?”
“Yes, Nurse Odette.”
She straddled his chest first, then rose onto her toes, positioning her cunt directly above his upturned face. For a moment, she held herself there, letting him see how open she was, how completely she intended to own him. Then she lowered herself.
Her weight settled onto his mouth, his nose crushed against her pubic bone. He couldn’t breathe except in short, desperate snorts. His tongue found her entrance and pushed inside, curling upward to stroke the textured wall. She began to rock.
“Good little tongue depressor,” she murmured, rolling her hips. “This is the only pussy you’ll ever taste. The only one you’ll ever be allowed near. Because that stub between your legs couldn’t satisfy a woman if she came pre-lubricated and already halfway there.”
Cal whimpered and lapped faster. His own hips began to move involuntarily, humping the air, the cold floor, nothing. His cock was fully hard now—all two and a half inches—and it smeared pre-cum across his lower belly as he thrust helplessly at nothing.
“Look at him,” Blair said from somewhere to his left. Her voice was raw, satisfied. “Humping the air like a dog in heat. He’s going to cum from eating you out.”
“Let him,” Odette said, grinding down harder. “It’ll be the most pathetic orgasm of his life.”
The degradation tipped him over. The combination of her weight, her taste, the ache in his jaw, the knowledge that his own erection was so small and useless he couldn’t even rub it against anything—it all coiled at the base of his spine. His balls drew up.
“I’m going to—” he tried to gasp, but her cunt muffled the words.
“Cumming already?” Odette laughed breathlessly. “You haven’t even been inside anyone. What are you going to do, squirt on your own stomach like a broken water fountain?”
That did it. Cal’s body seized. His hips bucked once, twice, and thin, clear fluid spurted from his tiny cock, landing in a pathetic arc across his own thigh. It wasn’t thick or white—just a watery dribble that pooled in the crease of his hip. The orgasm felt like being wrung out, like his body was mocking him even in release.
Odette came a heartbeat later, grinding down on his face and letting out a low, satisfied groan. Her fluids flooded his mouth, and he swallowed on instinct, nose still buried in her. When she finally lifted herself off, he slumped backward against the bed frame, chest heaving, face covered in her slick, his own useless cum drying on his thigh.
Blair squatted down beside him. She held up a black permanent marker. “Before you leave, we’re labeling the surgical site.”
“No—” Cal started, but Odette pushed his thighs apart with one foot.
“Hold still,” she ordered. “This is medically necessary.”
Blair uncapped the marker and wrote across his groin in neat, block letters: 2.5 CM—EXHIBIT A. The cap clicked back on. Both nurses admired their work.
“There,” Odette said. “Now every time you look down, you’ll remember exactly what you are.”
Cal stared at the black letters above his limp, half-erect nub. His whole body burned with shame. And still, somehow, the corners of his mouth twitched upward.
“Can I… come back?” he asked, voice hoarse. “For follow-up appointments?”
The nurses exchanged a glance. Then Blair smiled down at him, slow and knowing.
“Honey,” she said, “we were planning on scheduling you for weekly checkups anyway. Pussy-breather training is an ongoing treatment plan.”
Odette reached down and ruffled his hair as if he were a pet. “Same time next week, Tongue Depressor. Don’t be late.”
Cal watched them pull up their pants, smooth their scrubs, and walk out of the recovery room without a backward glance. The door swung shut behind them with a soft click. He remained on the floor, back against the cold bed frame, marker still wet on his groin, his tiny cock soft and spent.
He looked down at the words again. 2.5 CM—EXHIBIT A.
The shame was still there, hot and pulsing under his skin. But so was the anticipation. Seven days. He would spend all seven days thinking about their hands, their laughter, their cunts. About the way Odette’s weight felt on his face. About Blair’s cold, clinical fingers wrapped around his useless stub.
He reached down on impulse and pressed two fingers against the black marker. It smeared slightly, the ink still fresh. But the words remained legible. Permanent.
Just like his new purpose.
Cal smiled and let his head fall back against the bed, mouth still tasting of both women, and began to count the hours until his next appointment.
The End.
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