An Amazon gently lifted the feminized form of Hawkman-Girl from the operating slab, carrying him away to sleep off the sedation. Epione plopped the male's organ into the canopic jar, swirling the thick preservative over the ugly, flaccid thing. She admired her collection for a moment before calling for the next patient to be brought to her.

Her shoulder was sore from all this work. The paradise of Themyscira was meant to be impregnable (in every sense of the word) and so her skills were usually only required every decade or so to castrate the rare Greek man whose stormtossed boat drifted beyond the illusions and protective wards to beach himself on their shores.

There was some joy to knowing she'd emasculated more men in a single day than in the past two centuries combined. But the heroes' flesh was so tough, like old mutton! It had taken all her strength and an enchanted blade to carve through Superman's adamant-hard penis and sculpting his dainty Amazonian womanhood into his impenetrable torso had felt more like a mining operation than a surgical one. She'd had to consult the augur, who had recommended an auger.

Her sisters brought her next patient, sedated, draped limply between their arms, his legs trailing in the dust behind him. They laid him on the operating slab. The Plastikos Man, they called this one. Wrinkling her nose, she tugged aside his red leotard and reached down to grasp the phallos. To her surprise and somewhat relief, it was pliant to the touch, squishing between her fingers like the jellyfish they fished from the shallows. She pulled it, laying it out on the stone for her knife.

"By Aphrodite," she breathed, as the phallos stretched out to one pēchys, the distance from her elbow to her little finger, then two pēchys, three! Soon it draped over the edge of the slab. Surely that wasn't normal, was it? How... repulsive? Her heart beat faster, a flush burning her face.

It mattered not. The bigger they are, the harder they... the harder they... She raised her surgical blade to banish the unAmazonian thoughts creeping into her mind. "Tiresias, guide my arm," she intoned, swinging down.

The knife struck stone. At the last moment, the manhood had wriggled sideways, dodging the blade! She startled back with a girlish squeal unbecoming of a woman of her centuries before slashing again -and again- while the thing thrashed and flopped each time to dodge the blade. "Stay still, miserable worm!" she roared.

The blade finally cleaved through it with a neat, bloodless snip. The severed organ flops away like a landed fish. Yet she barely had time to celebrate her victory before the vacated crotch bubbled and swelled and, horror of horrors, grew into two. She recoiled, holding the blade defensively. It was the beast from legend. "Hydra!"

"Hi to you too!" Her patient was sat up on the slab, peering through his glasses with a broad grin. "Keep going; you almost got it! Don't let that thing boss you around."

"You're meant to be sedated!"

"I thought you might need a hand," he shrugged. "Let me help you with that."

He inhaled, retracting the twin-headed genitals into his torso. He pursed his lips and exhaled, two breasts inflating on his chest with soft 'flomphs'.