The night after castrating and sending my former slave off to his fate, I slept well, knowing that I had done the right thing. Now, however, I was without a slave. Good slaves, the kind one keeps, are difficult to find. I resolved to select very carefully this time.
My search began on the ‘Net. Using my access to the highly secure “Masters Only” website, I posted a “Slave Wanted” notice. After a few weeks of no replies, I decided to check the usual haunts in the city – a none too enticing prospect. However, to my good fortune, I was greeted with the sight of a slight young Asian man moving into my building. He looked to be perfect slave material. He was in his early twenties, slender and very feminine in his movements and gestures. His attitude suggested a wealthy upbringing. Often, wealthy Asian families “exile” their gay offspring to New York City, where they fit into the culture readily. At home, they would be an embarrassment, causing loss of face and scandal. This young man was just moving in. It was mildly amusing watching him order the moving company personnel around with his effeminate gestures and high-pitched voice.
Later, I asked the doorman which apartment he had taken. I was told “11C,” in a tone that indicated displeasure, probably over an insufficient gratuity, certainly not over his sexual orientation.
I let my candidate settle in for a few days, and then prepared a note which read “If you want a good master, be in the lobby on Friday at noon wearing a red kerchief around your neck.” This, I slipped under his door after I had seen him leave the building with his dog. I waited the few days until Friday, then went down to the lobby at noon. He was there, a blazing red scarf wrapped around his slim neck. I walked over, smiling. His face lit up. “I was hoping it would be you,” he said. “Come with me. Now,” I told him firmly. Obediently, he followed me into the elevator and, after the ride up, into the foyer of my apartment. I explained the necessity of a blood test before he was initiated. This he understood and agreed to. I tied off his right arm, painted the inside of his elbow with antiseptic, punctured one of his veins and withdrew several tubes of blood for testing. He let me do all this without resistance. I packaged the tubes, called the lab for pickup, then had the doorman come fetch the package from outside my apartment. The results, which I hoped would be negative, would be phoned to me tomorrow morning. That out of the way, I began to explain what was expected of him. Absolute obedience without any discussion was the first requirement. No matter how unpleasant the task seemed, he was to undertake it immediately and without argument. As my slave, he would be well cared for but his unwavering devotion was expected at all times. Displeasing me would result in long, painful punishments the like of which he couldn’t even imagine. I explained to him what I had done with my previous slave. He understood. I also explained that I would be removing his balls as soon as the test results came back. At first, a little fear blossomed in his eyes, but that was soon swept away by a look of complete submission.
Ordered to strip, he did so quickly. He pirouetted, spread his butt cheeks for my examination. His balls were medium sized, hung in a small sac just below his uncut penis, which was none too large in length or diameter. His body was slender and firm, his skin was healthy. His hair was a bit too long for my taste. The overall impression was one of a restrained urge to please in any way possible. I approved. If the tests worked out, he would make an excellent slave.
To my question about how he had come to move into my building, he answered that one afternoon his father had caught him in the throes of passionate lovemaking with a boy from his school. He and the other boy had been beaten unmercifully. Because his partner was of the lower classes, his punishment had been less severe. To avoid embarrassment to his wealthy family, he had been taught English by a female tutor and had not been allowed in the presence of any other male, except his Father, while he was being educated for his exile to our country. He told me that he had missed his friend, but that he realized that there was no way for him to have any such relationship in his country. His family had set up a trust fund to cover his needs, purchased an apartment for him to live in and told him never to try to get in touch with them again. His father was looking forward to being notified of his death from AIDS. He went on to say that he had long dreamed of being subjected to the will of a strong male and that he hated his testicles and wanted them removed. In all, he seemed the perfect slave candidate.
I explained to him that he was always to address me as “master” and that I would always address him as “slave,” since I would have only one slave at a time. He accepted this with a “Yes, Master.” We retired to separate rooms for the night.
The lab called the following day to let me know that he was negative for HIV and other venereals tested for. It was time to get to work.
Several years ago, I had had a soundproof room constructed in my apartment for the purpose of disciplining slaves without disturbing my neighbors. The room had an adjustable restraining table, a small surgical sterilizing facility, a video camera, TV and VCR for recording, a microwave and other equipment, such as ceiling and wall hooks. The room had its own plumbing. It was painted in white enamel and all the hardware was of stainless steel. Clean and efficient. Over time, I had castrated a number of other masters’ slaves as well as two of my own.
In preparation for harvesting his glands, I had my slave bathe in hot water to soften and loosen his scrotal skin. Using antiseptic soap, I washed off his entire body and carefully depilated his scrotum. He enjoyed this prepping and became fully erect as I escorted him into my special room. Forbidden to speak, he had given several gasps of pleasure while bathing and being cleaned. At the sight of the table, he let his towel fall to the floor and turned to me with a questioning look. Without a word, I turned him around to face the table, adjusted it to his height, inserted his erection into the hole provided and strapped his legs down firmly, spread apart so that his sac hung down and was easily accessible.
Because I like to operate in silence, there was an inflatable heavy rubber gag supplied by a hose near the table. This I took and placed into my slave’s mouth, on top of his tongue, then turned a stopcock to allow compressed air to inflate the gag. The valve allowed air to flow into the gag. Deflating it was accomplished by unscrewing another valve in the gag. Shortly, the gag filled his mouth. He couldn’t cry out and could breathe only through his nose. I applied the arm and head restraints. I moved the TV in front of the table and opened up the eye slot so that he could see the screen. Next, I positioned the video camera so that an image of his hanging balls appeared on the screen. Completely gagged and tightly restrained, he could watch his own castration.
From the way he was suggestively moving his butt, I could tell that he wanted me to fuck him. I decided to fuck him until he came, holding my own orgasm until he was fully my slave. Using jojoba oil as a lubricant, I inserted myself into his tight butt hole, slowly working my way in. It felt good. It took a lot of pressure to make his sphincter give way, and the slave gave a muffled cry as I suddenly advanced my full length up into him. With willpower, I held myself back, using my prod to massage his prostate until I felt it pulse repeatedly against my cockhead. Although I couldn’t see, I knew that his dick had jetted his last sperm-bearing load out onto the floor under the table. Pulling out immediately, I washed off my cock with antiseptic solution, then painted his dangling sac with antiseptic all the way up and back to his butt hole. Now he was ready. A hair dryer set at maximum heat provided the stream of hot air that loosened his sac and made his balls dangle far from his body. I made a small cut parallel to where his scrotum joined his body. With a small pair of surgical scissors, I snipped carefully around the sac where it joined his body, being careful to cut only the sac skin. When the circle was complete, I tugged his scrotum free, leaving his small balls dangling by their cords from his body. They looked like pinkish-gray cherries hanging there, waiting to be picked. Using my electrocautery needle, I sealed up the bleeders in the circular sac wound. To simplify his nutting, I twirled his balls around each other until the cords formed a single braid. This I sutured off as close to his body as possible. “Are you ready to give up your balls, slave?” He nodded his head. With a single swipe of the scalpel, I harvested his manhood. Working quickly, I cauterized the ends of the cords, then ran a suture in and out of the skin all the way around the open cut where his sac had been. With one finger, I pushed the cords back up into his body, then drew the suture very tight, closing the sac wound like a purse. I tied off the suture and spent a few minutes cauterizing any spots that looked as if they might bleed. When the wound healed, my slave would have a small roseate scar just below the base of his penis instead of a sac containing balls. A big improvement for a slave, believe me. I painted the area with antiseptic again. Now it was my turn. First, I loosened the straps that were immobilizing his legs. After painting my sac with antiseptic to avoid spreading infection, I inserted myself into his backside again and took my pleasure as the first man to have this eunuch slave. My pleasure was enhanced by his rapid movements, and, after a few minutes I emptied my balls up his ass with a great cry of release. A fully satisfying orgasm, one I would not soon forget.
I deflated his gag and freed him from the restraints. He stood up and looked at me expectantly. “Clean up the room. When you are finished, bring me your severed parts,” I ordered. After about twenty minutes, he presented me with his severed balls in a small stainless steel bowl.. My inspection revealed that he had done an excellent job cleaning up. Everything was sterilized and back where it belonged. An excellent job. This slave would serve me well. I picked up his dead balls. “Open your mouth, slave!” I placed his balls into his open mouth and closed it. “Now, chew and swallow.” He did so. So began his life as my eunuch slave.
Winston Horton II started out that day like he did any other. Out of bed by five, twenty minutes on the Stair Master, shit shower and shave followed by the donning of his power suit, then two cups of coffee and one slice of dry wheat toast, and then an hour on the Internet before driving to his office.
His Internet ritual never varied; Email first, followed by the weather then the latest market listings, news, sports, and finally an online auction site that he monitored daily in search of rare and unique collectibles. He always clicked first on the newly listed items, and on that particular morning nearly shit his pants.
The picture that opened was that of a naked youngish man bent forward at the waist to allow an unobstructed rear view of his scrotum. The young man, or boy, or whatever he was had a small ruler wedged between his smoothly shaved thighs to give a reference to the size of his testicles. Beside it was a front view of the same young man. His legs were again spread and a hand was shown holding his cock up against a neatly trimmed pubic bush. The obvious heat in the room made the young man’s testicles hang luxuriously low and a single drop of perspiration hung like a pearl from a hair on the bottom of his scrotum. There were about a dozen other thumbnails that could be opened to full size pictures, but Winnie, as his few friends called him, ignored them to read the merchandise description.
“This auction is for two healthy disease free testicles that are currently on a nineteen year old adult white Caucasian. The winning bidder will have the privilege of removing or destroying them in whatever manner he chooses, with the stipulation that the removal must take place no farther than fifteen minutes drive from a medical facility. The auction price also includes ten days unrestricted use of the subject’s body, provided of course, that no other permanent injuries or scarring occurs. The minimum bid on this package is five hundred thousand dollars and the auction will run for one week only. Don’t miss this opportunity to expand your collection or to experience life’s ultimate power trip.”
Winnie opened a few more of the thumbnails and re-read the offering, and finally shed his Brooks Brothers coat and responded to the stirrings in his crotch. He unhooked his hand tooled leather belt, carefully lowered his sharply creased trousers and pushed his chair back to allow free access to his cock. He stroked slowly at first, taking the time to open another of the thumbnail pictures, them more rapidly as he began to ponder the possibilities, until he finally pumping with a speed and intensity that he’d last done as a teenager. His orgasm was like an explosion of white lava from a volcano, and having no towel or napkin in which to contain it, he abruptly stood up and turned to cast his pent up seed on the Persian carpet. He sagged back into his chair, breathing heavily, and was immediately disgusted by his adolescent act and also slightly pissed off that he was now running late.
He thought about the auction all during the drive to his office and he nearly ass ended the car in front of his before catching himself daydreaming. He could certainly afford to bid in the auction. He’d inherited several million dollars and had doubled that many times more developing and selling real estate. He had spent millions on his rather eclectic art collection and had no regrets in doing so. His wife had died many years ago and his only son had walked out of his life a year ago, right after graduating from High School.
He felt the acid boil in his stomach as he thought about that day. His son had been waiting for him, and as soon as Winnie came in the door Junior introduced him to a huge twenty-two year old black kid and announced that he and Ted were as of now life partners. Winnie’s idea of a good time didn’t include getting fucked in the ass or sucking dick, but he was tolerant of and respected other people’s peculiarities. He’d known for a long time that his son was different, but he’d assumed that the boy had enough sense to stay in the closet, get married, and produce an heir.
Winnie could have accepted a temporary liaison with a classmate but the kid went apeshit and fell in love with and older man, a nigger to boot. The memory of his delicate, fine boned son standing on his tiptoes to passionately kiss the nigger on the lips was still fresh in his mind, and the mere thought of what was probably a massive black cock pumping in and out of the smooth white ass that Winnie had at one time wiped, powdered, and diapered made him physically ill.
Junior also used that opportunity to drop another bombshell; he had no intention of going to any college, let alone the Ivy League school that Winnie had been grooming him for. Instead he and Teddy were moving to the South to ‘immerse themselves in the culture of the noble Afro-Americans by living in their traditional life style,’ whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. Winnie had no intention of leaving his only child completely out in the cold, and he’d prepared a generous stock portfolio that he intended to present to his son for a twenty-first birthday present. He felt certain that by then the boy would be tired of living in squalor and would come to his senses and ditch his nigger boyfriend in favor of a better life.
Winnie thought about the auction for a while before deciding that he’d have his lawyers do some research. He knew some people that had gotten stung by on-line auctions but nobody had ever gotten the best of Winston Horton, II on a business deal.
Several time zones to the East, Winston Horton, III and Teddy were awakened by the strident chirp of their alarm clock. Although it was late in the morning local time, it was their usual time to rise and shine. They smiled at each other, then rolled out of bed and strode naked to the toilet where they spent the next half minute first chasing a spider around the bowl with their piss streams, then playfully mingling the streams to form a single splash as they emptied their bladders in what had now became a morning ritual. They finished and then washed and carefully dried their cocks off before returning to bed.
“So, Hortie, you think your old man saw it?” Ted said, spreading his legs slightly.
“Oh yeah, he saw it all right,” Hortie replied, licking the inside of Teddy’s recently shaved thighs and lifting the long black cock out of the way to gain full access to his plump balls. “He probably jacked off as soon as he saw it and blew his wad all over his keyboard.” He paused long enough to retract his partner’s foreskin and run his tongue around the end of the rapidly inflating cock. “I spent eighteen years listening to him talk about ‘getting people by their balls’ and ‘cutting them off at the pockets’, and just looking at that collection of what he calls art almost makes me sick. There’s no way he could ever miss out on something like buying a guy’s balls.”
“You sure he’ll do it?” Teddy was still a little doubtful.
“He’s probably got his lawyers checking it out right now,” Hortie rubbed a generous dab of lubricant along Teddy’s shaft. “ He’ll make sure it’s legal, then he’ll want some more pictures and details,” Hortie said, rising to his knees and bending forward to place his forearms on the bed. “It’s the way he always does business.”
“I sure hope so, Hortie. I sure hope so,” Teddy replied, dragging his cock down the slender white boy’s back and into the crack of the smooth, hairless ass. “I’d sure hate to have him slip the meat to us, you know?”
Winnie’s lawyers got back to him late that day, giving him their opinion that the purchase would probably be legal provided he verified the donor’s age and got a written permission slip authorizing him to perform the castration. Winnie wasted no time in sending off an email to the auction site requesting more information and also more pictures, preferable of the young man’s face.
“So Hortie, what’s next?” Teddy asked, coming up for air. Hortie was on his back, knees bent and feet in the air. Teddy was crouched in front of him and had been alternating between licking Hortie’s cock, balls, and asshole, sticking his supple tongue as far into the orifice as humanly possible.
“I won’t send him a picture of my face but we’ll watch the bidding and wait.” Hortie answered, now breathing hard. Teddy had been holding him right on the edge or orgasm for over an hour, and when he came it was going to be one of the best ones ever. He’d been with girls and a couple of other guys, but Teddy could excite him in ways that he’d never dreamed were possible.
“What if, you know, someone else wins?” Hortie asked.
“Won’t happen, lover,” Hortie answered, “Once he figures out it’s me, there’s no way he’d let anyone take his only son’s balls.”
“He was mad enough to nut both of us last year.” Teddy commented before sucking both of Hortie’s balls into his wide mouth and slipping his index finger into Hortie’s ass. Hortie’s answer was choked off by his explosive orgasm and it was a full five minutes before he could again speak.
“If Dad doesn’t win the auction,” he murmured, “we just walk away. As long as we don’t take anyone’s money there’s no harm done, right?”
The next day Winnie’s email in-box included mail from the administrator of the auction answering some questions Winnie had posed to the young man attached to the testicles that he was bidding on. The young man was in desperate need of money, and being as how he was a dedicated ‘bottom’ in a committed relationship, he had no further use for his balls. He would gladly send more pictures of the merchandise but none of his face, nor would he include any clue to his identity either before or after the purchase and subsequent removal of the gonads. As a side note, the young man added that he’d also received a proposal from an Oil Sheik who had reportably performed many castrations and had a reputation for cruelty. The Sheik was offering a million one hundred thousand to end the auction early.
“Did he go for it?” Teddy asked Hortie later the next day.
“I didn’t set the hook yet,” Hortie replied, showing Teddy the final picture. “Once he gets this he’ll cave though, that’s for certain. He promised Mom he’d never lay a finger on me, and once he figures that it’s me that he’s bidding on he’ll pony up a million and a quarter to keep me out of the Sheik’s evil clutches.”
Winnie’s email the next day included another picture and a message from the owner of the goods to the effect that although he really wanted a million five he would end the auction early if the bidder was an American. Winnie thought about it a long time and then opened the attached picture. It wasn’t very different from the others; just a simple rear view of the boy on his knees with his hand around the neck of his scrotum, tugging the balls downward as if presenting them for inspection. Winnie looked at the picture, caught his breath, and then sent it to his Photoshop program so he could enlarge it. His first impression he had when he saw the hand that was around the scrotum was correct. Prominently displayed on the ring finger was his grandfather’s old class ring. The same ring that Winnie had presented to his son on the day of his high school graduation.
Later that same day Hortie received an email from BsVd8690, his father’s auction identifier. Included was a voucher for a round trip plane ticket from anywhere in the US to Portland, Oregon. It also contained a draft of the contract that Hortie would be required to sign and a list of explicit directions. Hortie was to fly to Portland and check into the Holiday Inn under the assumed name of William Rogers. The room was prepaid and the desk clerk would have a package for waiting for him, which included the contract, a leather hood, padded restraints for his hands and feet, and an account number and verification code for the offshore bank where the funds were on deposit. He would read and sign the contract, put on the hood and restraints, and fasten himself spread-eagle on the bed. The purchaser would then enter at precisely Noon, verify that the contract had been correctly executed, then consummate the deal, after which the purchaser would make the call releasing the money and summon an ambulance, if necessary.
“Jeez, Hortie,” Teddy said as they read the message, “he sounds pretty serious”
“I’ve seen it before,” Hortie answered. “It’s just the way he does business. Dot all of the I’s and cross all the T’s, that sort of thing. Don’t worry, it’ll all work out.”
“I’d just hate to lose these things,” Teddy answered, pulling Hortie’s shorts down and fondling the white boy’s balls, which he considered were as much his as Hortie’s.
Hortie ended the auction, much to the disappointment of the Sheik, and made preparations to travel. The next day he was in Portland, where he checked into the Hotel and went to the room to wait. The door opened exactly at noon and his father confidently strode into the room. “Shit!” I should have known that this would all be one of your schemes!” Winnie said, turning towards the door to leave the room.
“Dad, wait!” His son pleaded. “Yeah, it was kind of rotten, I’ll admit. But we really do need the money. If you won’t give it to me them I’ll just start the auction up again and let the chips fall where they may. Is that what you want?”
Winnie sat on the side of the bed and thought a long time before answering his son. “I promised your mother that I’d never lay a finger on you, and I guess that promise still holds. The money is yours. Take it and may it bring you happiness. There is one thing though.”
“What?” Hortie asked, elated that his plan had worked.
“Sign the contract,” Winnie said, taking the gold plated Parker from his pocket. “You can’t transfer the money unless I present the bank with the signed contract.”
“Okay,” Hortie answered, “Fair enough, I guess.” It always came down that way with his dad. Business first and foremost, everything else could wait.
“Okay, that’s that. I guess, but you could do one other thing for me.” Winnie said.
“What’s that?” Hortie was willing to bend a little, after all. He was now one and a quarter million dollar richer.
“Let me realize at least a little of my fantasy,” Winnie pleaded. “Please, strip down and put on the restraints. Let me see what I missed out on.”
Goddamned old pervert, Hortie thought. And he has the nerve to think that I’m screwed up. Well, I guess he earned it. “Okay,” Hortie replied, shedding his clothing and fastening the manacles around his wrists and ankles. “Anything else.”
“Flop down on the bed, Winston, and let me look at you.” In a matter of seconds Winnie had clipped the restraints into the pre-installed eyebolts on the ends of the bed. He had to admit that his son had a magnificent body. He still had the inherent slimness and fine features of a youth. His flaccid cock drooped lazily over the large testicles that sagged heavily between his hairless thighs. Winnie couldn’t resist reaching out and gently grasping his son’s balls and rolling them around between his fingers and hefting them, as if comparing them to his own. His inspection of his son’s balls was suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Dad!” Hortie said, suddenly embarrassed by his nudity and compromising position. Winnie ignored his son and went to answer the door.
“Good evening, Your Highness,” Winnie said cordially, as the Sheik entered the room. The Sheik merely nodded, then strode to the bed and looked at Hortie for a few minutes before reaching down and roughly squeezing the unprotected balls hard enough to elicit a cry of pain from the boy.
“Very good, Mr. Horton.” The Sheik’s English was impeccable. “The money is in this suit case. One million, five hundred thousand dollars, as agreed. Do you wish to count it?”
“There is no need, Your Highness, we are both men of honor.” Winnie replied, picking up the suitcase and heading for the door. After his son ended the auction Winnie had contacted the Sheik and sold the contact on his son. Subtracting the auction’s commission he’d cleared slightly under two hundred thousand dollars. Not bad for a few hours work. Perhaps his son, once free of the aberrant hormones that ruled his body, would ditch the jungle bunny and return to school and get his degree. Hell, with the kind of money he now had he could even get his Masters.
I hit the “Send” button, logged off, closed the laptop and sat back. I was on a business trip to the States and as always I’d arranged some free time in my schedule which was a particularly good thing on this occasion as I’d made contact on the internet with a guy and had arranged to meet him. He sounded interesting and we had some mutual interests.
We’d first made contact on GearFetish and had been emailing for around 6 months. He’d told me that his name’s Joe and that he’s 25 years old. We exchanged photos although by mutual agreement there were no face shots. If the photos really were of him, then he was of athletic build, hairy and – well, interesting.
From the start it was clear that we have a mutual interest in restraints. He said that he’d got a large collection of handcuffs – and he liked using them! His other interest was tight clothes and he left me in no doubt that his particular fetish was tight breeches and jeans. He elaborated by saying that he particularly enjoyed wearing the polyester and spandex 4-way stretch type of breeches – “as worn by motorcycle cops” and he added “but tighter!” Well that was fine by me, here was a guy into cuffs, cuffing and tight pants ….. and he’d suggested a meeting – it couldn’t be better!
When he heard that I’d be visiting Georgia he immediately suggested a meeting and although it was a tempting suggestion I was naturally cautious. Was he a bit too eager? What did I know about this guy? Well, not a lot! If he was levelling with me, I knew his name, age and I had a rough idea of his appearance, that was all. So I asked a few more questions and suggested we had a chat on the phone; he sent me his phone number straight away and I called him as soon as I had an opportunity. He answered after a couple of rings and we chatted for several minutes, small talk really but it broke the ice and he sounded like a genuine sort of guy – in fact he sounded very promising, especially when he explained that his place was out in the country, surrounded by fields and woods! I asked him what he did for a living and although he wasn’t evasive I didn’t get a direct answer so as it wasn’t important I let it go, unanswered.
He’d suggested meeting at his place and he was understanding when I expressed some reservations about that (haven’t we all heard the warning “never visit a stranger at his place if you’re alone”!). So the deal was that he would let me have his address, I would drive to his place, stop outside, sound my horn, he’d get in my car and we’d go off to a bar for a couple of beers and a face-to-face chat so as to decide our next move. That’s why the next email I got from him gave me his address – which was a house in Pine View Road, together with his zip code. I checked it out on Google Earth. Sure enough, it was a modest looking house surrounded by fields and woods – just as he’d said.