Testicles Taken

Applying Castration Bands To Testicles

I awake with a jolt when several intruders invade my bedroom and pin me to my bed.

The blankets are taken off me, and my underwear is pulled down. Someone has me in a head lock, others have my arms pinned, and yet more have my spread legs securely immobilized.

My ball bag is squeezed by a merciless hand and yanked violently down toward my thighs. I feel as though my testicles will be pulled right off my body because my scrotum cannot be stretched any more. My balls instinctively attempt to find refuge in my lower abdomen but they are held captive by the intruders.

All I can see are the shadowed forms of my assailants in the soft glow of a nightlight plugged into the wall near my bed. I count at least a half-dozen of them.

I feel the cold sharpness of a knife blade press against my scrotum and I discern a sawing motion there as my nut sack yields to the blade without resistance. And suddenly I realize that I am about to be castrated right there in my bed! I squirm and attempt to wrestle free, but I am held firm. I cannot stop what is about to happen. I surrender to the inevitable: I am going to be emasculated!

The one at my head hisses fiendishly, “You know what this is about, don’t you?”

Of course I knew. I had been warned that if I ever went public with the details of my brief same-sex affair with a male celebrity, I would be compelled to surrender my balls as payment for my disclosure. I knew the eventuality of this, but I never actually dreamed it would really happen!

But here I was, legs spread, naked, my genitals exposed, vulnerable and unprotected, and my balls about to be excised from my crotch. It was really going to happen! I was really going to lose my balls! My testicles were actually going to be taken!

As I contemplate my impending castration, my mind frantically mulls over the events leading up to this moment…

***

I met Armando “Marty” Martinez (his stage name) when I, as a cable repairman, was summoned to his home to run a diagnostic check on all his cable junction boxes.

It was the last service call of the day. Marty answered the door in his bathrobe and explained that he was about to take a shower when I knocked.

When it was obvious to Marty by the look on my face that I was trying to place his familiarity in my mind, he grinned and said calmly, “I know, you think you’ve met me before. I was on that TV show back in the 90s. You’probably seen me on TV.”

Of course! That’s why he looked so familiar. Truth be known, I had a crush on Marty when I watched that show. I’m sure that I, along with many a female teeny-bopper, fantasized about being with him naked.

He showed me where the junction boxes were; living room, dining area, and bedroom, and then hit the shower.

I quickly ruled out any problems in the two junctions boxes in the front rooms, and so focused on the one in Marty’s bedroom.

Once there, however, I gaped shamelessly at Marty’s beautiful nakedness in that shower! He had not bothered to close the bathroom door, and was on full lustful display in my line of sight where I worked on the junction box. It’s as though Marty wanted to be seen.

I chose to pursue this career because it seemed the macho thing to do. You see, I am a closeted queer scared to death that my homosexuality will become known to others, and I pump iron, keep in shape, and talk about my exploits with women so that no one will know my secret sexual identity or compulsions. But when afforded the opportunity to look at men or check out the guys, I can’t help myself. I give in to my lusts and unrestrained fantasies every time.

I am also attracted to women, but my most powerful urges and desires are for men. And so when I caught furtive glances at Marty’s nakedness, I was captivated in a way difficult to describe! Not only was he a great looking guy, he was famous!

I surveyed his olive-toned skin. I lusted over his genital region remarkable for its thick black pubic hair, uncircumcised penis and dangling nut sack. When Marty turned toward the shower head to rinse off, his backside was in full erotic display for me. I became fixated on his butt, the sensuality of his crack, his strong leg muscles and his chiseled back muscles. He kept in shape; beautiful statuesque shape!

I fumbled with my tools as I shot glances at him in that shower.I don’t recall now if I even fixed the problem with the cable I was so obsessed and distracted by his nakedness.

Occasionally, we made eye contact, and Marty smiled. Even though I was embarrassed to be caught looking at him, I was drawn to him and that smile I’d seen a dozen times on that TV show.

After his shower, he wrapped a towel around his loins and offered me a drink. I declined, telling him I was on call and couldn’t risk a DUI. He then offered me a soft drink, which I accepted.

As we talked in the dining area where the bar was, he kept fidgeting with that towel. Occasionally it slipped down a little and I caught a glimpse of a cheek, or a small bit of pubic hair. He even once pulled it all the way off and re-wrapped himself with it, giving me a full view of his beautiful naked body.

He told me that after the show was canceled he cut a few albums, and did bit roles in some movies, and was lately highlighting a midnight show in Las Vegas. He was 38-years-old, two years my senior.

I have to admit that I enjoyed being in the presence of this famous guy and didn’t really want to leave. He seemed interested in knowing about me, and asked questions about my job, my family, and future plans.

After about 45 minutes, he looked me square in the eyes and asked, “Did you like what you saw in the shower?”

I was floored! Damn straight I liked it! But I sheepishly looked down and barely muttered, “Yes.”

He stood up and let the towel fall to the floor. He sat next to me on the sofa and began unzipping my pants. Within seconds I was as naked as he was! Even though I was reveling in what was happening, heady that this was a famous celebrity, and eager for what was going to happen next, I was aware that I had worked all day, and that I didn’t smell very good. I mentioned it to him.

“Not at all,” Marty responded. “I sometimes enjoy the male scent of a working man: his musky under arm aroma, the faint fragrance of his sweat, and the unabashed smell of his crotch.”

So there it was: I was being hit on by a famous celebrity! And I was enjoying it to the hilt!

We soon ended up in Marty’s bed where he was brutal and aggressive in his seduction. While I enjoyed sucking his penis and caressing his masculine features, Marty seemed more interested in using me as a sexual plaything. He pounded his erect cock into my anus, stabbed my butt hole with his finger, and forced his aroused penis into my mouth so far I thought the back of my throat would be pierced by it. While he penetrated my eager anus, I feared his thrusting would rupture my rectum and my prostate. I attempted a time or two to resist, but Marty became more aggressive.

So I relented and allowed this man to have his way with me. While I was alarmed and shocked a few times at his muscular mastery over me, I also wanted him in the worst way. Not only was I being fucked by a famous man whom I had lusted over a decade and a half ago, this was my first same sex encounter!

Yet when we tangled in those bed sheets and worked up a sex-saturated sweat, Marty seemed to be performing to an unseen audience, and some of the things he said were not directed toward me as much as to an anonymous personality not there in the room with us. It occurred to me then that he had put something in his drink to enhance his libido and his energy.

When I was able to be dominant, I wanted to discover his anus. Common folks like me are always curious about the rich and famous: do they have pee holes and butt holes? Do they piss and shit? Do they react like normal, regular folks?

I had him on his belly sprawled out on the bed. I gently parted his to-die-for cheeks, and exposed his secret little puckered anal slit. Its circular shaped was brownish in color. I was overcome with lust and slid my finger in. He groaned in pleasure so I removed my finger and stimulated his famous anus with my tongue. Marty groaned again, more appreciatively.

I then wanted to satisfy another curiosity: I wanted to have this famous man’s aroused penis in my mouth again. I wanted to suck his nuts dry. I wanted to comb his pubes with my teeth. Marty climaxed powerfully in my mouth without warning. He pumped spurt after spurt of sperm into my mouth and onto my tongue. While my mouth eagerly accepted his cum, I was somewhat repulsed by the salty, slippery texture of his sperm. Even while the taste and warm feel was objectionable, I tried to savor it and then I swallowed it because I wanted to see what a famous person’s cum tasted and felt like. It burned my throat as it slid down into my belly. I resisted the compulsion to spit due to the after taste of his sperm because he was famous and I wanted to experience every aspect of this.

Finally, Marty was ready for my climax. But instead of masturbating me, or offering me his anus, his grabbed my nut sack and squeezed it tight, telling me, “You’d better enjoy your last cum because once you’re through squirting, I’m going to cut your balls off!”

He had me get on my hands and knees again, and yanked my balls back so far I knew he’d be able to stuff them up my asshole. So there I was, my butt facing Marty, my balls pulled tight in his hands, facelessly being compelled to cum so that he could cut my balls off! And yet, there was a thrill and excitement to this moment I have a hard time describing. My balls were at his mercy. He was threatening to castrate me once I climaxed. I was naked, my butt hole was exposed before him, and my hard cock was dangling between my legs. I looked up and saw our reflection in the mirror. What a rush! He was kneeling behind me taking possession of my testicles, threatening me with their removal, warning me to enjoy it because it was my last, and I did not want to stop it, full well knowing what he was threatening to do!

“If you don’t cum now, you never will,” he said warningly. I reached down and took firm hold of my penis. I began stroking it. At that moment, Marty slid his finger into my anus and began poking my prostate. Between the pleasurable sensations on my penis, the violating naughtiness of my anus being penetrated, and the menacing finality of Marty’s strong grasp on my squeezed testicles, I shot a powerful and prolonged stream of sperm all over Marty’s bed sheets. I pumped and pumped and pumped while Marty encouraged me with, “That’s right, give it all to me. Empty yourself. Pump your nuts dry. I have your balls in my hand and while you are having a climax right now, I hold in my hand all your future orgasms.”

I shot until I was sure I was dry, and then collapsed on the bed. Marty turned lose of my balls and slowly removed his finger from my anus. I shot another spurt or two of cum as he did.

I showered before I left that evening. But Marty had me sign some form he said protected him from “kiss and tell” lovers who exploited him and then made money on revealing details of his private life. I signed the form without reading it because I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell anyone I had a queer encounter with an actor! Not even my parents knew I was a gay man.

Thus began an affair that lasted for several weeks. During our sex times, Marty became more and more verbal about castrating me, a threat I found curiously exciting and exhilarating. I can’t explain it, but when Marty yanked my balls as far away from my body as my scrotum would allow, and then announced passionately that my balls were his and were free for the taking, I became powerfully aroused and desirous of the extreme nakedness and exposure these utterances invoked in me!

I harbored a deep desire for Marty to take my testicles and keep them. The thought of being castrated at the height of an orgasm was powerfully arousing! Losing them at the precise moment of my most prolific ejaculations make me feel so naked and exposed, I dripped precum from my pee hole even when Marty wasn’t around.

As our sex play evolved, Marty revealed to me his own castration compulsions. He demanded that I bite his balls as hard as I could prior to his orgasm. He ordered me to suck his nuts right out of his sack! He said he would slice my nuts off if I didn’t bite his off! Such talk was so erotic and abruptly sensual, I just couldn’t get naked enough to satisfy my lusts. I enjoyed such encounters immensely. But yet, when we were sexing together, Marty just seemed to use me for his jollies and I never felt that my affection for him was requited. I had feelings for him that I didn’t think were mutual. It just seemed that I was a boy toy for him. Yet I couldn’t stop my descent.

I asked him once what he’d do with my testicles if he ever took them.

“I’d mount them on a plaque and openly display them as a warning to future lovers who are tempted to ‘kiss and tell,'” he said.

He insisted that I stay at his house full-time. He wanted me to remain completely naked 24/7, and be ready and available for his sexual needs at a moment’s notice.

Before long, I was beginning to see why famous people were so much different than us regular folks: they didn’t have to punch a time card and occupy their waking hours with the duties of keeping body and soul together. Marty’s demands on my life, my time, my anus and my mouth, began to interfere with my job.

I was soon fired for calling off so many times, and as my bills piled up and my rent was overdue, I became desperate.

My desperation was only met with more aloofness from Marty, who took a “wham-bam-thank-you-man” stance with me. When it became clear that I could not keep up with his sexual compulsions, Marty kicked me out of his house and told me not to return. I was barely able to get some clothes on my back before being shown the door.

Unemployed, hungry, pissed off, and resentful that I had been used and abused, I decided I was going to retaliate. But how? Then I remembered Marty’s “kiss and tell” fear. I called a tabloid newspaper and negotiated an exclusive story that netted me several thousand dollars. In the story I related how Marty had seduced me, was a flaming homo, enjoyed castration play, and was into some BDSM as well.

Yet, Marty’s career potential only escalated from that point on. He was a guest on talk shows, nailed down another recording contract, and was cast for an upcoming new movie that was sure to be a box office success. And in the days subsequent to the tabloid’s appearance in the supermarkets, I was struck with the fact that scandal only seemed to enhance a famous person’s career! That’s another way celebrities are different than the rest of us. Things that would normally obliterate us were the very things that elevated the famous into stellar heights!

I finally had to take a job as a waiter in a nice restaurant, and tried to put my experiences with Armando “Marty” Martinez (stage name) behind me.

Several more weeks passed before the midnight visitation by armed assailants.

***

As the blade begins its brief journey through my scrotum I relive all these events and come to understand that that form I signed in Marty’s house gave my consent to my castration. I realize that Marty is really going to take possession of my testicles and be the owner of all my future orgasms as my masculine orbs are removed from my crotch.

Sweat breaks out on my forehead as my breathing becomes labored. I mumble through my attackers’ hands to please halt. He removes his hand from my mouth. Knowing there was no persuading these intruders to abort their mission of castrating me and delivering my balls to Marty, I say in manic desperation,

“As long as you’re going to cut my balls off, would you please allow me to cum one last time?”

In the darkness of my room, I discern that the intruders are looking at each other and wordlessly considering my request.

“What harm would it do?” Says one. I see in the soft darkness another one nod his head. They still keep my legs pinned to the bed, but one of them frees my right arm.

“Okay, you’ve got five minutes, but we’re going to keep the knife at your balls and if you don’t cum within that deadline, we’re just going to slice them off and you’ll be denied your last cum!”

I frantically and feverishly begin working my soft penis over. It doesn’t respond. In my fear and panic, I worry that I’ll be denied my final orgasm out of the shear horror of my impending emasculation.

I hear the impatient sighs and breathing of my captors. Two minutes pass and I’m not even hard yet!

“Could you help me?” I ask plaintively.

“What?” says one of them.

“Could you insert your finger into my anus and stimulate my prostate? I think I might be able to get this over with quicker if you do.”

One of them jokes, “Can you believe this guy? He’s about to be nutted and he begs us to help him get off one last time!”

I am so desperate and desirous of one last cum that I am reduced to begging my cutters to help me cum before they nut me! I am driven by not only a compulsion to shoot my final load, but to request that my castrators help me with my final shoot! And I am perfectly willing to wank right in front of them and have my sperm eruption be a public event!

Yet even in my disbelief, I am enormously aroused when one of them pushes his finger into my anal hole all the way to the knuckle. My penis leaps a little. I envision that the finger is Marty’s aroused cock seeking a rectal orgasm and my penis grows again. My assailant probes my butt hole and pumps my prostate. My anal ring tightens around his finger and I’m able to wrap my hand around my hardening penis.

I wank for all I’m worth as the clock ticks towards my impending castration. I relive some of the sex encounters with Marty, and his castration play and threats. I recollect his beautiful nakedness, his pulsating penis and spurting sperm. I savor the memory of his lovely puckered, wrinkled anus and the taste, aroma and feel of his butt hole as I tongue him out. I feverishly stroke my fully-hard penis now as I reflect on Marty’s threats to deball me as he yanks my balls as far from my crotch as my stretched scrotum will allow. My butt cheeks are exposed and have been invaded by my assailants. I am as naked now as I’ve ever been. I am strangely enjoying this ordeal having accepted its inevitability.

Just as I’m about to erupt in a seismic orgasm, I feel the knife begin to work again, its sharpness slicing through my soft scrotum, my-soon-to-be-excised testicles at the mercy of the blade. My anus compresses around the finger of my nutter tighter than its ever been. My mind becomes blurred with orgasmic, hypnotic ecstasy. The knife continues my emasculation. My hand works my penis more feverishly now. Deep in my bowels I sense the combination of anal penetration and prostate pounding as my sperm convulsively makes its way from deep within me to my throbbing cock.

I feel the blade about half way through my ball bag as my first spurt of sperm shoots out about a foot in the air and lands on my belly. My cutter pulls on my scrotum harder and I feel as though my balls will be pulled off before they’re cut off. A second and then third voluminous sea of sperm erupts from my penis. My senses are heightened. My breathing sporadic. My eyes become glazed over as the inevitability of my orgasm gushes forth with a torrential flow of cum, simultaneously aware that my balls are being cut from my body at that precise moment!

The severing is complete.

I am all climaxed out now. My balls are held up by my cutter and I see my nut sack and its precious masculine contents in the soft glow of the nightlight. I have been rendered nutless. I am not the man I used to be. I am a eunuch now!

As I contemplate my emasculation, I fully relax my body in an after-orgasm let down. The man’s finger is slowly removed from my butt and the sensations of anal violation prompt me to squirt another small drop of cum. It dribbles from the tip of my softening penis, and streams down my fist which is still wrapped around my male member. The sperm on my belly begins to cool.

Now that I’m unmanned, I’m not a threat to my assailants. They turn loose of me and I sink down deeply in my bed, my hand still holding my penis.

A towel is placed at my crotch to staunch the flow of blood. I am still breathing heavily as I watch my assailants place my severed testicles in a sandwich bag.

“The boss will want to see them,” one of them mutters.

They all exit my room as I lay panting on my bed. I look down at my chest and belly and in the soft glow of the nightlight, I see the glistening globs of my final orgasm pooled there. I have no balls any more, hence I’ll have no more sperm, no more sexual urges, and no more obsessions. But then, it was my obsessions that got me into this predicament, I realize.

Nutless and naked, I contemplate whether getting my rocks off with a celebrity was worth getting my rocks cut off. I conclude that it wasn’t. But the ride I was on that ultimately resulted in my testicles being taken was such a rush, I know I’ll relive the pleasures, the pain, the erotica, and the recollections of it for the rest of my life!

Now that my testicles have been taken, memories are all I’ll have left!

I rise gently from my bed, and dial 9-1-1, remembering what Marty said he’d do with my testicles if he had to take them: mount them on a plaque in his home to display for future lovers who may be tempted to “kiss and tell.”

Careless and Castrated

I had just finished my Ph.D. in December and found myself without any potential employment opportunities in the near future. As luck would have it, a company near my hometown was advertising a position near my hometown. It was my mother who had sent me the newspaper link to the job. Her and my step-dad were getting older and she insisted that I apply for the job and move back home with them so they would have someone to help them maintain the ranch. After applying for the job and getting an interview, I was hired. Now after years of independence, I was moving back home with my parents while I worked to pay off student loans and catch up on credit card bills.

The job was good. I enjoyed the company and the people I worked with. Returning home was awkward for me but there were no issues. I had my own room. Mom made dinner and washed clothes. I spent weekends working on chores outside. My step-dad worked while mom stayed at home. All-in-all, the arrangement was beneficial to both of us.

I had always known that I was gay but never shared that information with anyone other than the random guys I would meet online. I never dated girls and always used my studies as an excuse. After I left for college and lived by myself, I became a chronic masturbator. Mostly, I jerked off to online porn until I discovered the eunuch website and started reading the erotic stories. It wasn’t long before I purchased an elastrator and began to experiment with banding myself while reading the stories. Bear in mind, I had no intention of ever being castrated-I just enjoyed the stories about others being castrated.

Now that I was at my parents house, I was no longer able to masturbate whenever I felt like it so I decided to purchase a chastity cage in the hopes that it would curb my desire. To be honest, it did help quite a bit. The cage was a small steel 1 1/2” Attica Hell extra short model which wasn’t even a tight fit around my flaccid cock. For several months, I would wear the cock cage for two weeks at a time before unlocking it and masturbating. After I had cum, I would put it back on and begin the countdown to my next release.

Now that I have prefaced my story with a little background information, it’s time to explain the rest of the story. It all started after I viewed a pair of pink crotchless panties on Amazon and order them. A little over a week later, the tracking app alerted me that they had been delivered from China. Imagine my surprise when I got home from work and discovered the panties were mailed in a clear plastic wrapper with a description of the panties on one side and my name and address on a label on the other side. Of course my step dad gets home before I do and always retrieves the mail for my mom so they both saw my order. I vowed at that time to never ever order anything from China again. When asked about the panties, all I could do was confess that I had ordered them but that I had done so as a birthday gag gift for a friend that was always whining like a girl. I thought I was convincing. Mom helped wrapped the panties as I carried out the charade. A few days later she asked if I had given them to my friend and if he liked them. I told her I did and everyone got a laugh out of it. Of course I had secretly stashed them away in my closet along with my elastrator. That was strike one in May.

My second strike came less than a month later when mom asked to use my laptop to shop e-bay. I didn’t think anything about it and let her, knowing all my porn was hidden deep within fake file names. There was no way she would discover anything incriminating. What I didn’t count on is that when she opened the internet browser and typed “e” for e-bay in the google search, eunuch.org was returned. No doubt she saw my panic stricken face as she stopped typing and looked at me with disbelief. I explained that google automatically offers suggestions for random websites as you type since it is a search engine. I told her to type “b” and watch as google would return another website suggestion. She did and so did google. I knew google like to offer suggestions for recently visited sites but I was hoping she didn’t know enough about google to know that little tidbit.

While I can’t recall the exact dates of my first two careless acts, I surely remember my third careless act occurred on Saturday, July 15th. I had been working outside all day and drenched in sweat and covered in dirt. When I came inside, I was looking forward to a refreshing shower so I went to my bedroom and stripped naked, tossing my dirty clothes in the hamper in the corner.Coincidentally, this was also my weekend to masturbate so I also decided to remove my cock cage and give my cock and balls a fresh smooth shave while I was in the shower. I tossed the cage on the foot of the bed and took my shower. Masturbation day was typically Sunday morning while my parents went grocery shopping so I dutifully put myself back into my cock cage. It wasn’t until the moment I heard the padlock click that I realized the key I had left in it when I removed it was no longer in it. I frantically looked all over the bedroom and bathroom for the missing key but could not find it anywhere. Strike three. When I looked in the hamper for my dirty pants to see if I had left they key in my pocket, there were no dirty clothes. What I didn’t know was that while I was in the shower, my mom had come into my room to get the dirty clothes and throw them into the washing machine. She spotted the cock cage and the bed and she took the keys.

I had two choices: either confront her to get the keys back or remain silent and locked in chastity indefinitely. One the one hand, I was an adult and if I enjoyed chastity then that was my prerogative. One the other hand, it wasn’t a subject I cared to discuss with my mom. I chose the latter option figuring she would bring it up and then I could explain how it was none of her business. In the meantime, I could figure out a way to remove the cock cage. Point of fact, neither of us discussed it and I found it was impossible to escape from this cock cage.

It wasn’t until the first week of September that I had finally managed to cum again. While reading a hot story on the eunuch website, I was frantically shaking my cock cage while fingering my asshole. I must have hit the right spot because cum began to ooze out of my cock. The sensation was new and unique. My balls gave no indication that I was about to cum nor did my body tense up. If it wasn’t for the puddle of cum, I would not have known that I had an orgasm. Nor did I know that I just cum for the very last time. I often close my eyes and remember that moment. My parents had gone grocery shopping and I was outside on the patio naked. The story I was reading was about two boys lost at sea who were rescued but later castrated by the captain of the ship that rescued them. My cock was hardening, straining to be freed from its tiny cage. As I shook the cage, I could feel the metal slap against the head of my cock and it reacted by straining hard against its confines. I put my finger in my mouth to moisten it with spit and slowly inserted it into my ass. I withdrew my finger and started to slide it back in. The cum oozed out of my cock, dribbling down the shaft of my cock but remaining within the cage until finally reaching my balls. I cupped by hand below my balls and waited for the puddle of cum to form as my seed slowly oozed down the shaft of my cock. My cum was thick and plentiful and tasted like nectar as I licked it from the palm of my hand.

Since I had been in total chastity since July, I hadn’t banded my balls. I tried once but it was too difficult to slip the band over my balls due to the short cage nudging against the locking band. There was just no way to get the prongs of the elastrator over my nuts to the base of my balls. So the elastrator sat in my closet, hidden, unused and forgotten. That is until the end of September. I don’t know what mom was looking for or why she was looking in my closet. All I was to learn later was that she found the elastrator. At the time, nothing was said. I already had three strikes against me: 1) the panty order; 2) the eunuch website popping up on the computer; 3) the cock cage on my bed. Now the discovery of the elastrator had occurred. I suppose it doesn’t take a genius to draw a conclusion. The conclusion may not be correct but the pieces of the puzzle fit together.

It was abnormally hot on the Saturday of October 7th. I had spent most of the day clearing brush along the fence line and replacing damaged sections of the fence. Mom came out to see how I was doing and commented on how nice it looked before asking if I wanted something to drink. “Sure, bring me some lemonade,” I replied. A few minutes later, she and my step-dad returned with a tall glass of lemonade. Being parched, I drank most of it in one gulp. The effects of the large dose of muscle relaxant medication she mixed into the lemonade were almost immediate. My head began to spin and my knees became weak and wobbly. In no time, I collapsed to the ground in a paralyzed state. Conscious but dazed, I was helpless as my step-dad lifted me up and leaned me against the wooden fence. Mom had the rope she used to tie me spread eagle up against the fence. I wasn’t sure what was going on but knew it had been planned. I tried to protest, to demand to know what they were doing but could barely manage to mumble a few syllables before my eyelids grew heavier and closed.

I’m not sure how long I was out but it was pitch black dark when I came to. I immediately realized that I was completely naked and alone. The cold night air sent shivers throughout my body. I tried to call out for help but my mouth had been taped shut. My balls ached immensely, like a bad toothache had migrated to my groin. I was still tied to the fence and tried to struggle free. Some of my strength had returned but I was still too weak to struggle long. I could feel the throbbing pain shooting through my balls as I struggled to free myself. I wanted nothing more than to stop the pain in my balls. I had no idea what was causing the pain.

That night was a living hell for me without any exaggeration. Being tied spread eagle to a fence was extremely uncomfortable. The cold night air chilled my naked body to the core. My imagination ran wild with every noise I heard coming from the wood line. Then there was the intense pain coming from my balls. After all the stories I had read on the eunuch website, I couldn’t help but fear that I was being castrated. When the sun came up, I would see a green band around my dead balls. At this very moment, while I was tied to the fence, my balls were slowly being strangle. I could envision them changing color as they had done so often when I used to band myself. I tried to reassure myself that my parents would never do that to me but began to wonder why they would castrate me. No, somehow the chastity cage was causing the pain. The sun will rise and I’ll see everything is okay. I can attest, being alone in the stillness of a dark night definitely stirs up the imagination.

The pain in my balls intensified over what seemed like several hours. I wished I could close my eyes and sleep through the pain but there was no way that would happen. Then all of the sudden, the pain began to dissipate. I tried to think about it but I couldn’t help but to realize that my balls were totally dead. Time seemed to pass ever so slowly. I thought the sun would never rise but eventually I could see the red and gold hue of morning on the horizon. I was reluctant to look down at my balls but curiosity got the best of me. I was hoping for the best but expecting the worse. The first thing I saw was my cock cage. I was lying on the ground. Instantly, I knew that was not the source of the pain. Lying next to my cock cage was my elastrator.I looked down at my balls. My flaccid cock drooped down over my balls but I could see they were black as shoe polish. Three green elastrator bands were wrapped around the base of my nutsack. I tried to choke back the tears but it was useless and I was soon sobbing like a child.

By the time my parents came out to see me, the sun had dried out the morning dew. Neither of them said a word and of course I was unable to say anything to them with the tape over my mouth. One by one, they each felt and tugged on my balls, both smiling to each other. Mom simply nodded to my step-dad after that. He had come prepared to finish the job. I know he had castrate animals before but I wasn’t an animal and began to fear this would end badly for me. I could only watch helplessly as he proceeded to emasculate me. He held my balls in his hand as he stuck a safety pin through my scrotum sack and closed it. The safety pin was inserted directly below the first green band closest my body. I didn’t feel so much as a pinch as it went in. Next, he took a tube of superglue and began to apply some to each side of the same green band then waited for the glue to dry. Mom picked up the filet knife as my step-dad held onto my balls. I knew there was nothing I could do. Aside from being tied to the fence, I knew my balls were dead. It was way too late to change that. The only thing that could be done know was to cut off the dead balls before they rotted and caused more problems. I remained motionless as my step-dad pulled down on my balls. Mom took that as her cut to begin cutting. I watched as she made one long slice through my nutsack. Just like that, they were separated from my body. Despite the immense pain I had experienced the night prior, there was hardly any pain associated with my castration. I felt the knife slice through my sack but it wasn’t painful at all. I can still remember seeing my own severed balls in my step-dad’s hand. He clenched them in his fist as he reared back and threw them deep into the woods. He had thrown my balls in the direction of the sun. I did see them leave his hand but that was the last time I saw my manhood. Off in the distance, I heard them crash through the leafy tree canopy.

In the days after, we never talked about the incident. My parents never told me why they castrated me and I never asked. It was like nothing ever happened. I just like to pretend that they did it out of love to make me happy. In all honesty, I am glad that I am a eunuch. The day they removed my balls has become the day I became free to be myself. My castration fantasy had become reality. My masturbation problem has been solved. Mom bought me several pair of crotchless panties for Christmas and I still enjoy reading castration stories on the eunuch website without the need to be sneaky about it. I’ve learned to embrace my sexuality and have met several wonderful men on the eunuch website who adore me for what I have become. I don’t need a hard cock or the ability to cum as long as I have a man who gives me his hard cock and cum.

Craigslist Slave

“Master Seeks Slave,” the headline read. It seemed simple enough, and I was curious and bored, so I clicked to see the description.

I trolled around craigslist occasionally to see what sort of things people were into. It was so much better than looking at classifieds in the newspaper because sometimes people were able to give very long descriptions, and just occasionally they became fantasies for me. It occurred to me, though, that no woman who was posting on craigslist could possibly be as beautiful as she described herself, and I thought that if I responded I would be talking to some pathetic loser who couldn’t get a date outside the internet. The irony of my thinking they were losers for posting, when I would be the one responding, never occurred to me.

This one ad, though, caught my eye – and I was already reading it before I realized that it was from a man.

MASTER SEEKS SLAVE

I am looking for a boy to come and relocate to Louisville, KY, where he will be my live- in slave.

This is not a sexual relationship. In fact, you and I will never have sex, and you will wear a chastity belt for the duration of your contract. You will, however, be completely under my control.

I am 25, white, 6’1, 170 lbs, and straight. Your age, race, or orientation is immaterial; your commitment to being a complete slave, however, must be unquestionable. Once I have you under my control, you can expect to suffer torture, bondage, and humiliation. I will use you to relieve my aggression, so you can expect regularly to be flogged, shocked, gagged, hooded, and kept in tight, inescapable bondage for the duration of your contract. You will perform housework and obey my every instruction without question.

Please be serious about this. Send me an email explaining why you would want to be a slave, why you would make a good slave, and how long of a contract you are looking for.

I was embarrassed with myself for being aroused by this listing. I have always had a deep, abiding love for bondage, but I was straight – the idea of being enslaved by a man seemed uncomfortable to me. But he had made it clear that this wasn’t about sex, and that he was straight himself, so … what, really, did I have to lose by emailing him?

I made up a fake email before I sent my reply.

Dear Sir,

I was very intrigued by your listing and was hoping that you would consider me as a candidate to be your slave.

I have a deep, abiding love of bondage and control, but most of my life I have had no one with whom I could engage in this passion. I am straight, but no girl I have ever dated has had any interest in the type of total control that you described. I realize that no sane person would truly consider your proposal as a realistic option, because it seems like you have everything to gain and nothing to lose, while I would be giving up my freedom with no reward.

I think though, Sir, that I find myself responding because you have described for me my biggest fantasy. I love being in chains – I feel safe in them, like I’m protected. I love the feel of cold metal against my wrists, of a leather collar buckled about my neck. I’ve tied myself up for hours this way, but I have to keep the keys nearby and I’ve never truly lost control.

This is also ruined for me by achieving an orgasm while masturbating, because after I cum I never feel like being in the bondage anymore. The idea of being prevented from masturbating is terrifying but intriguing at the same time.

I want to lose control. I want my freedom to be beyond my power to regain. I want the knowledge that I am truly and utterly OWNED, and that no amount of begging or pleading will get the chains from my wrists.

I am 29, 5’10”, 180 lbs. White, straight, dark long hair. I live in Washington, DC, but am willing to relocate. I am including a face picture of myself for your reference.

I hope that I hear back from you soon.
-Brian

Several days passed before I heard back. I was nervous and excited the entire time. I checked this fake email every hour, sometimes twice or three times an hour, hoping that this guy would respond back.

I wasn’t sure why I was so excited. I knew in my heart that I was just playing a game, that I was never going to submit completely to a complete stranger, and I was not going to move to Kentucky to do it! Still, three days later, when I finally got the response, I stared at the email with nervous anticipation while I dared myself to open it. The subject said simply, “Hello boy.”

Boy,

You neglected to mention what length of contract you wanted to arrange, but I can overlook that. You seem like a serious candidate for what I am looking for, and you have all the right reasons. Maybe we can work this out.

If you are really serious about this, I say we meet up and talk. I know that Washington DC is a nine hour drive from here, but we can meet halfway – maybe next weekend?

Please don’t waste my time with this. If you aren’t really interested, please let me know now so I don’t drive for five hours just to find you missing. We will need to come up with a way for us to prove that you are really serious about this, or at least to make sure that you actually meet with me. Let me know what you think.
-David

He included a picture of himself. I don’t know what I was expecting, but he wasn’t it. Maybe I was expecting a kinky bondage master wearing leather chaps and a thick handle-bar moustache. Instead, David looked perfectly ordinary. He was wearing a black track jacket with white stripes, and his black hair was just barely in his eyes. He wore gauged plugs in his ears, just big enough to stick a straw through. His blue eyes looked friendly and inviting. He was built – he certainly looked like he could kick my ass – but nothing about him looked like a dominant bondage master.

My reply was immediate.

Sir,

I would like to meet. There is a travel center in Beckley, West Virginia, that is halfway between us.

As far as how I can guarantee that I will come – I have an idea for that. If you have one, you could send me a chastity device without the key. I will take a video of myself putting on the device, and you will mark the device and the lock so you know for sure that it’s yours. You will bring the key with you to our meeting, and if I don’t show up, I won’t be able to get out.

We exchanged more details through email – exact time, date, etc. – but in my mind this was all still a game. This wasn’t really going to happen – this was just a fantasy that I was acting out in the real world. I thought this when I sent him my address, and I thought this when I gave him my phone number.

The fantasy came crashing down to reality, though, a week later, when my chastity device arrived in the mail.

 

It looked like a simple enough device – rings of metal, a cage, some metal teeth that looked really intimidating. This was obviously an expensive device, and I was both flattered and alarmed that David had sent me something this elaborate. If I was still thinking of this as a game, he obviously was not.

There wasn’t a padlock like I had been expecting. There was, however, a keyhole, and it looked like once I had it on everything would snap right into place. I would have to spend hours with a hacksaw if I wanted to get this thing off, and the idea of putting a hacksaw that close to my balls was terrifying.

I tried it on almost immediately. I was careful not to lock it – I didn’t want that to happen just yet! – but I enjoyed the feel of the cool metal against my penis. The cage was tight, and I felt myself growing hard inside of it, and in that moment I wanted to jerk off so badly that it was all I could do to get the thing off and pleasure myself. After I came, I thought, this is all stupid. I can’t believe I’m really considering this!

But it kept getting more and more serious, and it came to a climax the day David called me.

He sounded as ordinary as his picture had looked. He wasn’t harsh or cruel; he didn’t have a deep baritone voice, or a lisp, or even the hick accent I was expecting from a Kentuckian.

“Hello?”

“Yes?”

“Hey, is this Brian?”

“Yes, this is he.”

“Hey, it’s David.”

“Oh, hello Sir.”

He laughed. “We don’t need to do that ‘Sir’ stuff just yet … not unless we decide to do this. So you got the package, right?”

“Yeah, I did. I’m holding it now.”

“Good. I want you go ahead and put it on. I don’t need you to record it – just take a picture afterwards and email it to me. It’s a pretty unique device – I had it special-made a few years ago.”

I was curious. “Really? For who?”

“You won’t believe this – but that device was for me. I wore that thing for about four months straight. Drove me nuts the whole time, but I loved it.”

“Why’d you take it off, then?”

He thought for a moment. “I wanted to see what the other side was like. It seemed like everyone who topped me sucked at it, and I kept thinking, ‘I’d be great at this,’ so I figured I’d try it out. I admit, you’d be my first long-term slave, if this works out. But we are going to meet, then, right?”

I heard the anxiousness in his voice – he wanted this just as much as I did.

“Yeah … yeah, I think we are.”

“Then go ahead and put it on, and take a picture. I’ll see you on Saturday at noon.”

He hung up, and I was left with the device in my hands. It was only Tuesday – I could have waited until Thursday to put it on and take the picture. I could have masturbated right then and there, and I probably would have forgotten about the whole sordid business and been happier for it. Instead, though, I went to the bathroom, rubbed Vaseline on my dick, and slowly worked my cock into the metal tube.

I wanted to masturbate so badly. I felt a hard knot in the bottom of my stomach, the type of terror that results from making a decision on which there is no going back. Closing my eyes, and all the while cursing myself for eight kinds of stupid, I pushed all the pieces in place, and I gasped in wonderment and despair as I heard that terrible, final click.

There was no help for it, now. I had no choice but to meet him.

The days between the locking and the meeting were a mixture of a nightmare and a fantasy. I really, honestly could not get my dick out of the thing, and the spikes around the side of it made it too uncomfortable for me to try to get off while in the device – every time my dick got really hard, the spiked drove mercilessly into my soft flesh, causing me a type of agony that wasn’t remotely fun or arousing. I spent the days at work worried whether or not anyone would notice the slight bulge in my pants, but no one seemed to, and if anyone had noticed, no one said anything.

The drive to Bickley was especially horrible, though. It was uncomfortable to sit so long while wearing the device, and after a couple of hours my balls felt thoroughly bruised. It was a relief, then, when the Travel Plaza finally came into view.

I found David just where he said he would be, sitting at a table in the corner. He smiled when he saw me, and he stood up, offering me his hand to shake.

“Hey, I’m glad you came,” he said.

“I … I am too,” I admitted, “but I guess I didn’t have much choice with this thing on.”

He chuckled. “First things first, then … do you want the key? We can let you out and then talk if you want.”

I had been wanting the key all morning – all week, really. If I asked for it, he would give it to me, and then I would be so horny that I would jerk off right there in the bathroom of the Travel Plaza, and then once I’d jerked off I wouldn’t want to be a slave, and …

“No,” I said reluctantly. “Let’s just sit for now.”

David looked exactly the way his picture had promised he would. He looked younger than 25, but I took him at his word. He wore a black t-shirt and faded blue jeans, a black studded belt and a brown distressed leather racing jacket. A three-foot chain connected his wallet to his belt, and he wore Chucks, just like I did. We both noticed this about each other at the same time, and we joked about how arch support was for the weak. A half hour of awkward smalltalk ensued before we really got down to business.

“So I’m kind of surprised,” he said, “that someone like you was tempted by … my offer. Now that you’ve met me, what do you think? Is this something you want to do?”

This was the moment when I should have backed out. I should have thanked him politely for his consideration and gone on with my life. That was what I had planned on doing, after all, the entire time I had driven to Beckly, the entire time we had made the awkward smalltalk, and up until the exact moment I opened my mouth to say “No.” But if I had said “no,” there wouldn’t be a story to tell, would there?

“Yes.” The word hung there between us for a moment. I was stunned, and I think he was too. “I want to do this. My lease is running out in a month, and I hate my job anyway. I can come to Louisville and find a job. I want … I …” I whispered, since we were in public – “I want to be your slave.”

He grinned then, and a malicious look of triumph filled his eyes. “Oh, you won’t need to find a job. I have … a lot of money. You won’t be leaving the house for the length of the contract – which, by the way, we still have not established.”

“A year.” Again the words were out of my mouth before I could take them back, but I was relieved as soon as I said it. Oh, I was filled with a certain kind of despair, too, the realization that my life was about to fall completely out of my control and that I was going down a path from which there was no return, but there was another feeling, too, a sense that one of my deepest desires was being fulfilled.

I couldn’t wait. I wanted this to start now, and the idea of waiting another month was beyond me. Another month to worry, question, and rethink what I was doing? No, no!

“I want to start now,” I said. “I want to start today.”

If I was expecting an argument from David, it never came. Instead, he nodded thoughtfully. “You probably need to get some things in order – square your apartment away, put all your things in storage, drop a forwarding address in the mail, stuff like that. I’ve never been to DC myself, so maybe I’ll take in the sights for a couple of days and take you back with me. How does that sound?”

“That sounds great,” I said resolutely. And, much to my own surprise, I meant it.

I was done being shocked by my decision. I had a lot to accomplish in a very short amount of time – I wanted to be completely ready to go by Tuesday at the latest.

Quitting my job was the easiest part. I left a message on my boss’s voicemail. I would lose a week’s pay, but what was I going to do with money anyway?

The harder part was deciding what to do with all my stuff. I was a packrat, and I had an entire apartment full of odds and ends – clothes, furniture, pots, pans, everything that I had collected over eight years of living on my own. David solved this problem neatly by hiring a moving company and renting a massive storage unit in Alexandria. He told me to keep a few changes of clothes and a black leather jacket he especially liked, but otherwise I was to put everything in storage. He told the proprietor of the U-Store facility that I was moving to India for a year to work on a government project. My entire life – including my car – was packed away by Monday night.

Tuesday morning I took the Metro into the city. I wandered around Washington for a couple of hours, taking it all in. I had lived there for fifteen years, and I had never really appreciated it as a tourist. I found some irony in going to the Lincoln memorial, considering what I had in store for myself, but I could not help but smile all day as I wandered from monument to monument. I really considered going into some of the Smithsonians, but I thought better of it – after all, the metal contraption on my dick would hardly go unnoticed by the metal detectors.
I was back at my apartment by noon. David arrived shortly thereafter,

and he smiled at me as I threw my bookbag into the trunk of his car.

“You’re really sure about this, right, buddy?” he asked me again.

“I think so.”

“All right. I’m going to ask you this one more time when we get home, and you’ll answer by putting on my collar, which you’re not taking off for the next year. Until then, you can consider yourself my prisoner.” He pulled from the glove box of his car a pair of hinged handcuffs and a set of leg irons. “I thought about having you wear a gag, too, but not only would that make for a pretty boring ride back, but I’m not sure how we could avoid notice that way.”

I was a little self-conscious about putting on the handcuffs in the parking lot where anyone could see, but David took me roughly by the arm and threw me against his car, twisting my wrists so the palms faced away from each other behind my back. With a ratcheting noise I heard the cuffs lock into place, and I felt the cool metal dig slightly into my wrists.
“Too tight?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Good damn thing, ’cause I wasn’t loosening them.” He kicked my legs apart and gave my ankles the same attention, and I found that I could now neither run nor do anything to defend myself. I had well and truly placed myself under his control.

He helped me get into the car. He let me sit in the front seat, and he helped me fasten the seatbelt as we departed. I knew that what I faced next was going to be a long, awkward journey back to Louisville. I didn’t dare ask him how, cuffed as I was, I was going to go to the bathroom along the way.

I found out all sorts of things about David as we drove. We had nothing to do but talk, really, and actually learn more about each other. He was in a rock band, and he had a lot of money because he had inherited it from his rich father who, though a deadbeat dad his whole life, had nonetheless in death provided an ample sum of money for the son whom he barely knew.

When we got to Louisville, it was dark. My arms ached from the discomfort of the position in which they had been held most of the day, and I really wanted nothing more than to lay down and take a nap. I knew, though, that I wasn’t going to have a chance to relax.

I got my first and only view of the outside of the house when we arrived.

It was an old Victorian mansion in what looked like an older part of the city. It looked creepy, and I was a little apprehensive when we walked inside. David brought me inside and invited me to sit on the couch. I was almost comfortable, except for my restraints and the constant throbbing of my dick inside its cage.

He came back into the room with two glasses of water and a traditional pair of handcuffs. He cuffed me in the front this time so I could get somewhat comfortable, but I didn’t bother to ask if I could sit without wearing the restraints at all. He sat in the chair across from me and pulled it close.

“Alright, this is the really serious part,” he said. “I hope we can be friends, but I want you to know that if you agree to this again, I am going to hold you to this one year. There will be nothing you can do or say to me that will make me release you. I am going to keep you in chains, gag you all night, flog you when the mood takes me, spit and piss on you when you’ve pissed me off – I am going to be a complete dick to you, and there won’t be a damn thing you can do to stop me. You will be my slave for a year and a day, starting today, and you will always call me ‘Sir’ or ‘Master,’ and you will never say ‘I’ or ‘me’ when talking about yourself. Most importantly, you will never cum, no matter how much you want to.

“I will milk you, of course, to make sure everything’s okay, and I’ll take you to the doctor when we need to, and I’ll feed you and water you enough that you’ll never be malnourished. I’ll make sure – trust me on this – that you get enough exercise. I will never do anything to you that will harm you in the long term – at least not physically.

“Now,” he finished, “this is your last chance to set any terms. Do you have any more conditions before we proceed?”

I thought for a moment. I couldn’t think of much, but I had been a fan of bondage long enough to know that people did some weird things. “You already said there won’t be sex,” I said. “I assume that goes both ways.

So neither of us will engage in sexual contact with the other one, ever.

Agreed?”

“Agreed,” he said.

“And I won’t eat or drink anything … foul, like shit or cum or anything else that comes from someone’s body. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” he snickered.

“And … you won’t tattoo anything on me.”

He laughed out loud this time. “I won’t what!”

“People do it!” I protested. “You won’t tattoo anything on me, or burn me, or do anything else to make permanent marks.”

“Of course not,” he said.

“And finally …” I felt really silly on this one, but I had to be sure … “… you won’t, um, sell me to someone else, or rent me, or anything else like that.”

“Naturally not,” he agreed.

“Those are all my conditions, then.”

“All right … go downstairs, and you’ll find a black isolation hood and some cuffs chained to the ceiling. Think about this really hard – if you put on that hood and lock on those cuffs, you’re mine for a year. You can leave at any point up until you do that. I am going to go upstairs and get cleaned up – I hope you’re still here when I get back.”

He uncuffed me then, handcuffs and leg irons, and I gingerly rubbed my wrists as he placed a small key – I assumed it was to the chastity device – on the coffee table. He then disappeared up the stairs.

I took the chastity key with me to the dungeon below. I decided that I would jerk off one more time before I made this choice – I knew how dangerous that was, but something warned me that I had to want this even after cumming, or I was in for a year of hell.

The dungeon was everything I could have ever hoped for, all in one place – and all, I realized suddenly, for me, if I wanted it. It was unfinished, of course, so it had a cement floor and ductwork, but the instruments of bondage and torture were staggering in their cruelty. In one corner I saw a rack, just waiting to stretch a helpless victim. In another corner there was a St Andrew’s cross, and in the wall between those things were all sorts of pegs that held chains, manacles, collars, blindfolds, gags, handcuffs … I looked in the closet, and I saw a leather straightjacket and a bright orange prisoner uniform. The most sinister object of all, near the stairs, was an electric chair, painted black with leather straps to hold the feet, hands, and neck in place. And then there was the center of the room.

Just as David had promised, the middle of the room held the chains that would seal our contract. There was a stool there, but it was clearly there only so I could easily find the hood and the five padlocks. The hood had a hole in the front through which I would be able to breathe, but the laces up the back and the collar in the back would ascertain that I would not be able to get the thing off without a strong pair of scissors.
The manacles reached from the ceiling and hung in the middle of the room. I touched them gingerly – I would be pretty uncomfortable while wearing these. There were ankle cuffs, too, fastened to the floor, but the chains on those were pretty short, maybe six inches.

I immediately took off my clothes and looked at my poor dick in its metal cage. Being down here in this room, by myself, and finally holding the key to my release, I watched with amusement as my dick sprang to attention as soon as the device was off.

I wanted to masturbate so very badly. I wanted to take my dick into my hands and jerk until I came, and given my present state of arousal, that wouldn’t take long at all. But I knew that if I jerked off, I wouldn’t put the chains on, I wouldn’t hood myself – I would walk out the door, and, though it would be incredibly awkward to get my job back, and find a way back to Washington …

With resign, I slowly put the chastity device back on, locking it in place, still so horny that I could barely stand it. I approached the chains, and I placed my ankles inside the shackles, and I heard the padlocks click into place. Even if I didn’t finish doing this, I was still firmly and inescapably trapped in this basement. The isolation hood looked intimidating, but I wanted this over with.

The hood – I had never felt anything so intense as putting on the hood for the first time. It was thick, black leather, and as I lowered the hood over my head, all light and sound were blocked out. It took me a while to lace the hood, and then to buckle it into place …

I started to panic a little. This was a little much, but it was far too late for second thoughts. I buckled the collar in place and firmly clicked the padlock around the collar. Feeling for the last two locks, I reached above myself, standing on the tips of my toes, and found the manacles, which took only a moment to lock into place.

I had accepted being David’s chastity slave. What did I have in store now?