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 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 pubic hair, uncircumcised penis and dangling nut sack. When Marty turned toward the shower head to rinse off, his backside was in full 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-, 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 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 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 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 . 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 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 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 , 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.”



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