"You will get a job or I am throwing you out of my house!" my mother shouted. I tried to reason with her, but this time she was serious.     I should have been out of the house by then - I was twenty at the time, and just bumming off my parents. I had tried college but had spent all my time working out or playing soccer or practicing for the wrestling team. While my sports and social lives were thriving, my academic life suffered, and the 1.2 GPA I had managed to somehow pull off didn't impress my parents.     So, after my failed year I moved back in with the folks. I got chicks or dudes when I wanted them; my body was and is hot - well muscled and defined. I never wear a shirt unless I have to. My legs are thick as well and my calves large and split. I probably could have done okay in amateur bodybuilding but never really wanted to; starving myself for wrestling was bad enough.     And here I was, sitting in front of the TV with my parents yelling at me, knowing that this time they were for real. The next day I went out searching for a job. There was little to be had outside of fast food. I took applications for every job I could find that I might want to work (meaning not food service), if nothing else than to make them happy.     A week later I had gotten little more than an interview or two and was getting desperate. I tried some construction and landscaping jobs but none of them were really hiring. It was getting down to fast food or a factory job.     I was searching the classifieds, looking for something, ANYTHING, that would keep me out of Mickey D's, when I saw a new ad: "Wanted: Stableboy for local stable. Good pay, Sundays off, day work. Strong back required." It also gave and address and times to come by; the address was for a posh stable just outside of town. I had heard rumors about it all through high school, about lavish parties and obscenely rich people going there to ride. What the hell, I figured, shoveling horse shit was better than shoveling ground horse. At least there wouldn't be any grease and I would have my nights free.     So, I headed out there to seek an interview. The guy who interviewed me was huge; he was the stable manager and looked like he could lift a ton with just one arm. I admired him; he was what I wished I could grow to be. He asked a few questions, and apparently my answers were the right ones. "You look like a strong guy," he said, and gave me the job. I was to start the next day.     I showed up in jeans and an old t-shirt at 6 A.M. The guy's name was John. He took me on a quick tour of the stable. It was a huge barn, with an indoor arena lined with stalls and then a saddling area adjoining it. There was a small office with a phone and fridge, a shower stall (totally open - we both showered the horses and ourselves in it) and some crossties to hold the horses while we saddled them up. John showed me the basics of livery - saddles, girths, reins, etc., and how to put them on properly. However, as low man on the totem pole, I was going to get stuck with shoveling shit and feeding for a week or so.     In the mornings most horses only got hay. There were little slots outside each stall with a wooden plank painted a different color telling what the horse got. Green meant just a bale of hay, blue meant antibiotics too, yellow meant something for colic, red meant oats, and purple meant something different that would be in the office. John took care of the non-green ones, while I just loaded up the bales and tossed them in. The horses chewed hungrily.     John finished long before I did and said he'd be back in a minute or two. When I was nearly done he reentered with another man, who he introduced as the owner, a Mr. Black.     Mr. Black was tall and wide and thick. He had very long dark brown hair equally dark eyes, and a firm grip as he shook my hand. "Always good to have another dependable strong back," he said. John sucked up to him hard. I just got back to my work.     Black left before I was done and John showed me around the outdoor arenas - five, all told - and the pasture. There were two show arenas, two holding arenas, and one that looked like an obstacle course. The pasture was huge; we used four-wheelers to get around in it.     It wasn't until midmorning that I actually saw some of the people who kept there horses there. Some were old people, but most were extremely cute chicks whose rich daddies paid for them to have a pony of their very own. I struck up conversations with many, and they seemed to respond well to me, especially when I would flex my biceps or show off my ass.     Over the next few weeks I continued to show off and "talk." My jeans got tighter and my shirt never got worn. John got a little pissy with me a few times - telling me to stop talking and get to work - but he never really got too pissed.     I met some of my coworkers. Most were similar to me and John, well-built men, pretty handsome, but none of them really seemed too sociable, either with me or the chicks.     Well, one thing led to another with some of the girls, and we had some interesting adventures in the hay loft. Somehow John found out about it, and warned me against it - "Mr. Black would be very displeased if he found out. I'm just going to warn you, but if you do it again, we'll have to take some kind of disciplinary action." He also said that he like me, and I worked well, so he'd hate to fire me or anything.     I took it all in stride. I didn't do anything with them for weeks, and was getting so horny I'd jack off behind the barn two or three times a day. I wanted to fuck around with John too, and tried to shower when I knew he'd be around, but he never took the bait.     Well, eventually I fucked up. I was talking with one of the chicks while I was feeding and didn't pay attention to the cards. I fed a colicky horse normal hay, and nearly killed it. John figured it out and knew what to do, saving the thing as it coughed up green ick, but he was PISSED. He didn't actually yell at me or anything like I expected, just gave me very dark looks.     The next Mr. Black was around again, this time in a pair of shorts and a very tight t-shirt. He came up to me just before my lunch break and said he wanted to talk to me.     We walked out back around to the branding/gelding pen, where we restrained horses to be neutered or branded (hence the name...). John was back there. Mr. Black told me how he had heard about the colic feed incident, and decided that I needed to be cured of my problem.     At this, John and he each took and arm, and before I knew what was going on, had my arms fastened into the pen. I struggled. "What the hell is going on?" I shouted. John put a gag in my mouth.     "Clearly you have a sexual problem, and are too easily distracted. Unfortuanately, this seems to happen with all our stableboys," stated John. "We will fix it by fixing you."     My shirt was already off, and they were now getting my boots and socks off. I struggled and kicked, but they were both large men and stronger than I. I also pulled against the bonds, but they could hold ton-and-a-half beasts - they held me easily. "You're going to do WHAT?" I shouted.     "Fix you. Geld you. Castrate you. Emasculate you," Mr. Black stated, pulling his shirt off. My pants were lying next to my shoes now, and I could feel the hot sun on my ass as my legs were bound up. I was now on my knees, my legs spread, my balls hanging low between them.     "It's not that bad," John said. "I got gelded when I started working here, too. You'll get used to it." I turned my head to look at him, and he was now butt naked, as was Mr. Black. I could see John's groin with no balls or cock, only a small hole, and struggled more. I had been bound tight, however, and was helpless.     I begged, I pleaded, but it was useless. Mr. Black stood in front of my and jacked off slowly, his cock stiff as a rock, while John shaved my genitals. Next I could feel him grab my balls and I knew there was no way out of this. I was to be gelded, like any other animal in this pen, but worse - they were going to cut my cock out as well.     The castration was mercifully quick. One snip of the ultra-sharp gelding shears and my balls fell to the ground. I screamed in pain, hating what was being, what had been done, to me, but somehow turned on by it - my cock was hard. Next I watched as John put a catheter into my cock. I burned a bit going in, and then I felt funny as it pushed past my prostate and into my bladder.     I screamed again, and repetitively, as a knife dug into the flesh at the base of my cock. It circled the plastic tube of the catheter, and within seconds I saw my cock slide off of it. John pulled some of the remaining scrotal skin up and stitched me, leaving me in pain with the only remnant of my manhood a small plastic tube with a valve on the end.     I lay in the office for the rest of the day, in shock. They had cut my cock off. My balls were gone. I had been...castrated. I wasn't really a male, I thought. I was an...an IT. I thought of how John looked, though, and got to thinking. He was actually still pretty sexy, even without a cock, but STILL...I couldn't get over it.     I went home at the usual time. Walking felt funny; there was no weight on my groin and my underwear was loose. I knew not to try to call the cops; Mr. Black was far to politically powerful, and I wasn't going to tell my parents or friends. "Hey, guys, look! I got my balls cut off at work today!" Yeah, right...     So, for a week, I worked lightly and healed. There wasn't much of a scar, just a hairline. All my body hair fell out, and I didn't have to shave anymore. My sex drive totally disappeared, and all of a sudden the chicks I used to listen to for hour seemed droll and stupid. I wore looser pants, trying to hide my lack of a basket.     John talked to me at work, but we had little to say. I just did what I had to do and he did what he had to do.     After a few months or so he offered me something, though. John said he could get me hormone shots if I wanted them - that way I could keep my killer bod and something of a sex drive, at least.     I wanted to keep my body, and the hot flashes were killing me. But what did I want with a sex drive, I asked him. I couldn't do anything.     That's where I was wrong, he said, and he showed me. He did things with a plastic dildo I never thought I'd like, and by the end of it I was ready to pay him for the shots.     I went on them, but had some problems - first off, they weren't enough at first. When I went on megadoses then they equaled my old testosterone level. I started growing body hair again, which John said I'd have shave or wax, or best, electrolysize as otherwise Mr. Black would know. I didn't really like it anymore, so waxed it and as I could pay for it got it electrolysized. Another problem was I began to bulk up bigtime. I worked hard at the stable and began to lift again as well, and all the hormone had my muscles growing super fast. I would try on my old posing briefs, tight up against my skin, but this time with no annoying cock or balls to get in the way.