by justoneguy

It has been almost five years since the court gelded me. I was once a fairly well off man, financially. My family still lives on the large estate I purchased many years ago. The entire region is divided into many large estates, each run by a wealthy family at the pleasure of the ruling council. My family was not the richest in the region, but I was proud of our success, and we remained wealthy even after I was gelded—though after that I wasn’t much of a part of it. Technically, I was not a slave. But since geldings have no rights, my place in the family I once headed was, shall we say, of minimum substance.

Five years ago was when it happened. My son, Jason, was only 13 years old. He had been getting out of line a lot around that age. He had a best friend from a neighboring estate, a kid named Patrick, who was about 14 at the time. The two of them were always getting into trouble. I had to discipline Jason a lot in those years, and he naturally came to resent it. Looking back, I only had myself to blame. Well, that is not true—I had my wife and myself to blame. She spoiled the boy until he was a rotten little kid. We gave the boy anything he wanted—any time he wanted. He lived on an estate with many slaves, whom he ordered about with an air of privilege and authority I found unbecoming in a 13 year old—certainly in a son of mine. And I knew that my son didn’t really like me very much, at least when I wasn’t allowing him to do exactly what he wanted to do. Earlier on the morning of that fateful day (at least fateful for me), Jason and his friend Patrick had been running around and being generally unruly. I called them both down and told them they would have to work on the estate, side-by-side with the household slaves, for the rest of the afternoon. Maybe I was too hard on them. Hell, boys will be boys. ……..

And men will be men. I left the estate that afternoon to visit the local house of ill repute. My wife and I hadn’t gotten along for years, and sexual releases for me had become few and far between. So the ladies of the night in the local village near my estate became a staple part of my weekly rounds. Visiting prostitutes is very much against the law, although it is rarely enforced among the lower classes. But I was a wealthy man, an example to the community. So, when my son and his friend followed me and saw me enter the house of prostitution, they knew that they had a way to get back at me for punishing them. Did they know what the consequences for me would be if they told? To this day I don’t know. Maybe the boys just thought I would get into trouble and be punished—just like I had punished them. As it happened though, they told my wife, who promptly brought formal charges. The courts made and example of me, and I was gelded three days later in the public square. I suppose I should be grateful that I was professionally gelded. I could have died if unskilled hands preformed the operation. I received a standard gutstring gelding by knife. You’ll forgive me if I don’t go into any more detail than that. Everyone was there: my wife, my 13-year-old son, his friend Patrick, all of my friends, many of my servants. I was only 32 when it happened. It feels like a lifetime ago. My male-bag and with my precious jewels were immediately buried in an unmarked spot in my family’s crypt. My life changed forever.

God, why did I buy that whore? Why didn’t I stay on the estate and make sure the boys worked off their bad behavior like I told them to? OH GOD, why. I didn’t even get to jizz in her. The little whore. The soldiers came and literally pulled my cock right out of her. And if that bitch of a wife of mine had been performing her duty as a wife in bed, I never would have…. Oh what’s the use? I just don’t have the energy to get angry about it anymore. Maybe it is the lack of hormones—the lack of manhood—but my mind just seems to drift now rather than focus on my anger. I wonder if that is how women feel? No, I’ve seen too many catfights among the female slaves. They can get angry enough. I guess this is just more evidence that I am now less than a woman.

I guess I shouldn’t complain too much. It is not as if I have to perform much manual labor. I’m not strong enough for that anymore. I’ve gone pretty flabby. That is to be expected, I guess, now that the source of may strength and stature is gone. I used to be a strong man, broad back, barrel-chested, even had hair on my chest. Not anymore. Still, there is some work in me. I clean the bathrooms some and tend to the floors. Someone has to take up the slack since my wife sold her best house servant. I’m sure she did it just so I would have to work more. At least I’m in doors. There goes that mind drift again. When I was a man, my mind used to drift to sex a lot. I remember. But I was still focused. Focused on sex. I almost half remember what it was like.

I didn’t mind cleaning the floors. The stone tiles are not the ones I demanded when we moved to this villa twelve years ago. They have been replaced with light yellow tiles like the once my wife wanted at the time. I had refused. Light yellow was too feminine. We needed Burgundy. It’s hard to believe I ever had that much strength of will.

My son Jason would often walk by as I worked, but he would never say anything to me. I was after all a gelding, not his equal. He changed a lot over the five years, since he turned me in to his mother and the courts, but not in the way I changed. The opposite in fact. I watched him grow from a 13-year-old brat to a tall, strong, strapping lad. It was a slow transformation, just like mine. I remember the day I realized that I was fully and finally impotent. It was the very day Jason took a giant step toward manliness. It was about four months after I was gelded. My body had not changed all that much yet, but my mind was already starting to drift. For some time I could still get partial erections. I even tried to jerk myself a few times—unsuccessfully. I could get a half a hard-on, and it would still feel good to touch it. But I could not bring myself to the rush of pleasure I once took for granted.

Jason’s friend Patrick was staying the night at our villa. When I ran the family, I rarely allowed this, mostly because it was expensive to send a slave back to Patrick’s parent’s estate and inform them that he would not be coming home. What a waste of money. Better to just send to boy back to his own bed. Of course, with my son and wife in charge, he started staying over often. On this particular night, I woke up in the night and decided to clean the upstairs walkways. It would have to be done in the morning anyway, and I couldn’t really sleep. I had awoken from what I now consider a sexual dream. Of course, not the kind of sexual dream I used to have. I just mean a dream where I can almost remember what an orgasm felt like. I never could go back to bed after one. Fortunately, they happen very rarely now.

As I went upstairs, I could hear Jason and Patrick whispering. I assumed they were talking about the usual topics of young males—and I was right.

“All you have to do is tug on it. I’m telling you man, it is the best feeling you can imagine,” I heard Patrick say.

I heard Jason shift positions on his bed. “Ok, I’ll give it a try.” I heard the swish of my son push his shorts down.

Then, Patrick giggled. “Is that your pecker?” he said.

Jason’s voice betrayed his concern. “Sure. What’s wrong with it?”

“Man, it’s tiny. And where is your hair?”

Jason was obviously angry at this point. “Like yours is any bigger.”

They continued to argue for a few minutes until Patrick agreed to prove his point. I heard the swish of Patrick pushing down his shorts.

Jason’s voice was the next I heard. “God boy, that’s got to be fake.”

Patrick laughed: “No it’s not. Don’t worry man. You’ll still a year younger than me. I bet you catch up fine. I’m telling you though; you ought to try tugging on yours. It is awesome.”

Jason shifted on his bed again. “Go to the other side of the room. I can’t try it if you’re watching me.” I heard the tell-tail sounds of a hand sliding over skin. It was a sound I remembered well from my youth. My mind drifted to the time when I was a boy, experiencing for the first time a taste of the pleasure that manhood would bring me. I remembered my first woman, the first time with my wife, the time on my 19th birthday when my wife and I conceived our son.

“Oh god, ahhhhhhhhgggg,” my son’s straining voice rang out from inside the room. “Yuck, what is that stuff?”

I could hear Patrick walking back across the room. “That is your seed man. When you are older, you’ll pump that into a woman to make sons.”

That was when I realized that my own penis was totally soft. Even thinking about all my memories of the women I had been with, my body had not responded at all. My son had just felt the pleasure of manhood for the first time; he had just spurted the first batch of seed his body had made. That was when it hit me, thinking about all the pleasure that my son would experience in his future, how much I had actually lost. I was not a man. I was a gelding. My son, at the age of 13, was more of a man than I would ever be again. I was a neutered nothing. I’ve never been so jealous of my son than I was at that moment.

***

When my son turned 16, he officially became the head of the family’s finances. My wife technically had been the regent of our estate since I was made a gelding. My son soon found that our family’s wealth was in deep trouble. I knew we were losing money each season. I had managed the estate for so many years that I could see the problems even without looking at the log sheets. I remember thinking that my son would soon come to me and ask for my help repairing the neglect that his mother had allowed to occur. But he never once called for me or even mentioned my name. Instead, he opened our books to his friend Patrick.

Patrick’s father had died a year before, and since that time the young man had been running his estate with his mother. Being a year older, Patrick had been the official head of his estate for a year already. So Jason naturally relied on his advice and opinions. Patrick’s estate was in a bit of trouble as well, although not as bad as our own situation. But the harvests had been weak for three seasons now, and the market for livestock was at an all time low.

One night, about a year after taking over the finances, Jason invited Patrick to our home for dinner. Afterwards, they retired to the study to discuss business as men. I watched from a secret panel in the study that I had installed years before so I could spy on my money managers when I ran the estate. I was shocked by what I heard. Jason had been meeting with Stavlone, a man known as the best gelder in the region. The weakness in the harvests was causing the estates for miles around to convert their field workers to house workers. Many hoped that they could sell the new house workers to neighboring regions and cover their loses on the harvests. That meant that hundreds of young field hands, mostly 18 to 25, would need to be gelded before the next season began. Jason had convinced Stavlone to come work on his estate as a human gelder. It was a brilliant plan, I had to admit. Jason would use the money from the geldings to cover his loses from the harvest, while at the same time keep his own field workers masculine and intact so that when the harvests picked up, he would be in a position to dominate the rival estates. My heart swelled with pride at my son’s business prowess. What a young man! The only problem was that Jason did not have enough money on hand to pay Stavlone. That was where Patrick came in. Patrick would provide the capital and the two of them would become partners in the venture. Patrick readily agreed and the two signed the deal that night.

Then, Jason gave his other bit of news. He was to be engaged to Samantha Stoker the following week. They would be married the week after his 18th birthday the following year. I could see Patrick’s shocked reaction. Samantha Stoker was the only daughter of the richest man in the region. Quite a catch. I knew through the servant rumors that Patrick himself had been courting her. But he was kind enough to congratulate his friend on his success. The two toasted to Jason’s impending marriage and to his future as a father.

As I watched Jason and Patrick making their plans as men and heads of their respective households, the feeling of longing and jealously I had toward my son exploded in my mind. Now he was to be a man, and have a woman that he would fuck at will. I wanted so much to be like him, to feel the pride and rush of a man preparing to wed his woman. I wanted to be a strong, manly father, clasping him on the back in pride and congratulations. But I couldn’t. I wasn’t a man. I had no balls, no caring for the joys of manhood. I wanted so much the friendship we had before I was made a gelding, when I looked forward to the day when my son and I would both be men together, working side by side for our house hold. That would never happen now, but perhaps we could work side by side in other ways. That was when my plan formed in my mind.

***

I had been in charge of my family’s finances for 15 years before I was made a gelding. So it wasn’t very difficult to begin manipulating the files. To be frank, my wife did not pay much attention to the actual goings-on of the family estate, as long as the money kept flowing anyway. And with his wedding just a few months away, my son generally relied on his more savvy friend Patrick to handle their joint venture. Of course, I had more experience than both of them combined in the areas of estate finances and slave trading. So it was pretty easy for me to secretly re-route money where I wanted it. I was doing this very subtly mind you. It had to look very sneaky on paper.

The slave business was booming too. The estate was teaming with slaves from all over the region. The cutter Stavlone was truly renowned and was able to bring in a ton of business. And Jason’s idea of charging locals to watch the emasculations was paying off handsomely. I never went to the cutting huts myself, mind you. For obvious reasons, I tried to avoid even the thought of what was happening there. But I know Jason went often to see the slaves, most of whom were his age, being permanently deprived of their manhood. He even took his fiancée there once to see the cutting. She had been curious. Being a virgin, she had not even seen a grown male’s genitals until she went to the hut. I heard her giggling with Jason as they returned from the hut together.

“That was amazing,” she had said. “It was so primal, to see those bucks altered like that. You could almost see the manhood drain from their face after they were gelded.”

Jason chuckled back, “You could see it drain from somewhere else too.”

Samantha rapped her arms around Jason’s broad muscled shoulders and giggled in his ear, “And you’ve got what they HAD between their legs! Is it as big as that one red-headed slave’s?”

Jason swung her around to face him and kissed her passionately. “I’ll show you now love.” Samantha pulled her lips from his. “Please, baby, I can’t wait,” Jason said, pulling her butt close to him, forcing her hips to grind between his legs.

“You know I want to wait. It is very important to my mother. Both of us being virgins on our wedding night honors the gods of fertility. I believe it as much as she does.”

Jason relented and removed his hand from her ass. “Perhaps we should get a lemonade and…. Cool down.”

As they walked away, my son glanced toward the kitchen doorway and saw me watching them. “Limonade

now,” he said. It was the first time he had spoken a word to me in two months.

And true to his word, my son remained a virgin for his bride. I know that Patrick arranged a group of prostitutes for the bachelor party, but Jason did not sleep with any of them. He only fingered the prettiest girl's pussy while his other friends frolicked with their picks. I watched them through the window. My son, dressed in one of his best suits, was fingering the naked woman’s snatch. He would push his middle finger as deep as possible, trying to feel as much of her warm wet innards as he could. I watched as his thumb brushed her little clit and he moaned his name. My mind half remembers what it was like being driven by lust for a beautiful woman, but my body has totally forgotten. As I watch my son, his fingers feeling the inside of a woman’s glorious hole for the first time, I can almost smell the lust radiating from his body. The look in his eyes; the deepness of his breath; the tightness in the front of his trousers. I hope he is enjoying it. The next day, part two of my plan was set into motion.

***

The day after the bachelor party, I dropped a package off at Patrick’s estate. I made sure that I was not seen and that the package had no markings that could be traced back to me. Jason’s wedding was one week away. In all the turmoil of preparations, no one noticed that I was missing. And they didn’t notice when Patrick’s workers began pulling the financial records of the gelding business. They didn’t notice when Patrick’s mother took the family carriage to the Stoker estate. They didn’t notice anything until the next day, when the city guards came to the house.

My wife and I were brought into the study and held. Jason was not awake when the guards arrived. I saw them leading my son, half dressed, toward the business hut. A few minutes later, Samantha was escorted into the room by her father. He was a tall man with a stern face and white hair. He was followed by Patrick himself, who was dressed in his finest suit.

He addressed my wife. “Madam, we have known each other a long time. And believe me when I tell you that what I am about so tell you pains me as deeply as it will you. I have evidence that your son has cheated me and my family of MILLIONS of dregos. MILLIONS. I have hear the records of our gelding transactions from the past year.” He held up the packet I had prepared, plus many more files he had collected from his own records. “Your son has secretly skimmed the profits from our joint operation and invested them in personal accounts unknown to my family. The profits from those investments are as much mine as anyones. In fact, based on the fines and penalties attached to crimes such as these, I have been robbed of more dregos than you possibly have to repay.”

By this time, my wife was sobbing like a schoolgirl. Perhaps she should have shown more interest in the business that kept her living in the manner she took for granted.

Patrick continued: “Madam, my family now owns this estate. It and all in it has been awarded to me as compensation for the crimes against my family. However, as a woman of stature, I do not wish to denigrate you. Therefore, I release you and suggest that you leave this estate immediately.”

My wife collapsed onto the floor. She was carried out by some servants. Mr. Stoker nodded to Patrick. “Very generous, sire. You are a true gentleman.” He placed his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. That’s when I knew that my plan had succeeded more completely than I had imagined.

Patrick accepted the older man’s compliment with a grateful nod. “The most difficult and painful matter is still before me, sir. Jason has been my friend all my life. To see him brought low is still painful, even if it is just.”

Mr. Stoker’s face turned grim. “Justice is justice my boy. A friend who steals and lies is no friend. Even though it is painful for you, the duties of a man both to his wife and to justice must be fulfilled. When I think of my daughter with him….” He trailed off as his gripped on Samantha’s shoulder.

She reached up and gently rubbed her father’s wrinkled hand. “Don’t think of it father. It’s not worth the energy.”

Patrick reached up and gently touched the young woman’s fair chin, then moved toward the door. “My final task awaits. Please excuse me.” As he left, he turned back and looked at me. “Gelding, you should come with me.” It was the first time Patrick had spoken to me since my testicles were chopped off.

***

I followed him to the gelding hut. My mind swam with what I knew I would find there. As he opened the door, I saw my son Jason. He stood in the center of the hut. His arms where tied with thick ropes and pulled out from his body. His legs were shackled to the wooden floor. He had been striped nude. It was the first time I had seen my son—or any male—nude since I was gelded. I had almost forgotten what a mature, intact male looked like.

My son’s body had developed into a strong muscled young man in the five years since his puberty began. His biceps strained against the tight ropes, but his strong arm and shoulder muscles could not budge. His chest was strong, with small dime sized pink nipples on his hairless pecks. The washboard stomach, the straining thigh muscles—my son was more of a man than I had ever been.

But his genitals were what really shocked me. As my eyes followed the lines of Jason’s washboard stomach, I saw where that his love trail of hairs started at his navel and flowed down to form a perfect triangle of tangled brown sex hair. My son was a fully-grown, fertile male, and this thick bush of pubic hair that surrounded and accented his genitals proved it. My son’s mature penis hung from the tangle of curly brown hair like a fat 4” sausage. It was totally soft, the prominent mushroom head weighing the tube down toward the floor. Like most of the wealthier men in my region, I made sure Jason was circumcised after he was born. Most of the local doctors believed that it was healthier for the boys, but I was most interested in the fact that it set him apart from the servants. No slave boy is ever circumcised, so I knew that Jason’s future girlfriends would see this as a sign of his high birth. As I saw now, the circumcision had given his penis a handsome clean look. With his foreskin reduced to a few small folds of pink skin nestled behind the heavy flared head, my son’s proud male Crown was displayed for all to see. As I stared at my son’s phallus, I realized just how much different his was than my own. Mine was shriveled to a tiny nub of flesh. It had been five years since the spongy tubes of my little wiener had been filled with blood. Since then, they had constricted to the point where only my pink head was visible from my flabby body. As I looked at the proud, pasty white flesh of my son’s hanging sausage, I almost felt sorry about the changes his body would soon go through. But it had to happen.

Behind his proud tool hung his loose bag of jewels. Inside that dark tan bag of soft man-flesh, I could see the outlines of my son’s two precious orbs—the jewels of our family. Those two dangling ovals contained the fertile seed that was the only chance for my genes and bloodline to be passed on. That would never happen now. But it was still a startling thought. It had been so long since I had seen my own testicles; it was impossible to compare my son’s dangling berries with the ones that had produced him. Maybe it was because I had never seen a ball sac since mine were taken, but I thought my son’s looked so large and full. Each orb hung clearly on either side of his hanging sausage. It was a complete set of manhood, the apparatus that made my son a strong mature male. I looked at it with awe and envy.

Patrick, however, looked at it and snorted. “Well, I see you have been well prepared.”

Jason looked up then and saw us enter the room. His eyes were full of fear and righteous anger. “Patrick, cut me down for God’s sake. I haven’t done a thing to you. I don’t know where those bills and records came from, but I’ve never seen them before in my life.”

Patrick’s eyes flared with anger: “You were told not to speak to me. I OWN you now, slave. You are nothing to me. We are not equals. The fact that you spoke to me just now in that manner proves that Mr. Stoker was correct. We must be made unequal in body as well as legally.”

Jason’s eyes flashed with fear. “God, no. Please a Patrick. Don’t do it. You’re my best friend.”

“Gag him,” Patrick told his servant.

Jason’s protests became a muffled groan from behind a red gag.

Patrick waved me into the room. “I felt it justified that he be allowed to witness this moment, since we both witnessed the same justice delivered to him so many years ago. I guess it is true, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I should have known that your deceitful nature would show itself sooner or later. I knew you were up to something when you convinced Samantha to become engaged to you when you knew that I was courting her. I shutter to think of what lies you told her about yourself and me to convince her to agree to your proposal. But when I showed her and her father the truth of your character and the huge extent of your thievery, they agreed immediately that your engagement was canceled. Her father even arranged the expedited court decision regarding this estate. That’s right ‘friend’, your estate now belongs to my family. You are to be my slave on this property. Out of respect for the friendship I once felt for you, I was prepared to leave it at that. But you know how conservative Samantha’s parents are. Her father would only agree to our engagement if I followed the traditions to the letter. I have to say that now I see his wisdom. MY wife would never be safe on the property if you were still here, as a man, with the desires we both now feel. We are equals in that sense, our desire for women, our desire for Samantha. That state cannot be allowed to continue. So, I have only one option. To carry out the traditions. ALL the traditions.”

Jason’s eyes moistened with tears. “Mmamanmasns,” he mumbled into his gag.

Patrick walked up to his former friend and brought his hand up under him, cupping the hanging bag of male orbs that hung between his straining legs. “These, Jason. These are what make us equals. You must be deprived of them. As your owner and master, I have the right to have them taken. But as your former friend, I have the privilege of cutting them myself.” With a squeeze to the twin orbs in his grip that sent a pathetic whimper from my son’s mouth, Patrick released Jason’s male marbles and lifted the loose noodle of his penis by it’s red helmet head. He began to manipulate it with his fingers, and I suddenly realized what he intended. He must humiliate my son’s manhood before he takes it. He must establish his dominance of my son’s body now, while he is still a man, to highlight his future dominance of the gelding he will soon create.

Patrick looked deeply into my son’s terrified eyes as he manipulated his loose hose, feeling it thicken slightly as the healthy mature tubes of sponge began to fill with blood. “I’ve known you all my life Jason. You were like a brother to me. Remember when I taught you how to do this to yourself? You were a scared kid then, and I was trying to look tough and cool to you. I was there the night you blew your first wad, buddy. I was there with you. I was as proud as any brother could have been with you brought yourself off for the first time. And remember when I told you that I had just lost my virginity with Diana Rotherage? Later that night I came over to your house. I described it all to you, how I had seduced her in her parent’s room while they were out riding. How I had gotten her so hot by kissing her tits that she begged for me to go inside her. You were so curious, in awe. You were amazed and wanted to know exactly how it felt to be a man inside a woman. I told you all about it, and you were so horny you had to go into your bed room and bring yourself off right then and there.”

By this time, Patrick’s manipulations had brought Jason’s floppy noodle to full staff. Patrick released my son’s erection and walked across the room. I got my first good look at Jason’s stiffy. His pecker seemed to be about 6.5” long, and respectable thick. The loose wrinkles of pink skin behind his flared head had stretched to make a tight pink band of flesh that lead back to a brown circumcision scar. Wow, it was the first time I had seen an erection since that fateful night five years before. It looked huge to me, and my mind wondered back to the days when I was a man and could get a stiffy. My son’s masculine tool was a good inch longer than my own prod had been. God, I was so proud then, proud of the amazing piece of masculinity that had sprung from my long-gone loins.

Patrick returned with a bottle of lotion and a string—gutstring. Patrick quickly formed a loop in the manner Stavlone had instructed him. I suddenly realized that Patrick was not a professional cutter. In fact, Jason’s would be the first and perhaps only pair he would ever take in his life. The thought sent a shiver through me. What if something when wrong? I didn’t want to see my son hurt. It didn’t take long for Patrick to prepare the castration noose. And as Jason strained his neck to see the activity between his legs, Patrick again gently lift his testicles and slipped the noose over the fruits of my son’s manhood. Jason struggled then, fighting like a mad man to somehow get the noose off before it tightened. I know that fight; I lived it myself. I knew it was useless. I’m sure Jason’s mind new it was a wasted effort as well, but his body refused to believe that and fought on anyway. Patrick then tugged the noose hard on Jason’s sac. The soft warm flesh of my son’s scrotum compressed under the leather. As the cords by which his testicles were attached to his body were tied tight, I knew his manhood had begun to die. Before Jason could recover from the horrible pressure radiating from his groin, Patrick produced another gutstring and positioned it a few centimeters below the first. The tightening of the second string produced no new reaction from my son, just a continuation of his low pitched whimper.

Now Patrick reached for the lotion. Jason’s penis had shrunken slightly as his ball bag was tied. But being a young man of only 18, it had not deflated much. Patrick squirted a generous amount of lotion onto his hand, and began to manipulate the pecker again. It only took moments for reach full staff again. As I watched Patrick manipulate my son’s most personal appendage, I realized the importance of this ritual. Last night, Jason and Patrick were equals. They, in their own bedrooms, could whip out their peckers and jerk them to pleasure if they so wished. Now, in this cutting hut, my son had no control over his body. Patrick was stimulating him against his will, in effect forcing his body to respond sexually against Jason’s wishes. It was like a rape through pleasure. It was the first step to Jason’s spiritual inferiority to his new owner. The next step was physical.

Patrick leaned his head closer to Jason’s shaking head and began to talk again. “Looks like you finally caught up with me,” he said, measuring my son’s straining shaft with his hands. “Well, not quite, but almost,” he said with a smile. “Still, you’re a pretty big man, Jason. Just think, you’ve been so careful to save yourself for your bride. In one short week, you would be putting this into her,” he said, massaging Jason’s flared mushroom head with his fingers. “Pushing it past the outer lips of her pussy, feeling her insides against your manhood for the first time. I know you felt the inside of that whore. Just with your finger. You were so careful. You just used your finger. But you felt it. Now imagine that—imagine those slippery soft cushions of flesh surrounding your helmet. GOD, I’m telling you it feels so good.”

Patrick’s hand continued to piston on the hard steal of my son’s manhood. Jason’s cock was dripping with pre-cum now; his body preparing the way for the precious seed it would soon deliver. The veins on his shaft where pronounced, each one straining with the thought of feeling the inside of a pussy. His fat purple head visibly throbbed with the lust for a pussy’s depths. The sac of balls on the underside of my son’s body began to pull up to him. The soft flesh wrinkled as his testicles rose into position to shoot their life-creating cream. I knew Jason would not last much longer.

Patrick reached up and, with a knife from his belt, cut the gag from Jason’s mouth. I expected him to scream, but he didn’t. His mouth just hung open, panting with the pleasure radiating from his helmet crowned manhood. His mind swimming with the fantasies feed to him by his new owner.

Patrick returned the knife to his belt and continued to speak. “I know it feels good inside a woman, Jason. Because I’ve been there. But you, you’ll never go there. This,” he looped his finger around the flared corona of Jason’s pecker, “This will never go there. It’s going to be my cock that pushes through Samantha’s virginity, that spreads her inner walls open and apart. It will be my name that she moans as her inner self is filled for the first time with the flesh of a man. And I’ll go deeper and spread her out farther than you ever could.”

Tears streamed down Jason’s face. “Please,” he whispered. “Please, god Patrick. I want to feel it. Please. I know Samantha is going to be your woman now, but please, please, let me feel it at least once. Of god, it feels so good.”

Patrick smiled as he knew that it was working. Jason was no longer his equal in spirit. He was a pathetic man, begging another man to allow him to feel the inside of a woman. He began to stroke his tool faster. “Jason, Mr. Stoker demands that I follow all the traditions. When I mount Samantha and position my cock at her opening, you will be there, in the room, watching. Mr. Stoker will be there too, making sure you make no move. You will be forced to watch as my hard cock penetrates the woman who would have been your wife. You’ll watch as I pump her. You’ll watch me perform as a man the way you never have and never will. You’ll listen to me moan with the pleasure only a man knows. And you’ll know I am forever your owner, your master, your better.”

At that moment, Jason’s body responded involuntarily, and his eyes closed tight. The pleasure he had brought about so many times by his own hand overwhelmed his body. I watched as my son’s face tightened into an expression of almost pain, as all his strong masculine muscles convulsed in a single spasm of sexual pleasure and power. My son was experiencing the last orgasm of his life. For those precious few seconds, Jason’s body transformed into a large living pump of male seed. Within moments, the male muscles behind his ball sac began to convulse, propelling thick fertile human seed out into the air and onto the dirt floor. My son’s last lad of jism, wasted on the floor.

And as he squirted the last load of his manhood, Patrick continued to talk. “And as you watch me fuck my wife for the first time, above us, on the headboard of the bed, will be a jar of your manhood, your fucking balls. They’ll be preserved for us the keep forever as a symbol of my dominance over her first fiancée.” With that, he pulled the knife from his belt once again and held it in front of Jason’s sweat-covered face. Jason looked exhausted. The fatigue naturally associated with a male’s orgasm had overtaken his body. But his natural feelings of rest and relaxation vanished when he saw the knife. Patrick took the point of the knife and touched it gently to his hairless chest, between his developed pecs. Then, slowly, he very lightly ran the point of the knife across Jason’s torso, enough for him to feel its sharpness but not enough to cut the flesh. As he crossed Jason’s naval and began dragging the knife through his sweat soaked sex hair, my son visibly shuttered in fear. His penis was rapidly deflating from its last erection as the knife gently passed it by, on the way to its ultimate destination.

Patrick gripped Jason’s tight bundle of balls, still up against his body in shooting position. Placing his fingers around the gutstrings, Patrick gently massaged the testicles down to their more normal position. I remember thinking how gentle Patrick was handling my son’s sensitive stones. Perhaps he truly did feel a twinge of caring for his childhood friend after all, even now.

Jason now felt Patrick’s warm hand holding his precious male power-source away from his body. He knew it was about to happen. His body was exhausted, lacking the strength to struggle against the bonds anymore. But his mind, still awash in the after glow of his last blissful orgasm, was determined to escape. “Patrick, please. Please, I want to be a man. It’s the only life I’ve ever known. You’ve known me all my life. You’ve been with a woman. Please don’t deny me that for the rest of my life. You know what I will be losing if you take them. Please, I’ll do anything.” Tears streamed down his freshly shaved face.

Patrick moved the knife between the tight gutstrings. Jason’s body lurched mightily against his bonds, causing Patrick to lose his grip on the slippery sac of balls. “OH GOD, NoooooooOOOO,” my son yelled. Patrick grabbed the sac again and positioned the knife. “No, NO, NOOO, GOD …. I’m a man…. I’m only 18, oh please GOD … Patrick, don’t do it…. Not my manhood…. No, No, I have to be a MAN…Oh god, NOT MY BALLLLLLSSS.” His body lurched again, sweat dropping from his hairy armpits onto the wooden floor. Patrick’s grip held this time. Jason jerked his body one last time, one last feeble act to save his manhood, his last act as a man. Patrick pushed the knife between the gutstrings and in an instant he pulled my only son’s testicles free from his body.

“ARRGGRRGGGGG< NOOOOOOOooooooooo,” Jason cried as his body convulsed.

I saw Patrick raise his hand up from between my son’s legs. Between his fingers I saw the fat bag of balls that had once powered my son’s masculine body and desire. “I own you Jason,” Patrick said. “I will keep your balls. But the sac, that goes to my wife, Samantha. I will tan it and preserve it and turn it into a change purse, which she will carry. It will be a reminder to her of the lying, cheating male that I saved her from marrying. You will probably see it a lot as you work in the house. You’ll see her put her fingers into her little change purse that once housed your most precious manhood and pull out change to give to the servant’s children.”

With that, Patrick turned and left. He never said another word to me. He took my son’s severed scrotum and testicles with him. I never say his balls again, but I have since seen his man-bag many times in Mistress Samantha’s hands.

I was left alone with my son then. He lay suspended by the ropes on his arms. If not for them, he would have collapsed onto the floor. His head was hanging down; his sweat soaked hair covering his face. I looked at his 18-year-old body one last time. The hard powerful muscles that lined his masculine form would soon disappear just as mine have. The thick tangle of pubic hair that had once symbolized his maturity would soon grow sparse and disappear altogether. The hanging, drooling white sausage between his legs would soon shrivel to a worthless nub. The thick red mushroom of his manhood which had once strained in lust for the depths of a woman’s pussy would never rise at the end of it’s thick stalk again. And my son would die a virgin.

I knew this well. He was like me.

I walked to him then. His face rose up to look at me in the eyes. His deep brown eyes were red; tears streamed down his square manly face. “Father, he took them away. They’re gone,” Jason said, his voice cracking with pain and humiliation. It was the first time since I was gelded that he had spoken to me kindly.

I stepped closer to him and stretching out my arms, I embraced his cold sweaty body. My hands rested on his powerfully muscled back, still covered in cold sweat from his horrible ordeal. I thought how for a year he had dreamed of Samantha’s hands on his bare back, covered with the sweat of a lover, as he pumped seed into her for the first time. It was not to be. His head fell onto my shoulder and my shirt was at once soaked with tears. As I held my son’s neutered body, he was racked with tears.

“They’re gone; he cut them off,” he sobbed, no longer aware of what was happening around him, consumed by the empty pain radiating from his emasculated groin.

“I know son,” I said. “I know.” For the first time in five years, my son and I were equals.

THE END.

Any comments, insights, suggestions are welcome and encouraged. E-mail me. jjdov26@hotmail.com