He told himself that it had nothing to do with preparations for the bi-monthly Commandant's Mess. The Way taught that all sex, and especially masturbation, was inherently sinful, and since there was no doubt that young men would indulge in it if given the chance, it was only doing them a favor to remove temptation, even if it did require allowing them to masturbate for the last time.

But there had just been too many of them today. He’d had naked men in his kitchen all afternoon, and most of them had had to pump up their meat to get it hard enough for the knife. The crotch of his white pants had gotten too tight, as it usually did during the preparations for these things, and his groin ached.

Troopers Hansen and Reid, the last of the dozen chosen donors, had come in so late that he had begun to consider sending the MP’s after them. Reid was now leaning forward into the carving block, his hard, narrow buttocks clenched, pressing his erect sausage into the wooden surface with the thumb of his left hand as he sliced off the glans with one of the sonic cutters.

The penis needed to be removed erect because it sliced up and roasted better. A few of the men got satisfactory erections without having to masturbate, but most didn’t, and occasionally one of those who had to stroke it would ejaculate, against strict orders. This had already happened once today and he could still smell the taint of it. It was not only unseemly, it generally caused the penis to go soft again before it could be cut up. And it affected the flavor of the testicles, making them less piquant. Gruenther knew this because as chef he needed occasionally to sample the meat. Otherwise he wouldn't have touched it.

An additional complication had provided a partial solution. He was under orders to use a particular anaesthetic for removing the meat, though he was sure it would taste better without it. But he had discovered that the stuff left the penis responsive enough that it could still be pumped up after injection if it wasn’t already erect, but was a lot less likely to ejaculate. So Gruenther always popped the man in the crotch with the hypo gun as soon as he got his pants off, not even waiting until he had cleaned off the hair.

It had all worked as usual with Reid. But Hansen was all too obviously enjoying getting his sausage hard for the knife. There he stood, stark naked under the fluorescents in Gruenther’s antiseptically clean kitchen, gripping his outsize male organ, his hand jerking up and down. His heavy testicles, that on most young men would be drawn up tight at this stage, were flopping around as he pumped. Since he had already cleaned off his crotch hair, the effect was just plain lewd.

Reid, on the other hand, hadn’t been a problem aside from his tardiness and sullen resentment, and Gruenther didn't give a shit whether he was pleased at having to castrate himself or not. He had gotten it up with a couple of quick strokes and had already taken off the cockhead and an inch of what had been a thick eight-inch shaft. He was in the process of slicing off another inch. The cutter made the process neat and almost bloodless. He watched him for a moment, before glancing back at Hansen.

In the moment that the over-sergeant’s attention had wandered, the young man’s lean, naked body had gone rigid. He had thrown his head back and thrust his hips forward. His eyes were partly closed and his mouth slightly open, the smooth boyish face flushed. His hand was moving faster and faster.

"That's enough!" Gruenther barked.

Too late. Gism gouted from Hansen's penis, arcing high into the air and splattering the clean vinyl floor and one of the work tables. Lost in his orgasm, his hand still moved frantically.

"I said that's enough!” Gruenther roared. “What the fuck do you think this is, trooper, some kind of fucking orgy?"

Hansen’s eyes popped open and his face jerked around toward Gruenther. He let go of his penis as if it were red hot. His face went darker red. He opened his mouth as if to say something, thought better of it and snapped to attention instead. His penis was still jerking and twitching but the semen had stopped coming. It was too much. Gruenther felt his own face go incandescent with rage.

Reid sniggered. Gruenther rounded on him.

"When you're quite through enjoying the floor show, perhaps you'll be so kind as to finish slicing up that piece of meat you're playing with," he ground out.

Reid's face went instantly impassive. "Yessir," he mumbled, and sliced off another inch of penis.

Gruenther was a non-com by technicality, as he saw it, and he made sure that in his own bailiwick, he got the respect he deserved. The "yessir" mollified him, but only slightly. Two illicit ejaculations out of one group of a dozen donors was intolerable. For the sake of getting the job done, he’d let the first one go, but not this time.

Just at that moment, one of his kitchen helpers appeared from a storeroom. A second man was brushing melted butter on pieces of spitted cock and testicles already turning over the grill and a third continued doggedly to peel potatoes at a sink. But luckily for them, Gruenther’s furious gaze lit first on the man coming out of the storeroom.

"Johansen," Gruenther barked. "Come over here."

Johansen obeyed, his apprehension plain.

"Drop your pants."

"Sarge?" Not even a ‘yessir’.

"You heard me. Get those pants off."

Johansen, a slightly built blond, swallowed hard, unzipped his fly and pushed down his white kitchen pants. Without being told, he also pushed down the briefs he was wearing underneath.

"Right," said Gruenther, appraising the man's package.

He had suspected from Johansen's build that he might make a good donor. His body type often was. And indeed, the crisply circumcised penis was large and meaty, testicles bulking satisfactorily under it.

He gestured the man toward the table where he had left the hypo gun. "Get over here."

Johansen looked for a moment as if he might balk. But after a moment’s hesitation, he obeyed. Gruenther grabbed the male appendages, yanked them upward so hard that Johansen rose involuntarily on his toes, jabbed the hypo gun into the man's crotch and pulled the trigger. Johansen let out a sort of strangled yip.

The meat was warm and sweaty in Gruenther's hand, the skin smooth. He could feel the testicles hard through the thin scrotum, the penis just starting to swell. He jerked his hand away with a grimace of distaste and wiped his palm on his apron, trying to ignore the sensations in his own crotch.

"Okay, you ought to know the drill. I want all the hair off and the whole works scrubbed until it's just next to raw. Got that?"

"Uh, right, Sarge," Johansen mumbled. Gruenther snorted and turned away.

Donors were selected on the parade ground. Gruenther took what he was sent. But one young man's penis, sliced up for shish-ka-bob, looked much like another's, and Gruenther figured the Commandant would never know the difference. So he could afford to make an example of Hansen.

He rounded on him, noting with disgust that the man's penis, its head now slick with cum, was still fairly hard and twitching slightly. If he'd been a teenager, it would have been more forgivable. But Hansen was about 22, too old to still have a supercharged dick. Well, that was about to be fixed.

"Get over here."

"Yessir."

"You did hear me order you not to let that piece of meat spurt?"

"Yessir."

Hansen still looked a little embarrassed, but it was plain he wasn't really sorry for what he'd done. He probably figured that since he was going to be pruned anyway, there was nothing worse Gruenther could do. But the chef knew that as much as the men hated being pruned, they still took a degree of pride in being selected and knowing that their meat would wind up on the Commandant’s table.

Which gave Gruenther the handle he needed. What he was about to do to Hansen would be all over the camp within hours.

He ordered the man to a counter where a meat grinder was attached. The heavy duty grinder was designed so that it could be rotated for input from the side. Gruenther turned it and scooped up a stainless steel bowl which he put under the grinder's output bell.

Gauging the height of Hansen's crotch, he noticed that the penis was stiffening again. Which now suited him just fine.

He pointed to the maw of the grinder. "Stick that sausage right in here, trooper, and lean into it."

One of the other men in the room, probably Reid, sniggered. Johansen made a small strangled noise. The potato peeler and the grill tender had stopped to stare.

Hansen just gulped. He stared at the grinder.

"You heard me, trooper!"

Slowly and reluctantly, Hansen stepped up to the grinder, and without being told, pushed up on the balls of his feet to bring his crotch into line. He pulled down his penis, hesitated, then poked his large, flaring cockhead, still slick with cum, into the maw of the grinder. Surprisingly, the shaft was fully hard again. Gruenther eyed the crisp, rosy glans with some regret. It was a good specimen as such things went, and would have looked nice on the spit. But his regret was minimal. He reached past Hansen’s hip and flipped the switch on the grinder. The machine hummed and Hansen’s cockhead disappeared into the machine.

He jerked back reflexively as the blades caught it. But the glans was already hamburger. Sighing, he pushed the rest of the penis in. The hum of the machine’s motor deepened. Bloody ground meat emerged into the bowl as Hansen pressed forward until his pubic bone was against the round metal lips of the intake. Nothing more emerged and the grinder speeded up.

"Back off a bit," Gruenther ordered. As he suspected, Hansen’s testicles still hung from the nub of his penis.

Taking a wooden spoon, he hunkered down behind Hansen, uncomfortably close to the young man’s tight butt. “Spread your feet a little.” Hansen did. Gruenther cocked his head until he could see the balls from the rear. He shoved them with the spoon toward the intake.

"Okay, lean forward again."

Resigned now, Hansen obeyed, again shoving his pubic bone right up against the grinder. Gruenther pushed the testicles forward until the blades caught them and pulled them in, tugging Hansen against the intake. Hansen grunted and clamped his jaw as the hum of the machine’s motor deepened, rose, deepened and rose again, finally releasing him.

"Okay, back off."

Hansen did, looking down at himself in dismay. His scrotum and testicles were completely gone now and only the nub of penis remained sticking out.

"Turn around and put your hands behind your butt, spread your feet and shove what’s left of that sausage forward," Gruenther ordered, picking up a cutter.

This part was essentially routine. Gruenther used only the testicles and the projecting part of the penis for the mess, but he interpreted his standing orders to mean that the whole works was to be removed. So he did just that. Wielding the cutter expertly, he excised not only the nub but the root of Hansen's penis neatly from his crotch, tipped up the grinder intake, thumbed the machine on again and dropped it in.

He surveyed his work. The whole lewd, untidy male apparatus Hansen had displayed between his legs was gone. Not a scrap remained. This one would do no more masturbating. But his satisfaction was soured by the unwelcome feel of his own penis straining almost painfully against the tight jock strap he wore.

His gaze lit on Hansen’s smooth, hairless chest and the erect pink nipples it sported. He yanked out the drawer in the counter next to the grinder, pawed among the implements it contained and came up with a small pair of tongs. Yes, he’d make the lesson really memorable. It might earn him a reprimand, but knowing the Commandant, he didn’t think so. He’d just be cleansing this young animal of two more vestiges of his offensive sexuality.

“Stand still and keep your mouth shut,” he ordered. He seized the right nipple with the tongs and before Hansen could process his intent, sliced it off with the cutter, aureole and all. Hansen howled and backed against the counter, starting to bring his hands up. But the over-sergeant was too quick and the left nipple came off before Hansen could defend it. The young trooper stared down at himself, mouth agape. Gruenther froze, still holding the severed nipple, horrified by the burst of sensation in his own crotch, hot and wet. He thanked the Maker for the white apron which covered it.

He gulped for air and swung around to find Johansen staring wide-eyed, his penis sagging. Reid had obviously been watching instead of sticking to his task. But as Gruenther’s gaze lit on him, he averted his eyes and sliced off the last projecting nub of his penis, then stepped back from the block and pulled up his balls. Still studiously ignoring Gruenther’s gaze, he sliced through his scrotum and dropped the balls on the carving block. Behind Gruenther, Hansen made a small whimpering noise. The over-sergeant jerked back around.

“Shut up!”

He picked up the nipples that he had dropped on the counter top and made a little ceremony of tipping up the grinder and running them through it, then took up the bowl of hamburger that had been Hansen’s sexual parts. Making sure all the men in the room were watching, he toed up the lid of a stainless steel refuse can and dumped it all in.

"Go straight to the infirmary,” he ordered Hansen, “and get yourself bandaged. Don't bother dressing first, since you've got nothing you need to cover up, now."

"Come on, come on, it's not play time,” he barked at the others as Hansen slunk out.

Reid hadn’t moved since dropping his balls on the wooden surface. Now he picked up the scrotum, squeezed out the testicles and started trimming off the sperm cords, as he’d been instructed earlier.

Johansen’s penis arced out from his crotch, turgid but not fully erect. He looked miserable but the muscles of his flat belly were pulled tight and there were spots of color in his cheeks. The penis twitched under Gruenther’s gaze.

“Get it up! Quickly!”

The young man swallowed and took hold of his penis with his right hand. After a moment, he grasped his balls with his left and pulled back on them, his face going red as he did so.

"As soon as you get it hard, stop, come over here and start cutting it up. Do not, I repeat, do not, ejaculate. Is that clear?" Gruenther made his tone dangerous.

Johansen had been thoroughly cowed. "No sir, I won’t."

He worked on himself for less than a minute and dropped his hands, his sausage jutting out and dripping pre-cum, which Gruenther eyed with disgust. The organ wagged stiffly back and forth as he moved woodenly over to the carving block and picked up the cutter.

Somewhat reassured that no further disaster was imminent, the chef turned back to Reid, who was waiting nervously. "Okay, trooper, let's get you cleaned up."

But when he put one hand on the young man’s lean thigh to start cutting out the root of the penis, there was a renewed stirring of unwanted sensation in his own crotch. Deeply disgusted with himself, Gruenther went grimly on with the necessary task. This evening, he promised himself, when he had some time free, he'd take care of the problem for good.