In Barcelona.

Eusebio was - is, as far as I know - a beauty. If you're randy enoughthere rae, of course, no shortage of beauties in a sauna, but Eusebio really was. He was probably then in his late twenties or early thirties, slim, olive-skinned and with enormous dark eyes which momentarily deflected attention away from a body kept firm by swimming or gym, but small, slimmer than the rather silly, muscle-bound fashion of the times. One or the other of us picked the other up; i should say that I'm English, and loook it, being very white of complexion and red-haired, and since I did a little to look after myself too, I usually scored quite well in a place I wasn't well know in. I looked exotic, I suppose, in the Mediterranean then.

He and I played, first in the darkroom and then in a 'cabina', which is just waht it sounds like, really, a small, darkened room with a double or single mattress euphemistically provided in mens' saunas world wide for 'resting'. We hit it off well because he had a passion for fucking. Alarmingly, the Spaniard had a cock at odds with his slight build, one of those cocks which tapers from a root the width of a beer glass to a still-respectable girth when crowned by a huge, plum-hued head, nearly covered by a thick, lips-like foreskin. Perhaps because of this his rutting blows, as he ploughed my arse, were exhilarating, leaving me gasping for breath and sore quickly, though his pounding went on and on till he finally came, banding into me so hard I fell onto the couch and we were pulled apart. We had actually used a condom - guys were and weren't, then - but his great, cone-like cock slurped out of me naked and sprang up smack against his belly as if prond of itself for having lost the obescene, constricting rubber. I didn't care. We collapsed onto the mattress panting and soaked with sweat, and then talked. My Spanish outstripping his English, we used that language.

Eusebio was a talker, and as he did he told me about his fantasies, playing with his softening cock and running his fingers under me where i lay to touch my slimy arselips,. We later found the edge of the condom and awkwardly pulled it out, but, whatever the consequences, his cum stayed deep inside. I held back from cumming now, never liking to hang around afterwards.

And I knew I wanted to stay with Eusebio.

We shared a fantasy. He told me that when he had been a little boy, and then a teeenager, he had played with his cock, tying things around it or using rubberbands to secure the root and leave to go numb and savour the darkening of the flesh and imagining the organ destroyed. For years he's played this thrilling, frightening game, he said, and when his fantasies matured along with his sexuality, and he'd learned to use that cock, his greatest stimulation had come from his fear, the unconfessable thrill, of wanting to lose it; not wanting to give it up, but to have his cock taken from him. That was the part that always worked for him, he said.

"But don't you love it, too?" I'd asked, remembering how he'd fucked me, the energy and dedication with which he'd ridden me with such pleasure.

"But tha's it, no? top loose that what really only stops you feeling ... hot?"

"Yes, that's the word, but, when I played those things - " I began. For I had. For years, and worse, and in London I'd put and followed up many CBT contacts and my balls had taken abuse for most of my sexual career. I was hard now, just having that conversation. "I don't think I ever really wanted to go throough with it and lose it completely, never cum, stuff like that." But my cock was now getting so hard it had softened my brain; I was suddenly no longer sure. "Your cock is huge, Eusebio, it's .. you are beautiful. Yeah, yes, I can imagine taking that cock from you, and" my head was reeling slightly. "and taking it with me and leaving you stranded and.." We kissed. Perhaps I was saying these things for him.

"Mutilated, sí"

The heavy word distracted me but Eusebio was wanking his monster dong again, and the bloody thing was hardening. "Me, sí." he said, "But tell me, Roofoos, (he never could pronounce my name right) if you can never, ever cum" kissing "wouldn't it be perfect, wouldn't it be the best?" His eyes were closed and he seemed to be driftin into a fantasy which, without excluding me, for his kisses were strong, even passionate, was one he'd had to enjoy too long alone to share easily.

Eusebio and I actually stayed in contact. Shortly after that trip to the sauna in Barcelona I returned to Madrid, where I still live, and then to England and spent the summer there, or what passes for summer in my native land. Eusebio, however, had given me an Email address when we'd parted, and like so often before, I'd taken it not really knowing whether we'd write. In fact, the slip of card with the address scribbled on it spent many weeks in my jeans' pocket. In England I was travelling around before trying to settle in London. In London, the summer scene was packed with tourists and I took a temporary job which allowed me to get off early enugh to enjoy the nights. But the city had become much more expensive than I remembered it being years before(I was thirty-three now)and it was shabbier, and after spending through my savings I left the metropolis and its men. I was ill for a couple of weeks, I remember. That was when I was prescribed sleeping pills and rest from a doctor whilst staying with my father, at the time living in Dorset's rural beauty. And although undeniably beautiful, Dorset is about as rural as it's possible to be and after a couple of weeks I was all rested out as it were, and was as randy as all hell. What saved the situation was that my father had a computer, and it wasn't long before I began following up old contacts. Enforced rest is always something which makes my sex drive soar. Always did, even in school holidays. And it was I'd rediscovered the pleasures of cybersex that I came across the crumpled remains of the cigarette packet top with Eusebio's Email address on it. How brightly foreign his name shone out in that bucolic Englishness! And how powerful. As memory dawned new the whole scene with that beautiful creature and his - our - fantasy seeped insidiously back into my thoughts, hardening my cock on and off for the rest of the long afternoon.

For days, then, the fantasy Eusebio had shared with me ghosted through my thoughts, and it was on the fifth day, waking in the warm, ealy August morning, despite the pills and with a painful hard-on and precum smeared on my sheets,That I got up and sent him an Email. I asked him simply how and where he was, if he was still intact, which I hastened to clarify was a joke, and urged him to write back. I sent the mail, hearing the incongruous sounds of sheep drifting up from the lane passing the house, and then went back to bed to relieve my raging dick.

Later that day I came across, of all things, a castrator. I stared. My cock, milked dry before the cows that morning, swelled a little, disturbed my the sight of the shiny, shiny silvery weapon, hanging there in apparent innocence, on the hook, with five identical mates, in an agricultural supplier's, its innocence annihilated as soon as my eyes caught sight of it. My father had woken me a couple of hours after I'd gone back to bed and if he'd noticed the wide cum-stain across my single covering sheet he was unperturbed. We were going to pick up some garden tools, which we did, but in Dorset there was no use I could have for a castrator, a genuine 'Elastrator' no less, which I also picked up from the retailer; it would have been far harder to explain tahn a spunk-stain on a sheet after a solitary summer's night.

It was hard to explain to myself, but the elastrator and the miniscule rubber bands fascinated me. I beat off countless time gently rubbing the instrument round my cock, trying out the formidable strength of the bands, and when at last I returned home to Madrid in the autumn I was lucky enough to enjoy sveral sessions with a couple of guys I met through the net, playing with this fetish, too. The Elastrator, which both of them had read about but neither of them had actually ever seen, was a successful plaything, although nver used for its legitimate, killing function.

And then, finally, Eusebio contacted me.

Writing by Email alowed us to play with his cock-cutting fantasies in ways we'd not been able to at afrist and only meeting. He pointed me to websites and stories dealing with castration and penectomy fantasies, and once sent me an exquisite, which I downloaded, of his great, pendulous dong hanging down in front of his low-hanging, dark balls, the cable-like veins and full prepuce´lips beautifully caught in living brilliance in this portrait. I still have this picture, its significance for me greatly enhanced by all that we did after.

Because we met again, Eusebio and I, just once. I returned to Barcelona in the spring of the following yearIt was already warm and tourists were beginning to colour the streets I took a room in a pension near the Ramblas, since the friends I usually stayed with were on holiday in America, I remember. Fired up by my renewed interest in CBT and because I'd half arranged to see Eusebio again, I'd brought the Elastrator, with the idea that we might play a little and that the toy might excite my playmate into some of the rougher games I'd been enjoying in the intervening months since we had last been in the Condal.

I went to the sauna that afternoon as I'd told Eusebio, but he didn't show up. I was disappointed but hardly bored; the darkroom yielded up a lot of pleasure and that night I was playing hard in the Eagle, a bar which has seldom let me down. And late on Sunday afternoon I went again to the sauna. I was more relaxed now and without too much expectation, although I took along, together with my bag and its cargo of suncream, aspirins, sleeping pills, toothbrush, condoms and lube, the Elastaror and its bands. I suppose, therefore, that I was really hoping that Eusebio would appear.

He did.

Almost as soon as I'd stripped and stepped out in my towel I found him and we embraced and kissed and he began urging me into a cabina. He was just as beautiful as I'd remembered, his swollen cock so hard and insistent that within minutes of us meetinbg he was pushing me down between kisses and caressesand suddemly there was that delirious mixture of pain and pleasure as he's pushing into me, lubed with spit and sweat which is barely enough, and begins fucking me with a passion and fury whaich I can only give in to. Lying under him, taking it, it is hard to believe that here is the man who dreams of losing that great, battering cock, for whom the loss, or theft as he's assured me so often he'd prefer, would be the culmination of his sexuality. And when he came, deep inside me, banging home that unnaturally broad root and rutting in his ecstasy, his desire seems more unblievable than ever. We played for what seemed like hours, played till the sweat was running off us in rivulets and we went out for beers which we took back to the intimacy of the cabina. It was then that I rememebered the Elastrator, then as he was sipping his beer and manhandling his semi-hard, precum-dripping cock, that I realsed I didn't want to tell him about it. I couldn't, then, explain it, why I felt so reluctant, why the sight of that great, fleshy and above all, so vitally alive sex organ stirred up in me these vicious thought, darker than I'd ever had more exciting tan I'd ever know, Perhaps I didn't quite believe him. My breathing itself quickened and I finished my beer off trying to slke the sudden dryness of my through. We went on talking but now, almost imperceptably, another strain of thought began in my own head. For suddenly, and that's the only word which can really describe it, I knew I was going to go beyond thinking about it, and that somewhere all of this had stopped being a fatasy for me. I couln't have explained it, not even to Eusebio himself. I watched him, lying on the hot, damp whiteness of the towel, his knees drwan up and wide apart, his left arm cradling his head aginst the wall as he looked back at me through glistening almost closed eyelashes. His right hand curved around his cock, incongruously hard and dark against the relaxedness of his body. I think even then that he was closer to being lost in his favourite fantasy thatsharing the rare moment in that cabina with me. Perhaps that's why my own thought now crystallised too, why Fantasy became Plan.

I murmmured to him that I was going for more beers and he smiled lazily and nodded, never once interupting his fondling. I wrapped the wet towel around me and went out, the cooller air refreshing me and clearing my head. But I didn't go to the bar. Without even thinking about things now I padded along to the changing room and fished my bag out of my locker. I didn't think about this, not actively. Perhaps I already knew that to stop and think would be to stop completely. I knew what I was going to do and was only aware that my breathing had become faster, a nervous, slightly exhilarating panting, more noticeable still than the trembling of my hands which fumbled awkwardly but determinedly at straps and the odds and ends in the bag until they closed arounf the battered plastic wrapping of the sleeping tablets. I popped out two of the the white, month-old pills, holding my breath as I did. Increasingly lightheaded, I felt for and found the cold, smooth handles of the castrator and the small box of bands with the dozen or so that remained. I might have wondered, too, why I hadn't shown these things to Eusebio as I'd planned, hoping to flesh out our fantasies. And again, suddenly, I knew why I hadn't.

It had never been a fantasy. Now. That was clear, now. The fantasy was as lucid as a dream to a dreamer who knows he's asleep.

I covered the things with a dry towel from the locker, taking care to keep thepills in the pocketed centre folds, closed up the locker and went to the bar to pick up the beers which the barman thoughtfully, though inconveniently, poured into plastic cups. It meant I went back to the cabina slowly, passing the half-naked men in the dim corridors with my uncertain hands full and my heartbeat so lound in my ears I was quite expecting one of those men to mention it.

Eusebio was dozing but shifted a little as I came in. I don't think he'd missed me, though he smiled and unwrapped his hand from his bloated cock long enough to caress my thigh as I slipped off my towel and bent to kiss him.Carefully, I put the foaming cups down on the floor near his discarded sandals and amongst the fumbling and folding of the towel I found the pills and dropped them into one of the beers. His beer. It was only then that my cock leapt and swelled up. We were both sweating from the enclosed warmth of the little room but as I reached over and kissed and sucked at the richness of his eager mouth I felt a wave of cold fear and pleasure course through my body, a sensation that sent me kissing, kissing the heat of his flesh, down to his cock and neatly shaved pubis, tickling the end of his gleaming cockhead with my fine, blond beard, pleasure which made me take his cock in my mouth, the engorged, blood-filled, living flesh of it always too big to take in whole, the widening base of its root surely bigger than ever. He groaned, now, running his hands over my jaw to make me play the way he wanted, to make me bite and nibble at the root I could never reach as he filled my throat with his flesh. And precum, precum in almost unnatural quantities always with Eusebio, spewing out, profligate, a plethora of juices bounteously shed from a cock that so much wanted to live.

And in his drowsy ecstacy the familiar chanting of "múerdemela, múerdemela", bite it, bite it. Perhaps he took me along with him. In any case, I was beyond questionning myself anymore.My own cock, usually shrinking and intimidated by Eusebio's limb-like shaft, was raging. I drew my lips away from his manhood, the superabundant precum hanging in glistening cords from my stubbly beard, and looked at the condemned flesh and its intricate map of veins.

Sitting up, I reached down and handedhimhis beer. He raised himself up against the wall , taking his wet cock in his right hand, his wanking hand, and wolfed down the beer almost in one go. I dramk, too, glad to find the stuff luke warm and knowing from experience that the powdery pills would have disolved in the minutes we'd been lovemaking. I remember thinking that there was no backing out now. As if wanting to assure myself, even then, that I could live with this, I took his enormous cock in my hand and laughed, saying that if had this removed he'd weigh less. In response he laughed, too, grabbing the huge root vigorously, and finishing off the dregs of the warm beer.

"Lots of things weel be diferen' then", he grinned, deliberately thickening his accent and beating so furiously at his dick that threads and globs of precum leapt through the air. "Yes. será fabuloso." Did he mean this? Did he know what I'd already started to do to him? I still don't think I ever knew. Depite myself, I'm fascinated. "But you'd never get off, I mean" I rephrased the expression to one he'd understand "You'd never cum, never..." I'm groping for words now because his violent waking is slowing down and his god-like black eyes, seldom more than half open, are closed.

"Tha's the idea, no?" his voice is weakening and is vaguely slurred. "Maybe you don't really understan', Roofoos". But there's no criticism in his words. I lean back against the wall but don't dare touch my cock. If I climax now the spell is lost. So I wait.

The once-dim light in the cabina seems brighter now and under his losely curled fingers I can see his cock still oozing its viscous slim. His head slides slightly to one side but the wide, slightly salacious grin stays fixed on his lips, the eys firmly closed and covered by the long lashes that help give them their magic. The minutes draw out and pass. The curled had slips and no longer has the strength or will to slide along the tapered shaft of his last erection. It remains engorged even after the slack fingers drop away and the deep red scrotun slides even further down till his sweat-covered balls rest on the towel between his spread thighs. His breathing has become slow and steady and seems to form, in my own racing head, a strange counterpoint to my thumping heart. And still I wait, till I'm sure that my duplicitous beer has taken. Eusebio sleeps soundly, half propped against the wall, on foot overhanging the bed, and he is more beautiful than ever.

So slowly now I reach down and grasp the gleaming Elastrator, which contrives to feel cold even in the heat of the thick air around me. The silvery implement flashes in the poor light, cold and merciless, its design and function so nakedly real that it only fuel my tremulous excitement. I take the box of bands up from the folds of the towel on the floor and lay the brilliant steel on the muscles of his belly, enoying the contrast of flesh and steel. And now I work quickly, before the swollen cock shrinks. I take one of the impossibly small bands out and fit it into the four jaws of the device. It seems to have become a loaded weapòn. I close the grips and watch the green band expand and thin to cutting, wire-like fineness. My breathing and heartrate are now so rapid that I feel a mild vertigo but still gently take up the sacificial cock and sweep in through the rubber ring and keep going until the huge width of the root of Eusebio's cock - almost filling with living flesh the cruel, killing ring - is reached and I let go of the band. I can't avoid the snap which jolts my hand and the sleeping man's body. Instinctively, my eyes flick away from my work to see, in terror, if the bite of the band has awoken its victim, but Eusebio merely breaks his gentle snore and dreams on. The shock of the moment has spent my breath and I'm gasping as I remember to breathe. I find myself sitting with the killing instrument in my right hand, staring down at the tortured penis. The band has already, in the thirty seconds or so of my looking away, begun to bury itself in the wide root, beginning its slow and remorseless work of permenent destruction. The cock leaps, the great vein running along its back swelling suddenly and the flowing blood is trapped and stilled in the still semi-erect tissues. I bend down and pick up another band, my shaking fingers fitting it clumsily into the steel jaws of the castrating tool. I press it open and once more slide the taut ring down over the reddening, crippled flesh of the penis to its rapidly-narrowing root and slowly release the second band exactly over the deep, circular crease in the the shaft root when the first is already out of sight. The second band, too, disappears between the pink, blood-nourished richness of Eusebio's crotch and the now-purpling flesh of his cock. I release the handles, which have become slippery with my sweat. It is done.

I sit back and slowly, as the minutes pass and I become aware of the low tones of conversations of passing men in the corridor as men pass by, I watch, entranced as the bands strangle the life out of the large cock. in the low light I see how the blood-gorged tissues lose their healthy coour, how the trapped, useless bloodvessels strain and bulge out and darken through red to purple and how the glistening cockhead, wet with its efluvium, deforms into a parody of virile flesh. I lean forward to watch the details of the death throes of the flesh, how the finer vessels are already black, how the flaring corona begins, against all expectation, to whiten. At one point the whole cock moved and twitched and then flopped over to hang down over the testicles, its root nnow so constricted that I can no longer see how the still-enormous, ballon-like body of the shaft is still attached to the olive-pink health of Eusebio's beautiful loins.

And so it went on. Eusebio slipped a little and I held him, laying him down tenderly on the mattress, and sat there watching while his cock turned into carrion, the blood vessels crushed into paste, the nerves forever numbed and destroyed. Soon there was no more twitching; the moribund organ was wormfood. And Eusebio slept on, despite the pain which must have been intense. would it wake him? I wondered whether I'd ever see him again, whether I'd called a bluff or really given a man what he wanted.

I sat with him for nearly two hours, my own hard-on coming and going but never relieved; I dared not, frightened as to how I'd feel on the other side of orgasm. From time to time I touched and handled the cock I'd now so clearly killed. It was stone old despite the surrounding heat, but the feeling that the loose, floppy corpse might come away in my hands was uncomfortable and eerie, though arousing and disturbing, too. Eventually, when the bulbous meat was charnel black between my pale, foreigner's fingers, I laid it to rest in the warmth of his crotch. A corpse-cock hanging lifeless from Eusebio's peacefully sleeping body. No more fucking for him, I thought, no more of those gasping, ecstatic orgasms that I'd loved to see him have, that so much racked his body with pleasure. All that had been ended in this small, dim cabin, by a semi-stranger he would grow to love or hate the memory of from now on. I picked up my things and wrapped them in the wet towel, spreading the dry one carefully over my friend, covering his mutilation. I stood there and looked at him for few moments. My hands were sticky with his precum. I wondered, wistfully, about all that juice, forever dribbling and running out of him and what would happen now that there would never again be any release for him, no more cumming, no more ropes of semen spurted out, no matter how abundantly and healthily hi balls churned it out. Perhaps he'd go mad. I left the cabina and switched off the light on my way out, closing the door softly behind me. Ipassed no-one on my way out, the sauna being almost empty by then. I dressed, which sentmy stiff cock down slightly, and paid for the reacherous beers on the way out.

Back in the streets of the city there were throngs of crowds, tourists, street cafés and buskers. Life imposed itself again and the scenes of such recent intensity slipped backwards. By the time I had reached my pension I was already making plans for my departure. And in the morning I left Barcelona.