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I am idle tonight. I am sitting here, in my sofa, quietly gazing at the wall in front of me. There is a small hump in my trousers, at the place of my crotch. I put my hand there and force it down. The hump flattens between my thighs without any resistance. There is nothing any more down there. It has been one year since my emasculation. What had been there before, what once had been a penis and testicles, is now a few kilometres away from here. In the same city, in Franck's apartment, on the third rack of an old large cupboard. Stored in a jar. I guess the package is lying lazily, maintained motionless at the bottom by the liquid that is filling the jar. Or maybe Franck has seized it, he is looking at it, maybe he is showing it to some of his friends, like a trophy. In this case, the package of organs must be slowly lifting, floating a few seconds in the liquid, and then sinking back to the bottom of the jar, softly bouncing on it. And at the same time I am here, my hand on my empty crotch, thinking of what had brought me to this state. * * * I met Franck more than one year ago, almost two years ago. I had seen him from my window. He was standing down there, leaning on a rail a few storeys lower. His head was shaved, he had large shoulder and a muscular chest. He was wearing an immaculate close-fitting t-shirt and light blue sport pants. I went down immediately, I began to chat with him and we quickly came to explicit matters. He asked me whether I could submit to a true male. I just answered that if he was really a true male I would indeed recognize it and submit. I had murmured in his ear "You’ll see. If you have me kneel down in front of you and let your cock beyond my lips, then you know I completely and unconditionally obey". We went to his home and had a few drinks. Already half drunk he went on explaining theories, asserting that weak males should fully submit to dominating males and that the latter were obviously the ones with larger genitals. It was animal. Later in the evening, we eventually stripped. He lowered its pants slowly. I was very excited by the friction of fabric on his strong and muscular thighs. He was carrying white boxer shorts. It was made of some kind of latex and was moulding his hard and powerful cock. He then lowered it and a wonderful long, stiff and bulky cock appeared in front of my eyes. It was pointing straight towards me. I was mesmerized by it and by the man who was holding it. "I had promised I would be fair" I said, kneeling down in front of him. "I can see your genitals and I recognize my Master. I see what entitles you to dominate me and I submit to you and to your wills ". I opened my lips and let his hard cock enter deep in my mouth. Well, that is how it started. We met again several more times. Quite often actually. We met almost every evening after a few weeks. I continued to call him Master. I always began kneeling in front of him, praising his wonderful package, his beloved set of male organs. Symmetrically he began to laugh at my genitals, to despise my small package, seizing it and wondering whether it could be called “a man’s sex” or “male organs”. It quickly became something obvious, something none of us would question. And the more I was praising his malehood, his stiff and powerful cock, his large testicles, the more he was laughing at my small cock and shrivelled balls. The more I recognized he was my dominating male, the more he questioned the fact that I was a man. "You are not really a man" he once said me. "You don’t have testicles nor a penis. Your rather carry some. Or rather: you transport some. And, well, provided we consider that this small package can be called a set of cock and balls", he added, pointing at my groin. And I answered he was right and thanked him to show me what a real male’s genitals were. I loved that game. We played it, and played it, and played it again, and soon I began to believe it was not completely pointless. Each time I was looking at my genitals, I was sincerely finding them small and laughable and I was sincerely beginning to doubt whether I truly deserve to be called a male. After a few months, Franck asked me whether I sincerely recognized him as my Master, and I answered to him that I did. He asked to me whether I truly subjected to him, and belonged to him, and I said I did. He also asked me if my male organs were his property, if my small package belonged to him and only him. I assented once more. Without any hesitation. He went on asking about my virility, asking me if I thought I deserved to be a man, if I thought that the cock and the testicles between my thighs meant I was a male. I denied. He finally asked me if I was ready to recognize it in a formal way, if I was ready to come to terms with my bonds to him and to confirm signing a contract that he owned my body in general and my small set of genitals in particular. As I answered yes to all three questions, he gave me three copies of a printed document in which I was officially recognizing that my whole body was belonging to him. I signed them at once. This had been a strange ceremony. Strangely, it strengthened the passion I already felt toward Franck. However, for a few days after it happened Franck had appeared odd to me, almost distant, almost evasive. But anyway, I was still fascinated and kept on calling him my Master. And then, one afternoon Franck spoke to me with an unusually serious voice. "Joel" he told me "I know that you signed the contract, I know that you officially admitted you entirely belong to me, but I would like you to think of it seriously. I mean, really seriously. It is necessary you understand that it is not just a fantasy, it is not for fun, it is not something that we can forget once we have had sex. Well, I know that you already signed, and that legally you already belong to me, but I want to give you the opportunity to think about it again. Just a new opportunity to confirm or give up everything. I‘d like you to make a decision really sincerely and, once again, knowing that it is a serious matter. And I must tell you that I already had other boys signing the same kind of contract that you signed. I must tell you that other boys already yielded property over their genitals to me. And I must … well, there is something I should show you”. Then he stood up, walked toward the old, large cupboard in his room and opened it. And for the first time ever, on the third rack of it, I saw the jars. As I am telling it now, it seems to me that this is the very moment when it became irreversible. But at that time it was such a shock to me that I could not think anything at all. I think my brain just collapsed, I could not understand anymore what was happening. Franck grabbed the two jars and put them in front of me, on the bed where I was sitting. They were two large jars, made of glass, with a leaf of plastic around the cover, to ensure that it is watertight. They were filled with a dirty, yellowish liquid -Franck later told me it was formalin. And there, at the bottom of each one, I could distinctly see a package of cut male genitals. I could have thought it was fake. I should have thought it was fake. I should never have believed it, I should have persuaded me immediately it was fake. In normal life, a man's genitals do not end up cut and stored in the cupboard of another man. But it was so true, it was so realistic that I immediately understood it definitely WERE men's genitals. So, in front of me I was looking at two guys' cut genitals. Two cocks, each one with a pair of testicles. Two packages that had been carried by boys, that had been taken away from between their thighs, sliced in a single cut, and that were now lying still and useless, died, at the bottom of their container. One was smooth and appeared a little smaller. The other one still had pubic hairs. On each jar there was a label. On the first one, I read "Cedric, October 14, 1997" and on the second one "Anthony, March 17, 2001". Franck explained me that they were the names of those who had carried them, and of the day when the packages had been cut. So, there were those two boys. Cedric and Anthony. These male organs had been theirs. They were born with them, they had grown up with them, pubic hairs had grown on them. And those two boys had carried them in underpants, boxer shorts, bathing suits. Each morning those two boys had grabbed these organs and put them in underwear. They had lived with them, they had had erections. Water had run on these organs under the shower, undoubtedly men or women had caressed them. Cedric and Anthony had sex while holding their genitals. And then one day those two boys had met Franck. Cedric in 1997, and Anthony four years later, had accepted him as their master, as I am doing today. They had signed a contract; they had offered their malehood to me. Just like me today. And Franck had had their genitals cut; he had dropped them in jars. And those boys go on living now. They are somewhere in this city, they walk in the streets or rest in their apartments. They carry underpants, boxer shorts, bathing suits. Water runs on their body under the shower. Maybe there are still some men or women caressing their crotch. But there is nothing left there, only a hollow and flat space, and -I guess- a scar. There is nothing left and there will never be anything any more. Underpants, boxer shorts, bathing suits are now containing an empty volume. Because Cedric and Anthony's malehoods have gone now, what used to be their male organs is now slowly floating in a jar. And I guess those boys live a normal life or at least they seem normal to other people. But they are not men anymore. They do not have a cock, they do not have testicles. They are no longer part of the male gender. They are eunuchs. Just because what were their genitals now belong to Franck, to my Master Franck. Because what were their genitals have been cut and are now stored, vegetating and motionless at the bottom of a jar. I was fascinated, horrified, hypnotized, disgusted. What I had in front of me was making me sick, but it was mesmerizing me at the same time. And I was having a hard one. I was staring at Cedric’s small and smooth cock and at Anthony’s larger one. I should have been disgusted, I should have shouted, I should have run away, but I remained there. I remained hypnotized by what was in front of me. I was having images incessantly twisting in my mind. I was imaging these two boys, Cedric and Anthony, and then I was looking at the cut sets of genitals in the jars. I was imaging them moving and living on Cedric’s and Anthony’s bodies, and then I was seeing them died and motionless in front of me. And that was exciting me. Franck did not say anything. He just left me in front of the two jars, and also left the contract on the bed. I did not tear it. Just on the contrary: I signed it. The following day, as I went back to Franck, I went on calling him Master. From this day, my fate was sealed. Things went on without any change for several days. I was calling Franck my Master, I was kneeling in front of him, I was submitting to his body. But each time he was telling me I was not a male, each time he was asserting I had no genitals, things were slightly different. Because I was understanding the meaning of it now. And because I knew it was true, or about to be true. I had often had a hard one thinking of the word “emasculation” or of the adjective “emasculated”. But now, it was different. Now those words corresponded to a very precise image. Emasculation meant my genitals stored in a jar. It meant my small package dropped in liquid. It had already happened to me to stand in front of the mirror and say “I am not a male”. Now it was not fantasy anymore: I certainly would not be a male anymore. Emasculation would come by the means of a sharp blade slipping between my thighs and taking away my small penis and my small testicles. During those days I spent hours standing naked in front of my mirror. Almost every evening. I was spreading my legs apart and letting my package dangle miserably. It was already looking inert to me. Already died. Many times I grabbed it, holding tight the basis, and pulling it away from my body. I was already imagining it leaving. It was not mine anymore. I cannot know how many times I imagined it floating in a jar, passing from my crotch to the container. I had had this image in my mind, ceaseless, from the day when I had seen Cedric’s and Anthony’s former genitals in the jars. But it was not their genitals anymore that I was imaging. It was mine, it was my small package that I was imaging removed and locked up. And one day, as I was entering into Franck’s flat, I saw a new jar on his kitchen’s table. It was completely similar to those that I had seen a few weeks before. Except that the liquid was still clear and clean, and that the jar was empty. And maybe the more important detail was that there was a label on it, which was only half-filled. It was carrying my name on it. It was written "Joel", just as "Cedric" and "Anthony" had been written on the other jars’ labels. I spent more than one hour motionless in front of the jar. I had the impression my package was slowly appearing at the bottom. So, there it was. For thirty years my small package had been dangling between my thighs. It was now about to stop. Soon it would be stored in this jar. I went closer to Franck. I snuggled up to him. I stuck my crotch against his crotch, my offering against his triumph. And I murmured: "My small package is yours. Take it. It is your property. It is your possession." It may be difficult to understand why I accepted, such as it had been difficult to me, at the beginning, to understand why Cedric and Anthony had accepted that their genitals be cut and stored in a jar. I did not want to become a eunuch and I was not thinking that my life would be better if I were emasculated. I think I sincerely preferred to keep my male organs, if it had only been a matter of choosing a way of life. I wanted to go on with my genitals. But I definitely belonged to Franck and it was definitely up to him to decide what should happen to my body. I belonged to Franck, and there is no stronger way for a man to own another man than to own his genitals. There is no stronger way for a male to belong to another male than offering him your male organs, than surrendering him what makes a male of you. I was a man and Franck owned me, so he HAD to take my malehood, otherwise the property he had over me would have remained questionable. And, well, Franck was my dominating male, and I wanted to fully come to term with it. I wanted to let no stage in that domination that I would not have reached. I deserved a definitive, final humiliation. And there is no stronger means for a man to dominate another man, no more absolute way to humiliate him than to take his male organs. Sodomy might be a step, but emasculation is obviously the absolute one. There is no stronger way for a male to be dominated by another male than to stand in front of him, spread apart your legs, resigned, let him cut your genitals without any resistance and store them in a jar. I was a male, I wanted to keep my genitals, but Franck owned me and I was going to let him slice the organs that had made me a man. I was a man and my being Franck's property was bringing me to let him emasculate me. Anyway, I had given my final acceptance. There was no need to wait more. Next Saturday, at the beginning of the evening, I went back to Franck's apartment. It was already night outside. There was somebody whom I had never seen. Somebody Franck seemed to know. On the table, there were also many tools that definitely looked like those of a surgeon. I lied down on a kind of bed, slightly inclined so that my shoulders where lower than my basin, with my knees spread apart. The man tied my wrists above my head, then my ankles on each side of the bad, so as to let my legs wide opened. My male organs, my small package, my cock, my testicles were offered there to this stranger. There they were, cold and fragile, completely vulnerable. And I was seized by my bonds, there was nothing I could do but carrying my offered organs, thinking that now anyone could seize them and handle them without any resistance from me. At the time the man had fastened my bonds, I became a mere spectator of the fate of my genitals. It was not any more up to me to decide what would happen to them, it was up to the two men around me to decide, and proceed. The small package was just harmlessly waiting in my crotch. There would be no resistance. I felt I had become some kind of a receptacle, no more than carrying a small package of male organs that, for a few moments last, were still dangling between my legs and giving the illusion that I was a male. So, that was the moment. The moment I had thought, the moment I had dreaded, the moment I had hoped. There I was, my legs wide apart, brandishing in front of me, in spite of me, a cock and a set of balls, which once had been mine, which I had offered to Franck, and which he was about to take. That was the moment another man was going to emasculate me, with me being incapable of doing anything but witness it. The stranger put on latex surgery gloves. He adjusted them, and then seized a rather long lancet. He slowly moved forward between my legs. Nothing could prevent him from doing so. My legs were opened. I had long thought I would definitely have a hard one while I would be emasculated. I had thought that having a man in front of me, about to slice my testicles and my penis, would provoke an irresistible erection. This was completely wrong. My sex was very small, icy, trembling. My terror made it shiver. Fear was literally shrivelling my organs, which became even smaller than they used to be, almost tiny. My cock was curled up; my testicles were stunted, stuck to the crotch. I had always had a hard one when I had fancied a man standing in front of me, between my legs, ready to castrate me, to emasculate me, to completely remove my malehood. But now that it was about to happen, I had nothing left but those small, tiny things, those cold, trembling, stunted, miserable organs. The man tried to seize my package, but it was so small and stuck to my crotch that he could not do it. He had to pull hard on the skin to unstuck the package and find the place where he would cut. Once he had done it, he firmly bounded the base of the package with a plastic lace. I saw my cock and my testicles hanging idly, inert, on the other side of the bond. I was already feeling it was not mine anymore. It was not me anymore. I do not know precisely how long all this lasted. I remember seeing the stranger raising the lancet in front of him. The blade was shining in front of its eyes. It was ready. The man lowered the lancet fast. It moved down quickly in front of him, along his chest. And then it plunged between my legs. It was done. It was done. At the very second when I had seen the blade vanish between my legs, I stopped my life as a male, I was not a boy anymore. That very second was the first second of my life as a eunuch. That was just a second, but that was the second of my emasculation. This had been a very simple gesture for the man -just lowering a blade. But for me, this gesture meant that this man had unmanned me, he had cut my malehood, he had removed my cock and balls from my body. Actually, it was quite fuzzy for me when it happened. Just after I was unmanned, I saw the man grab my small bloody package in his left hand. I saw him raise it, then quickly move it away from my crotch. My male organs were gone. They were 20 centimetres away, they were 30, they were 50, the were now one meter far from my crotch. The stranger that had unmanned me gave my package to Franck and then turned back to deal with my wound. Franck collected the organs in the palm of his hand, gazing at them. He was looking delighted. My sex, my pair of testicles, my cock were now in the hands of this man, a few meters away from me. Franck fastened the top of the package, where it had been cut, in order to keep the content inside. Then he passed water on it, so as to clean the blood. And then he turned back, advanced a few steps and stop in front of me. He brandished my former genitals, just below his wrist, just in front of my eyes. He simply said "it belongs to me now; it is part of my collection". This was the last time ever that this small package was dangling somewhere, and it was not between my legs. The last time of this set of male organs dangling was below Franck's wrist. Franck turned back to his kitchen table. I couldn't see what he was doing, though it lasted some time. Then I saw him seize the jar, the empty jar that was awaiting me. He opened it and put it on his table. Then he grabbed the package of male organs (I cannot say "my male organs" anymore) and dropped it just above the jar. The small package smoothly splashed on the surface of the liquid. Then it began to sink toward the bottom. I gazed at the man's sex slowly sinking down to the bottom of the jar where, from now on, it would rest inert and died forever. I saw the two testicles reached the bottom of the jar first, then the cock immediately after. It softly bounced once or twice, and then stopped, completely still. This set of male organs was beginning its immutable sleep. They might have used to be my genitals. Now they were some genitals in a jar. Franck grabbed a pencil and, with the same round letters with which he had written my name, he wrote the date on the label. And on this label stuck on the jar where a died package of genitals was stored, I could read my name -"Joel"- and a date -"April 4, 2003". So, here we are. I had been emasculated. I am emasculated. In any case now things are clear: I am not a man. I do not have a cock. I do not have testicle. Nothing. The definition is explicit, it can be checked very easily, it is physical : I am not a male. And from this day on, Franck has owned three sets of male organs. Three cocks with their three pairs of testicles. Those of Cedric, those of Anthony. And those of Joel. Those that were mine. Those that I offered to him. And he can look at his collection of confiscated malehoods. He can show it to his friends. And these friends look at the third jar. In it they see an inert, useless, died sex, a vegetating cock and vegetating testicles. A man's package of genitals stored in a jar. They think it is the smallest. And they read the name on the label. And it is written: "Joel, April 4, 2003". I can hardly say it now: "this that was mine". Did I really have a cock and testicles? Did I really have them? Or have I simply carried them up to this time where they were put where they were to be put? Anyhow the answer is simple now: I do not see anything between my legs. When I look at me in a mirror, I see the body of a human being with nothing between his legs. A few days after I was emasculated, Franck had me sign a transfer bond. There was a full description of what I had offered him. I understood what he had done before dropping the genitals in the jar. He had measured them, weighed them, inspected them. Thus I signed the paper, which said "Joel P. agrees he has wilfully provided to Franck N, for full possession, a set of male genitals, smooth, including a penis, length 3 inches, and of two testicles, average diameter 1 inch. Color: clear. Total weight: half a pound. The transfer is irrevocable. No later complaint from the new or former owner will be considered". So, it was one year ago. Since then, I have met Cedric and Anthony. Sometimes, we go together to Franck's apartment. Sometimes, he lets us have a look at his collection. And then we look at the three sets of male genitals through the glass of the jars. They are died, useless, static. We gaze at these motionless cocks, these vegetating pairs of testicles. Three miserable male sexes, cut, stored in jars. * * * I am idle tonight. I am lying in my sofa. It has been one year since I was emasculated. E-masculated. My malehood, my male organs taken away. It has been one year since that moments when my crotch has stood vulnerable, when a stranger had unmanned me without any resistance from me, when I had seen a set of tiny genitals slowly sink down to the bottom of a jar. There was a time when I felt, when I thought I had carried male organs. This is absurd, incredible. The only link between me and a cock and testicles is when Franck puts his wonderful malehood, his superb package of genitals between my lips. But there might also be another link. A died, small, vegetative package that is stored in a container, with a label with my name on it. In a wall cupboard. On the third rack. In a jar. |