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“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?” The judge, resplendent in his black robes asked the forewoman of the jury. “We have, your Honor,” Answered the forewoman; a dour old bat that wore a permanent expression of disgust, as if she had just stepped in dogshit or had been asked to perform an unnatural sex act. “We find the defendants guilty as charged.” “Have you found any mitigating circumstances to modify the sentence?” The judge asked. Vern, one defendant, looked over at Pete, the other. This was it. The jury could modify the standard sentence for sex abuse. The best-case scenario for them would involve temporary chemical castration instead of permanent removal of their balls, and suspension of the work farm portion of their sentence. It could also go the other way, of course, with a year or two at the farm instead of six months, but there had been no physical harm done during their prank so they were hoping for the best. “No circumstances exist, your Honor. The jury endorses the full sentence for both defendants: Castration and six months at the work farm, without protection of law.” Vern paled. Castration, of course, was bad enough but ‘without protection of law’ meant that all functional males at the work farm would have unlimited use of his body for six months. “Is the aggrieved party present in the courtroom?” The judge asked, for the record. He could plainly see Colt sitting in the front row. “Yes, your Honor.” Colt said, rising to his feet. “Do you wish to assert your privilege of executing the sentence?” ‘Fuck yes. I want to look them in their eyes, grab them by the balls, and cut them off.’ “Yes, your Honor.” Colt said instead of what he was thinking. “Sentence to be carried out at Three PM next Wednesday.” The judge banged his gavel, ending the case. “Hey, cupcake.” The huge black guard taunted Vern. “See this?” He said, opening his fly and removing his cock. “Me and old Herman here are going to come out to the camp every Sunday and visit you.” Vern turned away from the black man and his huge cock in disgust. Every guard there had told he and Pete more or less the same thing, and what really pissed Vern off was that they weren’t joking. The prison guards were huge, ugly men of color who didn’t meet the minimum standards that would qualify them for breeding, and who were therefore resigned to a sex life consisting of sloppy whores of their own color and newly created eunuchs. Vern knew that he was safe while in prison, but he also knew that once castrated and sent to the farm that no orifice would be inviolate from any man with a set of balls and a stiff cock. Pete was quite a bit older and thinner than Vern, and either wasn’t as desirable or commanded more respect from the guards than did his buddy, who was a relatively young, plump butterball of a man. “Yeah, fat boy, you’re in for a real treat, all right. Hell, if you can cook I might even take you home and marry your sweet ass.” The guard continued his taunts. What made it even worse was that he and Pete were both naked. All prisoners about to be castrated were put on a suicide watch, which meant that no clothing, bedding, or sharp objects were allowed in the cell. This wasn’t to bad for Pete, who was in descent shape, but it was hell for Vern, who had been fat since childhood and now sported a huge beer gut. These taunts continued all day Monday, but Tuesday the sadistic guards started in on a new line of torment. “You know what that kid’s going to do?” The guard asked Vern. “First of all, he’s going to twist your bag up in a knot and then he’s going to cut it off using the back of his knife instead of the sharp side. Either that, or he might take them off in quarter inch thick slices. Ouch! It bothers me to even think of something like that!” Vern’s balls, no trophies to start with, shrunk even farther into his fat groin at the thought of it. After the longest Tuesday of his life, Wednesday finally arrived and the last breakfast the two would eat as real men was served. “Not bad,” Vern commented after tasting the entrée. “What is it?” “Calf fries.” The guard informed him. “Cooked up special for you.” Most guys enjoy the delicacies, but men about to lose their testicles don’t seem to appreciate being fed those cut from calves and Vern responded by puking on the floor, further adding to their discomfort. “It’s noon, gentlemen, time for you to get prepped,” Announced one of the guards as he opened the door to their cell. “You first,” He motioned to Pete, “come along quietly now or we’ll just have to hurt you some.” Pete, resigned to his fate, obeyed, and the four husky guards returned a few minutes later for Vern. Vern shrank into the back corner of the cell, refusing to move towards the open door and what awaited him. The four guards looked at him, then each other before summarily talking the fat man and marching him to the operating room, where he was promptly forced onto a stainless steel table. His hands were quickly restrained at the head of the table and a wide strap was stretched across his ample belly and anchored to the table before being winched tight, leaving only his legs free. These were seized by two men each and brought back over his head to allow the state castrator to insert a butt plug into his hairy anus. The first one tried was too small, so a larger size was selected and inserted before his legs were brought back down and secured under the sides of the table. “You’re still a little tight for old Herman,” The large black guard whispered to him. “But you’ll get loosened up real soon.” “You men, knock it off!” The State Castrator warned. “No tormenting the prisoners.” The guards left the room, their work done, and the State Castrator and his assistant took over, and the barbershop drone of hair clippers soon filled the air. Vern looked over at Pete to see his friend’s crotch being shorn of its curly locks, and as soon as Pete’s was done they crossed the floor to him. The assistant ran the dull clippers along the inside of Vern’s thighs first, before circling his balls and cock with the buzzing device. “Ouch!” Vern cried out, as the worn out blades caught and pulled some hair out by the roots. “Shut the fuck up, and take it like a man!” Pete said, sarcastically. Vern’s crotch, denuded by the shears, felt cool and airy, but was suddenly bathed in warmth as the assistant applied hot lather to it and began working it in to the remaining stubble. He than carefully used a safety razor to finish the shaving job, taking long, slow strokes up and down Vern’s thighs and clear down into the crack of his ass, stopping only when he bumped up against the plastic butt plug that would soon prevent Vern from soiling the table. Despite the forebodings of the shaving Vern closed his eyes and relaxed, enjoying the experience. Unlike Pete, who was already married and had two girls, Vern had been a fifteen-year-old sophomore in high school when statehood was declared. He had never had a sex life, other than with his own hand, as he was a fat and ungainly kid whom the girls all despised. Statehood had brought with it access to free bordellos for Vern and he loved it. The whores loved the young boys, regardless of their condition, and Vern spent a lot of the time in their company that he should have spent studying for his exams. Blowing his college entrance tests wasn’t any big deal for him; there were lots of minimum wage jobs around and the bordellos were all free. Vern eventually found someone he thought he loved, or at least someone who would put up with him, and he got married and applied for a permit to father a child, but his education, earning potential, and status in the community doomed the application and it was summarily denied. A more ambitious man would have taken his new bride and left the state, but ambition was never one of Vern’s strong points, so he stuck around until his wife finally split after a year of putting with the deadbeat. That really didn’t bother Vern as the whores were still free and the beer cheap. He took up residence in one of the free dormitories for unmarried men and let himself go to pot, until eventually all but the oldest, sloppiest, most ugly whores in the bordellos refused to service him, and those that did got rid of him in the shortest possible time. The assistant finished shaving Vern and gently took a warm cloth and removed the remaining soap, fondling his cock enough in the process to induce an erection. A special sterilized condom was then rolled on and Vern was stimulated to orgasm, after which a sample was collected for freezing in the event he would someday be found worthy of fatherhood. The condom was left on him and connected to a bag to collect the urine he was likely to pass, and then his flaccid cock was finally taped against his massive gut to keep it out of the way of the festivities. Pete had fathered two girls, and had subsequently had a vasectomy, so he was denied an orgasm but still fitted with a piss tube. Hair dryers were then trained on both men’s scrotums while Colt was scrubbing up and receiving instructions in his role. “I will apply a tourniquet a few minutes before the appointed time of castration.” The State Castrator told him. “You will seize the scrotum and pull it out so I can wrap the tourniquet around it at the base. The must cut below this band, and you must complete the procedure within two minutes. Both testes and the scrotal sac must be removed. Stand to this side of the table, and stay out of the way of the camera, which will show the man’s face and his castration. Your face will not be seen. The knife has been sterilized, so once you pick it up don’t let it touch anything else, and be careful with your fingertips. I have seen people wrap their fingers too far around the scrotum or cut too close and nick themselves. Place the severed scrotum in this tray. I will take care of it later. Oh, and one more thing. There will be a lot of screaming, so if you don’t think you can handle the noise wear this set of headphones. Just be sure to wait for my signal before you start cutting, because if the governor issues a reprieve and you cut him anyway you’ll be on this table yourself. Any questions?” “No, sir,” Colt said, his voice slightly muffled by the surgical mask. “Okay then, it’s time,” The State Castrator said, “let’s get started.” Pete was to be first. He looked almost comical; His freshly shaved crotch gleamed baby-butt white against the mat of hair that still covered his belly and outer thighs like the bald spot on an old man’s head. His balls, heavy with age and warmed by the blow dryer sagged almost to the surface of the table between his spread legs. Colt took them in his hand and immediately realized that they were much larger than his own. He could feel the man’s pulse through his gloved hand, and he could feel it diminish with even the first wrap of the tourniquet, and he could almost feel the heat leave them as the tourniquet tightened. The green light on the panel glowed, dooming the prisoner’s sexuality, and the State Castrator nodded his assent. Clay looked Pete right in the eyes, tightened his grip, and slowly pushed the blade into the narrow band of tissue that still connected Pete’s manhood to his body. Colt expected him to beg or scream, but although the tube attached to his cock glowed golden as he voided his bladder Pete looked him right back in the eye as if daring him to continue and gritted his teeth against the pain. Colt increased the pressure on the knife slightly and began a slow sawing motion. It was over in the blink of an eye and Pete’s entire scrotum rested in Colt’s hand. He placed it in the designated tray and crossed the room to Vern, who in addition to being lazy wasn’t very tolerable of pain. Despite the warm flow of air from the dryer Vern’s balls were tightly tucked up against his fat groin, and Colt had a difficult time getting a firm grasp on them. Vern started hollering as soon as Colt grabbed his useless balls, brought it to a crescendo as the tourniquet was applied, and almost shattered the windows with his screams even before the knife touched him. Colt didn’t even seem to hear him; he was staring in wonder at the fat man’s cock. The harder he squeezed Vern’s balls, the bigger it got, and Vern’s final orgasm was perfectly synchronized to his unmanning, filling the piss tube with his final seed. “Hey, cocksucker,” Pete told his buddy. “That’s another hundred bucks you owe me.” Colt placed the organs in the tray carefully, as if he might damage them, and then blushed in embarrassment as he looked down at the tent in his green scrubs and the spreading stain. “No need to be embarrassed,” The State Castrator diplomatically told him. “It happens all of the time.” Colt stood to one side, modestly concealing his embarrassment with his hands while the State Castrator finished securing and suturing the wounds, and when it was done he went to the shower room to clean up and change clothes. He stood under the warm jet of water a long time, gazing across the room at the two sealed jars that contained the gonads of his tormenters, and fondled his own balls, thinking about how lucky he was to still have them.
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