Marines2

I wrote this when i wrote the first marines, but somehow forgot to 
post it.  Doh.

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	The boy washing me swished his hand about in the water and 
the cum (such as it was) dissipated.  He continued washing me, 
rubbing my nipples as he did so, until he had gotten both the soot 
and grime from our journey and the sweat from the heat off of my 
body.  Once clean and newly shaven bare, I was led out of the pool 
and dried with towels.  Lastly, the boys brought out scented, musky 
oils and rubbed our bodies with them.  They glistened in the light 
streaming in from the windows, and I was kind of glad I'd just cum; 
otherwise I'd be popping a boner looking at the oiled bodies before 
me.
	Next, the guards led us, still naked, down a hallway
and up a flight of stairs, then into a new room.  This one
had a large skylight in the center of the room that made the
numerous spans of fabric hanging from the walls seem like an
ethereal maze of colors.  A number of men in brightly
colored clothing moved about, cutting off lengths of the
cloth and taking them to others who appeared to be sewing.
We were made to stand in a line in the center of the room.
	A man, probably a slave as he wore no turban (I was
coming to realize what the turban meant), came to us with a
younger teenage boy.  The man measured our waists, necks,
the length of our legs and of our torsos, and the boy wrote
them down.  Keane and I were last in this, and with us they
seemed more interested.  They measured everything - how far
around our chests went, the thickness of our thighs and
calves, even our biceps when flexed.  I now remembered my
owner's mentioning a liking to we two; perhaps we were to be
treated differently.
	The man gave our measurements to another who cut some
lengths of a soft, cream-colored fabric off a ream.  I
figured it was probably cotten of some sort.  He took a boy
and, using the boy as a model, showed us how to wear a
loincloth and where to clip it.  The others were made to put
theirs on and were corrected on the technique when they made
mistakes.  During all this they were still measuring me and
Keane.  The other men gave us a lot of looks.
	After the others were led off, the tailors went nuts
with us.  They held up patches of cloth to match colors or
something, and kept taking more measurements as needed while
wrapping us up in various cloths.  It was pretty clear to me
that they were sizing us up for more clothing, I just had no
idea what it was.
	Finally, they finished.  Guards came for us again,
these wearing loincloths and swordbelts.  I was dressed in a
loincloth of my own and led away, this time out to a
courtyard inside the high walls of the master's estate.
There was a large man wearing thick, elbow length gloves
standing by a fire holding something long.  Near him was a
wooden sawhorse and trough of water.  The man himself wore
no turban but had a long gray beard and thick black clothing
on.  As we approached him I could see the sweat dripping
down from his face.
	I was made to remove the loincloth and bend over the
sawhorse, my ass sticking up into the air, my feet touching
my toes.  The guards held me in place firmly, and from
between my legs I could see the older man pull a branding
iron out of the fire.
	At least it was small.
	When he touched it to the skin on the side of my left
buttock, I jumped and screamed like a woman.  He held it
there for what felt like forever but was more likely just a
few seconds, then pulled it away and dunked the brand in the
water.  The guards held me for a second, then dunked me in
the water.
	The pain was intense, but not as bad as I had expected
it to be.  The water helped immensely.  When they pulled me
out of it, the brand started to burn even worse again.  They
poured something creamy over it but did not rub it in, and
the pain subsided slightly.  I was made to wear the
loincloth again, but was allowed to tie it loosely so that
the brand was not chafed by the cloth.  Keane came next, but
he took it better.
	The guards had to help us walk away, and looked at us
with a sympathetic feeling.  It didn't help much.  Next we
were led through a number of hallways back down near the
baths again and made to lie on a stone bench.  A man with a
turban dressed in white came in.  He had a scruffy beard and
the eternal Arab moustache.
	This man checked us over more thoroughly, giving a
quick medical exam.  Lastly he took a number of small vials
out of a bag and injected us with what was in them.  I could
only catch glances at the vials, but they appeared to be
immunizations for a number of diseases.  I saw malaria for
sure but that was it.
	After that we were finally led to a place where we
could just rest.  It was a large room with lush pillows,
many with small inlaid mirrors or stones.  Ferns hung about
the room and the atmosphere was humid and warm, but not
sticky or hot.  More aloe was applied to the brand, and I
was made to remove my loincloth.
	After that, all the guards just left us in the room.
My ass still hurt too much for me to really sleep, so Keane
and I talked.  The officer/soldier relationship was now
virtually gone, as we had both been reduced tothe same
status.  He had looked despondent ever since they nutted us.
	"You okay?" I asked him.
	He sighed, his huge pectorals heaving with the breath.
"Yeah."  I was about to say something, but then he spoke up.
"Guess I just feel bad about...you know, all this."  He made
a motion towards his crotch.
	"It's not like it was your fault.  You saved our lives,
anyway."
	"Some of the men are wishing they'd never been saved.
They say they'd have rather died as men."
	"They're idiots.  They only say that now because
they're not dying of thirst or starvation."
	"Yeah," he heaved again, his nipples looking a little
erect, "but still.  I know it's not my fault, and there was
no way for me to really know, but I am still the commanding
officer and I am responsible."
	I sat closer to him.  "You did the right thing, man.
We'd be rotting corpses right now otherwise."  I put my hand
on his knee, not as a come on, but just for the touch."
	"Maybe.  I dunno."  He shot a smile at me and put his
hand over mine.  "Guess it could have been worse."
	"Does your ass hurt as much as mine?" he asked me.
	"It feels like I had a fever blister that exploded."
	"Guess so, then."  We laughed and I lay back.  I
noticed him glance down at me.
	"Ya know, it's funny," he said, "If anybody from home
saw us sitting here like this, they'd kick our ass for being
fags."
	"If anybody from home saw us sitting here like this, I
wouldn't care as long as they gave me a ride home."
	"Heh.  I can see that."  He lay back, too, and we
stared at the mandala on the ceiling.  It was mostly
concentric circles with rays coming out, and some guy in the
center.  In the states I'd say it was Jesus, but more likely
it was Allah or Mohammed or something.  It was nice, though
- lots of little mosaic pieces arranged perfectly in little
patterns.  Must have taken them months.
	Staring at the pattern, I drifted off to sleep.

	I had a very strange dream.  I was lying in bed in my
room when I was little, and, being a dream, was of course
naked.  I knew without looking that my genitals were gone;
nipples included.  I saw myself rise out of bed and go
outside, and suddenly I'm riding down a waterslide.  There
was somebody else there with me and I think it was my
brother but I couldn't be sure.
	It got really weird when the blue gazelles came
galloping up the waterslide.  After that I don't remember
much, except something about there being a tattoo on my back
that I couldn't see and didn't remember getting.
	Eventually the tattoo burned itself off and I was being
given a blowjob by something.  I had no idea what, but it
felt really good.  I realized I still had a penis, and then
woke up.
	The blow wasn't entirely a dream.  My cock was wet with
spit and still half-erect.  I looked over at Keane, whose
chest rose and fell slowly.  Who could have done it then?
Keane?  Then why was he faking sleep?  I figured if it was
him and he didn't want me to know, then I wouldn't press the
issue.
	I lay back and slowly jacked off, running my hand over
the razor-thin scars left by my castration.  I was still
getting used to the new sensations sex brought, although the
feel of my cock in my hand was a familiar one.
	I looked over at Keane again.  He had a partial hard on
as well, just a little snake poking over his thigh.  Almost
out of reflex, I reached over to it and held it in my hand.
It grew more erect almost immediately, and Keane sucked in a
breath but didn't open his eyes.  I smiled a little - he
_was_ awake.  I moved my hand up and down his shaft slowly,
coaxing his cock into a fuller erection.
	Once it was hard and ready to go, I knelt down and
slipped my mouth over it, licking his head and shaft.  He
groaned a little.  I licked the underside of his head and he
groaned again, so started going quickly, up and down his
cock.
	I reached a hand up to touch a nipple and found it
firm.  He bucked a little but let me do it.  I straddled his
body, allowing my own erect cock to brush against his legs,
supporting myself with one arm while the other played with
his nips.
	He came without warning, just another little buck and
then a squirt of mostly tasteless goo down my throat.  I
calmed down and let his cock out after that, swallowing to
get all of it down.  He curled up into a ball, smiling.

	I woke up a few hours later when the guards shook us
awake.  They pulled us up and had us put our loinclothes on.
The brand still stung but it was a lot better today, even
with the blisters that had risen up.  It still stung like a
bitch, though.
	They led us a ways away, up a number of stories in a
different building, and into a large, opulent chamber
covered in cushions.  Drapes were all around the room and
lamps hung from the ceiling, burning musky incense.  In the
room were about thirty men and boys.  All the men and all but
the youngest boys had been castrated.  They lounged about
on the pillows and looked up at us lazily, some smoking from
a hooka in the corner.  At the doors to the room were four
guards in loinclothes.  We were led past them and our
loincloths were taken from us.  The two escort guards left
and the others shut the doors behind us.
	It didn't take a genius to figure out that this was the
male harem.  Keane sighed next to me.
	"What's wrong?"
	"Is this all we're going to be for the rest of our
lives?" he asked.
	"What?"
	"Fuck toys for some rich Arab.  That's what we are."
	"Could be worse.  I wonder what the other..." I caught
myself.  Reminding him of the others was probably not a good
idea right now.
	"Probably doing worse than us, even.  Is that what you
were going to say?"
	"Well...yeah."
	"Fuck it.  If they'd rather be dead, they can hang
themselves; I don't care anymore."  Keane wandered off.  I
figured I'd leave him alone and went to find a place I could
sit at.  A number of the men came up to me a few minutes
later and sat down next to me.
	They tried speaking to me, but when I nodded my head
and asked if they knew English I think they got the idea
that I didn't.  They just pulled out a jar of oil or
something and s tarted rubbing my chest with it.  Another on
started on a leg, and soon all of them were rubbing their
hands all over my body.  I got an erection soon, which
caused some commotion.  All of them were soft.
	They all wanted to rub it or touch it.  A few licked a
couple times, and soon one guy wanted me to fuck him.  I
started going at him, amazed at my own endurance - I should
have cum pretty quickly but didn't, and stayed hard.  That
guy squirted a little bit and fell off of me.  Another took
his place, and another, and on the third one I finally came.
	Once I was spent they went over to Keane and found that
he was able to get it up as well.  He still seemed reluctant
to do anything with a guy, but as they sucked at him his
resolve melted away, and he jumped on the first guy that
offered himself.
	After going through at least four men, I finally
managed to cum myself.  It was clear and not very thick, but
evidently more than most of them could muster.

	For the next few weeks we were allowed to take it easy.
They tried to teach us the language separately, and I picked
it up slowly.  After a month I could carry on a basic
conversation with someone.  Being around it all the time
helped, and we weren't allowed to speak English under pain
of a whipping.  They also made us exercise twice a day.  At
night we were often 'guests' of our owner, who fucked us
rotten.  He seemed endlessly amused with continued ability
to get an erection.  On the nights we weren't with him, we'd
get pestered by the other eunuchs to fuck them instead.
	I saw the other four about a month and a half after
we'd arrived.  They were now guards, as it seemed, and had
pulled duty for this part of the harem.
	Jeffries, Odenkirk and I managed to talk sort of
covertly by my sitting near the door.  We'd talk quietly
that way.
	They said they had had it easy after the first week.
After their branding they had been taken to the doctors
again and smoked a LOT of opium.  They came two three weeks
later without cocks, just smooth groins with a mostly healed
scar.  I thought the opium had done something more to them
than keep them out for a few weeks as they seemed to me a
little weird.  I asked if they cared about losing their
cocks, and said they didn't anymore.  Their balls were gone;
what use was a cock, right?  I wasn't sure I bought that
attitude, but pitied and envied them for it anyway.  I was
rapidly growing tired of being a sex slave, and these guys
just had to sit around all day and do nothing.
	They were being taught to fight during the early
evenings, and also exercised twice a day.  They were being
taught the language as well, but more slowly.  Keane asked
them if they blamed him for all that had happened.  They
just gave him a blank stare and then softly answered no.
	Their shift ended, and as they walked away I noticed
the welts across their backs.

	Months passed.  The war in Iraq ended in three days,
Hussein burned the oil wells, etc.  The war was over, and we
were surely listed as casualties.  I became fluent in
Arabic.  Keane lost his ability to become erect, and mine
was diminishing.  We both were put on stricter exercise
regimens and began to bulk up to offset muscle loss from a
lack of testosterone.
	My owner really seemed to like me still, however.  I
still have no idea why.  I guess I liked him, too - he
seemed a generally good person.  He didn't mistreat us or
anything.  He was a bit harsh on punishment, but just with
it.  We talked about a lot of things, and he came to value
my opinion.
	One night we lay together in bed and he mentioned that
he had decided to have Keane's cock removed.  "It doesn't do
anything anymore, and I think he would prefer to go on guard
duty."  Again, I became jealous instantly, and my cock
showed it.
	"I think he would too," I told him.  He reached down
and massaged my penis.  It got as hard as it could nowadays.
	"You seem to like the idea.  Do you want to watch?"
	I purred.  "Yes.  I've never seen it done before."
	"Very well.  Come with him when he is called."

	The guards came for us the next day around noon.  I
hadn't told him what was going on but did on the way there;
I didn't want it to be a shock.  He shrugged.  I asked him
if he minded, and said that if he really didn't want it gone
I could talk to the owner and prevent it.  "No," he said.
"I want the damn thing gone.  I'd rather be a guard anyway."
	"You sure?" I asked him.
	"Yeah, actually.  It's not worth anything anymore, all
shrunken.  I think I'll enjoy being all smooth down there -
like Odenkirk and all them."
	When we got there, the vet had Keane remove his
loincloth.  They shaved the wisps of hair that still grew
there and washed his whole pubic area in orange
disinfectant.  Once he was strapped down to a table and numb
in his crotch, they started.
	I couldn't see very well.  They put a catheter in, and
then I saw the doc cutting around his whole pubic area.  He
removed Keane's cock in one piece, with some of the root.
There was an awful lot of blood.  I got pretty hard over it
and rubbed myself absentmindedly through my loincloth.
	Once his cock was gone, the doc did some fiddling
around with his plumbing, and then sewed him up with the
catheter hanging out down between his legs.  The stich
looked really nasty, all black even after they washed it
again, but the sight of Keane with nothing there brought me
to the edge of orgasm.  There wasn't much blood once it was
all sewn up again, but they added more disinfectant and
wrapped him up in something like a diaper.  I came into my
loincloth, powerfully, but I don't think anybody noticed.
	Once Keane was out of the room, the doctor called to
me.  "Your turn," he said.
	One of the aides unwrapped my loincloth and I stood
there naked.  "My turn?" I asked.
	The aide started shaving my crotch, where a fair amount
of thinning hair still grew.  "That's what I was told.
First Keane, then you.  Get on the table."
	I did, sort of in a dreamy state.  It seemed like I was
watching what was happening from somebody else's eyes.  It
didn't help that my cock was numb as the catheter went in,
and then the scalpel.  I was happy that this was happening,
but hadn't expected it at all.  Not until my cock came off
did I really get what was happening - I was a Ken doll now,
no balls, no cock, just skin...He sewed up the wound and
they put me next to Keane with an IV in my arm.  I passed
out pretty quickly.
	I came to a few times and just got medicated again.  I
only remember waking up delerious and then passing out.
When I woke up somewhat sober for the first time, the first
thing I was aware of was that the sheet was touching my
groin with nothing in the way.
	It still hurt if I moved, but if I stayed still I was
okay.  For the next two or three days they just had me lay
there.  Keane was next to me most of the time, but we didn't
really talk too much.  I looked at myself underneath the
thin sheet a few times, but it wasn't a pretty sight - the
bruising looked awful, and the cut itself was still pretty
nasty.  It was cleanly stiched, however, with a straight
line of thin stiches lining the black cut.  Touching it hurt
like a bitch.
	After I could move okay they put me back on a semi-work
schedule, with more language lessons and upper body
workouts.  They didn't want me walking much and definitely
not running at all.
	All in all, it took about a month before I could run
again.  By that time the bruises were nearly gone, the
stiches had come out, and all that was down there was my new
pisshole and a thin white scar.
	The strangest thing was that the area right around the
pisshole was still really sensitive, in a sexual way.  The
master said it was because the doctor had used scrotal skin
around that area so it would remain sensitive.

	Life without a penis was almost as different from my
castrated state as being castrated was from being whole.
Everything just felt different - clothing on my body, water.
Urination wasn't that bad, although since I couldn't aim I
just sat and leaned over.
	I could still get aroused by rubbing the space between
my legs.  Without a cock, the scrotal skin seemed more
sensitive than ever, as did my nipples.  That alone couldn't
bring me to orgasm, though.
	Sex, surprisingly, didn't change much.  I was used to
getting fucked now, but when a man's cock touched my
prostate it was more intense than before, and when I finally
came, I shuddered all over and nearly screamed with the
sensation.
	Keane went over to guard duty, and he seemed happy that
way.  Still kind of depressed, though.  I saw the master
more now, and my duties were indistinct.  I exercised twice
a day, running in the morning and weights in the afternoon,
and had to study vocabulary and writing.  It was like high
school.
	At night I could read, bathe, hang out in the garden or
harem or whatever unless the master wanted me, which he did
often.  Often I learned things from people around, like how
to fight from the master of the guard, or to cook a little
from the chefs.
	He would take me to town with him to purchase things -
clothing, cars, whatever.  I had to walk behind him, which
was kind of a pain for conversation.  My state was rather
apparent to passersby, and I found their reactions to me
interesting, at least for a few minutes.  Young children
would either tease or not care.  Older boys would avoid me
but laugh nervously behind my back, I guess afraid that if I
touched them their dicks would fall off or something.  Older
men and women looked at me more with pity than anything.
	I for one, ignored most of it.  I was reasonably happy-
all my needs were cared for, I had a good master, friends
within the household.  Still, the things I heard made me
enjoy going out of the house less and less.
	Sometime in 1996, I was taken to my first slave
auction.  Now a very muscular specimen, I was to be a guard
accompanying the master, chosen for my size and intimidation
factor.  The master bought a few of the better offerings.
It was an interesting experience, however, now that I could
see it from the point of view of an attendee.
	Around the fourth or fifth auction I attended, there
were a small number of white males on the auction block,
these kidnapped males from Australia, and one an American
tourist who had been visiting at the time.
	The American man was good-looking, and I mentioned that
he may be a good investment.  My master looked at me and
asked, "Do you want him?"
	Here was a thorny question.  If I said yes, and the
master bought him, the man would certainly be castrated and
most likely nullified, and while I didn't mind it, I doubted
he would enjoy the experience.  However, he would have a
good home, and I had heard tales of the things other owners
did to their white slaves.  "Yes, I do," I replied.
	The master bid on all of the white men, and as usual,
got what he wanted.  We took delivery and got back to his
estate by nightfall.