The cocky thirteen year old was strutting, as if proud that his genitals functioned like those of a real man. The fact that his seed has been forced into a younger boy instead of a willing partner of the opposite sex didn’t seem to bother him a bit. Fred knew that most adolescent boys experimented with other boys, but he also knew that what he had witnessed last night wasn’t just curious boys playing with each other’s bodies, but rather an aggressive act of sodomy committed by a fucked up predator. That kind of shit didn’t set very well with Fred, and he was determined to do something about it.

He could just leave a message for Bob, saying that he had used his official government weather camera to spy on the boys and that the next time he gave them a shortarm inspection that he should finger the younger ones’ assholes to see if they were perhaps a little looser than normal and that he should check little Wayne’s wienie to see if it smelled like shit. That probably wouldn’t be a good idea, however.

Another thing that bothered Fred was that watching the teenage Kyson lose his balls had prompted the most intense orgasm Fred had experienced in years. Fred’s wife was severely crippled with arthritis and unable to engage in conventional sex. She could put on a reasonably good hand job but she was the type of woman who absolutely refused to give head. Fred had adjusted to this, and being sixty-three years old he didn’t need as much sex as a younger man, but he still occasionally needed the intense release that it provided and it had been over a year since he had truly had his bell rung. In short, he was horny as hell.

He continued to watch the boys for the next year. Bob was diligent about his monthly shortarm inspections, and it was easy to see that Wayne was becoming more mature. He was taller, stronger, and had a lot more body hair than he’d displayed a year ago, but it was obvious that he’d never make it as a porn star. His balls were larger now and more defined in his scrotum and his cock had thickened some, but he would never be able to claim more than six inches. He used all six of those inches about once a month and all of the boys were familiar with its’ taste and how it felt as it slid into their asses. Fred thought at first that either individually or as a group they would rat on the little fucker, but after thinking it through he decided that they must have felt lucky just having a foster family, and weren’t willing to jeopardize screwing it up even if it did mean submitting to the older boy’s perversions.

Dennis and Michael had matured during this time and both had entered The Brotherhood Of The Hand and had become frequent visitors to the balcony, where usually alone but sometimes together they manipulated their newfound sexuality. These exercises were always conducted in the dark, but there was enough ambient light for Fred to see them as they stroked themselves and occasionally each other, slowly at first, and finally with fists flying to cast their proof of manhood shooting into the night.

They were both beardless, insignificant boys, and neither was swinging anything special, but Fred couldn’t help but be envious of the copious amount of sperm that they sent shooting over the balcony railing, as well as the pressure and volume of their subsequent urinations. He sometimes exercised along with the images on the screen, although he was saving The Big One, perhaps the last great orgasm of his life, for the night that Wayne would become a member in good standing of the eunuch community.

This deballing wouldn’t be as simple as the one he had engineered for the obnoxious and over-endowed previous occupant of the bedroom. Drugging the kid, tying him up, and letting the retraction spring of the dog walking device nut him had been easy. Castrating Wayne would require more finesse. Bob and his wife were diligent parents and protective of the boys, and the boys were seldom alone. The police inspector would also be a problem. It had been easy for Fred to get the guy to buy his story the first time, but Paul was a good cop and he wouldn’t believe it was a coincidence if a second kid mysteriously nutted himself.

Fred stumbled onto the solution by accident. Stephen, the youngest boy, was helping him paint the porch and they had stopped for lunch. Fred had finished eating first and had picked up a deck of cards and dealt himself a hand of solitaire while the boy finished eating. Stephen looked as though he had suddenly lost his appetite, so Fred, remembering the boys’ late night card games, asked him if he ever played cards.

“Uh, dad doesn’t like us to play cards, sir, but Wayne sometimes makes us play cards with him.”

“Do you always do what Wayne tell you to do?” Fred asked the nervous youngster.

“Yes. Dad says we should always obey any orders given by a superior.”

“What kind of card game does Wayne make you play?” Fred asked, although he thought he knew the answer. The boy picked up the deck of cards gingerly, as if they were dirty or evil, and dealt each of them a hand of some kind of rudimentary poker, and explained the rules, such as they were, to Fred. It was immediately apparent that the boy had no concept of the strategy of the game, and he lost several games in a row.

“Looks like you lose, sport.” Fred commented to the boy.

“Yes sir.” The boy said, and then quickly rose, hooked his thumbs into his waistband, and pulled his shorts and underwear down to his ankles. He stood that way for a moment, apparently unashamed of the finger-sized penis and tiny balls that drooped below a region void of hair, before dropping to the floor, head down and ass high in the position always assumed by the loser of the game.

“I don’t want that, Stephen,” Fred said softly, embarrassed by the boy’s willingness to submit.

“Yes sir.” The boy replied glumly, not noticeably relieved about being spared a reaming. He then scooted between Fred’s legs and sat there, facing Fred’s crotch.

“Do I have to swallow, sir?” He meekly asked, expecting the worst.

“No, Stephen,” Fred said, helping the boy to his feet, “let’s go finish painting the porch.”

Late that afternoon Fred asked the boy if he would like it if Wayne never made them play cards again.

“Yes sir, more than anything.”

“You can make anything happen if you want to badly enough. Hold onto that thought.” Fred told the boy.

Fred now had the beginning of a plan. It wasn’t perfect, of course, and there were a myriad of details to be worked out, but he had a start. The boys would do the castration, and all Fred had to do was subliminally give them motivation and instruction. Young Stephen was the easiest to manipulate, so Fred began by coaching him on the game of poker and teaching him the rules and some of the strategy.

“What happens when someone else wins?” Fred asked the boy, knowing that Dennis and Michael were the only ones with balls enough to reciprocate Wayne’s victories.

“No one else has ever won, sir.” The boy was always polite, at least when speaking to Fred.

“Well, what would you do if you did win? I mean, you couldn’t do to him what he makes you do, can you?” Fred was taking a bit of a chance here, as Stephen hadn’t told him what went on after the midnight card games, and had no way of knowing that Fred had observed their activities.

“Wayne says that the winner can do anything he wants to the loser, but that it has to be done right then and there.” The boy explained.

“God damned son-of-a-bitch buttfucker should be nutted!” Fred swore, reading the newspaper that Dennis had brought him. A local man had been convicted of molesting a young boy, and was about to be sentenced.

“What did you say?” Dennis asked, not exactly familiar with all of the colorful language that Fred was prone to using. The boys were prohibited from using profanity themselves, and Fred’s well-rounded vocabulary was a constant source of amusement for them.

“A guy who gets caught shoving his dick in another guy’s ass should have his balls removed. It says so right in the Bible.” Fred added for veracity. He hadn’t ever really read the book, but he was pretty sure that the adolescent hadn’t either. “Castration is the only cure for a guy like that. Once he loses his balls he won’t want to mess around like that anymore.”

“Oh yeah?” Dennis mused aloud, his curiosity stirred.

“Veterinarians do it all of the time to dogs and cattle.” Fred informed Thomas. It means that they either cut out or crush their nuts.” Even though he was prepubescent the boy must know what nuts were, Fred hoped.

“Why?” The boy asked. He had overheard Bob talking about getting their family dog fixed, and had came to Fred for some answers after his questions had been stonewalled at home.

“It makes them less mean, and nicer pets. It also keeps them from making babies. You know how that stuff works, don’t you?”

“Yeah, we learned about it in school. That must really hurt, huh.” Like all kids he had been rapped in the balls a few times and he knew how sensitive they were.

“I suppose it hurts for a few seconds.” Fred offered, “but after that they say it doesn’t bother a guy at all. He just doesn’t want to do bad things to other people anymore. I suppose it’s the same with animals.” Fred wondered if the boy caught the shift of focus from a family pet to a family member.

Mike and Richard also had a couple of hints laid on them about how some guys weren’t meant to be able to reproduce, and that a decent, responsible person would make sure that it couldn’t happen. Fred had done just about all he could without making it obvious that he was trying to pull the boys’ strings, so he kept monitoring the balcony at midnight and hoping for the best. He’d observed that the card game usually occurred the night following Bob’s shortarm inspections, so he waited anxiously at the monitor on the last day of August.

Wayne looked at his cards a third time before throwing them down in disgust. He then stood defiantly, as if daring Stephen, the prepubescent winner of the game, to extract any kind of meaningful retribution. The five younger boys had obviously planned their punishment for the loser carefully, because they acted in unison to quickly gag him, strip him, and hold him face down on the balcony deck.

Stephen, as victor, had his choice of weapons and he chose a croquet mallet. A shoelace was quickly stripped from one of their sneakers and looped around Wayne’s balls. Fred had his own pants down and his cock was harder than it had been when he was a newlywed. He stroked it slowly, feeling the pressure build in his ancient balls, and watched Stephen bring the mallet smartly down between Wayne’s outstretched legs. An unearthly wailing scream filled the night air and Fred loosed the largest load of his life up onto his belly. The orgasm was so intense that Fred blacked out for a few seconds, and when he opened his eyes Bob had just stormed into the room. Five of the boys, two with erections tenting out their skivvies, lined obediently up by the side of their bunks, while Wayne elected to stay on the floor.

Fred didn’t even bother to clean himself up; he just pulled his shirt down over the mess and went to bed, utterly spent. He awoke the next morning to find his wife slowly, lovingly, stroking his limp cock.

“I was going to wish you a happy birthday, dear,” she said before pointing to the large, dark rimmed stain on the undershirt that was still glued to his belly, “but it looks like you must have had a hell of a dream.”