All twelve of us milled nervously around the small room. Some attempted to make small talk while others preferred to keep to themselves. The oldest wasn’t yet twenty and the youngest looked about fifteen but had an ID card that indicated that he’d just turned eighteen. That wasn’t uncommon, as many of street kids had forged IDs.

Some of us had been there for several weeks, and the last had arrived just a few days ago. Prior to our abductions we had all been ordinary homeless teenagers living on the streets; now we’re being held in a small, poorly ventilated basement that appears to be the locker room of an abandoned school. Pads for sleeping cover the floor, and food is brought in daily. We had been drugged and we were unconscious during our transport and each of us had awakened to find that a simple tee shirt and pair of skivvies had replaced our clothing, shoes, and all personal items. Adding to our confusion was the fact that we have all had numbers, one through twelve, applied to our left thighs with some kind of marker pen.

The rattle of the door bolt announced the arrival of Martin, our keeper.” Okay ladies, face this way and line up by number, lowest first,” Martin commanded. He is large and has a sort of command presence that is difficult to ignore; three other large men, each armed with Tasers and canisters of mace back up his aura of authority.

“Okay,” Martin announced as soon we had formed a ragged line, “take off your shirts and shorts.”

Half of the boys obey immediately but the rest hesitated, and one finally spoke up for all. “No,” said number twelve, the newest arrival. Martin pointed his Taser at the reluctant boy and repeated his command to strip.

“Do it, man!” Number Three cautioned. “He’ll zap you if you don’t, and it hurts like hell!” The weapon had already been used on a few of the earlier arrivals, and none of us who witnessed the demonstration will risk a jolt from the device.

The warning was heeded, and we were all soon naked, facing the leader. Some bore the nudity easily, like high school gym rats or teenagers who have just got laid; others fidgeted nervously like young boys on the first day of gym class, unsure of the protocol, or fat kids ashamed of their bodies.

“You will now follow me up the stairs and onto the stage, where you will line up just as you are behind the curtain,” Martin stated. “Anyone attempting to jump off of the stage will be adequately rewarded,” he added, brandishing his Taser. “When commanded you will turn and face left. When I give the word, turn and face the rear of the stage, spread your legs, and bend over forward. Keep your hands at your sides at all times. Got it? Any questions?”

“Yeah,” Three spoke up. “Just what’s going on, anyway?”

“Any other questions?” Martin asked, refusing to answer the first question. “Okay, the crowd’s waiting, let’s go.” Martin herded us up the stairs and onto the stage, lining us up just behind the curtain. “Okay spread out a little. Hands at your sides, number four.” That’s me. I had unconsciously placed my hands in front of my crotch. “Spread your legs a little more, number six,” continuing to adjust their positions until he was satisfied.

We could hear the laughter of a boisterous crowd, but until the curtain opened we had no idea that there were fifty men comfortably seated in well-padded chairs at small cocktail tables in the old gymnasium. Most had drinks in front of them on the tables, and many were brandishing long, black, Cuban cigars. We didn’t know it at the time, of course, but each had paid five hundred dollars for the privilege of just being there, and many would spend several thousand more dollars to satisfy their perversions before the evening was over. “Thank you all for being here tonight, gentlemen,” an amplified voice addressed the crowd, “and welcome to the fifth annual Children’s Cancer charity auction. We have a truly outstanding selection for you to bid on tonight, so without further ado let’s take a look at them so you can all make your selections.”

The crowd grew silent as the curtain lifted to reveal the twelve of us lined up on the stage. Each of us was a little different: One was hairy, almost like an ape, while others looked as if they regularly trimmed their pubes and shaved their thighs. Some were blonde, some brunet some raven-haired. One had the massive chest and well developed muscles of a body builder, one was extremely skinny, but all were fit. Some of us had been circumcised while others remained uncut. Two could almost qualify for porn star status and three deserved nicknames like ‘Shorty’ or ‘Stubby. All had typical teenage balls that sagged low in the heat emitted by the intense lights focused on us. They only thing we seemed to have in common was that we were all on the small side. None of us was over five-five, and even the body builder weighed no more than a hundred and forty pounds.

The men seated in front of us were equally diverse. Some wore the traditional headgear associated with Arabs, while others were immaculately decked out in expensive suits or tuxedos. A few sported cowboy boots and the obligatory Stetsons, while other looked like rednecks just off of the construction sites. The one thing they all had in common was the leering, lecherous expression on their faces. Most of them scanned us, going from one to the other, but one held his glance right on me, as if he were a snake and I his prey. He had the hard face and cruel eyes of a predator, and for the first time since my abduction I began to have an inking what was about to happen. It turned out I was only half right.

“Turn to the left,” Martin commanded after maybe five minutes had passed. “Turn to the rear and bend over. Spread your legs, number eight.” He held us in this uncomfortable position for at least two minutes before ordering us to again face the audience.

The end wall of the old gym, opposite the seated men, suddenly lit up as a projector illuminated a large white screen. The image finally came into focus to reveal a man and a gal going at it on a large round bed. I had only jacked off once in the three weeks that I’d been here, and the porn had an immediate effect. Looking around revealed that I wasn’t alone in that respect. “Hands at your sides, Three, Four, and Eight.” Martin commanded. I guess I wasn’t the only one who had tried to conceal his boner.

“Okay, turn to the right and look at the screen.” We were held this way, cocks erect, until the end of the film and then led back to the locker room. Our shorts and tee shirts weren’t there, so we plopped down on the pads bare-assed and tried not to stare at each other’s goods.

The door finally opened and number one was escorted out of the room. “What do you think is going on?” Twelve asked no one in particular.

“We’re being auctioned off,” I answered. The look in that one guy’s eyes was enough to convince me.

“What for?” Six asked. He was just about as dense as Twelve.

“Who ever buys you gets to fuck you in the ass,” I informed him.

“You know all about that stuff, huh?” Two, the hairy guy, was kind of a smart ass.

“I know guys that it’s happened to,” I replied, “and a few more that sell themselves.”

“You mean we’ll spend the rest of our lives being sex slaves?” Eight asked. He was the smallest and least mature of us, and although he claimed that he was eighteen, I think fifteen might be more like it.

“I don’t think so,” Two spoke up. “Martin assured us that we’d all be home by the end of this week, and so far he hasn’t lied to us.”

“Yeah, old Martin is a regular fucking saint, aint he?” Eleven opined. We sat around and talked about it for about a half an hour, until finally the faint, almost far away sound of a scream barely penetrated the thick concrete walls and soundproofed doors of our prison.

“Sounds like one of those Arabs purchased One,” Eleven said. “I been around some of those guys and they all have cocks the size of horses’.”

“Even bigger than Seven’s?” Three asked, pointing to Seven’s crotch. Our erections had all subsided, but Seven’s soft cock was still the size of a large banana.

“I wonder what it’ll be like.”

“Uh, it depends on the guy,” Eleven said meekly. “If the guy is, uh, you know, like not very big, and if you’re lubed up and he goes slow it doesn’t hurt much. But if he’s big and just rams it in it feels like you’re being split wide open.” Eleven didn’t raise his head when he delivered this information, but I could still see that his face was beet red. A kid on the street does what he has to do to get by. I’m lucky in that I have a job as a bicycle messenger. Others have it a lot rougher.

Two and Three were summoned, and a half hour later it was my turn to go up the stairs. I expected to go back onto the stage, but was led instead to the gymnasium floor, where a low padded platform about the size of a twin bed had been placed. This was to be the auction block and apparently the venue for the subsequent action, and I was directed to stand on it and display my body in various positions.

“What am I bid for this fine young specimen?” The auctioneer chanted, “Who’ll start with five hundred dollars? Do I hear four?

“Four!” The shout came from a man in the back. I’d expected the man with the cruel eyes to bid, but he didn’t even look interested.

“Five,” another man said, holding up his number card.

“Six!” the first bidder quickly countered. His insistence on winning must have conveyed to the rest of the bidders, because it only went up to eight hundred and fifty dollars before the gavel came down.

“In private,” the man said, motioning to the stage curtain. At least my deflowering wasn’t going to be a public spectacle.

A guard escorted us onto the stage behind the curtain, and cuffed one of my wrists to a bar that ran along the side of a large bed that had been placed there.

“Enjoy yourself, sir,” The guard said. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

“Relax, son, I won’t be the one to hurt you, just lie back there and spread your legs,” my purchaser said quietly as he loosened his tie and removed his shirt. He then knelt down between my legs and started licking my balls.

I had expected to get fucked in the ass was getting a blowjob instead! “The audience behind the curtain assumes I’m fucking you, so you need to go along with that illusion,” the man said, his voice no more than a whisper.

“God damn, you’re too big! I can’t take something like that!” I practically begged as he slowly licked the bottom of my cock. “Please, mister, don’t! You’ll tear me apart!” Our unseen audience roared with approval, and the man smiled at me before taking my cock into his mouth. I screamed in mock agony when he didn’t penetrate me, and I cried out again several times as he wasn’t humping away, all to the listening crowd’s obvious pleasure, but the moan I let out when I released into his mouth was real; It was the first blowjob I’d ever received, and the most pleasurable thing that I’d ever experienced and my reaction to the stimulus felt like the biggest load that I’d ever shot

“Squat over the bucket,” the guard said, handing me a couple squares of toilet paper. I took a quick look into the bucket before squatting down over it; One, Two, and Three hadn’t been as lucky as me, and they’d deposited their purchaser’s pleasure in the rusty pail along with the scraps of toilet paper they’d wiped themselves with afterwards. I wondered, as the guard led me and my purchaser off of the stage, if the other guys would believe me when I told them what had happened. Probably not.

“Part two will now begin,” the auctioneer announced as soon as I had stepped back onto the padded auction block. Jeez, not again, I thought as the bidding started. I surely couldn’t luck out twice in a row, and would still end up taking a cock in the ass.

“Once, twice, sold! Two thousand dollars for the privilege of castrating him!” The auctioneer announced as he brought down the gavel, selling my nuts to the man with the cruel eyes. “Who will start out with a hundred for the banding?” I stood there in shock as the right to apply a tourniquet to around my nut sack was sold for two hundred dollars to the same man with the cruel eyes, and if not for the two strong guards holding me I certainly would have tried to run.

“Okay,” the auctioneer said next, “who will pay a hundred dollars to hold him down for the banding and the cutting. Remember now, we need four people so the winning bidder gets to choose his helpers. One fifty? Thank you sir, now one seventy-five. Going once, going twice, sold!”

Four strong young men quickly wrestled me to the raised surface of the auction block and held me immobile, legs apart. My purchaser calmly donned an apron to protect his fine clothes from my bodily fluids, then stretched on a pair of surgical gloves. I could physically feel my scrotum contract as my nuts tried to bury themselves back into my abdomen, and then the probing of his fingers as he searched them out. It was the first time since junior high that another guy had touched my balls.

“Got ‘em,” he announced to the crown that now hovered around, and then tugged them down between my thighs and began wrapping the latex tourniquet around the neck of my scrotum. I screamed and hollered, but every additional wrap of the stretchy tubing only served to help seal my fate. He finally finished applying the constrictor, then stood up and admired his work for a few seconds before extracting a small, silver colored penknife from his pocket. He flicked it open with a practiced flip of his wrist, then bent over and placed the tip against the tender skin of my scrotum, right between my bulging nuts. I screamed again.

“Wake up, Dude! Come on, wake up!” My roommate was shaking my shoulder. “You’re okay! You’re just having a bad dream or something.

I opened my eyes, heart racing, and immediately shot my hand to my crotch to make sure that it had been just a dream’ then threw the sheet back and sat up, still shaking. “It must have been one hell of a dream,” my roomie said, pointing to the sticky mess on the sheet.

“Yeah,” I said weakly, “it was.”