By justoneguy

“I’m sorry, Jason. Sorry I have to this. You know I don’t want to. But we all have jobs and we all have work to do. I never thought it would come to this, but orders are orders and instructions are instructions. And I have mine.”

Kennedy pulled her long black hair back into a work-a-day ponytail, clasping it with a round white band. She attached the clear plastic side guards to the thick black rims of her glasses. Her white coat was already covered with a transparent light blue disposable plastic apron. She had to take these precautions as part of her job. But they were rarely necessary.

Jason had been prepared thoroughly but the med techs. He was already nude, standing in the middle of the little clinic exam room, his hands bound to the silver metal rail which rose to his waist. His legs were bound about the ankles to the legs of the rail. And a single secure rope twisted around his waist, arching over the tight bubble mounds of his bear ass, and strapping his naked lower stomach right up against the ice cold polished metal. He shivered in the chilled overly air-conditioned atmosphere of the bright little room. And that shaky twitching more than anything brought pity to Kennedy’s heart.

She knew this kid. He was only four years younger than herself, and a high school friend of her younger brother. When she was a senior, this kid had been a freshman, tagging along sometimes with the older school crowd as a guest of her little brother. But he had changed a lot since then. The natural course of time and the flowering of his own maturity had broadened his shoulders, turning the bony points of his shoulder blade and collarbones into wide, muscled, and smooth terran. At 19 years old, his body was still smooth and hairless, except for the ungoverned tufts of dark brown hair under each of his pits and the trail of hair running from his naval to his slightly trimmed but still full and mature forest of chestnut shaded sex hair. His skin was a tanned olive with only a slight but distinct variation of paler skin from his lower waist to his upper thigh. As she moved around the room, readying her supplies and checking off the lists on her clear plastic clip board, Kennedy admired the strong young man this greasy little freshman had grown into. The tight dims of his nipples set off from smooth pecks; the natural flatness of his stomach as yet unfattened by the lazy college life most young men enjoy so much. The tightness of his hairless butt cheeks and the smooth powerful skin of his back. He was a male in full flower of his maturity and physical fitness. A shame it all had to end so abruptly for him.

But, then again, he had brought this on himself. Every young man knew that, with society’s population exploding at the seems, random sexual relationships outside of lawful marriage had to be controlled. He really didn’t have anyone to blame for his current predicament but himself. She could understand young hormonal males needing release and craving sexual satisfaction. Being in such tight quarters with his nude virile body put an exclamation point on that. But most young men are content to receive that release through blowjobs of hand jobs from their partners. Kennedy had herself walked in on her own brother getting his spear sucked or jerked by a girlfriend on more than one occasion. But Jason apparently was not satisfied with that. Or perhaps he was at first. But such a fine looking young man must have had women falling all over him. And he had not been proof against his own loin’s desire for pussy.

It was his bad luck that the foolish girl he was sleeping with didn’t follow the instructions on her pills. And before long, she was pregnant with an illegal child. The laws on such matters are clear. The baby was aborted and the father was to be sterilized. But not just sterilized. He had forfeited his right to manhood, having misused it so completely.

Poor Jason had been arrested, his head shaved to a standard quarter inch, and stripped for his appearance here today in Kennedy’s clinic. And now she was ready to proceed. “Ok Jason, you will feel a little prick here.” She jabbed a sedative into the tight muscles of his right ass cheek. She saw Jason’s eyes squint shut at the sharp jab. His face was droopy and worried. He no longer carried the confident swagger of a man in his nineteenth year. And while his features were still chiseled and masculine, the fear of his fate seemed to have already broken his wild spirit. When Kennedy was satisfied that the first shot had done its work, she quickly jabbed two shots on either side of his hanging bag. They were practiced shots, hitting their targets without effort. And the first shot lessened the pain Jason would normally have been expected to feel from such an action. Kennedy moved back around him to gather a few items for the next stage of her job. And she took a moment to admire the masculinity of her poor patient. His genitals were amazingly masculine, she thought to herself—perhaps a strange thought since he was, after all, a young man. But somehow, his sagging and dangling parts between his legs seemed more manly than most. His soft organ was the same olive complexion as the rest of his body and hung down 4” from his hairy crotch with the heaviness of a bell’s hammer. The curved edge of his plump mushroom tip made a visible ridge under his thick fleshy foreskin. It was rare that Kennedy treated a patient that was uncircumcised, and she took a moment to admire the difference. The added hooding over his already stout helmet made his organ seem to heavy at the bottom, as if the sensitive bulb of his manhood weighed so much that it pulled the soft flesh of his sausage down toward the floor. She checked his chart on her clipboard. “7.1 inches x 5.1 inches” it read for the dimensions of his manhood. WOW, she thought. And impressive young man, a hung young stallion. Certainly possessing more natural assets than her own fiancé. No wonder he couldn’t keep the young ladies off his crotch.

With her equipment in hand, she walked around to Jason’s backside again. She pushed the gloved palm of her hand against his back, firmly between his shoulder blades, and he dutifully leaned forward into the rail. His muscled body was shacking again now, knowing that the moment was coming and that it could not be stopped. She looked under him to the area where her work must be done. She say his powerful legs, each dusted with dark brown hairs, trembling as they felt the chilly breeze created by her moving hands. Her eyes followed the line of his inner thigh until they spied the prize of his body, the source of his desire and masculine will, the hanging fruit that had grown from the tree of his male body.

Jason’s nineteen-year-old ball sack hung down heavy, tan, and wrinkled between his shivering thighs. The skin of his soft flesh bag was dotted with stringy brown hairs and was several shades darker in tone than the paler skin of his upper legs. The two ovals seemed to be suspended under his body—not hanging down lose but not held particularly tightly either. It was like a mystery to Kennedy how that bag seemed to hold the twin fat orbs without sagging down or seeming to cling tightly. It was like his fruit defied gravity. She grasped his manhood in her gloved hand, feeling the firm ovals within shift away from her tight thin fingers. She was rougher than she would be with a male normally, say with her finance on their anniversary night or with a young man seeing her for a sports physical. But her harshness had a purpose. Jason’s body did not respond to her grasp. His orbs were numb. He was ready.

Kennedy picked up the Cuff. It was a polished silver device, roughly like an old policeman’s hand cuff, but much smaller. She tugged the young man’s doomed jewels away from his body and tossed the loose cuff around the neck of his bag. She felt the cuff catch and she gave it a final had squeeze to make sure it was tight. Between the two gleaming silver metal rings was a dark space, an emptiness that waited for her knife. And she readied that gleaming, unforgiving instrument, holding it like a pencil and her then feminine hand.

Jason still leaned slightly over the rail. Up until this point, his eyes had been tightly closed against his fate. He had felt the sharpness of the needle in his rear and the distant tugging of the nurse’s hand on his nuts. But now they were numb. He couldn’t feel anything. And he knew that it was close. He opened his eyes and looked down between his legs. Kennedy was there, kneeling on one knee, framed perfectly by his own twitching thighs. Her hand held the scalpel. She was ready.

And she couldn’t resist one more quick look up at the poor young man. She had expected his eyes to still be tightly closed. But there they were, deep soulful brown surrounded by crystal clear white, staring at her, moist, pleading. His nostrils flared when he focused on the blade and the cuff, and the knowledge of her method struck his mind. He began to shake his head.

“No, fuck, no, please,” his deep masculine voice rasped through a dry throat.

It was almost strange to Kennedy how deep the voice was. For all his maturity, Jason still seemed fresh and young. But his voice was deep—a man’s. It had been the voice that had grunted and groaned and whispered his lover’s name as his body humped and pumped. That seed from his balls had cost him his manhood. His baby makers worked too well, it seemed, for their own good. Kennedy positioned the scalpel, nestling the blade carefully in the dark middle of the ringed cuff. She saw the fearful tears in his eyes, knew that this strong young man was driven to tears now for the same reason he had been driven to fuck—the desire of his balls. Without them he would be nothing. Not a man, not even a boy like he was in his early life—with the promise of a masculine future like his father or uncles or older brothers and cousins. He will be a gelded human man—a neutered puppy unable to harden and fuck and pump his virile seed. Unable to hang with his peers, males all with bags of baby-makers suspended between their strong legs. He had been like them—had been a man. But he won’t be. No, god, he was going to be gelded. He was going to be fucking gelded.

“Fuck,” he squinted his eyes closed again. “Fuck, oh god, no please, fuck don’t take them, please, fuck, not by fuckin nuts.” His voice rasped through his tears.

Kennedy just looked down, looked to her job, her duty. She steadied his dangling fruit with her left hand while her right held the cruel knife ready. She pushed her fingertips against the metal cuff, feeling her painted nails hit the hard metal through her glove. She flexed her feminine bicep and pushed gently but steadily with her arm. The scalpel pressed into the trapped flesh inside the cuff. It cut easily, the soft flesh, smooth muscle, and tough cords of his balls offered no meaningful resistance to the unforgiving blade. And with a final gentle push, Kennedy felt the gelded young man’s powerful tan sac come free in her left hand, her palm filling with plump warmness of his fruit as his baby-makers shifted as they detached from his body. One ring of the cuff held his sac pinched closed at the top; the other still ringed his underbody, holding the remains of bag tight and pinched. Soon, that silver ring would fall off, leaving only a puckered scar where his mighty bag once hung.

He just shook his head, eyes pinched closed in fear and humiliation. “Fuck, no, please,” he rasped. His numb lower body still unaware of the unalterable change that had taken place. “Fuck, please, no, don’t take my balls. I can’t live without my fuckin nuts.”

Kennedy saw two big drops of tears drop from his pinched eyes and plop onto the tiled floor below. “I’m sorry, Jason.”