By justoneguy

“I’m sorry, guys,” I said as I walked up the line. “But it is just the way the game is played. Some win and some lose. You guys lost, and that is just the way it is.”

As I passed each of five guys, I checked to make sure that they were completely secured to the rail. A single wooden bar about knee high stood out in the middle of the gym floor. It was smoothed and polished wood, a deep cherry, I think, and engraved with elaborate designs of penis (soft and erect), hanging ball bags, breasts, and naked women. Along the bottom of the rail was a short bench covered in red velvet, like the prayer bench at the Catholic church. And the five doomed young men’s bony knees now rested on that soft smooth velvet. They were bent at the waist over the rail, with their arms secured to another short wooden bar that ran along the floor.

I always found the Rail, as we call it, so out of place in these athletic center gyms. The rail is so ornate and rich looking—but old and antique seeming at the same time. It would seem more at home in a room with framed art and track lighting. But, given the use of basketball as the manly test, it makes sense. All young men are tested now a days, as you probably know. For whatever the environmental or chemical reason, twice as many boy babies are born these days as girls. And all those unattached males running around became such a big problem, as you can imagine. It was decided that the males would compete to pass on their genes, to claim their manhood, if you will. And the system works pretty well. Since basketball is such a pass time for most young men, they often choose that sport to test their metal. Groups of five friends will team up and spend years practicing. And finally, the day comes, when they are 18 and ready to earn their breeding license. Of course, other groups of young men train just as hard, and only one team of five can win. And that is why I am here, in my black and white striped shirt, to enforce the victory.

The winning team is still in on the court. But otherwise, the big gym is empty. The five winners, still in their red uniforms, stood a respectful distance from the losers on the rail. They had assisted in restraining the losers before they could flee. But once they were secured to the rail, the winning young guys moved half a court-length away. They stood, talking quietly together, smiling and reveling in their victory, but also respecting what was about to happen to the losers.

And I was here to see that what was about to happen to the losers went smoothly and efficiently. The five young men tied to the rail still wore their Carolina blue and white jerseys, with hung off their shoulders and backs in traditional basketball style. Their mouths were gagged with the same blue bands they had worn around their foreheads to keep the sweat from their eyes while they dribbled, block, and played their hearts out the keep their manhood. They were silent now, just whimpering and grunting males in terror for their future. But the squeals and grunts from behind their gags echoed in the open empty gym. Their light blue mesh shorts and white jock straps had been pulled to their ankles, bunched against their large basketball shoes. The five shook and twisted against the rail, causing the wood to creak and groan. But it was a sturdy piece, and despite the combined muscular strength of the five young men, there was no way they could get away.

Already, their sacks had been banded and the filament wire had been treaded among them and tied to the lever. Each of the five boys had been banded by their opposite on the other team, the young man who had guarded him during the match. It was amazing for me to think how they had been the same then, during the game. Running around, their arms up around the other player as they tried to block, showing off the mature tufts of underarm hair in their sweaty pits. Jumping and running, always guarding their man or trying to take a shot. They were pretty much the same in looks and skill. The margin of victory in the match had only been 4 points. But in the end, one team had won and the other had lost. Too bad for them. And already they were different. One team of five stood smiling and talking with each other, confident in their own masculinity and in the knowledge that they will soon be not only fucking their girlfriends and marrying, but also that the fat sacks of balls between their legs would make them fathers. But the losers, even though they were physically the same as when the game had started, were already changed mentally. They were tied to the rail, bent over it on all fours, their bubble butts pointed into the air, like dogs. Their shorts were down, their soft manhood dangled from their crotches down, their precious family jewels banded and ready.

As I walked up the line on my final check, I mentally evaluated each of the unfortunate lads. The first in the line was Matt, a strong looking young man with the most defined and cut body. He had obviously worked out a lot in his young life, honing his body for this day, when he would triumph and become a man. But it hadn’t worked out that way. His hair was a natural dark blond and his skin was unblemished. The little hairs of his body were so light you almost couldn’t see them, dusting his tanned skin like a fine sun bleached grass. His pubic hair was neatly trimmed, leaving just a quarter inch of hair to cover the flesh of his crotch. His penis hung down under him, circumcised with a dry looking olive head—average, nothing special, but nevertheless his. It was special to him. And behind his hanging softy, his average sack of balls, the twins that had produced the testosterone that had made his smooth defined muscle development possible.

And next to him, the next unfortunate guy, was Richard. He was a better looking young man in the face than his teammate, with a softer face and more piercing eyes. His hair was sandy blond and hung down his forehead in a youthful fashion. He was taller than Matt, and thinner in build. But still had a masculine mass about his body. His organ was pretty much the same as Matt’s in size and shape—average and normal. The only difference was that the head looked a healthy pink and was perhaps a little bigger and more flared. His testicles were a tanned pink, and were the smallest of the bunch. But what did that matter? They had made him a man and could have, even then, made him a father—if he were given the chance. Of course, that would not happen now.

And next to him was his best friend Cody. He was the largest in body of the five players, being a few inches talker and hulkier about his shoulders and stomach. He was not a fat young man, but had a bulk about his body that set his looks apart from the leaner build of the others. He weighed perhaps 40 or 50 pounds more than his fellows, and had played a more clumsy game, trying to dominate his opponents with his size and weight rather than with skill. It hadn’t worked very good, which explained why he was tied in the position he was. His eyes were wild, looking around, jerking his head. Between his legs hung the smallest organ of the group—a circumcised penis that stuck out from his brown pubic hair like a flower blooming among the grass. His dark tan sack of fat balls was plump and full, the biggest of the group. And the fact that his organ was so unimpressive made his wide and plump bag of fruit seem even bigger, a match for his large frame.

But if Cody had the biggest set of balls in the group, the player tied next to him had the most impressive dick. This kid’s name was Robert, a tall and lanky young man in the Spiderman mold, with dark brown hair. His arms and legs were long, and his muscles were stretched across the length of those long limbs. His stomach was lean and his chest flat. He didn’t have to muscle development of Matt, but his natural tallness masked the strength of those masculine muscles. But if his frame was tall and lanky, his genitals were his real prize. His organ hung down over 4” between his legs, a dangling masculine tail under his teenage body. The hose was pasty white, like the rest of his flesh, with a dark pink circumcision scar ring breaking the color three inches down the tube. And below that, like an anchor weighing down a mighty ship, was the oversized bell-shaped head of his pecker. It was an impressive organ, the most sensitive to pleasure part of his youthful body. And it hung down proud and heavy almost halfway down between his thighs. I hesitated for a moment and took a second look at the unfortunate young man’s snake as in hung down and swayed slightly back and forth with is struggles. It really did look like a tail between his legs; it seemed more alive and present than his friends’ meat sausages. But, it didn’t really matter now. Sure, that kid’s organ might be 7 inches when hard, maybe even a little more. But he would never get a chance to use it again, never stick it into a willing wife as she begged him to shoot his seed deep into her—deeper than any man ever had—and make them a baby. Robert seemed to notice my attention, and his pale checks blushed crimson. He averted his eyes from mine and jerked in a suddenly intense struggle. His hanging tail swung between his legs, bouncing off his thighs like the hammer of a bell. I decided to spare him any more embarrassing attention—his doomed male self-image deserved that much—and moved on down the line.

The final player was not just struggling, he was terrified. Brian was in many ways very similar to Richard. He was a fairly athletic young white guy, although with brown hair and blue eyes. His bright blue eyes were streaming out heavy tears that rolled down his face. His features showed a bit of baby fat, but had he been allowed a few more years of youthful exercise and growth, he doubtless would have been a fine mature looking young man. His body was lean, but perhaps with a little more fat than most (save Cody). His brown pubic bush was untrimmed, but seeming like wild growth around his cock and balls. But what really stood out about Brian, along with is unmanly tears and babbling pleading, was the fact that his cock was hard as a rock, sticking out like a proud pole between his legs. He was the only of the youths (or of the losers anyway) who was uncircumcised. And his doughy white foreskin was halfway pealed back from his engorged dick head. His pink spear tip was more lean and pointed than the average youth. And with that pinkish white hood covering much of its flared ridge, it seemed more canine than human—sticking straight out against his stomach with his bound bag of nuts hanging behind, all surrounded by dark brown groin fur. I immediately reproached myself for the comparison that had popped to mind. This youth was of course a young man, a human male born into the world of people and matured to manhood as a member of our society. He wasn’t a dog to be driven casually by his owner to the vet to have his testicles neutered and his spirit subdued. It was only the uniqueness of his particular maleness—the thinner cone shape of his cock head, the hooded foreskin that still partially covered it in erection, his stiffy that stretched out under his belly like a dog's, the heavy furriness of his genital region, and his stance on all fours over the rail—that formed the devolved image of him in my mind.

But he was not an animal, he was a young man, having duly lost in the competition of manhood, and his young balls were not forfeited as surely as the male puppy at a vet. And all his tears could not save him from the fate that awaited him and his fellow losers.

My final inspection was completed. The five young men—Matt, Richard, Cody, Robert, and Brian—were all secured and ready. Their sweaty Carolina blue jerseys clung to their backs. Full drops of sweat dripped from their hairy armpits. Their struggles against the ropes and the rail were epic, but completely pointless. All was ready for their final release, their final moments as potent strong young males. The boys’ gags were now soaked with spit around the corner of their mouths. Except for Brian, who still cried like a baby, the other guys’ eyes were wide and wild, watching my every move. They knew that I was on the edge of the rail. And that I was in the final position. Their manhood was about to be ended forever. I reached for the sturdy wooden lever. I felt the cruel coldness of the polished silver knob. When he saw my hand on the lever, Cody also burst into tears, his large husky body quivering and shivering as he lost control.

Across the gym floor, the five winning males silenced their mumbled conversation and stood at attention. Their faces were just as youthful and fresh, stern and masculine, as the five bound young men I had just inspected. Now they stood solemn and proud. And I was proud of them. Sometimes, the victors will taunt or laugh at their defeated foes as they twisted and cried in their manhood’s death struggles. But these young males were made of classier material and bore themselves like true men. Their faces beamed with pride at their victory, but also with respect for what that success had cost their foes—upstanding peers similar in every way to themselves. Except that they stood free as true men and the others were bound for their gelding.

I knew it was time. I pulled the lever slowly and forcefully forward. I felt the resistance of the device against my arm muscles. From my vantage point at the lever, I could only see the butts and back and legs of the unfortunate losers. The sweaty mops of hair stood out against the white skin of their shoulders and the pale blue of their jerseys. But I couldn’t see their faces. But, as the single wire device threaded around each of the young men’s doomed testicles began to shift and pull as my arm lowered the lever, I saw Matt begin to flex and squeal on the far side of the line. The gears attached to the base of the lever were beginning to function in earnest under the pressure of my force. The uncompromising wire was being pulled toward the lever, causing it to twist against itself where it was looped around the boy’s doomed bits. And Matt was the first to feel the cruel pinch against his sensitive stones.

I couldn’t see the poor kid’s face, but by the increase of his grunts and by they high pitched tone—not unlike a squealing girl—I imagined that his smooth masculine features were pinching in a way and flushing a deeper crimson than the winning spectators had ever thought possible. I could tell from the expression of those five proud winners that it was difficult to see another male, a fellow schoolmate, in that kind of distress. Their own masculine faces twisted and grimaced as their mind involuntarily imagined the pain and terror Matt must be experiencing at that moment. One even unconsciously clutched his own soft dangling organs through his mess basketball shorts with his wide bony hand as he watched the spectacle.

My own view of the action was different be design. As I pulled the lever ever lower, feeling the resistance of the wire increase as the tension began to pull on each of the lad’s sacs in succession, I saw the wire twist their sacs, turning to clearly outlined orbs of Matt’s meat bag slowly clockwise. Richard’s breathing and groaning suddenly shifted into the same high pitched squeal as Matt’s—the incredible tension of the wire had just met the resistance of his vulnerable flesh bag. Then his tanned pink scrotum began to twist and turn slowly clockwise as well, in time with Matt’s. Then Cody’s fat bag began to turn, his beefy twin orbs instantly turning crimson as the wire began its work. Robert’s hanging bag was next. Then Brian’s, whose whimpering cries became as high pitched and desperate as a pup’s.

There I was, pulling that lever, watching the five young power plants of virile manhood slowly turn. The long side of each boy’s orbs was at a slightly different angle, as if they were hands on a row of clocks each keeping a different time. With Matt’s doomed orbs being closest to midnight. With the resistance five strong young ball sacs against the wire, I pressed down with renewed vigor. No reason to make the poor guys suffer more than necessary. And now that the process was started, I had to end it quickly.

As he was first to feel the bite of the wire, Matt was first to feel this final force. His precious male orbs were near to near the end of their clockwise journey. I saw his strong legs flex and strain. Suddenly, the round bubbles of his firm young ass flexed impossibly hard, his flesh and denting as his muscles strained harder than they had in any workout or passionate orgasm of his young life.

“RRRRREMMMMMMMMM!” he squealed into his gag. And, so sudden that it was almost surprising, his fat sac of baby-makers dropped from between his straining legs. PLOP!!!!!! They landed with a wet and sweaty slap onto the cold hard wood of the gym floor. And Matt’s struggles ended. His ass and legs relaxed. And his straining jerks became quivering spasms of emasculated shock. His head sagged between his outstretched arms. He was free of the wire. And his family jewels were free of him.

I felt the difference in the lever’s resistance at once. And, before I could adjust my force, my arm pushed the gears harder than I intended. Richard’s girlish screech suddenly overbore the other desperate lads and echoed hollowly out into the gym. THUD!!!!! His virile young family jewels popped free of his groin and dropped with a hard strike on the wood below. He wasn’t a young man anymore. He was a neutered nothing.

“Holy Shit!” I heard one of the victories young men exclaim. From their vantage point in front of the rail, they could look into the eyes of their poor defeated classmates as they registered the shock and finality of their own emasculation. They strong young winners could see the final look of desperate terror on their sweaty straining faces as their minds were overwhelmed by the potency of their experience. And then those same facial features relax in deflated exhaustion as the tension in their bodies suddenly subsides as their sac drops to the floor. I imagine what they witnessed was not too different from what a woman observes when her young man’s face registers the power of his own orgasm and then relaxes as his baby-makers pump out their seed and overwhelming wave subsides from his consciousness. But these young men were not experiencing the greatest pleasure of their lives. They were losing forever their manhood and their potent powerful set of balls. And the winning lads, their own nuts nestled safely in their white jocks under their mess shorts tensed their faces and adjusted or clutched at their own goods in empathy.

As for me, I was concentrating on the lever and the wire and the process. Everything was going smoothly. I had adjusted my force and was continuing the levers slow downward push. Poor Cody had time as his own balls nearly completed their turn to register what had happened to Matt and Richard. His head dropped between his beefy arms, the musk of his own hairy, sweaty pits washing over this senses. I could see his desperate face looking down, between his own legs, at his plump fat sack of manhood. His cock had shriveled to a nub and drawn further into his thick pubes. It looked pretty pathetic, truth be told. But I knew that it was mostly a function of his fear and the stress his system was enduring. His organ might only be 5 inches long when hard, but it was still a man’s tool. He might not be able to fill a pussy as much as he could fill his ex-large jersey, but with skill and practice, he would make his mate’s pussy quiver with pleasure. His puckered little dick numb might be the smallest of the group, but he was still a man, and his mighty ripe and round ball bag was even then, in those last moments, creating and pumping the virile seed that could make him a father. His nuts were heavy with his baby batter, stuffed full with the fluids that his mature male body produced constantly. And they were still full when I saw his orbs reach the final point of turn. And drop hard with a hard heavy SMACK onto the floor. And his big beefy body went limp.

There was only two left now, two living sacks and three dying sacks. Robert’s nuts were next, he knew it. His piggish squealing increased in pitch and volume before his balls were twisted three-quarters around. The tendons of his thin scrawny neck stuck out obscenely. His wild eyes caught sight of his buddies’ detached nut sacks resting silently on the polished wood floor below their quivering legs. I saw his prominent Adam’s apple bob as he forced the bile down in his throat. His muscles were so tense; I could see them strain under his skin. It was amazing how much muscle he had grown on his thin frame. I could clearly see the muscles of his taint tense and flex and he struggled hopelessly against his bonds and writhed uncontrollably under the duress of his agony. Those same muscles deep in his masculine groin and layered over the bulbous root of his penis in his taint had throbbed and contracted so many times already in his young life. Then, each contraction had sent a wave of pleasure throbbing toward his male brain. Now, those contractions were nothing but a symptom of the agonizing strain of his miserable body. But even so, those muscles were contracting. And from his soft, long, dangling hose, I noticed a single drooling line of whitish milky goo. His taint was straining with such force, it was actually pushing thick unprocessed seed from his prostate through the long slack tube of his penis. I saw the heavy bell head of his dick swing as he convulsed, and the thick string of sperm twisted and stuck to his lower thigh. “AARRRGGGAAAA,” he bellowed into his gag. BLOP!!!!!! His fat sac dropped off, catching the graceful arched line of clearish white fluid that oozed from his ravaged body. I saw his mighty hose, hanging so low and swinging so freely between his thin hairy legs. So fucking big, his dick was. Probably the biggest of any guy in the gym at that moment, winner or loser, gelded or whole. But it was alone now, impotent, depowered. The drool of sperm still connected his bell head to his thigh.

I felt the lever give under they weight of my arm. Pushing it was effortless now. There was very little resistance to the line—just one thin scrotum and two thick testicle cords. And those balls were close at hand, right beside me as I stood by the lever. They were right in front of me. And I could smell the pungency musk of the last youth as he struggled right beside me. Brian was the only one left now. His four friends were laying limply and silently in a line down the rail. Their neutered bodies trembled a little, but the were otherwise still. They had likely passed out or gone into shock.

But Brian was still very much alert and aware. His head was looking straight forward, but his eyes were closed as tightly as ever. His body was straining in a steady pulsing rhythm of flex and relax, as if he strained against the pain until he couldn’t take it, then relaxed and gathered his energy for another flex. But, with the hairiness of his crotch, it reminded me of a dog frantically humping a leg. I could see that his cock was still hard—from the strain of the event, I can assure you. It happens sometime, and is often confused with some sort of perverse excitement about what was happening to the poor guy. But it was just a reflex that some males had to the overwhelming exhaustion and anxiety of his own emasculation. It wasn’t unlike a soldier getting an erection as he runs into battle, or a doctor getting a stiffy as he starts an intense and difficult surgery. But this lad’s cock was hard as a rock, sticking out 6 thick inches from his pubic bush up the line of his happy trail. The thick white skin of his foreskin hood had unrolled completely from the slimy cone head of his spear. I could see his organ bob against his flexing stomach with each straining convulsion of his body. I saw his taint flex and strain like Robert’s had ever time his muscles tightened. But there was no drool of fluid from this fellow. He just trembled and flexed, as if humping the air between him and the hard rail with his stiff uncircumcised prong. “Nnnummg, nnnuuummgggg,” he grunted with a high pitched desperation with each struggle of his body. He had heard the piercing cry of his buddies that announced their emasculations in succession, and had to know that is own moment of supreme male agony was near.

And as I watched his poor body jerk and flex, and that fat hairy bag of baby-makers turning slowly with the push of the lever—so close, so close to the edge when the wire would complete its revolution—and his straining involuntary erection sticking out between his hairy thighs like an overexcited canine, I just couldn’t resist. The lever was easily handled now. And I left my left hand drop away form the polished knob, now wet with the nervous sweat of my own palms. And, with my actions hidden from the five winning lad’s standing with intense interest a few feet away by the doomed loser’s body, I pressed my thumb firmly and deeply into his throbbing taint. I felt his muscles tighten against the pressure of my push. “RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII,” the poor lad squealed as he felt the press of my thumb. And as I pressed and watched his fat hairy young balls turn slowly, slowly, I felt the hard bulbous root of his straining organ convulse under my thumb. And I felt the pulse of seed rush through the inner piping of his body. And I saw his cherry red cone head throb as it pumped the first thick rope of baby-batter out onto the gym floor between him and the five winning men who watched his shame. I don’t know if he felt pleasure in that moment, or if the release was an involuntary result of my pressure on his straining muscles. But his body flexed into a final and singular push that he held with a high pitched squeal of overwhelmed exertion. And as I felt the second pulse of seed pump deep under his throbbing taint, his fat hairy sac was finally pinched off by the cruel wire. Before that second thick white stream of seed splattered onto the wood in front of stunned victors, his detached bundle of baby-makers slammed into the hard wood between his knees with a hard THUDDDD!!!!!!!!!!

The overwhelmed young gelding’s body slackened at once, a final third glob of sperm weakly dropping from his stiff throbbing log. His body danced and spasmed on the rail longer than any of his buddies, but he didn’t whimper or cry anymore. His eyes rolled back into his head and his emasculated body convulsed into unconsciousness.

“Holy Fuck!” one of the stunned winners exclaimed. “He fuckin shot a load!” None of them had expected that. And to be honest, I hadn’t known exactly what would happen. It had just been an instinct, a curiosity that had prompted my action. But I quickly put it out of my mind. I still had some work to do.

One by one, I scooped up the severed sacs that lined the floor behind the rail from between their former owner’s slack legs. Into the pinched neck of each other the bags, I stuck a metal ring. And into each ring, I threaded a section of the wire that had slowly detached the sac. As I finished each one, I hung it on my left arm. And when I was done, I was stunned by how heavy those five bags of 18-year-old testicles felt. Then, leaving the rail, I approached the group of five winners. By now, the shock of what they had scene had worn off somewhat, and they had started smiling and talking amongst themselves again. They had a lot to talk about. Their victory, what they were going to do now, how soon they would each marry. Some even cracked a few jokes at the expense of the emasculated losers still lying slack and sweaty over the rail. I was amazed by how quickly those five young men had transitioned in their attitude toward their defeated foes. A minutes ago, they were battling young men just like them, struggling in a game of skill to win the right to keep their birthright as males—they hanging ball sacks. They had failed. And then they were bound and terrified young lads, trying desperately to escape the fate they knew would be theirs. The five winners had sympathized with them then, knowing how they had nearly had the same fate. They understood them, they were peers, and they could imagine what they were going through. But now they were neutered steers lying limp of the wooden rail—not men, not even boys anymore. They were gelded eunuchs. It no longer mattered how good looking they were, or how muscular, or how big their dicks were or how fat their balls. They no longer had anything to offer a woman, and were good only for menial labor and a solitary life with their gelded fellows. And the five winners no longer felt any kinship to them in their minds.

When I handed each a testicle necklace, they laughed and immediately slung them over their thick muscled necks. “I got the biggest,” one smiling lad said as he looked down at Cody’s still warm sack hanging from his neck.

“Yeah, but these were Matt’s. He was the best player,” another young man said. And he gave the sack of balls that moments ago had hung between the stud’s legs a hard flick with his finger. The other guys grimaced in comical pain as the detached nuts swung from the guy’s neck.

“This one feels pretty light for some reason,” laughed another who had won Brian’s hairy trophy.

The five young men were still laughing and joking as they started to walk out of the gym. They were already playfully pushing their fellows on their shoulders and loudly boasting about they women they would impregnate now that they were licensed breeders. The passed by the rail from which their defeated foes still lay unmoving. Matt, Richard, Cody, Robert, and Brian were just then coming around from their ordeal. They looked out at the departing victors with sticky swimming eyes. They saw their own prized flesh, the jewels of their family, the bags that had been their manhood, hanging from those REAL men’s necks.

One of the victors gripped Robert’s severed sac that hung from his neck with his wide bony hand and smiled at the five teenage geldings. “Sorry, guys,” he said with a cocky smile.