The Tale of The First Eunuch

My purchaser had a daughter three years old, with whom I was brought up. My duties were to see that her needs were answered and to run the errands that were required. They used to make mock of me, letting me play with her and dance for her and sing to her, till I reached the age of fourteen and she that of twelve and even then they did not forbid me seeing her.

One day I went in to her and found her sitting in an inner room, and she was naked for she had just come out of the bath, which was in the house. She was scented with essences and smelled of aromatic woods, and her face was clean and shining, framed by her loose hair which was still dark with dampness.

Quickly she placed one arm across her breasts and the other between her legs, but she did not cry out. I stood there staring at her unsure of what to do. I had reached the age of puberty when I was twelve and now I could feel my prickle stir in my trousers as I gazed at her, even covered by her arms as she was.

She looked at me then took her hands slowly away from her small new breasts and from between her legs.

‘Do you want to look at me?’ she asked.

I nodded and walked across the carpets to her. Her breasts were tight and one of my hands could hold and cover one. Her nipples were dark and swelling. But my eyes fell between her legs as she parted her thighs to let me see.

She had just started getting hair down there and the slight growth only shaded the slit between her legs.

‘Now I want to see you,’ she said.

I was aware that my prickle was standing full sand hard and so I shook my head. Then she threw me on my back and, mounting astraddle on my breast, fell a wriggling and a bucking upon me till she had undone the tie on my trousers and she had uncovered my yard.

When she saw it standing with head erect, up from its neat bed of dark curls, she took it in her hand to study it and her fingers upon it pleasured me particularly. I was as hard as a rod of iron.

She pulled my foreskin back from my tip and studied my prickle head and then, somehow, she began rubbing it upon the lips of her little slit. Thereat hot lust stirred in me and I threw my arms round her, while she wound hers about my neck and hugged me to her with all her might, till, before I knew what I did, my pizzle entered her slit and as I bucked and thrust within her tightness, I did away her maiden head as I felt myself squeezed and spurting inside of her.

She cried out and the game of pleasure was changed. She pulled herself from my prickle and I looked down to see it streaked with blood from her broken hymen. When I saw this, I ran off and took refuge with one of my comrades. Presently her mother came in to her; and, seeing her in this case, fainted clean away. However she managed

the matter advisedly and hid it from the girl's father, my master, out of fear.

From that day I was not permitted to serve my mistress and the excuse was made by her mother that I was too old to be in such intimacy with her. After two months had passed by, my mistress’ mother married her to a young man, another servant of the Caliph, who was around seventeen years of age. On the night of consummation they cut the throat of a pigeon and sprinkled the blood on my mistress’ shift as if her maidenhead had been freshly taken that night.

Then one morning, near noon, I was working at my tasks when the household overseer bid me accompany him. I walked with him through the garden and the vines to the stables where there waited a man, who I had never seen before, and his two slaves.

‘Take off your shirt and undo your trousers,’ the overseer ordered and after I had taken off my shirt and was bare-chested and fumbling with the tie of my trousers he became annoyed at my lack of speed and he reached down and undid my trouser tie and they fell down my legs and I stepped free of them, aware of all the gazes upon me.

The stranger stepped forward and cupped my chin in his hand.

‘How old is he?’ he asked the overseer as if I did not exist.

‘Around fourteen,’ the overseer replied.

Then the stranger proceeded to test my body, feeling my muscles, asking me to lift my arms, squeezing my nipples and then, to my shame, proceeded lower, until his fingers were amongst the curls above my pizzle.

Then his hand went between my legs and I could feel his fingers around my stones, and he cupped me and felt me there. Then he took my prickle in his hand and pulled the skin back. I was soft, but with the warmth of his hand, my prickle of itself swelled a little.

‘He’s quick,’ the stranger said, letting my prickle loose, and then he turned me, and I felt his hands upon my back, then around my buttocks. He squeezed them and then pulled them apart, exposing me to the air, and holding them like that for a long moment.

Then he stood before me again.

‘He is in good health,’ he told the household overseer.

‘He is big for his age,’ he added, nodding down to my prickle, which stood out a little from my body, thickened still from his touch.

The overseer nodded and then he exchanged a glance with the stranger who gestured to his two slaves who approached me and took my by each arm. They led me to a table in the shade under an overhanging roof and bent me over it.

One of the slaves stood directly behind me, pressed up against my rear, his hand on the back of my neck. I was startled by their actions and even more so as they stretched out my arms and tied them to the end of the table.

Then I felt my legs being kicked apart, wide enough so that my thigh muscles strained. My ankles were gripped and then I could feel them being tightly tied and I could not move them from that position.

Then a hand came over my face from behind, gripping my nose and as I opened my mouth to breathe a thick round of wet cloth was forced into it until I choked. Only then was my nose freed.

It had taken a bare moment. My legs were stretched apart and I could feel the cool air between my buttocks and under them. I knew that my rear was exposed to view as were my underparts. But I still had no idea what was intended.

A silence fell and it was broken by the voice of the household overseer.

‘The master should not be long in coming,’ he said.

There was a hand on one of my buttocks that patted it.

‘Has he had his rear-end broken in,’ asked the stranger’s voice.

‘No,’ said the overseer, ‘he was the pet of the master’s daughter.’

There was another long silence and suddenly the overseer came into view and spoke to me.

‘The master has decided to have your stones cut, to make you into a eunuch. Then when you are healed you’ll be sent to serve your mistress again.’

It took a moment before I understood his words. I knew about eunuchs. My master did not own any himself but I had seen them many times in the street. I knew they were slaves whose balls had been cut when they were young. But it was not something I had thought about much.

Now it was going to be done to me and I did not want it done. I struggled against the thongs that tied me but I could do nothing. I could feel my balls in their sac between my legs and I knew that they were to be taken from me. I thought about the knife and that cut and all I could imagine was the pain of it.

Suddenly I felt a hand reach between my thighs and hold me there, cupping my balls, feeling their roundness.

‘Yes, he has a good pair,’ said the stranger. “I did two boys yesterday, about the same age, but they still had small stones.’

And I suddenly knew that it was this stranger who was going to cut me, to take away my balls. His hand still held me there and I could feel my prickle stir again with the kneading of his fingers.

‘Are you busy at the moment?’ asked the overseer, his voice curious.

‘Some days. I did four yesterday,’ the stranger said, ‘the two boys and then I did another two, older, sixteen or seventeen, later on. At the markets. The last one was done because he had too big a pizzle and his new owner didn’t want him running around using it.’

He laughed to himself.

I was held there by my bonds, able only to see the whitewashed mudbrick walls before me and to either side. My prickle now had stiffened to its full-length.

Then I heard the master’s voice. I heard talking out of earshot but they soon came back near me. I felt a sudden hand on my balls again and this time I greeted it with a fillip of fear in my gut. The hand pulled on my balls.

‘He’s well-hung,’ said the stranger, ‘and you’re right to have him done. It’s a good age to do them. Some say they should be done just as they get their first hair above their prickles, but I think around fourteen or fifteen is best, when they’ve got a little growth on them.’

‘It was my wife who wants him done,’ said my master, ‘and she’s going to give him back to our daughter who was married.’

‘His prickle is good and stiff,’ said the stranger, and somehow I could feel every eye on my rear. He tugged at my balls again and I felt my stiff prickle move around with it.

‘Shall I do him now, sir,’ asked the stranger.

My master must have nodded for he didn’t say anything but I felt new intent in the fingers which held me down there. He pulled at my balls, slowly at first, but then harder as if he were stretching him. My prickle was hot and full. I could feel it moving with each of his pulls. He did this for a long while before he let go. Then I felt something else slide up my balls but only for a second because there was a sudden tightness as some string or thong was pulled hard.

I bucked as much as I could but the tightness of the string didn’t go. As it was pulled tight I could feel it bite into me.

There were movements behind me and I craned my neck to look over to see, but all I could glimpse was the overseer and the stranger’s two slaves standing there.

Then there was a touch on my buttocks, someone patting me with his hand.

‘He’ll make a good eunuch, this one,’ the stranger said and then I felt a sudden hard pull on my balls, a pull which made me bite the gag. My balls were stretched to their furtherest extent. My eyes were squeezed tightly shut with the ache. I could feel my prickle pulled too, and pointing straight down.

‘Do you want me to do him quick or slow?’ asked the stranger. ‘I usually do them slow. You get a better cut and they feel it. They know what is being done to them. It makes them better slaves, more obedient.’

‘Whatever you think best,’ said my master.

I was breathing quickly. My heart hammered. My muscles were clenched as I waited. I could not believe, still, that this was happening to me now, when a few minutes before I had been helping clean out a storage room in the kitchen.

My balls hurt, pulled as they were in the stranger’s hard grip, with that tight string cutting into me, but there was another sensation to come.

Suddenly I felt the chill of a metal blade against my skin, up where the knotted string was aching so.

But then as the stranger held me, he shifted his hands on my balls. My thighs were straining. I wanted to close my legs. I could feel my body taut as I waited there. But with the change of his grip I suddenly felt the pressure build within me as if I was going to spit seed. I could feel my stiff prick moving in the air. I could feel the upwelling swelling inside of me.

Then it came. It just did. I felt the seed burst up my prick and out from me with the shudder of pleasure that always came with it. Each pulse sent out a gout of sperm, hot and thick, from my prickle, hanging there in its unnatural position. And then another sensation came, shocking me with its sharpness.

I could feel the knife as it cut into me and I started within my bonds, biting hard against the gag. It was as if the pain of the cut, high-pitched and stark, just continued on and on. I suddenly realised that I was crying out through my bitten teeth and the cloth that filled my mouth. My body was jerking and shuddering and I felt the knife continue to saw through me, each new stroke, another nerve-jangling bright burst of pain.

Then finally, there was a sudden freedom, a snap, and I knew somewhere in the midst of the agony that flooded up from between my legs that the stranger had completed his work.

They cauterised me somewhere in the midst and I was untied and half-walking, my legs ungainly apart, and half-supported, I was taken to a room where I lay naked on a straw-mattress for three days until I could move again.

Between my legs my prickle fell differently and under it, where once my rounded balls had hung, there was a black-scabbed stub. It ached but with each day somehow the ache grew less and I was freed to resume some light duties.

The other slaves looked at me differently. I saw the boys of my own age study me and I heard them whisper behind my back. Then when the mistress saw me again for the first time, I saw the look of satisfaction on her face.

And then I was sent to be my mistress’ servant.

But when I arrived I was locked in a room until the overseer and my new master, my mistress’ husband arrived.

‘Take down your trousers,’ said the overseer, ‘and lift your shirt.’

I had to stand there, displaying myself, before them, and then the overseer carefully examined me to make sure my balls had indeed been cut and did not remain up inside my body.

My new master looked on attentively.

‘He’s been new cut,’ he said to the overseer, ‘so I do not want him near my wife for a month, until he settles down.’

The overseer nodded.

‘And fix him up with one of the other slaves, like we did with the other one,’ said my new master.

That night the overseer brought a sullen slave into my room. He was burley, around eighteen with curly black hair.

The overseer told me to take off my clothes and once again I experienced the shame of being looked at.

‘The master wants you to pleasure this slave,’ he said to me.

And I had the humiliation of serving another slave, as if I were a girl.

First the slave took off his own clothes and began to touch himself until he was hard. His member was the largest I had seen, stiff, jutting upwards, his balls heavy beneath it.

Then he had me on all fours, wetting my rear-hole with his spittle, and forcing his member up between my buttocks, deep inside of me. I called out with the pain but it did not stop him and I could feel his yard hot and plunging back and forth until he spent himself and withdrew.

And it happened every night until, somehow I grew used to it, knowing the heat of his pizzle inside of me, and the pain of it changed into a warm sensation and sometimes even though my own prick was not stiff, his bucking and thrusting caused a watery fluid to come out of my prickle.

Then one day I was taken into my mistress again to serve her. She greeted me with pleasure and made much of me.

‘Did they take your stones?’ she asked.

I nodded, suddenly remembering the pain of the act, as I was bent over there, my legs spread, my underparts tied and exposed.

‘Untie your trousers,’ she ordered me, ‘I wish to see.’

‘Please mistress,’ I pleaded.

‘Untie your trousers she demanded, and slowly I did so, lowering them to expose myself, as my face flushed with shame.

She studied me.

‘Lift up your prickle so I can better see,’ she ordered.

And I did, holding my pizzle in my hand while she gazed her fill as the place where once my balls hung.

My eyes watered with the shame and the loss.

‘Do yourself up,’ my mistress ordered and then we went about her daily tasks.

And that night the dark-haired slave came to my room as usual and I crouched on all fours before him as his yard forced its way into my rear and he bucked and thrust for a long time until I lost myself on that movement and for a moment I was only aware of his thick member heaving deep inside of me and forgot who I was and what I had become.