Part 2

By justoneguy

The quiet in the room didn’t last too long. I heard some murmuring around me. I could tell that the customers of the club were disappointed with the quality of the first contestant—the Spanish bull. I have to admit, I was pretty disappointed myself. Of course, for all I knew, I only had one pull at the gelding cables for the night. So it would have been a shame to use it on the first bull, even if I had wanted to castrate him. On the other hand, if I had four pulls, it might have been interesting just to see the Spanish bull turned into a scrawny Spanish steer. But, I made my choice, and I was comfortable with it. As things were, I still had three gelding cables in front of me. And I was ready to use them.

After letting a few dramatic moments pass, the announcer brought the club to attention once more. “Ladies and Gentlemen, please turn your attention to the screens over the stage. Our second young bull is about to be presented. He is a strong lad, a 21-year-old American Marine, 6’1”, 159 lbs. Here he is ETHAN!”

The plasma screens sprang to life, and our second young bull of the evening appeared on the screen. The young marine, Ethan, was on the screen, his body thin but muscular. He was without blemish; his dark hair cut military short. He wasn’t very hairy, but the hairs he did have, on his legs, under his arms, crowning his manhood, stood out on his smooth cream skin. He was getting his dick sucked by a tanned brunette vixen. The sultry herder was working his pole into her mouth, with the young marine propped his thin muscled body on his elbows and watched her head bob on his organ. He still wore his dog tags around his neck. Every so often, the young bull would let his head sway back, his shoulders angling up into the air, and he would release a moan of masculine pleasure.

The vixen raised her head from his pole, and I saw a clear view of it for the first time. It was actually a fairly average organ, perhaps a little below average in length. 5.5” long, the text information at my table told me. It was circumcised with a plump cherry red head. But it was a man’s dick, thickened with maturity. Unlike the Spanish bull’s long think prick, this young Marine bull’s organ was shorter, but thicker and more powerful. And, as the image of the blowjob wiped away on the screen, it was replaced by an image of the young marine bull humping the thin young vixen. It was obvious then that the American knew how to use his somewhat short but thick prong much better than the younger Spaniard could use his long and thin member. I watched the vixen’s eyes role into her head and she squealed with pleasure. The marine bull’s long, thin, muscular body was on top of her, pumping away in short strokes, letting his thickness pleasure her wet lips while he pushed his meat 5 inches deep into her body. Sweat glistened from in the neatly shaved hairs of the marine’s neck. I watched his toned ass tense and relax as he pushed and pulled his organ against the vixen’s body. And the vixen responded, grasping at the marine bull’s shoulders, kneading the muscles there—no fat on his battle trained body. The marine was now silent in his own pleasure, thrusting with a look of determination on his face. He raised his head as if looking up at the wall, but his eyes were clinched closed. His face was a mask of agony, but it wasn’t agony. It was ultimate pleasure. He didn’t make a sound, not a grunt, and he clinched his butt and pushed his short thick cock deeply into the vixen. His strong young masculine body was pumping seed, virile baby-making batter, into the moaning and panting herder. And the marine bull’s face was a tortured mask of grim determination. And when it was over, and his face and back and butt muscles relaxed, he let out a deep breathy grown of satisfaction.

It sounded far too deep and mature a grunt to come form a 21-year-old. Most of the guys his age in the states were going to frat parties and trying to cop a feel on some passed out sorority chick. But this marine bull was already a man, using his organ with skill, compensating for its shorter than average length by thrusting its heavy girth into the vixen with talent.

But now the screen went dark, and the stage lights were pointed out into the crowd. And the announcer’s voice boomed once more: “Here he is, the second young bull of the night: ETHAN!!!!!!.”

I watched the young marine bull walk down the stage. The two herders were at either side, their hands on his thinly muscled arms. His body looked tall, powerful, but still young somehow. He had muscles, but still had the thinness of youth. His stomach was flat, his shoulders angular and sharp. And his face was firm with resolve. He doubtless didn’t know what was happening. The Spanish bull had simply been led out, placed on the stage, and then led away. But I’m sure the Marine bull was scared. He just didn’t show it.

After all, he was naked in a room full of people. As the herders positioned him on the stage, putting the twin poles under each of his pits, resting the cushions against his black hairy pits, I got a look at the marine bull’s package. His penis was shriveled, from the fear no doubt. But also I got the impression that this marine bull’s soft penis was always a little small—not a shower. His organ stuck out from his crop of pubic hairs like a mushroom in a black forest. His mushroom cap was crimson even in its small state. It seemed a small bean of an organ, something an immature young man might try to hide in the boot camp showers. But somehow I doubted that this marine bull had hid his. Even as a new recruit, I thought that he wouldn’t be shy amongst his bigger marine brothers. He would have strolled into the common shower, soaped up his tight cylinder and it’s mushroom cap. He would have rinsed his plump balls and his back and his underarms and his butt. And he wouldn’t care that other guys walked around the steamy showers with hanging floppy meat. His organ was powerful when it counted, when it was in a woman’s body. He knew he could please any women his buddies could, perhaps even better. I’ve seen lots of young bulls on the screen fucking with long fat dicks, and the vixens yawning underneath them. But not this young bull. His penis might stick out when soft instead of hanging down like a heavy piece of meat—but its power to please was in the skill and talent of its owner, not in itself.

And the marine bull’s pokey dick also allowed an excellent view to the object of my main interest. The young bull’s balls were suspended in a pale pink sack that stood out against his pale thighs. The bull’s stones didn’t hang all that low from his body, but his sac was wide and stuffed full. His manhood was a powerful bag, pink with maturity, young with fruit, suspended under the young marine’s helpless body. It was the bag that made him what he was—a young bull with the desire to please women and the ability to make it happen.

And now that fat sac was ringed with the four gelding cables. And although the young marine bull didn’t know it, his manhood was in our hands.

The crowd was yelling, and almost all the cries were for us to pull the cords and take the marine bull’s balls. Of course, I didn’t need them to make up my mind. Not on this one. I reached for the handle of my gelding cable, and prepared for the signal.

The young bull could see us at the VIP tables. He could see the gelding cables reaching out into the crowd from his balls. He could feel the cold metal rings around his sac. I could see sweat beading on his body. But his face was firm as stone, his young jaw set. “What the fuck are you doing. Let me the fuck out of here,” he said, although I could barely hear him over the roar of the crowd. Being in the front table, I had the best view and the best chance to hear what happens on the stage. I doubted the other three players heard. But I heard the marine bull’s demand. He had no idea what was happening. I knew that he was scared. But he wasn’t going to show it. He was an American Marine, by god. He was a man. He wasn’t going to show weakness even in this crazy world he had suddenly entered.

The herder on his right stared right at the young bull, which was odd. I noticed that she was the vixen from the mating. It was rare that the same herder that fucked the bull would be allowed to escort him to the stage. But she must have arranged it. I wondered why. Certainly not to help him—that was impossible, beyond imagination. Perhaps just to be near him in the time of his testing—at the moment when the rest of his life would be decided. Her eyes were on him, and he turned his head to look at her. His tall strong body shuttered, but held by the tall crutches under his arms, he couldn’t move.

“What are they doing to me?” I heard him ask her. “What the fuck is this?”

The herder’s clear blue eyes stared into his deep brown eyes, framed by their black brows. And I saw the sadness in them. I wonder if the bull did. He was a young bull, in the prime of his sexual desire and with the skills to make it pay. He was a male creature, desiring to protect others through serving his country, desiring physical pleasure of his own through his sexual needs, desiring the pleasure and fulfillment of his mate in a more mature understanding than most young bulls his age. And here he was, in this club, with it all on the line. And he didn’t know it. But she did, the vixen he had fucked.

I let the handle of the gelding cable drop from my grip. I heard it clang on my table. But none of the screaming crowd did.

“AAAANNNNNNNnnnnnnDDDDDDD………. NOWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

The lights in the club swirled, and the crowd roared. And I saw the tugs. The cords twanged and moved around the marine bull. It took only an instant of resistance, and they slackened. THUMD! The cords fell to the stage. Along with the heavy loose bag of the young marine bull's sac.

“Gagaaaooaaaa!” The fresh steer let out a pieced cry, like a man punched in the stomach. But I could tell from his eyes that it took a moment for the marine steer to realize what happened. His body shuttered and spasmed. He reflexively tried to force his hands to his groin, but the crutches holding his heals of the ground made it impossible. But he swung his head down, looking at the source of his pain and at the ground. And he saw them, his pink bag of balls, he saw them like he had never saw them before. They were distant, farther away from his head than they had ever been. They were on the floor. “AAAUGGHhhh, god, god, agghhhhh. God, my sac….. ahhhgggggaaaaaaaa, gaaaaadddddd.” The marine steer threw back his head. The muscles of his stomach rippled as he rasped for breath, readying for another cry. But his mouth just hung open. And that is when I knew that the full pain hit him. It is like two blazing hot ice picks jabbing deep into your groin, that is what I have been told. And the young marine felt it, felt the nerves of his cords reporting to his brain that his testicles had been cut from his body. And that report came with a blazing insanity of pain. “Aaguuhhhhhhhhhhh!”

Now, the announcer moved quickly. The plasma screens recorded that I was the only player not to pull my cord. That meant that Havous had wasted his pull. But it also meant that he got to bid. Since the young bull was gelded, the players who pulled their cords get to bid to see who will take him. The one who gets him can do anything he wants with him—even release him. But because I didn’t pull, because I had hesitated out of a final respect for the marine’s prowess and his spirit, I could not bid. I could not help him again.

While the young steer hung like a rag doll from the poles under his arms, babbling and whimpering like a baby, the players began to bid. It was clear that Havous wanted him. But it was also clear that Nikos would get him. I didn’t pay any attention to the bidding because I knew there were my last moments with the young marine steer, and I wanted to remember them.

I looked at him hanging there, his shoulders sticking out on either side of his lulled head. His body was covered in a sheen of sweat. His eyes were open but vacant. The paths of tears lined his cheeks, which had only moments ago been fixed and firm. Now, his face was slack. A line of drool hung from the corner of his mouth.

The young herder that stood beside him, the one he had bedded in the video, the one that he had make cum with the ease of a confident man, looked at him too. Her eyes were longing and sad. She must have hoped that he would be spared. It was a foolish hope. But I guess even herders, with their stunning bodies and deadly training, can be naïve. She looked at his groin for some time, and at the bag of flesh that had fallen with a heavy thud to the floor.

And I looked too. I stood up from my table to look. And I stared at his groin, trying to commit to memory the detail of how it looked. The young marine’s dick is still sticking from its black forest, a cherry capped mushroom, now looking alone. Nothing was under it. The young marine bull had lost what had been there. A soft, velvet pink sac, filled with two plump hard ovals. So sensitive they had been. A small touch would have brought a moan; a hard tap would have caused a painful grunt. Now they were on the floor. The soft skin of that sac now rested on the cold floor of the stage. Each oval was distinct in the thin soft flesh. They were useless now, lost. And the compact organ that stuck out of the steer’s underbody, the tight cylinder of flesh that I had moments ago looked on with respect, was now just small and useless. The person that owned it was a steer now.

“And the winner is, NIKOS,” the announcer boomed.

The crowd roared. They certainly approved. I sunk back into my chair. The two herders, one with sad blue eyes, unhook the limp and sweaty young steer and begin to drag his emasculated body up the ramp he had walked down firm and defiant minutes before. I watched them as they carried him away. His butt was paler than the rest of his skin, slack and sweaty. His muscled back was loose, almost relaxed. His hairy pits rested on the shoulders of the two herders. His arms hung like spaghetti.

And I looked at Nikos. His cruel face was twisted into a smile. I knew—everyone knew—what he intended. Nikos’s appetites were legendary. Every few months he needed a new one. He would have the former marine bull turned into a pussy steer for his bed. The young steer’s useless little mushroom will be clipped from his body, never to grow thick and powerful again. The marine will never feel another twinge of masculine pleasure, much less the full-throated pounding pleasure he once felt between his legs. But he will feel Nikos’s big thick dick in his new-made pussy. He’ll feel what he once gave they young vixen that carried him from the stage like a rage doll. The marine steer will soon feel what it means to be a woman. God, he never thought he would feel that. He had been a man. His pale body disappeared back into the shadows. Nothing was left of his masculinity but the soft pink bag and the plum balls inside that still lay under the stage lights.

As the feelings of regret and pity for the marine steer flooded over me, and the crowd roared their approval of the young marine’s emasculation, I looked at the two remaining gelding cables on my table. I hadn’t used a pull, but the other three have. I knew I had better get started, or my night would be totally wasted.

To be continued………..