EPILOUGE

By justoneguy

Promptly on the fifth week since the night at the club, I received my engraved invitation to Garson’s mansion for the deflowering. I had to hand it to Garson. He was a man of his word. And he walked to talk.

In the old days, the delivery of a pussy steer won at the club was a celebration attended by the four VIPs of the night. Of course, I had to attend. That very day I had made the final arrangements for the strong marine steer to be sent home to his wife and sons. I sent the final message authorizing his release on my way to Garson’s mansion. I told my driver to pick me up in two hours. This wouldn’t take to long, I thought.

The old man was there, a grave expression on his wrinkled face. And to my shock, Nikos himself was there, standing with a cigar in his hand. He smiled when he greeted me and shook my hand. He said that he intended to send his formal regrets to Garson because of the work he was doing reorganizing the Middle Eastern command. But he considered it a sign of respect to Garson to follow the proper formalities. No doubt Lars and the young marine steer were delivered to his family’s mansion in the valley that same day—each with a new and untested pussy between his once masculine legs. I wondered if Nikos would deflower them tonight? Or would he not have the heart to, knowing his own elder son had been fucked for the first time that very night?

Havous arrived last and was five minutes late. Garson’s greeting to him was stiff. He always was an old stickler. He immediately requested a cigar and started smoking. He smiled and shook my hand and Nikos’s. He wore his amusement at the entire situation on his sleeve.

“So Garson, who is going to do the honors?” He said was a laugh.

Garson didn’t smile. This was a solemn affair for him. “Well,” Garson said. “My youngest grandson will do the honors. He is 20 years old, but not yet married. His bride won’t be ready for six months.”

Havous grinned. I wondered how he could be so flippant in front of the old man. But it must have really been directed at Nikos. “He’ll get a good workout on the steer,” Havous said.

“Yes,” Garson said solemnly. “But we are late. Let us retire to the parlor.”

Garson had his parlor set up in the traditional style. All art and clocks were draped with expensive silk. Four leather armchairs were set in a semi-circle. The three of us sat on the chairs, and a servant poured another round of wine for us. The chairs faced a waste high wooden bar. It was heavily braced at the bottom and covered with an expensive cushion at the top. The cushion was pressed down in the middle from decades of use. Large mirrors flanked the rail on either side, so the VIPs could view the event from other angles without leaving the soft leather of their chairs.

Once Garson’s wine was poured, he rang a small silver bell. Two doors on either side of the rail opened. A large bodyguard eased through the left door. He was there, no doubt, to make sure the pussy steer behaved and to protect the guests from any outburst. In his hand he held the end of a white rope. As he walked forward, more and more rope followed. Until, finally, the pussy steer walked through the door.

He was completely nude. The white rope was tied to each of his wrists, but they were loose enough not to hinder his basic range of motion. His skin was still the soft olive hue of those born and bred in the Valley. The black hair on his head was longer than before. It was shaggier now, like a child of the seventies. No doubt Garson’s grandson likes a “woman’s” hair on his pussy steers. Boden wasn’t there yet, but he certainly not the clean cut young fellow from the club anymore.

No, he certainly wasn’t. He still had the same body, the same muscles, the same defined chest, the same broad shoulders. He still had the toned and strong body that comes from excellent nutrition and plenty of time for sport. But he wasn’t quite the young bull he had been. He still stood like a man, his legs slightly apart to make room for his hanging fruit. But now, the space between his strong male legs was empty. At the underside of his body, all I could see was the small, tight, black line that was the slit of his new pussy. The sides of the slit looked like smooth, full peach-like lips. I was amazed that the smooth pussy still had the same olive look of the rest of the steer’s body. It was excellent work. The doctor should be complimented.

The bodyguard led Boden to the wooden rail. He didn’t fight at all. I don’t think that he knew what was about to happen. Eyes were tired, somewhat blank. His mouth was slack. He certainly no longer had the spirit of the young man who had bounded into the VIP lounge and loudly and crassly mocked the manhood of a freshly gelded young marine. I noticed that his eyes locked on his father. Nikos sat calmly in his chair, his face blank and hard. His jaw was firmly set. He only moved to take a sip of his wine. Boden might have thought he was being led out so his father could take him home. But when he saw his father’s neutral, if not unfriendly, response to seeing him, his countenance seemed to drop further. He stood, unmoving, as the big bodyguard secured his ankles at the base of the rail.

We all sat, staring at him. Havous chuckled. “That is one luscious pussy you have there. With I could sink my cock into that,” he said.

Personally, I think his comment was meant to injure Nikos more than Boden. Either way, Garson was the only one to speak back. “Silence!” he snapped at Havous, who shrugged and sipped his wine.

But the arrow had struck the heart of whatever masculine pride to which Boden had tried to cling. His head bowed. On instinct, he pivoted his angular hips and twisted his muscled thigh around to shield his newly minted pussy form our view. The action was such a contradiction—the strong studly steer, his upper body, arms, legs all strong and masculine, tilting and hiding the hole between his legs from our staring eyes. It was such an emasculating pose—nothing like a virile, full young man cupping his soft dangling manhood from a possible blow.

But Boden’s time for modesty was brief. The big bodyguard pulled the white ropes on his hands tight. Boden did not follow the motion, so the bodyguard walked behind and pressed his big hands on the steer’s muscled back. Clearly, Boden had been conditioned to follow the direction of this big man’s pressure. At once, he leaned at the waist, resting his stomach on the smooth soft cushion on the top of the rail. The bodyguard walked back around to the front of the rail and tied off the white ropes at the bottom of the rail. So Boden was in position, his legs secure, his body bent over the rail, his stomach on pressing on the cushion. His hands had some range of motion. The rail was built to give the steer two knobs to grip and hold himself up against. Boden naturally found them. But with the helpless, bemused look on his face, I still doubted if he understood what was happening.

The old Garson rang the silver bell again. And from the left door, already open and ready, his grandson walked into the room. He was also nude, a tall, thin young man of 20. His dark hair was cut short, military style. His skin was paler than most in the valley. Garson had moved here as a young man, and his own sons had chosen to marry brides from their native Poland. The grandson’s pale skin and brown hair contrasted sharply with the olive skin and black hair of the steer. And they contrasted in other ways too. The grandson’s build was medium, the tallness of his frame making his muscle mass less compact. Still, he had the look of strength and training of an Association young man. His chest was defined and his stomach was flat. His upper chest was dusted with brown curly hairs in a triangle shape from his collarbones down to the center of his chest. His brown nipples were ringed with straggly brown hairs. More brown hairs stretched from the end of his chest hair, down the center of his stomach, until they merged with a wild and tangled mat of brown pubic hair. Sticking out from that brown forest was a 3” flaccid penis, its head sheathed in a pasty white foreskin that almost glowed against his dark hairs. The skin seemed tight, the helmet underneath making a defined ridge under the soft flesh. The very tip made a black dot as the folds of foreskin stretched together a few centimeters past the tip of the head. The organ didn’t hang really so much as stick. As he walked, it bobbed a little up and down, but did not sway between his legs as some male’s organs do. Underneath the penis was a full sac of balls, large, plump, full. The oversized balls hung close to the young man’s body, hugging his underside so that the orbs seemed to form right from his groin rather than hang from it. The bag was a light brown that set the twins off from the pale white thigh flesh that framed them. The combination of the large balls and bushy pubes only worked to diminish the impressiveness of his penis. The young man had nothing to be ashamed of. He was merely average. But his personal grooming of his groin did nothing to accentuate his natural assets. He either didn’t know or didn’t care. My guess would be that we were seeing his natural state, unchanged as he went through puberty and grew his first hairs. Up until now, he had no reason to change. But on his wedding night, I would imagine he would be trimmed up and looking his best.

As for Boden, this was as much of a wedding night as he would ever get. And he was starting to realize it. When Garson had rung the bell again, Boden twisted his head back to look at the open door. When the nude man entered the room, he had swung his head back towards us as we sat staring at the new player and evaluating his manliness. Boden’s eyes were wide, shocked, scared. He was nude and tied loosely to the rail, in a position that exposed his remade underside as much as it could possibly be exposed. He had been a young Association man, with his own pussy steers. He knew what would come next.

But the main thing that caused him to turn away from the grandson was not the fact that he was nude or that he was worried about what was about to happen—although he was. It was what hung around the man’s neck. Boden’s flaccid severed penis hung from a gold chain around his neck. The chain was relatively loose. The organ rested gently on the man’s naked skin on the dip between the muscles of his chest. The dusting of brown chest hairs framed to flesh sausage at the top, looking obscenely like a penis hanging from clipped pubic hair. The organ was still a healthy olive in color. It was a little more than 5” in length. The doctors had no doubt removed the organ root and all from Boden’s pelvis shortly after his gelding. But they had left only the part of the penis naturally exposed from the body to make this garish necklace. No matter what one feels about the Association or Boden or Nikos, one thing about the scene was beyond dispute—the doctor’s methods of preserving male flesh uncorrupt were amazing. The organ looked soft and alive. The fleshy foreskin still clung to the plump helmet. I could still see the wide prominent ridge of a large glans pressing against its protective hood.

And as I watched the grandson stroll confidently into the room, the contrast between the organ between his legs and the organ around his neck sent my mind into overdrive. Boden’s penis was still a prize to behold. Still long, still wide, with the same look of weighty power that I had admired in his last moments of manhood upon the stage. Even in its soft state, it was larger than almost half of men possess when erect. I have to admit freely that the erect penis in my pants at that moment was about the size of the limp sausage that had once belonged to Boden. But he didn’t own that member anymore. Garson’s grandson now wore it like a trophy around his neck. Whereas the grandson’s own penis was average at best, he now possessed Boden’s impressive organ in the ultimate sense. Who was the more impressive male now? Garson’s grandson wouldn’t hold a candle to Boden in the locker room five weeks ago. He would have just blended into the masculine crowd while Boden strolled through the common showers with an uncommon organ swinging between his strong legs. He would have been envied, coveted. Now, the grandson was still part of the masculine crowd—not impressive but not ashamed. Whereas Boden….

The grandson picked up a bottle of lube from a hidden drawer in the railing. He squirted a good amount onto the fingers of his right hand dropped the bottle back in its place. He walked behind Boden and placed his left hand on his rump, as if to balance and keep him steady. Then, with the slow and steady hand of a lover, he cupped the swollen mound of Boden’s pussy. He twisted his fingers amongst the soft folds of skin there, pushing some lube deep inside the virgin hole. Then he settled into a smooth firm rhythm as he rubbed the length of the slit back and forth, back and forth.

Boden’s eyes went wide. “Huuhhhh,” he sucked in a quick draw of breath. His face was shocked, ashamed. The olive skin of his checks flushed a rich pink. He was feeling something he never thought he would ever feel. His body twitched and trembled. And I realized—as much as he might want to deny it or stop it, the steer was feeling some pleasure from the touch.

I looked over at Garson, who as always sat expressionless with his glass in his hand. But he noticed my quizzing look, and smiled knowingly. “As you can see, I am not a heartless man. I made sure they preserved the most important nerves from the underside of the former male’s glans penis. They incorporated them into his new clit. It really is an amazing process. I wanted his organ preserved for him to keep. That is why my grandson wears it now. From the outside, it looks perfect. You would never know that most of the nerves were harvested.”

Havous smiled at this knowledge, but not from compassion. I’m not sure if Garson realized it, but most modern Association members don’t bother with making clits for their pussy steers, much less working ones. As I watched Boden’s eyes close and mouth hang agape as his pussy was stroked and patted, the fact that he was feeling something, feeling a tingle of pleasure from his feminine underside just made him seem all the more less masculine. The pride of his muscles and the frame of his body were truly the only things masculine about him now. But they were tingling with the pleasure brought from a clit—not a cock.

The grandson stopped for a moment and lubed up his left hand. When he returned to preparing Boden’s pussy with this right hand, his slick left began to prepare himself. He tugged at the little finger that stuck out from his groin with an absentmindedness of one practiced in self-pleasure. It was quite a sight! Two young adults who were born male—on with his hand tugging his own sausage like he was born to it, the other struggling and feeling sensations for his pussy for the first time. Just five weeks ago, the hardening flesh between the grandson’s fingers would have been the subject of laugh and jokes about prowess from Boden, secure in the knowledge that his organ was coiled and held in his underwear. Now, Boden was left with nothing, while the grandson effortlessly achieved erection.

The grandson’s hand dropped from his organ. In less than a minute, he had achieve full stature in his member. His erection bobbed in front a few times as his hand left it. He had a six-inch tool, bowed slightly like a banana, pasty white and ribbed with thick veins under the thin skin. His foreskin was pulled completely back, creating a ring of gleaming pink flesh that contrasted sharply on the white pole. His helmet was spear shaped, wide, with a flared edge. The organ looked girthy enough, probably 5 inches around—putting the organ overall square in the middle of average. It was enough male flesh to please almost any woman. There is a reason average is average, after all. And a man does not have to be hung like a horse to please a woman and have pride in his manhood. But, having seen what Boden once possessed, the contrast was amazing. The organ sticking out from the grandson’s hairy groin was not much different than the soft organ hanging from his neck. His erection was perhaps and inch longer and an inch thicker around, but this was his ERECTION. Boden’s soft sausage was nearly as impressive. I thought of the 7.5-inch organ, with its thick girth and massive helmet head that had popped past the herder’s pussy and stretched her to the limit of her ability to endure pleasure. I thought of the manhood that Boden had possessed, thought of his natural eagerness to please his woman and himself. He had owned something extraordinary—even if he at his young age had not had the chance to use it with a real woman to its full potential. Now he would learn what most women feel when their average man services them. He made such fun of males with less than he had, I wondered if his opinions would change when he was the penetrated.

And I was about to find out. The grandson moved behind Boden, putting his left hand on his rump once more to steady the steer. He bent at his knees, arching his back and pushing his hips forward as his right hand sought for the right angle on Boden’s wet pussy. He was like an expert mechanic. His face was focused and determined. And when he found the hole, he brought the tip of his organ to his palm and began to push forward along his fingers. The mirrors behind were tilted perfectly to give our eager audience a view of the action. The grandson was truly a master, his middle finger secure in the Boden’s whole as a guide to his more eager but less controllable organ. And when the grandson worked the tip of his warrior right at the entrance of his hole, pressed just against the warm wet folds of flesh, just against the slit, Boden looked right at me. I’m not sure why. Perhaps the joyful smirk on Havous’s face was too painful for him to look at. Perhaps Garson’s aged, impassive face offered no comfort for him in this moment of fate. And there was his father, staring ahead, stiff, doing his duty. He could not look at him—the person whose manhood had sired him, a new male and heir. He could not look at Nikos and confront the fact that his own father was witnessing his ultimate humiliation. So he looked at me. I was neutral somehow, someone who at the same time appreciated the contradiction his life had become and pitied the wasted young manhood that had been lost. Perhaps he saw those feelings in my face. But for whatever reason, his eyes locked on mine. The deep brown of his irises were full of pleading emotion. His skin was still shaped olive-pink in his embarrassment. His brow was furled; his mouth hung open. What would it feel like to be a woman? God, this couldn’t be happening? I was such a good, strong, man. Those were the thoughts I read on his face. And my own brows narrowed with a knowing and sympathetic gesture.

And then it happened. In the mirror, I watched the grandson push his male hips forward. The tip of his penis sunk into the warm folds of Boden’s pussy lips with the resistance one would expect from a virgin pussy. With the head of his penis anchored inside the lips, the grandson pulled his finger from the hole. He put both hands on Boden’s hips. He held those muscled hips, that strong body. There was nothing the steer could do. But even if the mirrors weren’t there, even if I couldn’t see anything that was going on under or behind Boden’s body, I would still have known that his body had been penetrated for the first time in his life. I saw it in his face, in the hysterical look in his eyes, in the short shaking of his head in denial, in the squinting of his brows as his body felt the tension of accepting someone else inside.

The grandson’s cock stuck there, the head inside, and both the young man’s and the young steer’s legs trembled with anticipation. Of course, they were each anticipating very different things. The grandson’s manhood was ready, eager, engorged. Boden’s new femininity was about to be tested—its tightness, its smoothness, its depth. How far would the masculine steer penetrate him? How much would it stretch his snatch? What would it feel like? The cock head just was still except for its natural throb. It was stuck in the smooth lips of flesh that had once and not long ago been a sack of soft masculine flesh that had held Boden’s twin fat orbs that made him a man. Now, that flesh was about to provide the entrance to his life as a woman—at least below the waist.

The grandson eased forward, allowing his tool to penetrate inch by inch. The slick lube covered all, and only the natural tension of tight flesh and muscle resisted his advance. For his part, the grandson’s head was tilted back, his Adam’s apple sticking out, his face serene, his body feeling the best feeling in the world a man can experience—the tight pleasure of his penis enveloped by a warm pussy. When his the bone of his hairy groin bumped Boden’s ass and his penis was such balls-deep, 6 long inches inside the steer’s warm body, the grandson’s face tensed and he moaned. “Oh baby,” he said, low and long, with a breathy exhale.

Boden’s face tensed and his eyes closed. “Huhhhh, heehhhh, huhhh,” he breathed as his inner body tried to adjust to the invader. It must have felt massive to him, a big piece of hard wood pushing in his soft innards, filling the space where the root of his large penis and his prostate and his inner manhood once occupied. My view through the mirror showed the stretch that his pussy lips endured. The grandson’s girth was not overly excessive, but even its average volume opened his lips enough to display the little button of pink flesh that was Boden’s new clit. My god, he was penetrated. That strapping young buck was penetrated in his pussy!

The grandson rocked his hips back, pulling his organ out until only the head remained inside. Then he pushed in again in a long easy stroke. “Oh, your pussy feels so good!” He thrust again. Boden let out a little squeal as the invading organ somehow pushed deeper. “Yeaaahhhh, you’re so tight!” The grandson allowed his hands to rub over Boden’s smooth muscled back as if claiming new territory. He stroked the steer’s flanks as he rocked his organ in and out of his body. When his hands brushed Boden’s bushy armpits, the grandson let his grasping fingers slide around the Boden’s front. He leaned forward as his grasping hands cupped Boden’s muscled pecks. The preserved man flesh hung down from his neck and swung over the trembling steer. The tip just barely touched Boden’s sweaty back, and he felt a tiny touch of cold rubbery flesh against his skin. The grandson kneaded and clutched Boden’s muscled chest. It was such a manly chest, no hair, but a wide hard plain of muscle with two nickel-sized nipples. The humping man groaned as he touched them. “God, if only you had tits, if only you had tits!” he said as his head swung back. His eyes were closed, engrossed in the sensations his dick was feeling.

At the grandson’s words, Boden’s eyes opened from their straining squint. And he looked into my eyes yet again. That poor young steer was feeling something almost all women feel and almost no men feel—a hard, hungry dick pumping for his depths. My god, could that be the same young man who had stood so confidently in the VIP room five months ago? Could those tired and humiliated eyes be the same ones that beamed with male vigor and youthful pride? Could that young man with the fat bulge in his pants—pushing at the seams with the outline of his cock’s fat head visible through the fabric—could he be the same as this neutered steer with another man’s hard cock spreading and stretching the feminine lips between his masculine legs?

The grandson lowered himself further as he humped the steer from behind. He let his hands rub down Boden’s front, past his chest, down his ripped stomach muscles. When his grasping reached the wooden rail, he pulled his left hand up to Boden’s hip. The right hand continued to travel south until it reached his stretched pussy. His fingers went to work on his wet skin folds. My god, Garson’s grandson was quite a lover. His years of training with pussy steers had obviously paid off. His bride would be ready in six months? She will certainly get what she bargained for. But Boden never bargained for this. And it showed on his face.

The grandson was leaning over the steer, bent at the waist almost as much as the steer was over the rail. One hand on his hip and the other on his pussy, the grandson’s head was just above Boden’s. Had the steer been his wife, the grandson would doubtless have been kissing her ear and whispering and groaning in her ear. As it was, his expression was one of naked aggression, pushing his manhood as deep as he could and stimulating Boden as much as he could. “Yeah, yeah,” he groaned as the tightness of Boden’s body massaged his male prong. His mouth was twisted into a sneer, but it seemed to be one born of intense pleasure in his manhood than of anger. As I watched him, I considered the thin line between masculine desire and masculine aggression. The grandson was lost in the moment, his eyes pinched closed. His fingers worked furiously on the top split of Boden’s pussy. And he labored to keep the rhythm of his thrusting while fingering with a circular motion. “Yeah, yeah, your pussy feels so good. Do you like my cock? Is my cock making your pussy feel good?”

In the mirror I saw the action underneath. The grandson’s cock stabbed back and forth. The hard pasty white flesh of his shaft vanished and reappeared in a flurry of motion. His bag of balls was tight under his body, a round bulb of soft but firm flesh and twin firm orbs within. As he thrusted again and again, his sac giggled forward and back, but was too tight to swing. They were preparing for what they were designed to do—pump out seed into their master’s groin for it to be shot out into his lover. Above that hydraulic spectacle, the grandson’s fingers were rubbing and pinching a button-like pink dote—all that was left of the sensitive nerves that once packed Boden’s massive cock head. As he felt the grandson fingering and pushing his little clit, and as he felt that cock tugging and pulling the smooth lips that lined the opening to his body, Boden’s legs quivered. His hands gripped the hand rests on the rail until his olive knuckles turned white. The muscles of his stomach rippled and tensed. I wondered how far up inside his body the steer felt that throbbing invader. Did he only feel it between his legs? Did if feel like it was stabbing into his stomach? Boden’s handsome face was tensed, but not in the same way the grandson’s was. The grandson’s expression was one of strained labor. Boden’s expression was more resigned, waiting for the next thrust that he knew would come. His eyes were almost calm. As if he were feeling something he didn’t understand. What was he feeling?

He could certainly feel the grandson’s soft tight bag of balls flopping against his pussy lips with each thrust. Did he think of the herder that had straddled him during his one and only penetration of a woman? Was he thinking of his own fat balls that she must have felt against her body? And he certainly felt the grandson’s hard penis inside of him, like an invading force, undeniable, unstoppable, a mighty pressure inside of his body, filling him up. He could feel the flared ridge of that throbbing male helmet as it raked over the smooth sensitive interior walls of his pussy. He felt the thickness of that member spreading his lips tightly apart, and with each in and out stroke of the young male behind and on top of him, he felt the lips of his pussy tug and stimulate the nub of his clit. And more than that—the subtle stimulation of his fingertips danced over that sensitive little button. It had been five weeks since Boden had felt any kind of sexual feeling or response. Only five weeks ago, he had been a young man jacking his dick every night and fucking a pussy steer every chance he could. Now, he was feeling the pleasure he only half remembered.

And as I thought these things and tried to put myself in Boden’s place, to read the message of his eyes as they stared at me, I suddenly understood the movements of his body and the look of humiliated resignation in his face. Boden’s body no longer fought against the grandson’s trusting and domination. He felt the power of that body over him, those hands on his back and snatch. He thought of the herder and that one time at the club when she had sunk down on his mighty male pillar of flesh. He had humped under her with the same uncontrollable urgency that the grandson was now fucked his newly minted pussy. He thought of that herder’s moans and of her legs around his hips and of her hands clinging to his masculine chest. As the grandson laid over his back, Boden felt his chest and stomach muscles strain and stretch as he struggled to hold his weight up while feeling the amazing pleasures of sexual intercourse wash though all his muscles. Boden remembered the urgent male hunger, the need to penetrate deep into your partner, to feel her depths, to hear her breathy moans of thanks, to hump faster and faster, each thrust bringing a slightly more intense wave of pleasure than the last. He remembered the hunger he felt radiating from the grandson’s masculine body, but he didn’t feel it himself. For the first time in his life, Boden felt a new hunger, a foreign hunger, the hunger for the hollow part of his body to be filled up, for his body to be completed by the addition of a partner’s hard pole. God, had the herder felt this? Had she felt this need? Boden knew that his own organ had been larger and more impressive than this young man’s was. Did he wondered how much better or harder it felt to the herder? His eyes betrayed all these thoughts to me. But the overwhelming look of shock was the strongest. I saw in his brown eyes the humiliating knowledge of what his life had become. He was getting fucked; he was getting fucked like a woman. And against his will, his body was responding.

And the grandson knew it. He knew what his fingers and his cock were doing to the poor steer. They were destroying the last visages of the masculine image of himself to which the steer clung to so tightly. His cock—his manhood—was doing this. And I could tell it was really getting him off. “You’re pussy feels so good! Damn, it’s the tightest I’ve ever felt,” he whispered into Boden’s ear. “I’m fucking your pussy, man. I’m fucking your fuckin’ pussy. I’m fucking you right in the spot where you used to be a man. You used to have a cock like me, buddy. You used to have a cock bigger than mine. But now you just have a pussy between your legs. You feel your cock on your back? That is your dick man, that is what used to make you a man.” The grandson’s moaning rambling filled Boden’s ear. With each statement, the grandson rammed his cock in to Boden’s being yet again.

I saw Boden’s eyes glance away from me. To the left, towards his father. On instinct, I glanced over myself. And I saw something I never thought I would see. Havous was grinning and Garson was sitting quietly. But Nikos, his face seemed to have aged. I noticed a little gray mixed in with the black hair at his temples. His face was stone hard, his jaw set as he watched his son fucked for the first of what he knew would be many times.

“You used to have a dick man, you used to be a man. I saw you when you were a man, up on the stage. You were hung so good. Back then, we could have both been doing this, with a girl under each of us, pounded our powerful dicks inside of them and listening to them squeal. But now I’m listening to you squeal. Does your pussy feel good, Boden? Does my dick feel good in your pussy?”

And from Nikos’s right eye, I saw a tear form and fall. That was his son being fucked, not some random pussy steer plucked from obscurity. That was the son his loins had produced, who he had groomed to follow in his place. And now he was being fucked like a woman. He was without manhood. The pussy between his legs was being stretched. And the look on his boy’s face told him that it was bringing pleasure. That was the worst of it, I think—for both Boden and Nikos. It was not enough that their enemies had turned him from a strapping young man to a weepy pussy steer, but they had left his nerves intact so that he would have no choice but to feel pleasure from his new female parts. Somehow, it seemed to feminize him more than just giving him a pussy. They had made him THINK like a woman.

Tears of defiance streamed down Boden’s still-masculine face. He looked away form his father. It must have been hard to see his father’s tears. They had feminized him too in a way. But Boden’s eyes returned to me, a safe harbor among the pain and humiliation he was experiencing. I saw in his face that his mind screamed for him to resist, that a man should not be penetrated by another man. But his mind was wash in pleasure, the pleasure of feminine fulfillment, the pleasure of the penetrated.

“Your dick was so much bigger than mine man, so much bigger than the one that is inside of you now. Hard to believe a woman could have taken what you had, isn’t it. But you got nothing there. Now all you got is a nub, a clit, a girl’s pussy.” The grandson leaned over more, so that his entire chest and stomach ground into Boden’s muscled back.

Boden could feel the grandson’s thick wet patch of sex hair against his ass. He couldn’t feel the sack of balls anymore; they were pulled up too tightly for that. But he felt something else. He felt the rubbery, firm yet somehow soft flaccid dick that hung from the man’s neck. He felt it, rubbing against his own sweaty skin, the 5 inch piece of meat that he once felt swinging between his thighs, or stuffed inside his full underwear. “Oh god,” Boden whimpered.

“Yeah, you feel it don’t you. You feel your cock. It’ll never be in a woman again. You’ll never be a man again. You’ll always be a pussy. Always have a pussy between your legs. And the only way you’ll have to get of is to be fucked. Fucked like a woman.”

Boden huffed and squeaked. The moans and squeals that came form his mouth were not the deep masculine groans he was used to making during sexual heat. They were an uncontrolled, eager cry for more. More penetration, more stretching, more tingling in his clit. “I want to be a man, I want to be a man,” I head Boden whisper as he moaned like a woman. Tears streamed down his masculine cheeks. And then is eyes opened wide with a look of amazed oblivion. His mouth hung open in a silent scream.

“Cum baby, Cum like a woman.”

And at that moment, it happened. Boden felt the rush build in his body and break like a dam. He arched his back and threw his head back. He looked straight at me, just as he had when he balls were cut from his body. And the look wasn’t much different. The same look of stupid shock, a disbelief that what his body was feeling was real. “Ooohhhhhhhh ooohhhhhhhhhhh, goooooodddddddddd,” he cried in feminine pleasure—his first post-gelding, post-masculine orgasm. From my conversations with my own wife, I knew that the feelings he was experiencing were very much unlike the orgasms he remembered from his manhood. It didn’t spike and then ebb, but it continued in one dull but continuous feeling of pleasure—and every second the rocking and humping of the grandson’s hips against his clit drove a spike of pleasure threw his body and into his soul. Boden felt the long dormant muscles in his groin contract, and he felt himself pump a slick wetness from his clit-nub. I saw clear fluid dribble from the slit from which Boden once pumped mighty seed, a mockery of the manhood he once possessed. And the clear liquid dribble down onto the floor, and surround to the mighty rod of manhood that pumped again and again into Boden’s quivering pussy. “Nnuuhhhhhhhh, don’t stop, don’t stop,” Boden cried as the last visages of his manhood fell away from his mind. He no longer seemed to care that his father or anyone else was there. The white-hot pleasure from his clit and pussy were the only things he knew. He was a woman now, panting for her male lover to hump him harder and longer and faster. The manhood of Boden, the eldest son of Nikos, was utterly destroyed.

As soon and the grandson was sure Boden was cumming, he raised his body off of the steer’s. He arched his back away from, pushing his cock as deep as he could. He put both hands on the steer’s hips. His right hand smeared Boden’s own pussy juices onto his rump. The grandson looked down at his own cock moving in and out of Boden’s quivering and spasming body.

I stared at the soft cock hanging from his neck, nestled amongst the dusting of hair on his chest. The rubbing of that sausage against Boden’s back had caused the foreskin to slide off the head. The plump purple head still had its shape and its mass. Somehow, although its size hadn’t changed, it suddenly looked erect to me. It was Boden’s manhood, now completely lost. It was the massive piece of male flesh that had once hung from underneath the 18-year-old’s body, that had been his manhood, his dick, his cock, his pride and power.

And as the grandson looked down at this hanging meat, and at his own hard tool pumping in and out of its former owner, as he felt Boden’s pussy muscles—the muscles that once worked to pump out his baby-making seed, that was when the grandson came. “I’m cummin baby,” he strained through a masculine groan. And he pounded his throbbing hard manhood as deep into Boden’s pussy as he could. The steer felt the amazing tenseness of Brian’s muscles and knew he was cumming before he said it. But in the throes of his own orgasm, he hardly cared. All the wanted was for the man to keep humping, keep grinding against his clit, keep filling his body with his pleasure bringing cock. And then he felt the rush, the rush of warm fluid up into his body. The grandson began to pump his virile seed into Boden’s barren pussy. The steer felt his body become awash with the masculine fluid, and he felt the man’s satisfied but still throbbing erection slosh around inside of his newly drenched womanhood.

The grandson stood, stiff as wood, for a full minute after his orgasm ceased. Boden still tried to grind into him, to keep the pleasure pressure going on his pussy and clit. But it was a losing battle, and I could see the intense pleasure ebb from Boden’s eyes.

It ended so suddenly. The grandson backed his cock out of Boden’s quivering hole. And I saw the thick milky white fluid he had pumped into the steer flood out and dribble onto the floor. The grandson suddenly seemed embarrassed. He had been so engrossed in what he was doing, the sight of four other men, including his own grandfather, seeing his own pleasure suddenly came home in his mind. He gave a short bow, and disappeared back through the door.

Boden just lay there, the rail holding him up at the waist. His hands still gripped the rail. His body was sweaty and ravaged. I’m sure his pussy throbbed form the pounding it had taken. No matter how pleasurable it had been in the moment, it was a feeling his mind was not used to registering. He would be sore for some time. But his mind seemed to have taken the worst hit. As soon as the dick slurped out of his body, he began to cry, sob. I hear little whimpers and squeaks as he cried for the young man he had been. There was no going back. He had a pussy now. He knew what it was like to be a woman. And his father knew it.

Nikos rose first. He turned away from Boden and bowed to Garson. “Thank you for the kind invitation. I will be breaking in the steers I won this very night. I regret that I will not be able to have you all over for that event.”

Garson bowed in return. “I completely understand. My grandson is the only male of sexual age left in my family who is not married. In six months, when his bride is ready, I will have no more need of any pussy steers. Therefore, I intend to give this particular steer over to your care at that time. The necklace will, of course, go with him.”

“Most kind,” Nikos said. And he actually did seem moved. I saw another tear well in his right eye. But he fought it back. “Most kind.”

And I suddenly felt like crying too. At least the father would be able to provide a comfortable life for his poor pussy-son. After Garson’s grandson was finished with him, the steer would not fear being fucked again.

We all three left quickly. Boden was still on the rail when I left. His eyes were closed and his body limp. Only his whimpering and crying let me know he was not asleep or passed out. As I rode back to my home, I considered that evening in the club, the thinning of the herd that I had attended. It felt like a million years ago now. I thought of the five bulls that had comprised the herd we judged and thinned. I thought of the stupid young Spaniard—the only one to keep his balls. He was no doubt roaming the streets of home now, eager to use the manhood he had managed to keep to its fullest. Maybe he would learn to use it well as the years passed.

I remembered the strong mature Marine bull. The strong man in his twenties, who had used his manhood to love a woman, produce two strong sons, and protect his country. His balls were now a necklace hanging in my own house. And he was then on a plane on his way back home, to be reunited with his wife and to break the news to her that his manhood is gone and his dick is forever lip between his legs.

I thought of the young Marine and Lars, the Association commander. Both had been stout males. One a seasoned vet who had used his manhood to produce a son to be proud of. The other was a young buck eager for life and love. He had been a natural love maker, causing a herder to scream with passion. Both had pussies between their legs now. And, that very night, both would feel their first cock inside their new pussies—Nikos’s cock.

And I thought of Boden, the strong proud son of a proud father. I thought of his spirit of youthful arrogance. I thought of him as the young boy I had taught earlier in life. I thought of his honed body, his powerful muscles, his extraordinary male parts. I thought of him as a quivering woman, his pussy filled with a man’s cock, and his clit forcing him to enjoy it.

The politics of the valley would never be the same. As I drove home, I said to myself that my night out at the club last months had been my fill of herd thinning for a while, that I probably would sit the next Monday I was scheduled to be a VIP I would pass. But, you know what, that next Monday I was right there in my regular seat. Havous was there too, and we chatted briefly beforehand about what kind of bulls we hoped to thin. Garson’s grandson was there too, and many commented that they had received their advance invitations to his wedding. I wasn’t surprised to see the grandson take his father’s seat. He cocked a smile and joked that he really didn’t need another pussy steer. The one he had was broken in nicely. The crowd loved that one.

Nikos did not attend.

THE END.

all comments welcome.