By justoneguy

And his knock was answered. The door swung open with the heavy clang of old style metal handles. And Nikos stood before the steer.

He wore only boxer briefs. White boxer briefs against the dark olive of his skin. The steer was confronted by Nikos’s broad shoulders, muscled, heavy and strong. He was several inches taller than the steer, whose own muscles, not yet affected by his lose of manhood (at least not to the eye), seemed suddenly less impressive in the presence of the large bull. The steer found his eyes drop down Nikos’s chest, in an instant appraising his strength. His chest was covered in an even mat of black hairs, not excessive, but mature. The chest hair of the large bull tapered into a thinner line as it moved down his stomach, which was lined with strong muscles but also the slightest first hints of midlife flab. Nikos was still a fit, powerful man, but at 31, he was beginning to succumb to the inevitable decline of a midlife man. The black hairs spread again over his stomach and disappeared into the waistband of boxer briefs. And he had a bulge there. The steer could see the outline of his heavy bull sausage, at rest inside the supportive cotton fabric. His bulge seemed large, framed by two powerful male legs, each dusted with black hairs on olive skin.

The steer took one step back.

Nikos smiled. “Now, steer. Come in here. If I can’t catch you running down the hall, and I assure you I can, Petro certainly can. Of course, as strange as it may seem, you might prefer me catching you than Petro. He looks over my little brother like a hawk. He’s around the corner somewhere now, I’m sure.” Nikos stuck his head out the door and looked from side to side comically. “And he is right to watch out. If anything ever happens to my father’s youngest,” the last bit said with a bit of irritation, “then he knows he’ll lose these.” Nikos grasped the bulge of his briefs in his hand and moved the loose fullness of his manhood from side to side with a big grin on his face. “And he knows I’ll be the one to take them too.”

The steer just stared forward, looking at Nikos, at a loss for what to do. His mind cried for him to run, escape no matter the cost. But where to? He had struggled with this already. As it was, his responses were now trained to be so passive that he just stood, looking straight forward, while the big bull pulled him into the room.

It was a large room, dimly lit, but with two lamps on either side of the bed blazing, creating shadows among the old chairs and chester drawers that lined the room. And the bed—it was huge. The steer figured that it could sleep four people across comfortably and perhaps one more lying long-ways at their feet. There were four tall polls, one at each corner of the bed, each carved ornately and throwing stabbing shadows into the room. Joran was leaning on the bed, his weight pushing deeply into the fluffy bedding. He wore only dark blue bikini briefs, the silly looking underwear favored by European men. The steer remembered he and his friends laughing at them at the Wal-mart back home. Only gay Frenchmen wore silly underwear like that. And Joran. The lad stood up when the steer entered. His skin seemed lighter in the light of the lamps. His chest was strong, although not nearly as developed as his brother’s, and was hairless. Even his legs had only the lightest dusting of black hairs. He seemed young than at the dinner table. Like the punk kids that run in the alley behind the kitchen back home. And he seemed nervous.

Nikos walked around the steer and into the light of the lamps. “You like my underwear, yes?” he said, his strange accent suddenly thicker than before. “I bought it from America the last time I was there. I love American clothes, although Joran still tries to be trendy. Impress the maids.”

“Shut up,” Joran said, and his voice seemed deeper and more mature than the steer had expected.

Nikos smiled at the lad, and the steer glimpsed for a moment the brotherly camaraderie they must share at certain times. He wondered if this would be one of those times. “Now, little brother, you already know a lot, I am guessing, from your exploration with Yesha. You will find things not so very different with this pussy-steer. Sure, he looks like a man now.” Nikos stepped behind the steer and pulled the robe off his shoulders. The tie around his waste gave easily. And the steer was left in his pale white panties. “But underneath you will find that things are much different.” Nikos walked by the steer; his shoulder deliberately hitting the steer’s as he passed by. With a smile on his face, Nikos leaned on the bed beside his brother. He crossed his arms and began to evaluate the steer. “You see his face, his shoulders, his stomach, his legs. They all look more or less like ours. Paler for sure, weaker than me perhaps, stronger than you, certainly.” Joran punched his brother’s stronger shoulder in defiance. Nikos only laughed. He seemed to relish ribbing his younger brother now that their father was no longer present. “He probably fucked lots of women in his lifetime. We, you and I, we will only fuck our wives. In that sense, I guess he is more of a male than we are. How many women have you fucked, steer?”

The steer stared blankly at them. “Four,” he said flatly.

“Four!” Nikos said with mock respect. “You see, brother. He has been with three more women than I have. But I ask, who is the more manly? You’ve seen Yesha nude. That little maid is certainly a sight to behold. I tell you, was it much different than this?”

Nikos leaned forward and with a tug pulled the steer’s white panties down to his mid-thighs. The hairless slit of his pussy glimmered in the lamplight. “There you have it. This one might look like a man when dressed, but he isn’t a man. He isn’t even a woman. He is a pussy-steer. And that is why we can use him. There is no shame in it. When we use him, he is nothing but a mock-woman to us. If he still pretends that he is a man, what is that to us? Our manhood will be satisfied in the pleasure of a pussy. That is what is important. Who knows, after a few more months of being a steer, he might even grow some breasts for you. Then he’ll be a lot more like Yesha, eh.”

The steer blushed at this, a flush of half forgotten anger flooded into his mind. But he just stood.

Joran stared at the steer’s pussy. And the bulge in his bikini underwear seemed to grow. The steer looked at that bulge, and then in shame down to his own feet. And above his thighs he saw his panties, white, smooth, flat. His body shivered in shame. His still masculine muscles shuttered.

“Here little brother. Touch it. Feel it. You’ll see,” Nikos said. And he pushed his brother from behind his shoulders toward the steer.

Joran was nervous, it showed on his face. He didn’t want to have anything to do with the steer. The maid girl, Yesha—that is what he wanted. The steer was nothing but a mutilated male. But Nikos was stronger than he was, and Joran’s resistance was more instinct than a battle he expected to win.

Nikos pushed his brother right up to the steer. “Go ahead, Joran. Feel the pussy-steer’s box.”

Tentatively, Joran stretched out his finger. He didn’t look anywhere on the steer but his crotch. But there, in the steer’s crotch, was a real pussy, hairless, smooth. Joran’s finger touched the outer lips, and the steer shuttered. His instincts said to run, but he stood motionless. Where could he go? Where could he go? Joran’s thin bony finger penetrated the outer lips, and the tip entered the steer’s body. It was warm, very warm. And wet with sweat. And it was tight. Joran smiled and looked at his brother. “It feels like Yesha.”

Nikos smiled and slapped his brother’s shoulder. “Of course it does. That’s the point. This pussy-steer might look like a guy, but he doesn’t have balls or a dick. That is what makes a man a man. Of course, he’s not quite a woman either. And pussy-steers have their drawbacks—like tits. What we have here, brother, is a pussy, nothing more, nothing less, for you to relieve yourself in. And to be honest, to practice on. You ready to give it a try?”

Joran smiled and nodded. He still seemed nervous, but was more eager than before.

Nikos put his strong hand in the middle of the steer’s back and pushed him toward the bed. The steer felt the soft fluffy bedding against his behind. Nikos picked up his feet and swung them onto the bed. The steer was shaking. The bed was cool but soft. He seemed to sink down into it. He looked out into the room with scared eyes. But he couldn’t think of anything he could do. Joran hooked his fingers on each side of his navy briefs and yanked them down.

And the steer saw the young eager bull. Joran stood before him, nude, his body looking thin, without any hint of fat, lean and muscled. Between his legs was a thick bush of black pubes with a small thin trail up to his navel. And below that, a long straining erection. To the steer’s eyes, the organ was long. It was about 7” long, although the steer only registered it as longer than his own organ had been. But it seemed thin, thinner than his organ had been. The tip was hooded with a thick olive hood, with only the very end with the small slit visible. Even with a straining erection, Joran’s foreskin was long enough to cover his spearhead, although the flared edge of the young bull’s mushroom head was visible under the protective hood. Below his straining organ, the young bull had a plump ripe sack of balls. The bull’s male-bag was tight against his body, with his two oval plums distinct in the hairy bag. The two virile orbs were nestled under the mighty stalk they powered with lust. The steer heard himself whence at the sight.

Joran approached the bed. Now that it had started, he seemed eager to get it done—to see how it would feel. The crawled up onto the bed. The steer’s eyes followed him as he approached.

“Here, don’t forget this,” Nikos said. He tossed his brother a bottle of lube.

Joran looked at it for a moment and then popped the top. He lubed up his organ, pulling back the foreskin to make sure that his spearhead was good and slick. Then he squirted some on the steer’s pussy. With a few quick pushed of his hand, he wetted the steer’s pussy mound. The steer whimpered again as he felt the young bull’s bony fingers rub his crotch—his empty crotch. He remembered his girlfriends cupping what he had there, cupping and fondling his lose strong manhood. He had a full crotch then, a male crotch. His pussy tingled as the young bull’s fingers tickled his clit.

The young bull positioned himself between the steer’s legs. Nikos stepped back into the shadows, sitting on one of the ornate chairs that lined the room. The steer was helpless. Any attempt to escape and Nikos would be on him in an instant. He had to do this; he had to get through it. Just let the little bastard fuck him. Then it would be over. But his dick was so long, a long thin spear of young manhood. No, he couldn’t let this happen!

Joran hovered over him, his hairless muscled chest nearly a mirror for the steers, which lay beneath him. With one arm supporting him, the other gripped the shaft of his long and swollen pole. The steer looked down and saw him with his throbbing pole in his hand. The hood had rolled back over the head since he had lubed his organ. But now the young bull pulled the heavy foreskin back off the plump red head, and then aimed carefully at the steer’s bald mound. The young bull pressed his warm spongy head against the steer’s pussy lips, searched for the entrance. The lubricated slit lead him naturally between the soft full lips—the remains of the steer’s once soft scrotum skin. Then Joran eased his shiny helmet into his first pussy. “Oh,…. My god.” The young bull gasped, his hips jerking, pushing his hard pole deeper into the steer’s warm body. After gathering his thoughts, and remembering to breathe, the young bull shoved the entire length in while he gasped in pleasure.

“Nnuughhhhh,” the steer grunted. It was not a sound he had ever made when he was a bull over any of his four women. It was not the sound of a male in sexual pleasure. It was the grunt of a steer as he felt the masculine pole of a bull stab deeply into his innards. The steer felt his body stretched apart. It was like he needed to go to the bathroom, to relieve his bowls, but no amount of pushing in his abdomen could relieve the amazing pressure. He felt the young bull’s long male spear—longer than his own erect penis had been—push deep into his body, and he grunted from the violation.

The young bull lay on top of the muscled but helpless steer, and he thrust his long pole in deeper, testing the depths of the steer’s virgin hole while he whimpered in pain. The long erect tool that had looked thin to the steer when he first saw it was now stretching his smooth soft pussy more than he ever imagined. And his clit, the remains of the nerves that once made his penis as sensitive as the young bull’s humping inside him, began to tingle.

Joran propped himself up over the steer on his hands, trying to keep their bodies apart as much as possible. But it didn’t last long. After the first few thrusts, the young bull became so enamored of the amazing softness and wetness and warmness of the steer’s pussy that he became oblivious to anything else. He dropped onto his elbows, his hands gripping the steer’s meaty shoulders with his thin strong fingers. The steer felt the young bull’s sweaty chest slap against his own. Joran’s head came to rest on the pillows, right beside the ear of the poor steer. The young bull stifled grunts of pleasure into the pillows. Then, gasping for breath as his heart raced and his body humped, he turned his head to the side. The steer felt the bull’s hot breath against his ear and check. He heard the young bull’s moans of virgin pleasure. The bull’s eyes were closed, lost in the pleasure of the moment. But his head was right beside the steer’s.

The steer’s thighs gripped the bull’s hips on instinct. The body and the will on top of him was uncontrollable and undeniable. The steer gripped the young bull’s back, spreading his fingers wide over Joran’s strong back. The muscles of the bull’s back shifted and moved as his body humped and heaved. It was all the steer could do to try to control the situation. And it wasn’t much.

As the initial pain subsided, the steer began to feel more detail between his legs. He felt Joran’s young bull balls, tight and hairy, against his behind. They were a bundle of manhood, a soft warm sack of male potency that powered the young bull’s virile body. The steer felt it, brushing against him as the buck humped out his virginity. It was the first time he had touched testicles since his manhood was cut away. And he felt the rough pubic hairs of the young bull, the symbol of maturity that the steer had once grown over his own proud hanging manhood. He felt Joran’s coarse curly bush against his forever-bald pussy mound. And, he felt the young bull’s bony groin bang into his clit, creating a tingle with each hump. But it wasn’t the pleasure he remembered from sex, the amazing waves of glorious bliss that washed from his penis throughout his body. It was just a tingle, a half-remembered pleasure that once blazed as bright as the sun.

And the steer knew that the young bull on top of him was feeling that pleasure—feeling it for the first time inside of a pussy, a real pussy, his pussy. He remembered his first time with a woman. As his thighs pressed against Joran’s eager hips, as his hands clasped the sweaty shifting muscles of Joran’s back as he held on for the ride, he wondered if what he was feeling was the same as his first woman had felt. Back then, he was the bull, testing his masculinity for the first time, eagerly pushing his male tool into the eager body of a panting woman. Joran was experiencing that now. And the steer was experiencing what his woman had felt with him. God, his pussy already felt worn out by the thrusting humping bull.

Nikos sat behind them, watching his brother’s pale olive butt rise and fall, tense and relax, clinch and soften in the light of the lamps. He saw his little brother’s tightening ball sack, darker than the rest of his skin, surrounded by a ring of black hairs, move and shift as the lad became a man. His own organ stirred in his shorts as he watched and heard the steer, once a strong American bull, whimper and squeal. After the first minute or two, Nikos stood and shed his boxer briefs and took his mighty manhood into his hand.

“Oh, god, oh, nuuuhh, huhh, huhhh, yeah, God, it feels so good,” the young bull grunted and panted. He was overwhelmed by it all, his entire world the pleasure of the tight wetness surrounding his pole.

Whimper, whimper. The steer lay under him. The more he clinched his body and pushed to force out the invading cock, the tighter and more better he made if for the young bull, who up to this point had known only his hand and the maid’s on his organ. He moved one of his hands to the small of the young bull’s back, hoping to control this deep thrusting. But it was no use. All he felt was the powerful muscles of his lower back and the clenching of his upper butt. There was nothing he could do. God, he was being fucked, fucked like a woman.

“Uhhggg, noooo.”

Nikos wasn’t sure if it was his brother or the steer that cried out.

“Oh god, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, God,” Joran gasped. His hot breath and the strained gasping words went directly into the ear of the steer, who squirmed under him with a new intensity.

The young bull’s body stiffened, the muscles hard and firm, but the pumping increased. Cheek to cheek, the young bull clinched tightly to the steer in the involuntary spasm of orgasm. “Gggoooooaaahhhh, ohh, ohhhh, ohhhh.!”

The steer felt the young bull, in that instant a man, a non-virgin, slam his hips one last time into hie pelvis, grinding his long spear a fraction farther than it had gone in any previous thrust. And he felt the filling fluid of the young bull, the young virile baby batter of the young stud, he felt it fill his insides.

The young bull panted and clinched to the steer. He didn’t move. The sweat between them began to dry. And when he finally raised up, pulling his softening organ out with him as he rolled over, the two chest, the steer’s and the bull’s, pulled apart with a sticky snap.

“Oh god, oh god,” the young bull panted. He lay with his hands to his side, as if too tired to move. The steer lay beside him, his legs parted wide; his knees still in the air where his thighs had clung to the raging bull. But he drew his legs together, covering and protecting his violated hole. The steer rolled to his side and lay there, weak, worn, sore. The whole experience had taken less than ten minutes.

The spent bull rolled from the bed. “Oh man. Oh man,” I need a shower. He slipped his navy blue bikini briefs back over his softening masculinity.

Nikos was still in the corner, standing, but surrounded by shadows. “Go on brother. I’ll take the steer back to his room.”

Joran looked a little concerned. He gathered his clothes into a bundle and carried them in one hand. He looked back at the steer on the bed, curled into a ball, the tangled sheets about his body. Without a word, he turned and left the room.

The steer lay on the bed. He didn’t hear Nikos approach him, but when the big bull was standing over him, he sensed it. Nikos reached out and pushed the limp and spent steer back onto his back. His still masculine upper body was damp with sweat and somewhat pink from the friction of sex. He still clinched his legs together, denying the sit of his warm whole to the mature bull. “Come on, steer. You’ve been with a woman. In fact, you’ve been a woman now. You know you have to spread your legs wider than that,” Nikos’s deep voice echoed in the large room. The steer felt the stiff mattress and fluffy thick bedding shift and move as Nikos crawled over the pillows and between my legs. Nikos scratched the hairs of his chest absently as he reached for the bottle of lube that had been discarded previously on the nightstand. The mature bull rested his knees against the steer’s legs, keeping them held apart. The steer felt his pussy throb with a deep soreness. But he couldn’t move his legs to protect the hole between his legs. His body felt tired, his muscles, although still masculine in appearance, didn’t have a fiery male spirit to animate them to action. That had left the steer forever as Joran’s erection had entered him.

All he did was weakly protest. “No, no, I’m a man. I’m a guy. Please, don’t.”

Nikos smiled over him, the black pinprick of his five-o’clock shadow shifting with his grin. “A man doesn’t say “please, no.” A man says “but come on baby. You know you want it.”

The steer felt the older bull’s heavy wide prick head against the slacker—but still tight—lips of his pussy. Right at the entrance of his emasculated body, the steer felt the warm knob of this bull, 10 years his senior, the heavy thick sheath of his primal organ pulled back from the sensitive helmet. The steer, his eyes open wide, stared up as the chiseled face of the mature bull. The helmet against his pussy lips felt thicker and more mature than the younger bull’s had, and he could sense that heavy organ’s eagerness as it throbbed against his wetness.

“Come on, baby. You know you want it,” Nikos said, his voice twisted into a low sarcastic wooing. And he pushed his heavy hips forward. The steer no longer had the strength to tighten his pussy in protest, but the new-made lips were still unworn and offered resistance enough to bring a deep masculine groan from Nikos’s mouth. With a firm, even, practiced push of his body, the mature bull’s thick organ slipped through the tight ring of lips of the steer’s pussy. And in less than a second he was in all the way.

The steer felt the fury tightness of the bull’s plump hanging eggs against his taint. “Nnnuuuughhhhh,” he cried out as he felt his pussy pulled apart, his lips stretched beyond what he had imagined. Nikos’s organ did not penetrate as far as Joran’s had, but it was thicker, pushed his lips apart farther, until the steer thought they would tear. But they didn’t. His pussy adjusted to its new guest, and clinched at the thick mature pole tighter than it had with the youth’s. The mature bull lowered his body until the steer felt his large hands push into the bed under his arms. The heaviness of him, the weight of his muscles and bones and body, pressed against the steer’s pelvis, and the thick log within him shifted as throbbed.

“Ohhh, yeah,” the bull groaned in supreme pleasure, as one would when sipping a fine wine that was picked specifically for its quality. The steer felt the bull’s hot breath, although his head hung more than a foot over him. “You’re tighter than my wife has been in years.”

The mature bull didn’t say anything after that for some time. He just fucked the steer, in and out, with practiced movements. He grunted with each thrust. His movement had a work-a-day quality, as one engaged in an activity he knew so well that it came without thinking. He sped and slowed his thrusting as he wished. It was as if he had forgotten the steer under him. The steer squirmed and panted under him, as he struggled to live through what seemed like the destruction of his lower body. The heaviness of the bull’s pelvis, the thickness of his organ, the plump flared head he could feel moving inside at the end of the invading pole. “Ohhh, god!” the steer panted. He tried to close his mind to it, to distract himself with thoughts of his past girlfriends or his life as a man. But this mature bull was taking so much longer than the young buck, and his organ felt so much more massive, even though the steer knew that it was actually shorter than younger bull’s had been. And he could hear the bull’s breath over him, even with his eyes closed. The fast, grunting, hot breath of a mature bull as he pumped his body into the steer’s pussy.

Before long, the bull opened his eyes, and grasping the steer’s head, his palm against his ear and his fingers in his short clipped hair, he began to speak. "Oh God...yeah.....this is how it felt when you used to fuck your woman. When you fumbled over her, flopping like a beached fish. When you did that, as you became a man for the first time, she felt the same thing you did when Joran was on top of you. You made my little brother a man tonight. How did it feel? You made my little brother a man, and now I’m making you into a woman. Does your pussy feel good? Does my dick inside you feel good?” And the big bull thrust deeper and harder, pushed the base of his massive organ deep into the soft tissues of the steer’s pussy lips.

The steer opened his eyes and looked into the face of the mighty mature bull. Tears burned in his eyes as the last visage of his male persona were fucked out of him. He was a guy, but he knew what it was like to be fucked like a girl. He wasn’t a guy. The massive muscular piece of beef on top of him was a guy. God, he was getting fucked! Tears flowed freely across his face. He looked down between them. The bull was riding him high on his hands. And the steer could see everything. He saw the impossibly wide olive-hued pole as it pistoned into his body. He saw the pale lips of his pussy stretch and mouth at his shaft with each of his hips. And his innards between his legs mirrored what his eyes were seeing. When the bull’s shaft pulled out and was visible, his body had relief; when his shaft pushed deep inside, his innards compressed and strained. Those lips that accepted the bull’s primal organ—he had had a penis there, and balls. Now there were just lips—a woman’s lips. He remembered looking down and seeing his own impressive organ thrust into his girlfriends. He had loved doing it—looking down and watching his dick fuck her. It had made him feel strong and powerful. And he loved hearing her tell him how much pleasure he was bringing her. Now, he just whimpered and cried.

“Does your pussy feel good, American?” Nikos said with a grunt. “I love nutting you American boys. I castrated a lot of you. Yeah. And I eat their balls. I eat their manhood and then I fucked the pussies we made for them. Just like I’m fucking yours. Oh god, your pussy feels so good. It’s like your pussy is suckin my prick. You’re a natural at this, pussy-boy.”

The big bull lowered himself on the steer, and hitching the steer’s butt further down on the bed, he repositioned his thrusting, going deeper than before. The steer felt the bull’s hair chest against his, felt the black hairs tickle his nipples. That and the burning tingle of his clit were the only sexual feelings he could feel now. But he could hardly enjoy them, not with the wide pole probing deep into his body. The body of the mature bull was heavy. The steer couldn’t have pushed him off even if he’s will had been strong. He just closed his eyes now and thought of his girlfriend, the young woman he had waited so long, patiently and honesty, to fuck. Now he never would. But he knew what she would have felt if he had. She would have felt this. But more tender and caring. To this bull, he was just a warm body with a pussy.

As he lost himself in his thought, he hadn’t notices Nikos’s grunting quiet. The grinding and humping was still constant and powerful. But the grunting and taunting had stopped. Now there was just breathing. The big bull pulled himself up off the steer and rested on his hands. But the relief of the weight did nothing to relieve the steer’s mental agony. He squeezed his eyes closed tighter, trying to force reality from his mind. His head rolled back and forth against the mature bull’s rough hand in a jester of defiance. “No, no,” he whimpered. “I’m a man. Please, I just want to be a man. Please.”

“Aaron.” Nikos spoke with a soft voice, a wooing voice.

The steer opened his wet eyes and stared up. The mature bull’s face loomed over him. It was pleasant, content, without the scorn of his previous words. The steer stared up at him, eyes wet and pleading. “Aaron, your not a man anymore.” He felt the massive organ pump in him again. He watched as the mature bull’s face tensed and contorted into a grimous of pain. “Aaron, your pussy feels so goooddddddd….oh god, oh god, aarrggghhhhhhhhh!”

And the steer felt the bull’s body slam into him. He felt the powerful gets of cum inside him, mixing with the virgin seed that already sat inside. He literally felt the massive bull’s penis pulse and throb inside his body. He only felt relief that it was over.

The mature bull’s face slowly relaxed into a soft tired look of content. And he dropped onto the steer, hairy chest, powerful shoulders, the weight of his body—the steer felt it all compress him into the bed. The big bull lay on top of him, panting for breath, mumbling his joy as he reveled in the dying embers of his orgasm. The steer lay under him, his arms stretched around the bull’s body because they had no where else to go. He felt the tenseness relax from all the bull’s muscles. And he knew what his girlfriends had felt when he lay on top of them, satisfied and fulfilled. His tears didn’t stop flowing.

AFTERWARDS

It took a week for the steer to recover from his first fucking. And the young bull Joran was eager for another go at him. Like a newly married groom, the young bull had finally gotten a taste of pussy, and his dick wanted more. He fucked the steer four or five times a week, always on top, always for about ten minutes. Nikos came to him more rarely, perhaps once a week. But his attitude was always bullish in the extreme, forcing himself on the steer and taunting him as his violated his hole. At least Joran was more gentle and took less time about it.

At first, the steer was driven by a rage of resentment. Of course, he never acted on it, or even made fantasies of acting on it. But he was filled with despair at his life, at what was done to him. His life became a routine. Eat, sleep, get fucked, eat, and sleep again. No one spoke to him and he spoke to no one. But he still cried a lot.

But as the weeks became months, the steer saw a change come over the young bull, his primary mate. It started one night, after dinner, when Joran came to the steer (for the second time in the day). As he undressed, the young bull said: “I’m sorry, but I need it.”

At first, the steer didn’t know what to say, if anything. Most of his resentment was directed at Nikos, which made Joran seem far less sinister in his mind. Now the young bull was apologizing for what he was doing. “I understand,” the steer said. “I knew once what it was like to need to fuck.”

When the young bull was done fucking him, he rolled over. But he found that the steer was whimpering more than usual. And he looked over to see him crying. His face was still masculine, although building some fat. And the tears looked almost comical. But Joran did not laugh. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“I used to be a man,” the steer said, his voice feminine and whiny. “I used to have a cock and balls. Women wanted me and I wanted them. But I don’t want women anymore. I don’t want anything but to die.” The steer got off the bed, rubbing his eyes. “God, I’m getting so fat,” he said. And he was. The muscles of his young adulthood as a bull were finally starting to vanish as his body continued without balls.

“Perhaps I can help you,” Joran said.

A few days later, Joran brought a gift to the steer’s room. At first the steer was surprised that he didn’t want to fuck. He just dropped off the gift. “I asked my father if we could get you these. They are pills. Take one a day. It is a supplement. Just one a day will give you enough of what you have lost to keep your muscles more or less as they are and they will help you from putting on fat. My father told me to warn you. If you take more than one a day, you will begin to feel more manly. You might think you want this. But with no way to relieve yourself, it could be very painful.”

And the steer had taken the pills. One a day, no more or less. He had no desire to feel the desires for women he could no longer have. But he was grateful that his body would no longer deteriorate—that he would not grow tits.

After that, Joran and the steer talked more—both before and after the fucking. Joran asked the steer more about his life before he was castrated. At first, the steer was reluctant, but the young bull seemed very sincere. So he told as much as he wanted. The steer asked about Joran’s life at the mansion as a child. He found out that Nikos was often jealous of the old man’s fondness for the younger son. And that Joran was being trained by his father to take over should Nikos’s base appetites run afoul of the Association.

“I want to call you by your name,” he said. “I don’t even know what it is.”

“My name was Aaron, but I don’t want you to call me that. Your brother is the only one who calls me that, and only when he is fucking me. I’m not that person anymore, when I was called Aaron. And I never will be.”

“Ok, then I’ll call you Stearon,” Joran said. Steer-Aaron. It made sense.

And that is what he was called from then on by Joran and most other members of the household. But never Nikos. To him he was always pussy-steer.

Once, when Joran was particularly upset by his brother’s taunts and complaining, the steer tried to cheer him up. “No matter what Nikos says about you, one thing is for sure, you’re a better fuck than he is.”

And it was true. As the years passed, Joran’s body began to fill out more and more. He was the same height as his brother, although less beefy. His erection had thicked as well, making it not quite as thick as his brothers, but certainly longer. When the steer told Joran this, he beamed with pride.

“Have I ever made you cum?” Joran asked.

And the steer was honest. “No, and neither has anyone else since I lost it.”

After that, Joran took it upon himself to accomplish the task. He wanted his pussy-steer to have an orgasm. Stearon wasn’t sure if this was from compassion of friendship with him, or if it was simply a challenge of the young bull’s prowess—a prize for him to win. Over the next few months, Joran did all he could. He tried different positions; he tried teasing the steer’s clit with his fingers as he pumped him; he finally tried orally stimulating Stearon’s little clit. But it did not avail. The steer felt the tingle, and it seemed to build in waves, but it never broke into a powerful splash of orgasm.

In fact, the steer never had another orgasm in his life. He was simply not capable of having one. His body had been trained by years of youthful masturbation and sexual activity to achieve orgasm through jerking the sensitive nerves of his penis head. The nerves that had produced that feeling were now a clit, and the motion that triggered the pleasure was now impossible. Perhaps if his organs had been changed earlier in his life, things might have been different. But as it was, he had to be content with his tingle.

But the exercise was not without a positive result. For the first time, Joran focused on something other than his own pleasure. As he tried to make the steer orgasm, he learned—almost by accident—how to control his own orgasm and to delay it. He learned to perform in different positions, not just the easiest for him. His tongue learned to lick and stimulate a clit. By the time everything was said and done, Joran was a well rounded, careful, practiced young bull.

At age 22, Joran married his bride. She was 18 years old now, and legally able to marry under the rules of the Association. The old man and Nikos stood with him at the wedding. And Petro and the steer, although Joran was careful to keep his bride from knowing who or what he was. That night, Joran became a man again, this time with a woman. And the steer was sure that he was as careful and powerful a young bull as had ever performed on his wedding night.

After that, Joran no longer used the steer’s body. He had a wife now, and the steer’s mock pussy no longer held his attention. Further, his bride was young and eager. She was content to fulfill the young bull’s every need. As he grew older, Nikos stopped demanding his body as well. It wasn’t long before the steer was moved to another wing in the mansion and was given a servant of his own. There, he met Nikos’s old steer, who was now in his mid 30’s. Nikos had not been kind enough to supply testosterone in any amount to this steer, and his shape was plump and pear-like. He had been an American soldier in Iraq. On his way home from the war, a woman had tempted him to her bed and emasculated him. Stearon was now much more open about what happened to him, and told his story openly.

It wasn’t long before a new steer was brought in to service Nikos. Joran also requested a new steer when his wife became pregnant. Surprisingly, Stearon was at first put back and angry over this. He laughed about this thought to himself, thinking how bizarre the feeling of jealousy for a MAN. The old Aaron, the one who had been a bull himself, would have killed himself before thinking such a thought. But the new steer had become almost totally asexual, except for the little testosterone he took to help his muscles and bones. But the feelings of jealousy had more to do with his feelings of respect and friendship for Joran than for his desire to be filled with his dick.

When the new steers (for Nikos and Joran did not want to use the same one) were brought to the mansion, Joran put Stearon in charge of them. He was careful not to confuse them by talking about his own past. They were both young American men, one a college basketball player. Stearon helped them through their initial depression.

As the years passed, Stearon became an important member of the household. He ran a wing of the mansion himself and was in charge of all other steers. When Nikos’s sons came of age, more steers were needed. And as Nikos grew into his 40’s he began to desire more than one steer for himself. (His wife rarely wanted sexual intercourse.) So Stearon had no less than eight active steers at any one time. And since a steer only lasted sexually for four or five years, many more retired steers worked at the mansion and reported to him.

When the old man died, Nikos became head of the family. While he (and his sons) still treated Stearon as nothing more than a pussy-steer, Joran made sure that he and the other steers were left alone.

It wasn’t a bad life, Stearon—now in his mid thirties—thought. Of course, he knew that much of this feeling came from the fact that he was a steer, not a bull, not a man. If he still had his cock and balls, he would never accept what was done to him and how his life was changed. He would fight, do anything in his power to overcome, He would have killed anyone who had fucked him. But he wasn’t a bull anymore. He was a steer. And the memories of his previous life and the life that would have been his if he hadn’t gone out into that alley on the fateful night were troubling to him. But, as he bounced Joran’s sons, 7 year old Jenson and 5 your old Nicolaas, on his knee, he knew these two boys were the closest thing he would ever have to sons of his own, sons born of his own virile manhood that had hung between his legs. And while these two boys were only calves playing in the grass, they were both more male than he. They would one day grow into two large, powerful, virile bulls, just as he had once been.

THE END