Ayzintion City - Stealing a Young Slave's Balls

My name is Clavus Boracus, and I have come to the city to get supplies and to purchase a slave. My son, Sevias, is thirteen, and his eyes are wide with the sights and the sounds from the bustle of people and the action of the slave yards. We have come a long way, and our wooden wagon is full of supplies and I am anxious to make the final purchase and to be on our journey homeward. Already we have been here five days, bartering for our goods and looking for deals where they can be found. There are lots of slaves, as there always are, but the yards are busy and the bidding has been fierce.

I refuse to pay the inflated prices, and so as of yet I have not made a purchase. Still, I need a boy, and I cannot go home until I have found him. I do not need much in the slave I seek, as I only need a house boy to help my wife and daughters in the kitchen. The slave I buy doesn't have to be tremendously strong or able to work the fields. But still I will have him a long time and so it is a purchase that needs to be made with care. The slave I need won't be working hard or carrying heavy burdens, so his strength is unimportant in any event. Because I don't need any particular trait, I certainly do not want to pay more than I have to.

Knowing people is the key to many things, and in the slave trade connections are everything. I have come to find out there is a side market, where there are slaves for purchase at much lower prices. That of course grabbed my attention, and brought me here, behind the big market and down a side alley. Of course, slaves found in the back alleys do not carry the city seal, and if you need them castrated there aren't any guarantees that it will be successful. The big name cutters shy away from the dealers that lurk here. Still, the cuttings can be had, and the boys for sale can be a good deal if care is made in selecting them. Since my needs are simple, and most buyers avoid this area, I didn't have much trouble finding one that would do.

I waited until the end of the day, when the market was closing and most of the transactions were finished. The best deals can be found at the end of the day, when everyone wants to go home and most of the money has already been made. I knew he was the one as soon as I saw him. The boy was dirty, and tied with his hands bound behind his back. He was naked, as most of the slaves for sale are, and lashed to a post, but except for his hands he wasn’t chained or secured in any other way. His face was black with dirt, and his hair was wild and unkempt. They had made no effort to clean him up, and there was no signs indicating that he was even for sale. Still, I had been told that purchases could be made here, and when I saw him I wanted him and began to inquire how it could be done.

The youth saw me looking at him, and he glared back, his eyes full of defiance and his head held high. He had a spirit about him, and I liked it. He was by himself, but I was right and once I had asked I learned he could be bought and I was pointed toward a man that could sell him to me. The boy was the only slave I saw for sale in this corner of the alley, although their might have been others that were not in view. There were lots of hitching posts in the area though, and it was obvious that earlier in the day many slaves had been processed and sold here. The center of the street was stained dark, and I spied a bucket of severed scrotums under a table. They were covered with flies and it was apparent that quite a few slaves had lost their manhood to the bucket that day. Well, at least I was in the right place.

Apparently, this boy was the last one, the end of the day sale, and I figured he could be had for a bargain. I looked him over, and he stared at me, glared at me even, looking at me and my son. He was so dirty that the dirt had smeared from his sweat, and it was obvious he hadn't had a bath in many days. Yet even through the dirt I could tell he had some good attributes. His eyes were dark, matching his hair, and I figured he was of Slavic origin and probably from one of the lands that border the northern province near the sea. There were several lines of raised welts on his buttocks, and a few more recent stripes on his back, and I took him for a possible escapee from one of the merchant vessels. The lines of the cat were clear and unmistakable. He smelled of his sweat and his odor was pungent.

His prickle was hanging down like a limp hose, but even so it was long and thin, the prick of a teenager sprouting into manhood. Between his legs the dirt was muddied, and he had obviously been tied a while and had pissed the ground on several occasions. I stared at his pole, and I wondered what it would look like erect, stiff and hard and eager. I figured if it was allowed to grow and to thicken in a year or so it would be a prick to be proud of. The length of the boy's limp cock was impressive and my son was staring at it and it held his attention. The slave was a thin boy, with a long, thin prick to match, and because his arms were bound behind him there was little left to the imagination. His nipples were dark and dime-sized, like little points on his chest that accentuated his youthfulness. Like most adolescents, his prickle hung down from a small tuft of pubic hair, which was jet black and not much more than a patch. Other than that, there was no other sex hair on his body, at least not on his chest or his face. Even the skin between his cock and his his navel was smooth, the look of a boy more than that of a man. Still, he was deep into puberty, and his strong legs were sprouting hair with the look of a man.

His pubic bush though was small and defined, like it is on young teens, and it was obvious that this boy still had some years to grow before it would thicken into a man's bush. A pitty. I knew when I saw him he would have to be nutted. He was young, but well into manhood and as he stared at me I could tell he was contemplating us and trying to guess our intentions.

My son Sevias liked him, and I could tell he wanted me to buy him. The price I knew would certainly be right, but as I gazed around the yard I did not see any tables and for a moment I wasn’t sure I could get him gelded as part of the purchase. Still, the bucket said otherwise. I looked at my son, and then at the slave, and as I did it was impossible not to make some comparisons. Sevias's face is still rounded, like it is on a thirteen year old, and I knew from seeing my son being bathed that his little prickle had only barely begun its growth. The slave in contrast had the square jaw of a young man, with a wisp of black hair across his upper lip. His cheeks had some fuzz on them too, although it wasn’t much and was more of a darkening that might have gone unnoticed except for the dirt. The seller said the slave boy was sixteen. Well, if he was then he was a young sixteen though, and yet even so he was obviously far more of a man than Sevias was, by a long shot. Of course, that would change, and soon, and once the boy's nuts were out of his bag his rise into manhood would be ended forever.

I decided to negotiate for him. He was worth buying and if I could get him for a good price he would serve me well. Looking at the slaver, with his scraggly face, I said "Well, what about this one? He looks used, and he's thin and unfed. What's this boy's background?"

"Ah, senor, he's a good one, and I'll sell him for a good price. Eight thousand degos and he's yours! It’s a steal senor. He was twice that earlier in the day, but the day is over now and so for you I'll make the deal. I can tell you he's a good boy, and would do whatever you need him to do and he would do it well."

The price intrigued me. That was only a third of what I would have had to pay in the main yard, and was well within my budget. I asked him about the marks on his ass and back, and what his background was.

"Well senor, boys will be boys you know. This one obeys well, but like most boys with balls, he's spirited and has his wild side that needs to be kept in line. Still, he's given me no trouble, and I'm sure you would have no trouble with him either. His family was killed in the provincial battle of Kester, about three years ago. Most of the village was wiped out, but the Kurdish clan spared the boy and slaved him on one of their vessels. He was at sea for the better part of two years, working the kitchen until I acquired him."

So, the boy wasn't born into slavery, and he already had kitchen skills and probably could cook well. That free background could make him more difficult, but he was a slave now, and he couldn't do anything about it. Still, that explained the missing license and why he was not on the block in the regular yards. I stared at the boy, and I wanted him. I walked behind the youth, and then up to him, running my hand down his back and feeling his buttocks as I cupped his cheeks. I traced the lines of the lash on his ass, feeling the old welts and contemplating how they must have stung. I could visualize the boy screaming as he was whipped, the boys bottom no doubt lashed over a cannon and stuck up in the air and his legs spread so he could feel it. Had the men and boys been assembled when he was punished. No doubt they had. I wondered how often it had happened, and what kind of antics he had engaged in to earn his punishments.

The boy stiffened as I examined him, but he stared straight ahead, looking across the alleyway and not daring to move. I pushed down on his back, bending him over, and then I said "Spread your legs boy."

He did as he was told, and without a word he spread his legs and bent over, exposing his hole. I could tell from the whip marks on his ass he had been beaten for disobedience at least several times, and the lesson had apparently been learned well. I reached out under him, hefting his balls, and then I ran my hands up his crack and spread his cheeks to examine his hole. It looked normal, tight and small, with a little wisp of hair around it.

The slaver said "He's got a virgin ass sir, and he's young and tight and would make good entertainment if that is your preference."

I looked at him with an angry look, and then I said "I am not interested in fucking him. I went around until I was in front of him, and taking his chin in my hands I raised him until he was upright and I was looking the boy in the eye. He looked down, ashamed perhaps, not daring to look at me as I looked at him.

I opened his mouth, and his teeth were perfect, straight and white and healthy. There were no sores in his mouth, and if he had been used for sex there was no sign of it. I ran my hand down his chest, and across his flat belly, and then I picked up his prickle, and felt his meat. I slid the boy's foreskin back, and examined the end of his pole. It was clean, and reddish, the way a young cock is supposed to look when it is healthy and normal. There was a bead of precum anointing the tip. I slid the skin back and exposed the entire end of his prick, and then pulled it forward again along his shaft. The boy's eyes widened, and I felt his pole begin to stiffen in my hand. I dropped his cock, but it rose upward anyway, growing out from his bush from my previous touch and the attention I had given to it. I hefted his stones, and felt his sac, and that made his prick continue to grow. His scrotum was hanging down from the heat of the afternoon, his two stones inside hot to the touch and hanging their waiting to be taken. I knew as I felt them they would have to go.

I turned to the slaver then and said "The boy is thin, and he is marked with the whip. I am not sure that I want him. Eight thousand is a good price, but he has no stamp and he's feisty."

The man squinted his eyes, and then said "What do you expect for eight thousand? If you want a slave with a city stamp and unmarked skin, go to the market."

I didn't look at the slaver, but instead I gripped the boy's erection, and pumped it a couple of strokes to bring it up and fully hard. The youth blushed, his dirty face going red, his full boner now stiff in my hand. I pumped him a few more strokes, and the boy's breathing became ragged. It was obvious it had been a long while since his pole had been pumped by anyone, and I knew then that they kept him tied. Without looking at the slaver, I said "Well, he's got a stiff cock, and I've got a wife and two daughters." I kept stroking him, and the boy gasped, and I knew I was getting to him. I kept going, working his pole, jerking his erection as he stared at me. Then I said: "I'm sure the boy would try to fuck them." Just as I said that, the boy suddenly shuddered and began to spurt. As he did, I kept pumping him, letting him feel his orgasm and grunt as he came. He was staring at me as he shot his wad, and I waited for him to finish, milking him dry and pulling out all of the seed from his balls. Then, when there was nothing left, I said "Well, I'll buy him I suppose, but not with his balls."

The youth's eyes went wide, and when he heard those words he jerked away from me, his eyes wide with terror. He shook his head, his hard cock still bobbing up and down, the end of his spent dick slick with his seed. The boy said "NO...oh NO!" His voiced cracked like it does when a boy's sprouting through puberty, and then he squeaked out "Do NOT CUT ME!" His voice deepened then, and he said: "I will work hard Senor, but please, PLEASE, DON'T CUT ME!" His voice cracked again as the last of his words came out, spoken with a boy's voice instead of a man's.

For a second I considered his request. I stared at his prick, as a line of drool hung from the tip of it, and knew that he would be tempted to use it on one of my daughters. Sevias was looking at it too, and the lines of spunk in the dirt, and I knew that I would have to explain things later after the sale had been finalized. I went up the teen then, and stared into his eyes. Then I said: "I need you for the kitchen boy, and my daughters will be there working at your side. You've got a proud pole, and you would be tempted to use it. No....you are a slave, and I will have you nutted." The boy stared at me, scared, but his eyes flared and then he spit at me, angry and with defiance.

The slaver struck the boy, but I stopped him. I wiped off the spittle on my cheek, and then I said "Do not blame the youth....he is not anxious to be unmanned, and who can blame him for that? Still, he cannot keep his stones." The boy was begging me again, his voice cracking like a pubescence teenager, but I ignored his words and his protests. Instead, looking at the slaver I said "Can you cut him?"

The slaver said "Sixteen thousand senor, for the boy with his sac emptied."

I said "Do it for eight---I will not pay for him to be nutted unless it is done by a licensed cutter. If you won't cut him then I don't want him."

The day was waning, and the man looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. Then he said, "All right, you drive a hard bargain, and he's a handful anyway. When do you want him done?"

I said "Now. Right now. Cut the boy and lets get it done. I want to be on my way, and so I need it done now. But you had better make sure it's done right."

The boy was at the end of his tether, still begging, suddenly trying to jerk his hands and to work them free. He knew now his fate, and he started begging with an intensity that only a young man who is about to be castrated can. He was very afraid, and the defiance I had seen earlier was gone from him now. It was obvious that being castrated was not something he had contemplated, and even though he was a slave now he acted like he was still free. He certainly did not accept that the decision was mine to make. The slaver clapped his hands, loudly, and two big men appeared, both with beards and wearing turbans on their heads. They were obviously from the eastern lands, and were big, powerful men, who seemed to know exactly what they were doing. He pointed to the boy, and said "Take his balls."

The men grabbed the youth, and untied him from the pole, and then dragged him right out in the middle of the street where the soil had been darkened. The boy fought them, but the youth was no match for their greater strength, and with his hands bound behind him there was little he could do. There was no traffic in this part of the city, and only a few others milling about. Even so, people took an interest, and those in the area came over to watch it be done. I don't know what it is about taking a set of balls, but it always creates an interest and whenever it happens and however it is done, men of all ages enjoy watching it happen. There is an entertainment value in the act of castration, at least there is for most men as long at its not their balls that are being cut.

They threw the slave boy down on the dirt, on his back, with his hands still tied behind him and under him. One of the men reached down and grabbed the boy by his ankles, and then pulled them upward and over the top of his face, bending him so that his legs were drawn up to his head and the boy was staring at his own genitals. The boy was flexible, and his balls and cock were inches in front of his own face, and so he was staring at his manhood that was now in front of his eyes. He tried to fight, struggling against the big man that was holding him, but the man held him tight and his legs were wide. The boy's ankles were pulled all the way over until his feet were touching the dirt by his shoulders. The boy was totally helpless, and his groin was exposed and vulnerable and it was obvious there was little he could do to protect it. The other man looked over his shoulder, to see who was watching, and then he took a leather tie and looped it up and over the teenager's sac of balls.

The Slavic youth's cock was inches in front of his face, and he was staring right at it as he looked past his cock and up at the crowd that was growing by the minute. He started to protest, and was trying to yell when the man jerked the ends of the tie that was cinched around his balls. The jerk of the leather cut off the boy's words like a knife slices butter, the pain shocking him as the top of his scrotum was slammed closed like a trap. He grunted then, and his high pitched voice squeaked, and then the boy shuddered, the realization then that he was being unmanned consuming him. The look on his face was one of panic and fear, and his eyes were wide, staring directly at his balls and the leather tie that was cinching them closed.

They stuffed a rag into his mouth at that point, to gag his words, and after that he just grunted and shook his head as he protested what was happening to him. Then, almost from nowhere, a Kurdish boy appeared, with a bucket of water and a bar of lye soap. The kid was young, perhaps Sevias's age. I had not expected that, but it was apparent that they did this often. As we all watched the young kid started to wash the teenager's tied sac of balls, working the soaped rag up between his legs, and over his hole. He was scrubbing the boys sac of nuts, washing the area between his legs and up between his thighs. The rag was soon black with the dirt.

I asked "What is the boy doing to my slave? Is soaping up his scrotum a necessary part of cutting him?"

The slaver was standing beside me, watching the slave's balls being washed, and he answered: "Yes....for whaterver reason, we have found that if the balls are clean when they are cut the fever doesn’t follow and it goes better in the end. My cutter may not be licensed senor, but Abul Tannic knows how to unman a slave. You will be pleased with the work when it is finished. Do you want the boy smooth, or just his sac emptied? It can be done either way senor, so make the choice."

As they held him in the position, the youth's eyes were wide as his bag of stones was being scrubbed. He had heard the question, and I could see him staring at me, listening for my response. I thought about the question, and what I should say. Finally, to make my point and to insure the youth knew his place, I said "Well...I don't care. The boy spit on me, and so he deserves to feel it when his stones are taken. Make sure he does, and after that, I don't care what you do to his empty bag. Perhaps you should take it so he won't be reminded about what he has lost."

The teenager's eyes went wide then, and he jerked hard, trying to pull his legs together and to protect his sac. It was a useless gesture, and there wasn’t anything he could do except wait for it to be done to him. About that time the Kurdish boy finished washing the slave's scrotum. The soap and the scrubbing had got him hard again, his prick stiff and eager and pointed right at his face. The boy was literally staring at his own stiff cock, which was pointed upward and eager. My son said "Father, he's gotten hard again!"

I nodded, and it occurred to me that if his head was pulled forward he could probably suck his own pole. I wondered if he had. Well, it didn’t matter now, and so I said back "Well, the youth is filled with sex, and his balls give him desires that he cannot control and that make him eager. The boy can't help it right now. He would be dangerous around your sisters and your mother. Even he must know that this is necessary."

The boy was shaking his head, begging with his eyes and grunting into his gag. It didn't matter, and I could tell that it was time. The cutter pulled out his knife from his scabbard, and examined the curved blade that would do the job. The blade was small, but razor sharp, and when the boy waiting for it saw it he tried to jerk and struggle even harder than he had. He couldn't really do anything, but watch, and yet his prick bounced to his heartbeat and his balls seemed to quiver in their sac.

The cutter grabbed his tied scrotum, and held in firmly in his left hand. Then, he slowly and carefully laid the knife up against the side of it, just above the boy's right orb, which was visible through the stretched skin of his sac. Time seemed to stand still then, and the man said to me: "Senor, if you give the nod then we will unman him."

The boy was grunting into his gag, and staring at me with his eyes begging me for a reprieve. The boy's cock was rock hard, as stiff a pole as I'd ever seen on any male. I didn’t hesitate. Instead, I nodded my head, with the boy looking at me, and as I did the cutter pushed in the blade and twisted his wrist. At that same instant the youth screamed into his gag, and his entire body shuddered as he felt the cut. His cock spurted again, pumping out more jism from inside of his body, the last of his seed squirting out in lines of cream. He literally squirted his own load onto his face, his dick pumping out his jism even as his sac was being filleted open and his testicles were being excised. He jerked and shuddered and grunted, and yet he came and came and came, his wad spurting onto his face as he ejaculated.

As he was cumming his right ball popped out of the slit in his sac, and a few in the crowed gasped as they saw it, quivering there, pulsating with life as it dropped into the palm of the cutter's hand. You could see the cord still attaching the little orb to the boy's body. With a simple flick of the cutter's blade the cord was severed and the boy's ball wasn't his anymore. The cutter let it drop on the boy's chest as he went for the other. The youth stared at his ball, and screamed even harder, jerking and screaming with total panic. He was living his castration, and it was worse than any nightmare. Of course, his dick stopped squirting when his ball was snipped, and after that his boner just bobbed up and down. I knew it was the end of his erections, and as I looked at the semen dripping off his face I was glad it was being done. There was no way I could have allowed him into our kitchen with balls full of seed.

With a sharp grunt the youth's body spasmed a second time, as the little knife went in deep and cut open the other side of his sac. The youth was shaking his head side to side, even as he stared at his scrotum as it was being opened and his last ball was about to be stolen. I don't think he could believe what was happening to him, and as he watched it and felt it he stared in shock. The cutter squeezed his sac, and his last ball popped into view. The man fingered it, looking at it, the tiny orb all that remained of the boy's rush into manhood. We all stared at it. I looked down at my son, and Sevias was grinning, enjoying every second of the young slave's unmanning. Just then, while we all watched, the cutter flicked his wrist and the ball was taken. The slave's entire body shuddered, and he grunted into his gag: "ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!" In that single instant my thirteen year old son became more of a man than the older boy would ever be again.

The youth just collapsed after that, and almost like the calm wind empties the sail, his prick deflated and dropped flat on his chest. As it started to shrink it looked funny, his empty sac flat and useless and now worthless without its usual load. The cutter pulled down on the empty scrotum, and laid the knife right up against the leather tie that was still secure at the top. With a swift, single pull, he jerked the knife through it there and took off the boy's sac with the single slice.

The boy's eyes rolled back into his head then, and the eunuch collapsed completely, unmanned now and with nothing left but a shrinking prick that only moments before had been standing tall and proud, squirting his seed with everyone watching. He had blown two wads in less than fifteen minutes. Well, those days for him were over, and I was glad.

The Kurdish youth scooped up the severed testicles and the flap of skin that had once defined a scrotum, and took them over to the table and tossed them into the bucket. Then he came back with a small pot of coals, with a metal rod sticking out of them. The cutter thanked him, and then removed the red hot piece of steel and laid it gently up against the bunched up knot of flesh that was still tied with the leather. As he burned the spot closed and sealed the wound, there was nothing left below the boys dick where his scrotum had been. Nothing at all.

I was amazed at how neatly the job had been done. I would let the boy rest for the night, and to make sure there was no fever, and then if things looked good I would start for home. I was anxious to show him to the wife, and I knew she would be thrilled to have the help. I had come to the city, and I had my slave, and I knew I had been lucky to make the deal.

The boy had closed his eyes, and the anger they had shown was missing. He was defeated, spent too, and now unmanned and totally humiliated. Well, he would come around to his new life. He wouldn't be tied, and I would give him many hours to play and have fun, the way every boy deserves. His birthday would be remembered, and he would receive rewards and gifts on the holidays. Sure, there would be chores and things to be done, but he would do them willingly before long, and I would feed him well and treat him right. My other slaves were happy, and there was little doubt that once he was healed and some time had passed, he would forget the lust he had lost.

In the months to come the balls that were once prized would become much less important to him, and eventually he wouldn’t give much thought to him not having them anymore. He would grow used to having a real bed to sleep in, with good food to eat and a relaxed life. I was fair, and my slaves liked me. This slave would be no different. Even without his balls, he would learn to be happy, and I had little doubt that over the years that he and I would come to like one another in ways that now couldn't even be contemplated. I smiled at that thought, and pulled out my purse and finalized his purchase.

[Authors note: © Copyright January, 2004. All rights reserved. Not to be copied without the consent of the author. If you liked the story, please write and tell me. Thanks. -Nathan// [email protected]]