Ayzintion City--The Price of a Lesson

Once, not that many years ago, I learned a valuable lesson. A cutter taught it to me, and it is a lesson for life that I have never forgotten. Now, as I sit here, once again, watching the slaves and the tables and the bowls as they are being filled with balls, I think back on that time and how it was taught. It happened on a day, just like today, where the market was open and the slaves were being sold. Market days have always been my favorite days. That was true then, and it is true now. While there is always a little selling going on somewhere in the city on every day of the week, on market days the selling is intense and the slaves number in the hundreds. Usually they are held weekly, but sometimes, during the off-season, then they are only held twice a month. Still, on market days, when the slaves are being bought and sold one after the other and the cuttings are going on throughout the day it is then that I come.

I love the excitement; the bustle of the travelers, and the hawking of the auctioneers as the slaves are paraded in front of their prospective buyers. But it is afterwards, when they are sold, that is the real reason that I come. For most of them they go with their owners to their new lives as soon as they are sold, or as soon as the money can change hands. But for the unlucky ones, the ones who will leave their balls on the table, well, for those the adventure begins with the sale and my excitement builds as their fate is done. I guess I am addicted to watching.

I always come early, to get a good seat so I can watch the castrations and not miss anything. I've seen most of the licensed cutters work their trade, and over the many years I've been doing this I have seen about everything happen that can. Most go well, and are done quick and fast and easily. Still, I've seen more than a few botched jobs, where the severed sacs bleed for hours, and I've seen enough boys carry the fever later that I know if its done wrong it can be a terrible way to die. Simply put, some cutters are better than others. Even so, there are those that stand out among the others, and know exactly what they are doing. It is those professionals that I enjoy watching the most.

I don't know why I come exactly. But I do. I love the look in the eyes of the men, laying on the table, the fear as the knowledge of what is to come consumes them. I enjoy their begging, usually contained by their gags, and of course, the look and the grunt when the actual cuts are made. Half of the older men and almost all of the teens usually spurt their seed one last time. Perhaps I come for that. It's fun to watch them, as they pump out their final wads and the cutters begin the actual task of unmanning them. I can never get enough of it.

While I have my preferences I like all of the cutters. The younger ones flail some, and there is a nervousness in their eyes when they are doing it too. They do not always make the cut properly, and I've seen some of them looking like outright amateurs that makes me wonder who licensed them. I watched one cutter not so long ago literally sawing off the slave's balls he was working on, pulling on the scrotum as he worked his knife through the sac of meat like some apprentice butcher learning his trade. I've seen more than a few cutters literally digging for the slaves stones, as if they weren't even sure where to find them. Even so, no matter who the cutter is or how he plies his trade it is all still entertaining, and for the unfortunate slave who suffers at the hands of the less competent ones sometimes their worst nightmare is unnecessarily intensified.

I prefer the older cutters, who work slowly and carefully and who do the job right. They are professionals, and they are worth watching. The slaves who are unmanned by them are the luckier ones, as their nuttings tend to go easier, and even though they still feel the pain its nothing like it could have been. So, it is the older cutters, and the ones with the knowledge and the experience to do it right and to do it consistently that hold the real attraction for me.

Of course, of all the cutters in the city, if I had to pick one as the best then I would have to say that Carlos is my favorite. Without doubt he is the most famous cutter in all of Ayzintion. His reputation exceeds him, and wherever he goes he is recognized and everyone who sees him knows that he is not a man to be challenged. He holds respect, and he's wealthy too. Very wealthy. He inherited a part of his fortune, but he has magnified it a hundred times over the years since. Now, he always has his pick of the ones he cuts, and he charges the highest prices and yet still his tables are always full. I've seen him doing sac after sac, and each time each one is as perfect as the one before.

Yes, Carlos is the oldest, and most respected cutter in all of Ayzintion. When I can get there early enough and am lucky enough to obtain a seat, then it is him that I will stay to watch. Over the years I've learned that he uses two primary methods to unman the men and boys he works on. Usually, he fillets open the sac and pops out the balls held inside. Then, one at a time, he uses a cauterizing iron to sever the cords that nourish the testicles. As they are burned in two the slave's balls fall into his bowl of salted water, where they quiver and pulsate until they complete their dying. Afterwards, there is little, if any, blood, and a few days later after the empty sac begins to heal there is nothing but two small lines to indicate where the slave's balls were taken.

The second method that Carlos uses is the single sweep, taking the entire tied sac, balls and all, with one, quick, jerk of his knife. He doesn't like it as much now, and I've only seen him use that method on the younger ones he cuts. But that was not always so, and at one time it was the only method that Carlos knew. It still has the advantage of leaving the slave totally smooth, with nothing beneath his prick but a small dot where the leather tie was made.

Its much simpler, obviously, and so its widely used throughout the city, but if the severed cords retract too far, there can be some bleeding inside and when that happens it does not go well. That's rare though, and for the youngest, most tender balls, the method has merit and Carlos is not against using it when speed is of the essence and the owner desires the smooth look for his slave. Sometimes he cauterizes the tied stub where the scrotal skin is pulled together, but if the tie is done right it is not usually necessary. He makes it look easy, but I've watched enough others do it wrong that I know it is not.

When Carlos first started cutting, he only used the single sweep method, tying the sacs and then taking them with one quick pass of his knife. He never cut into the scrotum, never reached inside to take the stones and to leave the sac empty and useless. No, that came later, and grew from a single incident and a single boy who fell under his knife so many years ago. Yes, it all started with one boy. I was there that first time, when he did it that way, and over the years since I have watched it became his method of preference.

I still think of that first one though, and there is no doubt that of all the stones he has stolen it was on that one day, in that single pair of cuts, where his reputation became legendary and Carlos was made into the man he is today. Even these many years later, it is still the single castration that people talk about whenever anyone thinks of Carlos. In that one boy, and that one set of balls, he became as famous as any man that has ever lived in the city. There is no doubt that it was that castration that made him what he is.

I remember it well, as I was there, sitting in the stands, and watching a much younger Carlos work through his list of slaves. Even then, he knew what he was doing and he was a master of his craft, although his skill was nothing like what it is today. As I said, back then he only took the scrotums whole. On this particular day, he was doing them one after the other....and because of what eventually followed and what we all saw and the lesson we were taught I can remember each slave like it was yesterday.

The first one he did that morning was a fat man, of middle age and with a big belly. His sac was huge, as fat as the man who had it, and his owner had brought him in to teach a lesson. I remember his desperation, even now, the way he screamed into his gag and bucked against the restraints. God he wanted to keep his balls! Back then, in those early years, the tables didn't have the big dowel rods they use today, and so the slaves being castrated could wiggle their hips from side to side as well as up and down. That complicated matters, and it took even greater skill from the cutter in order to do it right.

The fat man was desperate, and he jerked and twisted, trying anything to keep Carlos from doing what was to be done. Even so, as he slammed his hips up and down on the table, Carlos hooked his sharp blade around the slave's fat sac, up, next to the tie that he had used to cinch off its blood supply. As he grabbed the man's scrotum and pulled downward, twisting it, Carlos rested the knife against the skin there. In that instant, as he felt the steel, the man grunted, and as his seed erupted from his stiff cock and pumped out across his belly, Carlos jerked his wrist and separated the big sac from the man who owned it with a single quick pull.

With a follow up touch of his cauterization tool, and a wisp of smoke, he had the man's sac off in less than thirty seconds. After that the man just lay, gasping, heaving his chest in and out and staring into space, eyes open and wide, the realization of what he had lost just consuming him. He was a eunuch! He felt totally defeated, and all the fight was gone from him. I remember too his bulging sac, the man's full scrotum resting in the bowl beneath his legs, floating in the bowl alone and fat like a piece of meat, useless, spent, and oh-so-dead. And I can still remember him as they dragged him away, his fat belly glistening in the sun, with the man's last wad smeared across his stomach.

But even though I remember the first castration that day, what I remember more was Hans Ficklunder. He was seventeen, and about as obnoxious a teenager as I have ever known. He was a son of one of the most powerful men in the city, who sat on the Council of Elders, and he was pompous, disrespectful, and inconsiderate. To say he lacked manners would be a gross understatement.

It wasn’t that he was a bad looking kid, because he wasn’t. He had straight black hair that was long and hung over his ears. His bangs would have covered his eyes if he hadn't kept jerking his head and pushing them up, and out of the way. He had jet black eyes, and a slight bit of thickening fuzz on his upper lip, almost insignificant but more than mere shadow. He was dressed to the hilt, in fine white cotton pants and a bright red, silk shirt whose sleeves ballooned from his arms. For an eighteen year old he was the classic rich kid out of control, doing what he wanted to whom he wanted, whenever it pleased him. He had had his share of girls too, and he liked to use his influence to mount their pussies and make them suck his pole. But his favorite thing in life was to play the bully, making fun of people and using his power to bother others.

Hans was there that day, sitting in the stands with me and the others, and being as obnoxious as anyone can be. He taunted Carlos that entire day, from the first castration to the last. He laughed at him as he had worked his knife, calling him a Fegit, a derogatory term used in the Eastern province, and about as disrespectful as you can imagine. That wasn't all. He called Carlos all kinds of other names too, and while I don't remember them all 'moron' and 'inept' and 'stupid' were certainly among the others. He relished taunting Carlos. He laughed at him. He mocked him and even threw things at him.

Of course, while he concentrated on trying to humiliate Carlos, he also didn't confine his remarks to the cutter. No, while he made fun of Carlos as he wielded his knife, he also was busy laughing at the slaves too, one after the other, laughing at them as they lost their balls. It wasn't like a giggle or a sly comment or anything like that. There are always remarks from the crowd, but they are usually reserved and often said in a whisper. Not Hans. No, the teenager would stand up and taunt them at full volume, yelling out his taunts and making his comments so loud that we wanted to shut closed our ears. Occasionally he would even grab his package in his pants and use the lewd gesture to point out to the slaves what they were losing. All of us in the stands that day asked the boy to shut his mouth, and even Carlos looked to the teen and begged him to be quiet.

But that only intensified what the youth did, and once he knew he was bothering us he increased his efforts. Yelling was only part of it too. He was chewing on some paper and spitting it to the table....laughing as he did so. Twice he hit Carlos in the face, and twice Carlos had looked at him with slanted eyes and a tight, constrained expression. Of course, the Ficklunder boy was untouchable, the son of a Councilman, and he was free to do what he wanted and to say what he wanted. Hans was just one of those smart assed kids we all had to deal with, an obnoxious teen to the core, a jerk among jerks, and yet his stature and his father's position gave him free reign to do as he pleased. Simply put, he was a spoiled brat.

When Carlos was cutting the second slave, a younger teenager, Hans really turned up the heat. He kept calling Carlos names, and taunted him with a fury. "Hey old man....you're a FEGIT! Yeah...go ahead Fegit...grab those balls......its all your good at you know! Go ahead, squeeze em, squeeze em HARD and make it hurt!" He would laugh and laugh, and his taunts never let up: "Carlos the Fegit.....Carlos the Fegit.....all he does is cut the nuts! Yeah CarrrrrrrLOS, what kind of a stupid name is that?"

On that second slave, I remember Carlos getting angry, and just before he did the slice he had looked up at Hans and narrowed his eyes. Then he had said "Enough---you need to leave my table-----NOW!"

Hans had laughed, and then said "LEAVE?........no way old man! Can't take the pressure Carlos? Well, YOU ARE A FEGIT! Too fucking bad.....maybe I'll have my father take your license, yeah....don't threaten me old man....you're a fucking joke and I could have YOU cut if I wanted!"

In a way of course the boy was right. A man of the Council is as powerful as a man can be in Ayzintion, and he has the ability to ruin any man or even to enslave him if he so desired. He can't do it alone, as the majority of the council must vote their decisions, but nevertheless they are all powerful men and they are not to be reckoned with. Han's father was at the top of the Council, a man of absolute power, and he was known to have a temper and noone dared to cross him. Carlos wasn’t stupid, and so he didn't challenge the youth. Instead, he tried to ignore the boy after that. While I would have wished the slave on the table could have been that boy instead, there isn't much you can do to the son of an elder from the Council. Carlos knew it too, and so he did what he could and just tried to ignore the boy.

Of course, that wasn't possible. And it certainly contributed to the reason that that next cutting did not go as well as it should have. I could tell Carlos was agitated, yet still he was trying hard to stay focused. I remember that his hands were shaking slightly. When he turned his attention to the slave, tied out and waiting for his fate to be done, I saw his eyes as they would look up to the Ficklunder boy and then back down at the sac he held in his hand. I remember it all like it was yesterday. I remember the salve jerking against his restraints, as Hans taunted him on the balls he was about to lose, and how small is cock was as it jutted up over his doomed manhood.

I remember the look of the slave, and the way he had turned his gaze and stared at Hans just before Carlos had started his castration, hooking the knife and pulling it fast through the top of his sac. Carlos allowed the taunting to get to him though, and so as he jerked the knife the slice was uneven, and there was a huge spurt of blood that normally is missing. Everyone gasped when it happened. Normally, if you cut the cords on a diagonal, the bleeding is a hundred times what it otherwise would have been, and if the cord retracts inside it goes badly quickly. More than a few slaves have bled out right on the table after it was done that way.

The cutter's face had gone white as he missed the cut, but luckily the boys sac had come off anyway clean and neat, and fast too, all the while the slave was bucking his hips and jerking hard against the restraints. The boy had only a single spurt of semen as he lost his balls, a final, single shot that squirted into the air and landed back on his belly.

Hans was laughing the entire time, a piercing laugh, and as he mocked the slave as he struggled, he kept calling out "Ballless boy----hey slave....now you’re a ballless boy....ballless boy.....ballless boy." I got tired of listening to him, and it was obvious that Carlos was hurrying just to get them all done. Luckily the tie held everything, and Carlos got the bleeding stopped with the hot iron, even as Hans laughed at him, mocking his mistake, and taunting him about his trade and his lack of ability.

It continued to get worse too. I remember the third slave that day. He was a blond kid, bright, blue eyes and a cute face that looked so innocent. Fifteen. He was a young boy, with firm, flat abs and muscles that were ripped and powerful. I remember his thick prick, how big it looked on the young teen, jutting up from the youth out of his patch of fur, and his huge sac full of balls that literally seemed to be stuffed in his scrotum. Hans had mocked him too, laughed at how he would never be a man. The blond haired kid had looked over at Hans, scared to the core, his eyes wide and begging for mercy. Hans had grabbed his package within his pants and squeezed himself, to display his genitals and mock the boy who was destined to lose his own.

When Carlos grabbed that boy's sac, pushing the knife up against it and hooking the blade around it, the young teenager had spurted out his load, jutting it out in ropes of cum that spread across his chest and belly. Hans had laughed and laughed as the boy spurted out his last sperm and then he had turned back to Carlos and said: "Hey Fegit...make him feel it this time....yeah, not so fast....squeeze those balls and MAKE IT HURT!. DO IT...DO WHAT I SAY YOU FUCKER--I want you to HURT THE KID!"

Carlos looked up at Hans, and then back to the young salve, ignoring Hans and his demands. Then, as the teenage slave boy finished spurting out his cream Carlos made his move and started to pull hard with the knife.

Hans wasn’t happy he was being ignored and he decided to do something about it. Of course, none of us saw Hans pick up the rock, and none of us were prepared for what followed. At that precise second, as Carlos was making the pull and slicing with the knife, Hans threw a stone....a small stone true but not THAT small.

The stone hit Carlos square in the side of his head, just behind the eye, and when it happened Carlos flinched, trying to duck as the stone hit him, and in doing so he had twisted the knife and jerked it downward, instead of sideways. Everyone gasped, at the rock and the cut and the horror of it all. Because of the rock, the knife had gone down through the kid's balls, at a diagonal, instead of above them. In an instant, the knife had literally sliced the boy's balls in half and of course making the blood spurt everywhere. The bottom of the boy's scrotum came off with the cut, and his half-severed orbs dangled below by their cords.

Worse, the tip of the blade had caught the leather gut string too, and so it had come off and after that there was nothing to stop the blood that spurted with a vengeance. Han's laughed and laughed, as the slave's world dived into hell, feeling his balls severed in two, but still attached, the slashed orbs sending waves of pain that racked his body. And of course the blood came in a torrent and for a moment I was certain he would bleed to death. We were all aghast, except for the Ficklunder boy, who thought it was hysterical that he had made this happen.

Thank God Carlos didn't panic, as many cutters would have, and in spite of the screams of the slave and the blood that boiled up from the wound, he took stock in what had happened and began to work the problem. First, he had to regrip the sac, or what was left of it, which wasn’t easy with all the blood flowing. He pulled it down, hard, holding onto the half-severed balls and using them as a handle to stretch out his sac, rotating his wrist and twisting it closed at the same time.

Somehow, he one handed another gut string around the top of the twisted scrotum, wrapping it again and again until it finally managed to shut off the fountain of blood. After that, he had the situation under control. Of course, the pain was so great that the kid was on the verge of a seizure, his body jerking against his restraints as if he was a crazed maniac. The boy just screamed and screamed the entire time, and Hans laughed and laughed and laughed at the misery the boy's world had become.

Finally Carlos was able to move his knife one more time, taking the remainder of the teenager's sac correctly and removing the already half-severed testes with the slice. As he did so, he completed the botched castration and fixed his mistake, and the actual quick cut came as a relief to the boy who was screaming from the pain. Lastly, in site of the continued taunts from the Ficklunder boy, he used the cauterization tool to burn the wound closed and to stop the last trickle of blood.

The teenager's eyes rolled back in his head while this was going on, and the boy collapsed from the shock of what had been done to him. Nevertheless, he was alive, and his pain had been reduced to an empty feeling that stung in his groin. While it had not gone well, the outcome was the same, and the boy was left unmanned, his castration over and he still alive to heal. Of course, it had been close, and the anger in Carlos then is something that cannot really be described.

The cutter looked up at Hans Ficklunder then, and was shaking from his anger. Then he said "NO MORE---I MEAN IT...LEAVE MY TABLE NOW OR YOU WILL FEEL MORE THAN MY SCORN."

Most teenagers, faced with an angry cutter and looking at a man with a knife in his hand and who has the skill and knowledge to use it, would have run like the wind. Of course, Hans was safe, and he knew it, and the threats from Carlos were nothing but a joke to him. A Councilman's power is absolute, and power corrupts absolutely. It holds true for the sons of those in power as well. On that day, those many years ago, it was never more true and all of us knew that there was nothing that could be done.

Carlos realized it too, and after he had made his threat he went back to the task at hand. Even so, the taunting continued, and Carlos seemed for a while dejected, defeated even, his anger for the boy and the power of the Council churning inside of him with an intensity that cannot be described. Luckily, there was only a single slave to go, and I could tell that Carlos was just anxious to get him done and to get it all over with.

They had the last slaved secured to the table in only a few minutes. Of all the slaves I've ever seen tied to the table, I remember this one most of all. The reason I say that is because he was the one that was on the table when everything came together and the lesson was taught. Of course, none of us at the time had any idea that what was to follow would ultimately define Carlos for all time and cement his reputation as the greatest cutter that has ever been.

The slave was a boy with bright red hair and freckles that adorned his face. He was cute, and I felt sorry for him immediately. The boy was only fourteen, and his body was sprouting his way into adolescence. He had the thin, long cock of a growing teen, and his sac was fat for his age and was stuffed full with his young balls. The slave boy was just so young, and so innocent looking, and his smooth face and bald armpits accentuated his youthfulness. I remember his cock, the way it jutted up, the end slick with his slime and the eagerness of youth.

He was just a kid, in so many ways, and yet even so, he was desperate, and he was fighting as hard as any man. He bucked his hips, thrusting up and down, violently as he fought with desperation to keep his hairless sac of balls. It didn't help that he had seen the last slave's castration; watching the blood that had stained the table and the balls that were sliced in half before they were taken. He was panicked and scared like there was no tomorrow coming. He pleaded and begged, and his eyes were wide with fear and he pumped his ass up and down and back and forth and fought against his restraints with a everything he had.

They gagged the boy just then, to stop his cries, as Carlos picked up his knife and grabbed the boy's hairless scrotum. I remember thinking that this would not take very long, for Carlos was anxious to get him done. However, it turned out I was wrong. Suddenly, there was a murmur in the crowd and everyone grew quiet, almost as though an unseen force had silenced us. Even Hans Ficklunder grew quiet and turned to look, and perhaps it was the stillness if anything that makes the memory what it is.

God! Councilman Ficklunder himself had walked into the square and was approaching where the table was. As he came, the crowd parted like a sea, making room for the man as if he was God. As the senior Ficklunder approached the table, we all were spellbound at who he was and what he represented. We were truly awed to have him in our midst, and there was a fear there too of the man and his power.

Of course, everyone stood up then, including Carlos, as a measure of respect, and the Councilman waived his hand in recognition. He motioned for us to take our seats, and so we did, but the mood had changed and we all stared at him. Even the young slave on the table stared, his thin prick hard and stiff and eager, jutting up and quivering as it did so. His cock was rigid and at attention, jutting up from his small patch of hair, almost like it was standing in tribute for the man who stood over him.

I have only seen a Councilman a few times in my life, and never so close. He was wearing fine robes adorned with the great crest of the city. Everyone was quiet, awed by the visit of one of the most powerful men in the city. Carlos looked at him, and you could see his eyes as they registered the recognition and he searched for what to say.

There was an awkward moment of silence. Finally, Carlos spoke first: "Good morning Herr Ficklunder, it is a pleasure to be visited by a man of your stature. I am at your service. What may I do for you today?"

Han's father eyed the young red headed boy on the table, and his eyes seem to linger on the boy's jutting manhood. The boy looked away in shame, his face red from the embarrassment of his position, and his cock twitched up and down to his heartbeat. Slowly, the Councilman slid his gaze away from the boy's stiff pole and then, turning to look at Carlos, he said: "Well cutter, it is Carlos I believe is it not? It looks like you have a fine slave there.....obviously someone has made a wise purchase. I could use a slave like that."

As Carlos held the slave's balls in his hand, the knife in the other, time seemed to stand still. Slowly, he took in the man who was here. His mind seemed to be thinking. Then he said: "Yes, you are right, my name is Carlos. I am truly honored you are here. Perhaps if you wish this slave, his owner would be willing to part with him. He can always buy another and for a Councilman I'm sure he would give him up."

The elder said "Seems such a waste to nut him. He's only a boy and he looks so innocent.....and so eager." After he said the words, he grinned.

Carlos weighed his thoughts, and responded: "Sire, sometimes a boy's balls bring him nothing but grief. I'd even go so far as to say that some teenagers don't deserve them, and perhaps, are even better off without them. Especially the undisciplined ones."

"Perhaps cutter...perhaps. I suppose for some...perhaps. Well, I'll leave you to finish the work. I came for my son, as he has been hard to locate and I just never suspected he was here. He gives us fits from time to time; you know how teenagers are these days."

Carlos slowly answered, deciding on what to say, if anything. Finally, he dared: "Your son has been rude Herr Ficklunder, and has made things difficult today. I wish...."

The Councilman held up his hand, and the sharpness of his gaze stopped Carlos in mid-sentence. Then, staring right at Carlos, and into him, he gave a warning that that did not go unnoticed by any of us: "Silence cutter. You need to remember your place. My son is just a teenager, and if he is a little rude to you then so be it. It is a father's job to teach him manners. Perhaps I will take that slave after all."

Carlos waited a few minutes, and then he slowly answered: "Yes Herr Ficklunder, I apologize. I did not mean to be discourteous. But I only mentioned this because your boy dishonors your name."

The senior Ficklunder's son had been listening to everything, and Hans had stood about all he was going to. That's when he said "Father...tell him to FUCK OFF. Tell him. This cutter has no right to speak about me that way."

Turning to the boy, the father said "Han's, quiet....this is between the cutter and me. It is not of your concern, and who I speak with, and what I say or choose to listen to, is up to me and not to you."

"FUCK THAT FATHER...HE'S A JOKE AND ISN'T WORTH YOUR TIME. HE'S A FEGIT....THAT'S WHAT HE IS! YOU OUGHT TO HAVE HIS BALLS REMOVED."

Carlos was still holding the slaves balls, working them in his hand, holding the knife under them as he listened to the boy talk with his father. I watched his hands tense as the obnoxious teenager was talking, and then, slowly, he brought the curved blade up, under the sac and next to the tie. As he held the slave's balls, he looked to the Councilman, and said: "It appears your boy lacks respect for his father, and dares to talk back to you in front of others. You have four sons Herr Ficklunder, is that correct?"

The Councilman turned to Carlos, and his lip quivered slightly. There was a tenseness in the air then that is hard to describe. Then he said "My boy is just a teenager...you know how kids are these days. I should know too. Yes...yes, I have four boys and they are all different. I think I do want that slave after all.....perhaps you should hold off on his cutting. I need a field worker and a breeder, and I want him to stay strong as he grows up. What would it cost me to take him as he is?"

Hans said "OH...FUCK THAT.....COME ON FATHER!" Then, looking to the young teen on the table he added "TAKE HIS BALLS FOR GOD'S SAKE....I WANT TO WATCH THE RED HEAD SCREAM. PLEASE FATHER, TELL HIM TO CUT HIS BALLS AND TO MAKE IT HURT!"

Carlos hesitated, and looked back to the master Ficklunder, to gauge the impact of his son's comment and to see what he would order. Nobody said anything, and as Carlos gripped the boy's scrotum and held the knife, time seemed to stand still. Then he said: "Herr Ficklunder, please excuse my boldness. But your son is an embarrassment for you. If you want the slave, he should be yours. I'll give you three hundred, Herr Ficklunder....three hundred thousand degos."

We all gasped. God, what a sum!

The elder looked at Carlos with a look of shock that bordered on anger. Then he said "What? That’s a fortune cutter, and no slave in this city is worth that sum. I did not come here to bargain with you. I'll buy the slave, for a fair price, but I'm not about to pay you three hundred thousand, for any slave, especially this one. If I wanted the red head bad enough, I could TAKE HIM from you!"

Carlos slowly answered: "Herr Ficklunder, you did not understand me. I'm sure the slave's owner would be glad for you to have him...I was offering to PAY YOU Herr Ficklunder.....I do not ask you to pay for anything. Not a man of your stature. What I'm trying to say is that I'll give you three hundred thousand degos to allow me to teach your son a lesson."

A gasp went through the bleachers, and the room grew even quieter, dead quiet, and everyone stared and a stillness then came over the room that cannot really be described.

If power corrupts absolutely, then money corrupts the corruptible. They say that everything has a price, and that everything is for sale even when it isn't being sold. I remember my heart pounding, at the boldness of the cutter and at the sums of money that were discussed.

"What...what are you SAYING cutter?"

"Herr Ficklunder, you are one of the leading me of our city, and I am honored just to speak with you. I am only saying that I think your boy here is rude, and I am offering you three hundred thousand degos if you will let me borrow him for a while. You don’t need his seed to carry your name and the boy could use a lesson in life. Three hundred thousand sir, to do him a favor, and in his case, to make him better and more respectful."

Hans Ficklunder spun his head around, and his eyes were open, wide, in surprise at what he had heard. The teenager exploded then: "FATHER....FUCK HIM....FUCK HIM FATHER....DID YOU HEAR WHAT HE SAID? GOD--TELL THE FEGIT....TELL HIM, TAKE HIS LICENSE FATHER, AND THEN MAKE HIM A EUNUCH. YEAH, HE HAS NO RIGHT TO TALK LIKE THAT. TAKE HIS BALLS! HE CANT TALK ABOUT ME THAT WAY!!!! I WON'T FUCKING STAND FOR IT! I WON'T!!!"

The boy's father stared at Carlos, hardly believing what he had heard. Still, the money had his attention, and he was listening. It was a lot of money, a fortune really, and as he thought of it and what it would mean he began to let his mind consider the improbable. He looked to his boy and said "Quiet Hans....I'll handle this. Calm yourself down and I'll deal with him." and then, turning back to the cutter he said "Be careful what you say cutter...you dare to suggest buying my son and offering me money as if he is some slave for you to tie to your table? I could have you castrated for that."

Carlos shook his head, and squeezed slowly on the sac of balls he held in his hands, emphasizing the intensity of the moment. The red headed boy on the table bucked his hips, and grunted into his gag from the pressure, the sharp blade of the knife against his sac and everything in the balance.

Then Carlos said: "Herr Ficklunder...I do not want to buy your son. Four hundred thousand degos......sir....I'll give you four hundred for just fifteen minutes. I just want his stones, and then will send him home to you. It’s a huge amount of money, and it will help your son and he will be better for it. You know it too, and so do I. Do him a favor, and make yourself rich at the same time. Perhaps someday he may even thank you for it."

As Carlos upped the offer, the Councilman raised his eyebrows, and it was obvious that the shear magnitude of the money was way beyond anything he could comprehend. It was an immense sum, and it was apparent that he was contemplating what it would mean. Still, God, how could he do it? But the money had his full attention now, and it was more than he would make in ten years, offered for just two fleshy orbs that were only important to the boy who owned them.

In the crowd we held our breath. I had no idea that Carlos had that kind of money, and as the two men discussed the fate of the son who was still sitting with us, I was scared to the core. Carlos was so bold none of us could believe it. I think we were rooting for him, but none of us expected anything to happen. Still, THE MONEY! God, what a sum!

You could see the man's mind working it out too. It obviously was making an impression. He was thinking about what Carlos had said, about some teenagers being better off without their balls. I'm sure he was well aware of his son's latest antics, and the problems he liked to cause around the city. His boy also had no doubt embarrassed him on more than one occasion; and it was likely that the other members of the Council had said at least something about it to him already. Still, can a father sell his son? Can he sell his son's balls?

Carlos could see him thinking....and he pulled downward on the sac of balls in his hand and the red headed boy arched his back and screamed into his gag. At the same time Carlos slowly pulled his knife, against the boy's sac, up against it but not quite hard enough to bring the blood and to take the balls. Then, suddenly, the boy grunted, and his watery seed came pouring out of his shaft and pumping out onto his belly with a vengeance. As he squirted out his load into a puddle, a few in the audience gasped, and the eyes of the Councilman were on the fourteen-year-old boy as he pumped out his teenage load.

As the boy was squirting Carlos said: "Your other son's can carry your seed, and will make your future heirs. This boy can make you rich. Do yourself a favor. You will gain respect Herr Ficklunder, respect for the way you protect your name and punish those that embarrass you, even if they share your blood. Everyone in the city will know you are a man to be reckoned with. Please, let me do the deed and teach your son the lesson he needs to be taught. The rewards for you go far beyond the money I am offering."

The Councilman stared at Carlos, and his son, back and forth. The boy saw his fathers face and he didn't like what he saw. For the first time, he was worried, and suddenly he just stood up, and started to turn to leave, to move away and get the hell out of there, but one of the eunuch slaves standing near the table reached out and took his forearm, gripping it, and holding him. The boy gasped, and said "LET ME GO! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT! FATHER....TELL THEM TO FUCK THEMSELVES AND FOR THIS SLAVE TO LET ME GO!!!!"

The elder Ficklunder slowly squinted, comprehending the offer and trying to weigh the variables. His son WAS a problem, that much was true, and if he allowed him to be unmanned Carlos was certainly right that his reputation for a being a man of action would be set forever. His other boys would likely listen to him after that too, and he wouldn't have to worry about his fourth son embarrassing him anymore. Still...it was HIS son and he wasn't comfortable in the thought of having him nutted.

Carlos sensed the dilemma in the father's mind, as he weighed the pros and the cons of what was being asked. Before the momentum of the moment was lost, Carlos said: "I'll make it five hundred....I'll give you five hundred thousand degos Herr Ficklunder.....half a million if you let me do this. It’s a fortune, and it's all yours, and I'll send your son home to you as soon as it is done. You can have the red headed boy here as well---a gift from me. I'll reimburse the owner and I'm certain he won't mind."

As he said that, Carlos looked to the owner of the red headed slave, a fat slob of a man who was licking his lips as he stared at the boy's load of spent cream splashed across his belly. Still, he wasn’t about to cross a Councilman, and so he nodded in full support, his eyes wide and scared and not daring to speak. While he liked his slave, and wanted him for fucking, there would be others with holes just as tight, and he sure wasn’t about to do anything to interfere in this conversation.

Herr Ficklunder stared...at the red headed slave and then back to his son. Money is a powerful persuader. For a man of power, high in the inner circle, it is everything. Then, slowly, he looked at Carlos and smiled "Half a million degos? You must want my son's stones badly to pay that much."

Carlos answered slowly and carefully: "He's the son of a Councilman Herr Ficklunder--and his stones are worth a lot. He crossed me, and others, and he needs a lesson in humility. I would be honored to do him the favor and to teach him that lesson."

Ficklunder looked to his boy, and then, without another word, turned back to Carlos and said: "Perhaps so...half a million degos is a lot to pay however, just to teach a lesson. Well, it's your money, and if you want to spend it that way perhaps we should do the boy a favor then. You are right about one thing, my boy could use to learn some humility. I'm tired of his rudeness and his language and the way that he disobeys me and his mother, and you may be right too that some in life are better off without their balls. Perhaps he is one of those. You are also right about one other thing cutter. His stones ARE valuable, and I'm sure even he would agree with that. Well, enjoys taking them then. Send the boy home, with the slave, after you have had your fifteen minutes and his sac is empty. I'll send him and his brothers back next week for the money."

The Councilman left the circle then, walking quickly out of the square without saying anything else to anyone. His son, with a look of shock on his face, called out "FATHER!!!!!!!!!! WAIT!!!!!" but the Councilman did not turn to acknowledge him. Immediately the boy started struggling....but another of the big slaves grabbed his other arm and held him fast. As he looked to the red headed boy Carlos jerked his hand, fast, upward and with a twist, and the slave arched his back and screamed into his gag. His prick shot another wad, just a single spurt generated from his fear, shooting out and upward with the intensity that only a young teen who knows he's being castrated can deliver.

The knife cut was perfect, and well aimed, and it came up from under the scrotum and removed the leather gut string with a single slice. The boy's entire sac of balls bounced, upward, and then back down, still attached to his body and flushing instantly bright red as the young teenager's own blood rushed back to nourish them.

For a second, the red headed boy with the freckled face thought he had been castrated, but lacking the pain he had expected, he looked down and Carlos laughed. He laughed and laughed, for several minutes....looking at the boy's huge sac and the youth's still hard cock above it. Semen still drooled out and down the shaft, watery and white, the remainder of the boy's load a reminder of his vitality.

Finally, slowly, Carlos stopped his laughing and looked to the son of the Councilman who was still struggling against the slaves that held him. Then he said: "Look at this young slave's stiff prick and fat balls boy. It may be the last hard dick and full sac you see for a while. It's time to empty yours now, to teach you the lesson and to steal your stones. I paid well for them. Believe me, I am eager to do it." Turning to the slaves that were there as helpers, he said: "Prepare him."

After that things happened fast. The slaves unstrapped the red headed teen on the table, who was crying with relief as his balls were spared. Now, as the slave of a Councilman, he would work the fields and grow old as a man. There would be a woman in his future, with a hot pussy and babies to be made. He would live as a high class slave and his ass would never be violated. In a moment, with a turn of luck, his fate had changed and his future had improved. Most importantly, he would now continue to grow until he was a man.

The lucky slave was crying, the tears flowing down his face in relief, his cock finally beginning to wilt and now resting on his balls, drooling the remains of his last wad in a string of goo that hung down from the end. As he cried, he was watching the boy who had taunted him, the Councilman's son, as he was stripped of his fancy clothing and tied down to the table where he had been only moments before. It did not take long, and the high class boy screamed and fought and begged the entire time it was done, making threats that were now hollow and empty. Still, sitting there, I remember how I shook at what I was seeing and what was about to happen.

Han's Ficklunder looked a lot less intimidating without his clothes. The seventeen year old boy was even less developed than most youths his age. Naked, his small cock lay across his belly, flat and soft and embarrassingly small. His scrotum was big though, full of fat balls, and his matt of sex hair was black and curly and damp with sweat. The boy was certainly for the moment much closer to being a man than was the much younger red headed slave, although that was about to change with the twist of an angry knife. His muscles were less defined from his easy life and his stomach had a paunch that indicated he was used to being well fed. His thighs were on the fat side too, especially for a seventeen year old, and his arms were soft and his muscles were non-assuming. He obviously wasn’t used to working hard, and as he lay there naked and exposed and on display, he looked oh-so-timid and oh-so-afraid.

Of course, he had good reason to be.

His legs were spread wide, exposing his genitals, and we all looked and gawked and stared. Carlos picked up his noodle, holding it, gripping it, squeezing the tip of it and working his thumb across his slit. He took his fingernail and worked it, into the slit, up and down and through it, feeling it, testing it, and letting the boy buck his hips and scream from the touch. As Carlos worked on the boy's cock, the youth jerked his hips up and down. Still, his cock grew stiffer by the second, jutting up and firm and eager. The end began to flare, growing purple, and even so Carlos worked the tip...scraping it with his nail, feeling it and touching it as if it was a toy. For Hans Ficklunder he stared, with open, desperate eyes, and begged Carlos like I've never seen anyone beg before.

Carlso said to the youth: "But Hans Ficklunder, you told me that I should make it painful, that you liked to see a boy scream when he was on the table. You did say that, and I don't want you to be disappointed."

All the time Carlos kept working his prick, feeling the end, rubbing it raw and red and digging his nail into the tip. The boy eyes were wide with fear, and he bucked his hips up and down from the pain. Of course, the motion of his hips drove his cock in and out of Carlos's hand, up and down and in and out, fucking the hand of the cutter as he scrapped the end of his dick. Carlos looked eager, excited even, the moment at hand and the revenge of it all just oh-so-sweet.

Finally, and slowly, Carlos hefted the boy's balls and felt the stones within. I had never seen him take that much time, but he felt out the individual orbs and the cords and the way they were resting in his sac. As he felt each individual ball he took them between his fingers and thumb, giving them a good squeeze that caused the boy to jerk and spasm.

"HELLO Hans....does that feel GOOD? Does it? You said it should be painful, and I don't want to disappoint you. What do you think.....does it HURT ENOUGH? Maybe you owe me an apology?"

As he said the words he was working on the boy's nuts, rolling them in his fingers as he fondled his sac. The boy bucked his hips, and threw back his head. He was delirious, begging then in a babble, and he started to apologize for all the things he had done. He apologized for his taunting, for calling the names, and for making things difficult. He apologized for the rock he had thrown. He even started apologizing for things none of us knew anything about. He apologized for stealing, for other people he had hurt, and for not listening to his father. As Carlos rolled his balls and worked his orbs the boy bucked his hips and babbled out a string of apologies one after the other in some desperate hope he could save what was destined to be lost.

Finally, Carlos dropped his sac, and then he said "Yes....I'm glad you are sorry for those things you have done. You will be even sorrier, my little friend, when I have finished your lesson."

The boy started shaking his head from side to side, his dark eyes open with fear and disbelief. Carlos showed him the gut string then as he formed the loop and tied the cinch knot of his trade. Then, he deftly slipped it over the boys bulging and now tender scrotum, and then he looked at him in the eyes.

The boy was staring at Carlos...feeling the loose string looped around his balls and the ends held in the cutters hand. He started begging: "Oh don't....oh sir.....oh God...don't...........please.........I said I was sorry!" Carlos smiled, and said "But Hans, I wouldn't want to disappoint you. You know you need it, and you do deserve IT. Besides your stones cost me a fortune!" As he said the last word, he jerked his hands, fast, and hard, pulling the ends and slamming the knot closed and shutting off the blood to his sac.

The boy screamed, and bucked his hips, up and down and up and down. He was wild, and desperate, and the pain that shot through his balls then was greater than anything he could have imagined. "NO! OH GOD...NO!!!!" he yelled. Still, as he pulled against his restraints and bucked his hips, there was nothing he could do and he knew it.

Carlos's eyes sparkled. He laid the very tip of his knife up against the top of the boys sac, directly under the tie and up, just above his right ball. Time seemed to stand still. I was half-suspecting that Carlos would make the pull, and remove the sac with the slice he always used. But he didn’t. Instead, he said "Boy, shoot your sperm....I'm gong to nut you when you shoot your wad. Do it now."

Nothing happened. The boy's prick bounced up and down, and the very end glistened with a single bead of precum. Still, the two stared at each other, eyeball to eyeball, the moment frozen in time as we all waited for whatever would happen.

Carlos seemed to grow weary of the wait, and after a minute or so he shrugged his shoulders, and then he pushed the tip of his knife, down, into the boy's sac, deep, burying the blade above the ball and twisting it very slightly as he pushed it down and into the teenager's scrotum.

Hans Ficklunder screamed then like I've never heard a boy scream before or since. He jerked hard against his restraints and bucked his hips up and down with a fury. He was babbling then, screaming, bucking his hips as he felt the knife penetrating into his scrotum and starting his unmanning. The boy yelled again and again, and shook his head back and forth and back and forth. Still, he didn't cum.

Carlos kept the knife in place, buried deep and above the ball, and then he looked to the red headed youth that was staring and watching what was taking place. "Come here boy....and take his cock. NOW!"

The young red headed slave jumped, fearful, and he reached over and grabbed the cock of the teenager who was losing his balls. Han's saw him take his cock, saw the red headed teen slave holding him, holding his shaft, even as he felt the knife and the cut and the pain of it all. With a nod, Carlos said "Make him cum and do it quick. I want him cumming when I finish the job and take his balls. He will feel it more that way and I want to make sure he knows what he's losing."

The red headed boy suddenly put his fist in motion, sliding the skin on Han's cock up and down, up and down, faster and faster and with a definite purpose. Like every teenage boy, he knew exactly how to do it, to jerk the pole and to make it hard. Han's stared, wide-eyed. The slave was jacking him off, jerking his cock and forcing the feeling, trying to force his seed up and out so he could lose his balls. Hans stared at the young slave, and tried to order him to stop. Instead the boy increased the pace, faster and faster and faster as he worked the older boy's pole.

Carlos seemed to be smiling, and he said "That's it....go ahead Hans...shoot your wad. You know you want to. Shoot your last load in front of everyone here and then I'll make you scream. Nobody mocks me."

Hans Ficklunder couldn't take his eyes off of his own prick as the red headed youth with the freckled face jerked his shaft up and down. For a second, he thought of the last girl he had fucked, of her pussy and her wetness and how good she had felt. God...oh God. "NO! DON'T TAKE MY BALLS!" he screamed, just as the feeling boiled up inside of him. It was all too much for him, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't stop what was beyond his control.

Suddenly, he arched his back, and looked, up at the crowd, staring at us. His eyes went wide, and his mouth opened, and then he just started to spurt out his wad. He gasped as he came, grunting out his load, pumping out his goo in what I'd have to describe as a continuous fountain, just pulsating up and out of his shaft. The white cream flooded out, and then ran down his shaft, and over the red headed youth's hand that was pumping his cock. Up and down, and the fountain spurted and spurted, his cream just flooding out as we all watched it happen.

As he began to squirt, Carlos moved his hand, and as he did so he twisted the knife to carve around the boy's pulsating ball, filleting open the right side of his scrotum as he did so. He wasn’t rushing, and he just made the cut nice and slow, making sure the son of the Councilman felt it every inch of the way. Finally, with a push, he popped out the boy's right ball, through the slit with a push from behind. Once there, with it exposed to the air, pulsating as he ejaculated, Carlos took the nut and began to squeeze.

The boy screamed as he shot his wad, the pain in his ball overriding the pleasure he had been getting. He bucked his hip, and screamed like there was no tomorrow. Carlos held his ball, working it, rolling it in his fingers and stretching it out, away from his sac, playing with it while the boy emptied his nuts. As he did so, Carlos leaned over and looked him in the eyes, watching his expression as he ejaculated. Then he said: "How does that feel Hans? I've been told it hurts more if you're cut when your cumming. Does THIS hurt enough? You wanted to make sure you screamed....am I doing this OK? It's your last wad boy, try and enjoy whatever you can. Perhaps you should have listened when I warned you?"

The boy was staring at Carlos, and babbling..."please... urg...oh... arghhhhhhhhhhhh, or shit.......... oh GOD...NO! oh NO!" On and on he squirmed and struggled. The boy's cock made a few final spasms and then it was done, his balls empty and his final load of cream pumped out in a puddle for all of us to see. As his dick took its final squirt, Carlos grew tired of the game, and he picked up the hot cauterization tool and laid it gently up against the cord where it was attached to the ball. There was a sizzle, and a wisp of smoke, and then the cord snapped back inside, sealed shut, and the ball came free in his hand.

The boy's eyes opened wider, as he felt his right ball be taken. Carlos switched his hands, and picked up the teenager's scrotum again, rotating it slightly to give him a better angle. Then, he took his knife, and once again laid it up, under the tie, so that it was just above the remaining ball and poised to make the cut.

Half-castrated, Hans stared, unmoving, gasping with the feeling of what he had lost. Time seemed to stand still. His cock was rapidly losing its last erection, laying limp and lifeless across his stomach, and destined to become a useless hose forevermore. Suddenly, Carlos pushed again with the knife, and as he did he rotated his wrist, in an expert motion that opened up the boy's scrotum from the other side in a single, well-placed slice. As he was squeezing on the boy's scrotum at the same time, the teen's last remaining testicle popped out of the slit, falling into the cutter's hand and now attached only by its cord.

For the youth, as he felt the cutters hand beginning to work on removing his last ball, he screamed and bucked and pleaded. Still he knew it was useless. Suddenly, as Carlos pinched his ball and toyed with it, he said "I'll tell you what Hans....perhaps it should be you that begs me to make the last cut?"

With that, he began to squeeze even harder, pushing the ball and rolling it between his finger and thumb. The boy screamed, and then, realizing it was hopeless, he gave up and began to beg for it to be done.

"OK.....oh GOD...ok ok........yes....oh shit...oh GOD. Take it...FUCK... take it...PLEASE....end it. Take my ball......... OK THEN....CASTRATE ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Carlos winked then, and said simply "OK. As you wish."

With that, he touched the hot tool against the top of the boy's last ball, melting the cord in two and severing it forevermore. With a second plop the boy's last ball joined his other, his twin orbs resting side-by-side in the bowl of salted water. The youth collapsed then, castrated, and after that his chest heaved up and down and up and down. Carlos leaned over to him, until he was only a few inches from his face, and the cutter and the teenager were face to face and eye to eye. Nothing happened for almost a minute.

Then, Carlos slowly reached up, with his right hand, and between his thumb and forefinger he was holding one of the boys severed testicles. The boy's eyes went wide, staring, as he gazed on his ball and saw it for the first time. Gently, Carlos slowly just pressed it against the teenager's lips. The boy at first closed his mouth, trying to keep it out, but the fight was gone from him and so, after a minute, he seemed to give and his resistance faded.

"Open wide Hans....it's time to eat."

The boy stared, shaking, his eyes still wide and the look of horror painted on his face that cannot really be fully described. Then, as we all watched, his mouth opened slowly, and as his lips parted Carlos pushed the kids own ball up and into his mouth. He moved his wrist, and from his palm he brought up the boy's other ball and repeated what he had done with the first. The expression then on the youth was one of those expressions you can never forget. His cheeks were bulged out, stuffed with his balls, like a chipmunk stores nuts for the winter.

He knew what he was doing....and as he felt and tasted his own balls his eyes were as wide as saucers. Then Carlos said: "Eat them boy.....eat your balls. I know...I know, they are a little rubbery but they have been dipped in salted water and they aren’t THAT bad. Go ahead and chew them and make sure you swallow. Do it---NOW!"

Han's had tears in his eyes, but as we all watched the teenager did what he was told. His defiance had just evaporated. I actually watched as he chewed them up and swallowed them. I watched all of it, watched the obnoxious teenager as he ate his own balls. After he had swallowed them, he just stared up with open, uncaring eyes. Defeated. Done. Unmanned. He was humiliated beyond belief, and his face was red with shame.

Carlos said this to him then: "In a day or so you will shit your balls, and as you do I want you to remember what I'm going to say to you. In fact, you had better remember this for the rest of your life. Treat every person you ever meet with respect, and with dignity. Don't make assumptions that they are not important. The store owner who forgets the man in rags may lose the sale of a lifetime, because he only sees the clothes and not the man behind them. Likewise, if you see only a poor, powerless, stupid little cutter you might miss the true power he holds.

Remember, the rich can look poor and the poor can look rich. If a son sees his father as someone he can mock, then he might fail to realize the pain he is causing and what he has been given. So, the lesson for you then is to not assume anything, about anybody. Treat every person you ever meet with respect, no matter if he is a nobleman or a slave or a man or a woman. Everyone. It makes no difference his religion, or his state of birth, or even the color of his skin. If you can remember that lesson, then losing your balls will have been a price worth paying."

With that, Carlos left the table and walked out of the square, and all of us that were there just sat spellbound. They cut the boy down then, and let him go, and the last I saw of him the red headed slave was escorting him, slowly and carefully, to their home. He never bothered any of us again, and I don't know really what became of him, although I heard he came back reluctantly a few day's later with his brothers to collect his father's fortune. I guess he was so embarrassed that he never wanted to venture into the city after that. I do continue to see the red headed boy, who is now a man, as he comes into town now and then to do the master's bidding. He's done well for himself, and he has two little red-headed boys of his own. I like him, and of the two I'm glad he was the one who got to keep his balls.

As for the lesson, the thing I learned that day; the thing that Carlos taught us all, I can never forget it. I treat everyone with respect, and try and live my life so others will know the good deeds I have done. I never assume anything about anyone. It was an expensive lesson, and Carlos paid a fortune to teach it. Of course, the boy who received the lesson paid even more to learn it.

[Authors note: © Copyright January, 2003. All rights reserved. Not to be copied without the consent of the author.]