Fixing the Problem

By Rob Cole

Everybody was away for the field meet except l6-year-old Peter, who wasn't being allowed to go because of a string of low grades in school. Harold, the second foreman, was supposed to be there, but he'd called in sick.

So now Peter had an afternoon to carry out his plan. He got a cold Coke out of the fridge and a bag of corn chips and went out to the workroom in the barn. He was scared and trying not to think about what he was going to do. But it was no use. He hadn't bothered to put on his briefs, and by the time he got there, his fuckin' prick was sticking down the right leg of his jeans like an iron bar, the long, thick bulge plainly visible though the cloth, as it had been so many times at school the last few months. Wearing the briefs did no good anyway. His dong was so big that it always managed to get out of them when he got hard. And almost anything got it hard now–-a boy's tight butt or basket, even thinking about jerking off.

It would get hard in the hall or in class while he tried to cover it up with a book, the girls staring and giggling and the boys sneering and calling him a fag. Worst of all was the locker room. Trying not to look at the guys' naked bodies did no good. It would stick up like a flagpole, impossible to hide or cover with a towel. Twice now, he'd been waylaid and beaten up after school, his attackers calling him all sorts of names.

Now he was going to fix the problem, and thinking about that made his stupid prick harder than ever, so hard it was almost painful.

He shut the door, locked it from the inside, and shucked off his tee shirt. His straining erection made it awkward to bend over to get his sneakers off. When he pulled off his pants, it shot up like a steel spring. Naked now, he felt acutely self-conscious even though he was all alone in the room. If anybody tried to come in, there'd be no way to hide the enormous boner. He noticed the acorn was already glistening with pre-cum. The air in the room was cool on his slightly sweaty nuts and he was suddenly acutely aware of them and what he planned to do with them. He figured that once he got them off, the prick at least wouldn't get hard all the time. He'd like to get rid of it, too, but he didn't think he could do that.

Nervously, he checked the bolt on the door again, then perched himself on a high stool next to the heavy wooden workbench and opened the castration kit. He knew what to do, having seen it done so many times with calves and pigs, even helping a few times, but looking at the contents of the kit brought back all his apprehension. A hard knot formed in his stomach and he could feel cold sweat popping out between his shoulders. But his prick didn't soften a bit. Looking down at it, he could see the skin of his ball sac crawling. The nuts were drawn up tight, but he knew he could stretch it out.

Unlike some of the guys he couldn't help seeing in the locker room, his light brown pubic hair was thin and you could see how the cock went down into the crotch and was actually a lot longer than the part that stuck out. He'd measured the projecting part at 8½ inches erect and there was at least another two inches in the crotch, depending on how he measured it.

Trying to calm himself down he popped the Coke, took a couple of long swallows of the sweet icy liquid and ate a few of the chips. Then he grasped his scrotum with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, squeezed in above the nuts and tugged them down. The scrotum was warm and smooth, the testicles hard and round inside it. Grasping and pulling on it also put his fingers in contact with the smooth skin of the rigid dick and stretched the dick skin back from the head. The combination of sensations almost made him shoot. He let go immediately, instinctively knowing that if he let the dick spurt he'd lose some of the urgency that was driving him.

He took a deep breath and looked at the kit.

He knew from Harold that it was not the kind of standard castration kit usually used on farm animals. Harold had said something about it being for veterinaries. Instead of a device that put a rubber thing around the nut sac to close it off, it had a pliers-like tool that squeezed a steel C-clamp into a ring around the base of the sac and the cords inside it, clamping them off. It also had a hypo gun with ampules of an antibiotic/pain-killer combination. It was when he'd learned about the pain-killer that he started thinking seriously about using the kit on himself. He still wasn't absolutely sure it would work.

Well, time to try it. If the whole works went numb, as he hoped, the prick might not be so quick to shoot and he could go ahead and get the balls off. He picked up the hypo gun, loaded one of the ampules, and pressed the business end into his crotch. He took another deep breath, and pressed the trigger.

Yi! It was like being stung by a wasp. But after a few seconds, the pain faded, replaced by a tingling sensation, then a spreading warmth.

He took another swallow of Coke and waited, as he knew he had to do. After a few minutes, he pinched the ball sac. No pain. It was almost like the sac was already no longer a part of him. On impulse, he gripped one hand around his dong and pumped cautiously. It felt weird. The skin was numb but the shaft was hot and hard under the thin skin and there was a hint of response. He didn't think it would shoot if he kept on, but he wasn't sure. He let go of it and went to work on the nuts again. This time there was no problem. He squeezed them together, gripping as hard as he could, and yanked them down and back and forth with all his strength, making the prick jerk around wildly and stretching the skin drum tight. He slid off the stool and spread his legs for better access. After a few minutes, he had the bag stretched out several inches. He let go of it and slapped the balls around.

The dick was even harder now, if possible. He pulled it down and back between his legs and let go, jerking his hand away. The dick flew up and whacked him in the stomach. He grinned. This was turning out to be fun. He slapped the balls some more. What else could he do with them before he got rid of them? Looking over the workbench, he spotted some 8-penny nails and a hammer.

He leaned into the workbench. It was a little too high, but by pushing up on his toes he could pull the balls out on it. They were starting to retract again. Damn! He picked up one of the nails and the hammer and tried to center the point of the nail on the right ball. It squirmed to the side. Then his eye caught a spool of twine on the narrow shelf above the bench. Just the thing.

He got the twine down, unrolled a length of the thin cord, cut it off and made a slipknot in one end. Stepping back from the bench, he slipped the loop over the testicles and yanked it tight. He made sure that the castration kit would be in easy reach, leaned into the edge of the workbench again and drove a nail into the wooden surface some 18 inches from his crotch. He pulled up his balls, ran the attached cord around the nail and pulled with both hands, pulling the resisting prick down a couple of inches and stretching the sac so tight that the sperm cords stood out like ridges under the skin. Both nuts were trapped in the end with no wiggle room. Perfect. He tied the twine around the nail and picked up the hammer and another nail.

Pressing the point into the center of the right ball again, he hit the nail head as hard as he could with the hammer. The nail went deep into the testicle but he hadn't felt it bite into the workbench surface. He hit it again, and this time felt it go into the wood. He kept hammering the nail in until the ball was flattened under the nail head, then studied the result with deep satisfaction. His numb cock was pulsing and he found himself involuntarily tightening and releasing his thigh muscles, pressing against the table edge. Despite the novocaine, he was so aroused now that he could hardly stand it.

Almost frantically, he nailed the other testicle to the table top, then put two more nails into each ball. He was involuntarily humping the table edge now. He pounded the sperm cords a couple of times with the hammer for good measure. These balls wouldn't be making any more gism.

Breathing hard, he picked up the castration tool, fumbled a C-clamp into its jaws, and slipped it over his scrotum up against the cookshaft. He squeezed the handles as hard as he could and felt the pressure as the clamp closed and bit into the taut skin and sperm cords. Then he picked up the curved knife from the kit. Grinning savagely, he hooked the knife under the sac just in front of the clamp and jerked upward. The razor-sharp blade cut through skin and sperm cords in an instant and he almost lost his balance as his balls came free, releasing him from the twine holding him to the bench.

And to his utter astonishment, gism shot out of his de-balled prick–-again, and again and again. He grabbed it automatically and pumped frantically. Numb as it was, this had almost no effect. The orgasm was focused down deep in his crotch somewhere and went on and on. It was like an intense itch that there was no way to scratch. He gave up on the prick, put both hands on the edge of the bench and leaned into it, raising one knee and clenching the muscles in his groin. His heart was hammering and he was gasping for breath before the orgasm gradually subsided.

There was a slight noise from the workshop door. A stab of cold panic went through him and he jerked around wildly, expecting the bolt to rattle as somebody tried to come in, which would subject him to utter humiliation. But nothing else happened. It'd just been the wind.

He was suddenly furious. He pulled out his softening prick and stared at it. And felt it stiffen again slightly as he handled it. He couldn't stand it!

Wildly, he swung back to the table and fumbled another C-clamp into the castrating tool. He pulled the cock out again and tried to force the C-clamp over the base. The cock was too big.

There had to be some way.

He grabbed the spool of twine and cut off several feet of it. He looped the center of the cord around the base of the prick as close as he could get to his body, looped opposite ends around each hand for a better grip and yanked as hard as he could. The twine bit into the cockshaft behind the scrotum clamp, but loosened again when he tried to knot it. And the fuckin' thing was definitely getting hard again, as it always did at the wrong time.

He drove another nail into the bench near the edge and tied one end of the twine to it. He looped the cord around the base of the cock again, grasped the loose end of the cord with both hands and leaned sideways. The twine tightened around the cock but started to slip to the side down the shaft.

He repositioned the loose end behind the end attached to the nail and this time wrapped it twice around the stiffening cock. He leaned away from the bench again, putting as much of his weight as he could on the cord. This time, the cord bit deep into the base of the cockshaft, which started to turn dark red. He let go of the twine with one hand, grasped the base of the prick to hold the cord in place, and quickly looped the free end around the cockshaft three more times. It loosened just a little in the process but the cord was now dug so deep into the flesh of the cock that this in itself helped hold it and he managed to knot it off.

Flushed and panting, he studied the result. The prick was soft hard and turning purple, the head fully filled out, glistening with cum and pre-cum. The root of the shaft was an iron lump in his crotch. Fascinated, he ran the shaft through his fingertips, lingering at the ridged base of the head. Sensation was starting to come back and this brought a frisson of response. The looped twine was also starting to hurt a little.

It was now or never.

Swallowing hard, he grabbed the curved knife, gripped the end of the prick by the head and pulled it taut. Thrusting his hips forward, he positioned the knife blade just in front of the knotted twine, took a deep, sobbing breath, and slashed down and back between his legs. There was a stab of pain and the prick came loose in his hand. He felt a surge of elation mixed with dismay.

He held it up, holding the head by his fingertips and letting the rest of it dangle. The scrotum clamp glinted near the cut end. Jesus, the thing was big! And heavy. He'd been carrying–-what? a pound and a half of useless meat in his crotch, more including the balls. He started to laugh, and kept laughing until he was gasping for breath. He tossed the severed cock up and caught it several times, finally flipping it onto the workbench next to the nailed down testicles.

He'd fixed the problem.