Chapter 4:

"Do you like me as well as a boy?" Megan asked.  "I must admit that I'm a little jealous of myself, of the boy that I am when I'm with you.  Sometimes I think you like the boy more than the girl."

They were in his room and had just finished fucking, as they had been for weeks.  Not once during that time had Emrys fucked Megan.  He'd fucked the boy she'd become.

"I love the person, not the form," said Emrys.

"Who is the person?" asked Megan.  "I've been the boy so much lately, I've almost forgotten what it's like to be a girl.  I'm beginning to feel like a jilly boy.  I'm surprised to wake up at night to find I have a cunt."

"Do you not like to make love to me as a boy?"

"I like it very well.  I come each time.  It's just that I want you to remember that I'm a girl., but at least, this way I don't have to take the potion.  No girl ever got with child by being fucked in the ass."

"You don't take the potion?"

"No longer, she said.  "I did at first, but you haven't been in my cunt since that day in the glade."

"We could go to the lodge," he said.  "I could fuck the girl there."

"I didn't take the potion today," said Megan, "and I think I'm fertile now.  It would be too dangerous; but let's go out.  We've scarcely been out of this room for weeks."

"Where shall we go?" asked Emrys.

"To the market," said Megan.  "The prince can buy his jilly boy a pretty."

"You would go to the market naked?  He marveled at the change in her.  At first she hadn't wanted to be seen naked.  Now she walked anywhere in the palace without clothes.

"I'm a jilly boy," she said, grinning.  "What jilly boy wears clothes?  What do I have for anyone to see, anyway?  I have no cunt, cock, or balls."

"You have your red bush," he said.

"Yes, but there's nothing beneath it."  Climbing out of bed, the prince reached for his clothes.  "I'm not wearing clothes," she said, "Why must you."

"I'm the prince," he said.  "I can't go to the market naked like a slave."

"Then go as a slave, not a prince," she said.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I'll change your appearance.  Go as the brown haired boy you've been in the past.  We could be a couple of slave boys out on a lark."

"But I can't go as a jilly boy," he said.  "I can't go without cock and balls."

"Some slaves haven't been cut, she said.

"Most have, he replied.

"But not all.  You could be one that hasn't.  Come with me," she said, "it might be fun.  I know what it's like to be a jilly boy -- your jilly boy, at least.  We could find out what it's like to be slaves.  People look at you differently when they think you're a slave.  I've noticed that since I've been your jilly boy.  I walk through the palace to your rooms by myself in the guise of a jilly boy.  People talk about me, as if I couldn't hear or understand what they say, as if I weren't there.  They treat me as an object, not as a person."

"If anyone's hurt you," he said, becoming obviously angry, "I'll have them punished."

"No one's gone out of their way to hurt me," she said, "They've just treated me like the slave I appear to be, as you treat slaves, as I've treated them in the past."

Emrys was intrigued by the idea of walking about the city without anyone recognizing him.  They left the palace by a side door. 

Megan changed Emrys as soon as they were outside.  Instead of blond hair, he had brown hair; he wasn't so tall as he had been before.  Only his eyes, his cock and his balls, were the same.  Those she couldn't change. 

He took off his clothes, throwing them behind a bush.  Megan changed her appearance.  Too many people had seen the prince's new jilly boy.  She still had red hair, but wasn't nearly so pretty. Her face and arms were covered with freckles.  "I'll be Braith," she said.  Braith meant speckled.

"My name will be Dylan," Emrys said.

Dylan and Braith walked through the town  of Langaris toward the market.  No one turned to look at them.  Altered as Braith was, he was no longer beautiful -- attractive, but not beautiful. 

Dylan was handsome, but no more so than many other slave boys his age.  Most other slave boys they met his age had been cut, though.  He was one of few that had both cocks and balls.  Some had cocks, but no balls.  Most had neither. 

If a slave wasn't to be a stud, he had no need of his balls.  A slave with balls was apt to be troublesome.  Taking a boy's balls pacified him. 

Dylan was naked, but he carried a purse in his hand.  In it were coins, both silver and gold, such that no slave would have carried.  A slave might carry a few coppers, but no more.

No one jumped out of the way for Dylan as they would have for the prince.  No one bowed and scraped or said, "May the God bless the prince." For the first time in his life, he was almost invisible.  He was just a slave, a naked slave boy, one of many going about the market on errands for their masters. 

Not all were boys, of course, some were older, naked still, without cock and balls, some having grown breasts since having their balls cut off.  No one noticed him.  At least, at first they didn't, not until he tried paying for some tarts with a silver coin.

"I don't have change for this," the vendor said.

"What shall I do?" asked Dylan.  "He'd never come to the market to purchase anything before."

"You'll have to go to a money changer," said the man, looking at him strangely, then pointing them in the direction of a money changer's stand.

He traded the silver coin for a handful of copper ones, suspecting that he'd been cheated even so, but he'd never had a need to use money.  He was given everything he needed. 

The two of them walked through the market, eating their tarts.  Suddenly, three boys stepped out in front of them.  They were older, about sixteen at least.  Although dressed, they wore rags, were filthy, and lice crawled on them.  Their leader had a pockmarked face.  The few teeth he had left were black with rot.

"What have we here," he said, "a slave with balls and his jilly boy?  Do you fuck your jilly boy, slave?"

"Dylan did -- he just had -- but he didn't deign to answer the boy.  "Move aside," he said.  "Let us pass."

"I'll have your purse first," the boy said.  He pulled a knife from his belt.  "Your purse and your balls.  No slave have need of either  I plan to take them both."  He took a step toward Dylan.  The boys with him pulled knives, too, circling to come at Dylan from the side.  They didn't seem to be concerned with Braith, a smaller boy, naked, without weapons.  Dylan had none either.

"You would cut me?" said Dylan. 

"I will cut you," said the boy.  "I'll take your balls, but leave your cock, little good that it'll do you without balls.  See if your cock will get hard without them.  Then we'll fuck your jilly boy while you lie on the ground, crying over your lost balls."

By this time, other boys, also in rags and as filthy as these -- all younger than the three -- had gathered around.  They stood back, though..  "Get them, Grigor," one of them yelled.  "Cut him and feed him his balls.  No slave have need of balls."

 It was as if all these boys resented that Dylan hadn't been cut.  Although cut, slaves lived better than they did.  Slaves had a warm place to sleep, and most had plenty to eat.  These boys might have their balls, but they had little else.

One of the watching boys threw a stone, striking Dylan on the temple.  Dazed, he staggered backward, surprised that he'd been hurt.  The God should have protected him -- but he hadn't.  Could it be that the God did not acknowledge, or possibly did not recognize him in this form?  Was he actually Dylan, not the prince?

The boy to his left rushed him, lunging at him with his knife.  Dylan sidestepped him, swinging the purse filled with coins at his nose, breaking it.  Bright red blood, spurted from the boy's nose.  He fell to the ground, but by then, the other two were on him. 

He felt a sharp pain as a knife entered his shoulder.  "Come," he heard the boy with the black teeth yell to other boys, "help us."  Several rushed forward, bearing Dylan to the ground.  Others grabbed Braith.

They dragged them down an alley, out of sight of shoppers, who hadn't seemed to pay them much attention, anyway, probably because the confrontation between market boys and slaves had meant nothing to them. 

They lay Dylan on a bench, on his back, with his cock and balls displayed, ready to be cut off, just as slaves always were.  The boy with the black teeth stood over him with the knife.  Dylan, still dazed from being struck with the stone, couldn't think.

Reaching out, the boy grabbed hold of Dylan's balls, painfully pulling on his sack.  "I'm going to cut off your balls, slave," he said.

Where was the God? wondered Dylan.  Why hadn't he protected him?"

The boy placed his knife at the base of Dylan's balls, ready to cut.  With a flick of his wrist, Dylan -- Emrys -- would be as ball-less as any slave.