I told it to unload the bags, put everything away, and meet Me in the kitchen. I used the time to check My mail and email and to make an important phone call. When I entered the kitchen perhaps 20 minutes later, the slave was sitting on the floor. It was looking a little depressed, a little stunned by all that had happened. It needed a pep talk, and some preparation for the weeks ahead.

"Come here, slave," I said. It stood and walked to Me. I put My arms around it, and we hugged each other tightly. Holding it, I said, "You're doing really well; I'm very pleased with you and very proud of you." I felt it hold Me tighter. "I know it's not easy or painless for you. Don't I keep telling you to trust Me? If I punish you or hurt you, it's only to make you serve Me better. Isn't that why you're here? to serve Me?" It started sobbing onto My shoulders. "Don't cry slave," I said softly.

“Sir, it didn’t know it would be so hard,” it sobbed.

The punishment and work and bondage had brought it to a breaking point. It hadn't really given up on its old life yet, but was just play-acting. If I really wanted it to be My slave, there was no choice but to drive it through this emotional break. On the other side, it could be a happy and contented slave, eager to serve My every need. It would be a difficult journey and it was hard not to feel sympathy, even if just for a minute.

I felt its sobbing subside. "OK slave, I have to be honest with you and tell you that it's going to get more difficult before it gets easier. I'm doing this for your own good, slave, to make you into the best servant, the best property that I can. Soon, you won't recognize Peter anymore. The world has already stopped thinking about him. Soon, you will too."

I took a deep breath. "Slave, I'm going to take you to the dungeon." It started trembling again. "It will be a short visit, I promise, but it’s necessary to transform you into the slave I need."

I grabbed its hand and led it to the garage. I pointed at the trap door, and the slave opened it and descended in front of Me. At the bottom of the stairs, I told it to lie flat on its back on the padded examination table. I locked its wrists to the table, strapped its torso down, and unlocked the chastity cage around its useless genitals. I pulled a thick hood over its head, making it blind and deaf.

For a moment, I looked at My naked, bound slave. I touched its penis, slowly stroking its erection. I had no intention of pleasuring it, I just wanted to see it hard this one last time. I cupped its small, light balls in My hand and squeezed them gently. I heard it moan lightly beneath the mask. I suppose I should have given it one final orgasm, but I did not. I turned My back and climbed up the stairs, leaving it there for a few minutes while I awaited My visitor's arrival.

Upstairs, I set My computer to record the images from the dungeon cameras. Over the years that followed, I would replay the video many times.

My friend, an accomplished surgeon, arrived right on time. The doctor was an old friend. We shared similar interests in young men, and had spoken about owning and modifying a slave. When I called him a few days earlier, he immediately offered to perform the surgery. “Hell, I’ve been planning it for years, so it will be fun to actually do it.” His only desire was that no one ever find out and that I give him a video.

Climbing down the stairs to the dungeon, the doctor joked about finally seeing the skeletons in My closet. At the bottom, he took in the sight of My naked slave tied tightly to the table, awaiting his scalpel.

“Impressive,” he said, rubbing his hands over the boy’s smooth torso and legs. The slave was instantly hard again as the doctor touched the penis and scrotum. “Of course, he’ll be a lot better for you when we’re done with him,” he said and smiled a mischievous grin.

From his bag, the doctor removed a stethoscope and listened to the boy’s heart. “Apparently, he has a healthy heart,” he pronounced. He took the slave’s blood pressure and pulse, and rubbed and pushed around the boy’s abdomen and chest. He pushed the slave’s legs apart and examined the slave’s crotch and genitals closely. He held the slave’s balls in its hand.

“Not very big, are they?” it asked. He let them go and rubbed the penis until it was erect.

“Won’t be much here to remove,” he said. “He seems quite healthy. I don’t see any problems at all. You’re certain you want to go through with it?”

“Absolutely,” I said with certainty.

“Any need to ask him what he thinks?”

“We can assume that My opinion is its opinion,” I answered.

He chuckled and pushed two pills in the slave’s mouth. (“This will put him to sleep for a while,” he said.) He suggested I direct more of the track lighting onto the slave while he prepared a tray and began disinfecting his instruments. After washing our hands and putting on rubber gloves, we wrapped plastic surgery gowns around both of us. He removed a squeeze tube of yellow liquid and sprayed some all around the slave’s genitals. Then, using cotton balls, he wiped the slave in order to disinfect the entire area. Removing a syringe from his bag (“just a local”, he said), he injected the slave several times around the base of the penis.

“This will take a minute to kick in. Last chance to turn back?” he asked.

“No way,” I said, shaking my head.

He got working, starting with a long catheter tube up the boy’s urethra to keep its bladder drained and the urine away from the wounds to come. I’m not an anatomist, so I had only the general sense of what he was doing. From time to time, he asked Me to hold some forceps, to hand him an instrument, or to apply pressure to stop some bleeding.

As he cut, he told me that the procedure was complicated by My desire to keep the slave’s testicles intact. “The scrotum is attached to the penis, isn’t it? So to take out all of the penis that’s inside the body, while leaving the testes, is complicated.” He cut down the middle of the scrotum in order to cut away the penis that was beneath it. I was surprised at the length of penis buried inside the body. I touched the slave’s exposed testicles and delighted at controlling it so completely.

“The root of the penis is very deep, indeed. You want to keep any of this tissue as a trophy?” he asked me. I told him I wanted all of it to go away. “And you’re sure you don’t want me to take the balls now, as long as we’re in there?” I shook my head again.

Perhaps two hours later, he had finished with the slave. There was a small suture above the scrotum, where the penis had once emerged; another down the middle of the scrotum; and a longer one underneath. Its balls were still attached and in place, although the scrotum had been mostly cut away. It was still technically a male, still producing male hormones, but with only a small mound surrounded by smooth emptiness. A tiny piss split had been cut into its urethra above its ass hole; a plastic tube temporarily extended from the new hole, allowing its bladder to drain while it healed.

The doctor left Me a bag full of drugs: antibiotics, anti-inflammatories, pain killers, sleeping pills. As I escorted the doctor to the door, he said he'd come back to check on it the next night. “You should keep him in bed for several days. He should get up and walk, but nothing heavy. Cut him some slack for a while. Call me if there’s any problem at all,” he said on the way out.

Returning to the dungeon, I filled with elation as I looked at My slave’s modifications. There was no need to worry about it cumming, even as its balls still kept it looking and feeling like a boy. My penis was hard inside My jeans. It needed time to heal before I fucked it again, I was sure, but I didn't know how long I could last. I kept it tied to the table, but covered it snugly in a warm blanket.

I monitored its progress from the comfort of My computer screen upstairs. Later that afternoon, I observed it stirring. It was confused and probably in pain. I went down the stairs and removed the hood so that I could comfort and talk to it.

"How's it going, slave?" I asked. Its eyes adjusted to the light.

"Sir, its crotch hurts bad, Sir," it pleaded.

"I'm sure it does," I said, "I'm sorry about that." I put some pills in its mouth, poured a bit of water in and told it to swallow. When it did, I gave it some more water.

"Sir, what’s happened, Sir?”

"Don’t worry, slave. You're absolutely perfect." I lifted the blanked to examine its bandages, but kept the sight concealed from it. The sutures had swelled, but were holding nicely. "You're doing great, slave. You're My property, right, slave?"

"Sir Yes Sir," it said eagerly.

"That's all you have to remember, slave," I said.

He was asleep shortly thereafter. This time, I untied its restraints and carried it upstairs. It would sleep in a bed while it healed. I put it in the guest room, where it had slept the one night those long days ago. Now it was My cockless pussyboy slave. I didn't want its hands exploring the wound, so I cuffed its wrists to the side of the bed. Every four hours that night, I awoke to give it the prescribed drugs. In the morning, I was still dead tired. Luckily, I had one more day off work.

"Feeling better this morning?" I asked it.

"Sir, Yes Sir, not nearly as much pain as before, Sir," it said.

I smiled. It was time to let it see. "What was My first rule for you slave?"

"Sir, you decide when the slave cums, Sir," it reported.

"And you're My property, right? I can do whatever I want to you, make you serve however I want, however I need, right?"

"Sir Yes Sir."

"So we’ve just fixed you so that you won’t cum anymore, slave. You still have balls, although I had the skin tightened so that they're not so visible. "

I removed the blanket, and peeled back the bandage, revealing its new, smooth crotch. "You're truly My pussyboy now, slave."

I suppose I had expected it to be sad, or even angry. Instead, it was overjoyed. "Fantastic, Sir," it beamed. It thought for a moment. "Sir, it hated that the penis disgusted You, and it was always a temptation to try to cum, even when it knew that it shouldn’t. Thank you Sir! It feels so lucky to be Owned by such a great Master, a powerful, smart, beautiful Man, Sir."

I tried to act unpleased. "I'm glad that you’re happy with it, because there's certainly no going back. I'll untie your hands if you promise not to monkey with the stitches or bandage."

"Sir Yes Sir." It looked at the wounds and seemed confused.

"Ah, right," I said, "We’ve cut a small piss slit between your legs. That tube will drain your piss until you heal more. When it’s ready, you’ll pee sitting down, through that hole.”

It laid back in the bed. I took off My clothes and laid next to it. It was too early to use it sexually, but I held it tightly and fell asleep next to My pussyboy.

When I awoke, part of the day had passed. I arose immediately and showered. The slave hadn't been cleaned for more than a day, and it needed to be fed, too. I had never been a good nursemaid, and now wasn't a great time to start.

"Slave, I think its time to get up and get cleaned. Be very careful with the bandages. Go slow, but just give yourself a sponge bath. You can wait to shave, but get you’re ass clean, carefully, without splashing water on your wounds. When you're done, come down to the kitchen."

While it cleaned itself, I made a little brunch of eggs, fruit, and vegetables. I prepared a plate for both of us, then set one on the floor, and mine on the table. When it came down, I was already eating. I directed it to the floor, where it ate eagerly. There was no longer any question that it was all Mine.

Two weeks later, the sutures and tube were gone and the skin had mostly healed. There remained a short scar above its scrotum and a longer one below that led to the small hole in its urethra. The doctor had visited often, ultimately pronouncing the surgery a success.

We soon reached a rhythm. I had it sleep in My bed, so that I could fuck it before drifting to sleep and again in the morning before getting up. While I was at work, it cleaned the house and made dinner. I had the slave work on several home improvement and maintenance projects; it was a hard worker, followed My instructions perfectly, and learned quickly. I put a collar on its neck that would deliver a debilitating shock if it ever tried to leave the house, which apparently it never did. When I came home from work, I'd fuck it or have it suck me off before I showered and ate dinner. I’d piss down its throat whenever I needed to, and it’d attend to Me in the toilet, too, licking My ass clean.

I bought a home gym and turned one of the spare bedrooms into an exercise room. Working out with Me daily, the slave grew tighter and more muscular. Able to control its diet and exercise, I could mold it into My ideal body shape: heavy pecs and shoulders, sturdy arms, six-pack abs, muscular legs, and, of course, a firm, full butt.

We settled into lazy, effortless days that I hoped would continue forever. It adjusted to its role as My cockless slave and servant, its smile returned, and I came to appreciate its personality. I loved it, I realized. Loved it for all that it did for Me and all that it had given Me. I loved using it sexually, loved that it loved being used. I loved its smooth, hairless skin and its clean, wet hole. I loved feeling the small scar where its dick used to be, loved rubbing the small mound of its testicles with My hand. I seldom had to correct it, less frequently punish it, and hardly ever cause real pain.

For more than a year, the slave stayed in My home. It was always naked, and its only human contact was with Me. I didn't allow it outside, even to do the yard work, so that no one would see it around My home. I kept the blinds drawn on the house. I told no one, other than the doctor who had performed the penectomy, that I had a slave. To My good friends, I simply stayed home more. When I decided to go out and socialize, or if visitors were expected in the house, I kept the slave locked safely in the dungeon. I wanted to be sure that no one was looking for it, and that there was no way to link it to Me.

Several months after the slave arrived, a private investigator telephoned. We set up an appointment for him to visit the next day. I kept the slave bound and gagged and locked inside the dungeon. I made certain there was no sign of it or of anyone else in the house. The P.I. asked polite questions about Me and about Peter's visit. I told him the truth: that Peter was a nice kid and I had enjoyed the few days it spent here and at My cabin in the mountains. I said I had put Peter on its scheduled flight and never heard from him again. This last bit was, in fact, kind of true: the boy who stepped off the plane was My slave and not named Peter. The P.I. thanked Me for My time and left. Nonetheless, I kept a very low profile, and after the P.I. departed, took the precaution of sweeping My home for listening or viewing devices and paid close attention to see if anyone was watching me at home or work. I found nothing.

I had talked to my old friend Jim several times over the course of the year and he had kept Me apprised of the search for Peter. It seems Peter had told several different stories about his plans to his mother, to Jim, and to a friend. None of the stories checked out: none of the people or places he was said to be going had ever seen him. Peter had, however, closed his bank account, apparently voluntarily, and walked away with about $1500 of his own money in cash. None of the airlines or bus services had any record of Peter, and by the time an investigator was hired, no one at the airport or bus station could remember seeing anyone. Jim even laughed that the P.I. had checked Me out and found Me to be clean. Reassuring, I thought. I kept the slave locked down still. Finally, some months later, Jim told Me that they had called off the P.I. There had been no solid leads and no convincing trace of it, Jim admitted. Perhaps Peter had moved somewhere, just to get away from it all. While one of its mother's boyfriends had threatened him, there was no proof of any foul play. If Peter doesn't want to be found, Jim said, then he isn't going to be found. Under the guise of offering My assistance, I had been in touch with a friend of mine from the local FBI. He, too, confirmed that the trail was cold and that the investigation had ended.

A few months later, I finally decided that the coast was clear and that I could take My slave out of the house for the first time. There is a small bar near My home, frequented only by alcoholics and hard-core BDSM types of all genders. I knew that our presence would garner no unusual attention, would allow Me to introduce the slave discretely to a few discrete others; and would let me see how the slave acted in public. It was a warm, humid summer night: ideal weather for the slave to be almost naked. I dressed it only in flip flops, a tight leather band around its right bicep, and tight leather shorts that accentuated its flat crotch. Of course, it was hairless from head to toe.

"Slave, you will follow behind Me respectfully and stand tall at My side whether I am standing or sitting." I went over the rules for the night. "You will stand straight at all times and will not sit or lean against the wall or the bar. If I tell you to sit, you will sit on the floor with your legs crossed in front of you, Indian style. If you are introduced to someone and they extend their hand, you may shake it. If someone offers you a compliment, say, ‘Thank you, Sir.’ If others attempt to talk to you, you will say, 'The slave is very sorry, but it cannot speak to you without the permission of its Owner." Under no circumstances will you offer a name or discuss your background. You may look around and observe, but avoid eye contact with anyone. If I see you scoping somebody out, you'll pay a fearsome price. Is all this clear?"

"Sir Yes Sir," it answered.

There were perhaps twenty people, mostly men, around the bar when we arrived, a typical night for the place. The slave stood to My side as I ordered a beer for Myself. The bartender, a beautifully-tattooed body builder, set the beer down and I handed him a ten. "Nice package you have trailing after you," he said as he set the change on the bar. I thanked him, left the change, and added a twenty. "You're not checking any ID's tonight, are you?" I asked him. He looked at the tip, smiled and shook its head. “As far as you’re concerned, I’m here alone, right?” He nodded and smiled. I grabbed My beer and stood to the side.

"I'll have something for you to drink shortly," I said to the slave. There were a few familiar faces in the bar, but no one I could count as a friend. I noticed one or two other Master-slave couples talking to each other in a corner. I leaned back to watch the baseball game playing on the TV above the bar. My slave stood upright next to Me, just as it had been told. I looked at it and smiled, and noticed that it was staring directly at Me and smiling too.

"What are you thinking?" I asked.

"Sir, just very happy, it's very happy to be a part of you, Sir," it said.

"I'll drink to that," I said, gulping some beer. “And I’m very happy to have it as part of Me, too.” Soon the bar began to fill. I had not been out for many months, and never with a slave, and a small circle of acquaintances gathered to say hello. I finished one beer, then another. With the second finished, I told the slave to follow Me to the men's room. Alone there, I kissed it sharply on the lips and told it that it was doing great. I filled My empty beer bottle with My piss, wiped the end off with a paper towel, and held it as we went back to the bar.

I asked the bartender to pour two shots of vodka into the bottle and to give another beer to Me. He looked at Me with a smile as he did so. "On the house," he said. I thanked him kindly but tipped him anyway. I handed the bottle of My spiked piss to the slave.

"Enjoy," I said to it.

"Sir, thank You Sir," it said and quickly took a long gulp of My warm piss that was mixed with liquor. It smiled at Me broadly as it finished.

An old friend of mine, Robert, greeted Me warmly. We exchanged handshakes and pleasantries. "So what's this all about?" he asked.

"Thought I'd introduce My slave to some people," I said coolly.

"How long has this been going on?" it asked. "I haven't heard anything about it."

"Oh, a while," I replied, "I wanted to be sure before I took it out."

He looked at the slave's crotch. "It looks like something has been taken out already," it said.

I smiled at him with a mischievous look on My face, "I think it has everything there that I need, friend," I said. I put My hand on the slave's shoulder, "Slave, say hello to My friend Robert."

"Good evening, Sir," the slave said. Robert extended his hand and they shook.

Robert smiled at Me. "Un-fucking-believable," he exclaimed. "Can I buy the Master a beer?"

"I certainly won't turn that down," I said, even though I had just started on one. "And perhaps a double vodka for the boy." He smiled at Me, then left to catch the bartender's attention. I turned to the slave. I was feeling the effects of the beer for the first time.

"You OK, slave?" I asked it, My hand still on its shoulder. It was still standing bolt upright, but seemed to be wobbling a bit. Its "beer" was almost done.

"Sir Yes Sir," it said, "Sir, getting a little woozy, Sir. Thank you for taking Me out, Sir."

"I'm having fun, too, slave. You need to piss?"

"Sir, it does, Sir," it said.

Robert returned with the drinks. I thanked him, poured the vodka into the slave's bottle, and gulped down the last of My old beer. I told Robert to excuse us for a moment, then walked to the men's room with the slave trailing after Me.

This time there were others in the room. When the stall was empty, I pointed for the slave to enter and followed it in. I told it to stand on the bowl, then squat down to piss so that its ass didn't touch the dirty fixture. While it did so, I refilled its bottle part way, then directed a stream down the slave’s throat.

When we returned to Robert, I realized that both the slave and I were more than a little drunk. Robert and I talked for a while, and then asked if we had been to the back room, which had only opened a few months earlier. I had not realized that the bar had expanded and had wondered where everyone had gone. I told him to lead the way.

We entered the room through a black curtain. The room was perhaps twenty feet by twenty feet large, and though there was virtually no light, I could make out some empty stools along the walls. The music pounded. I took the slave's hand and led it to one of the stools. I sat down and positioned it to stand in front of Me and between My legs. "Don't let anyone touch you," I whispered in its ear.

As My eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, I could see that there were perhaps twenty people in various sexual couplings around us. In the corner, a woman was fellating an older man. On the other side of the room, a man was fucking another. My friend Robert, I noticed, was already kneeling in the middle of the room, ready to suck on a well-built younger stud. Others we could barely see groped each other in the corners.

I could feel My slave trembling with fright. "Don't worry, slave, nothing bad will happen to you," I spoke softly in its ear.

He turned its head to Me, "Sir, it's so bizarre. They just have sex with anyone, Sir?"

"It is strange, isn't it?" I said, realizing again how young it was, how inexperienced, how new it all must seem to it. I felt the euphoria of alcohol. My penis grew hard inside My jeans. "How are you feeling?" I asked it.

"Sir, good, Sir, but it thinks you're getting it drunk, Sir."

I pulled it in closer, rubbing its buttocks against My erect penis. Holding My beer with My left hand, I reached into its shorts with My right hand. I felt its smooth crotch, the small bundle of testicles and the tiny piss slit. I could have fucked it right there, slipping off its shorts and lifting its ass onto My lap. Or I could have turned it around and fucked it against the wall.

"OK, slave, time to go home," I said. I pulled out My hand from its shorts, stood up, and led it outside. When we got home, I had it shower with Me, and fucked it to the gentle sound of falling water.