He was sitting on the rail of the shopping cart corral beside the supermarket, idly messing with his cell phone. I don’t mess with prepubescent children and this kid looked too young. He wasn’t quite tall enough to be a teenager and his face still had the clear skin of a child with neither a hint of a future beard nor the ravages of teenage acne, but his hands and feet were both large and oversized as if his growth spurt had already kicked in. Had it been summertime I could have scoped out his legs or pits for signs of hair but this was winter and he was wearing long pants and a sweatshirt. I sat in my car ten feet away and studied him for over five minutes before deciding to take him.

I popped the release and got out and lifted the hood. “Shit!” I said, studying the engine. The boy looked up, then slipped off his perch and walked over to my car. It was probably the only excitement he’d had all day.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. His voice had the contra-alto warble of young teens whose vocal cords are still trying to cope with the gush of new hormones suddenly flooding their bodies. Good.

“It won’t crank over,” I said, as if expecting the kid to be of any help. “It must be the battery or something, and I don’t even know what it looks like.”

“It’s that thing right there,” he pointed, “Look, the cable’s come off.”

“It has?” I asked, incredulous at his vast knowledge. “I don’t know much about cars. Does it go on the post?”

“Yeah,” he said, reaching in and putting the cable back on the post. “You’ll need to tighten it or it’ll come off again,” he advised. Of course it will, and it won’t make any difference; the real battery is in the trunk. The one under the hood is a fake that I use for situations like this.

“Hey, thanks a lot!” I said after starting the engine. “Can I offer you a ride somewhere?” His eyes clouded momentarily. He knew damned good and well not to accept rides from strangers but this was a harmless old fogy that didn’t even know what a car battery looked like.

“I’d really like a lift to the mall.” He apparently decided that the prospect of spending the afternoon with his buddies justified the danger of accepting a ride with a stranger.

“Sure thing. Hop in.” I popped the lock on the passenger door and he settled into the seat and fumbled with the unfamiliar mechanism to fasten the seatbelt.

“Hey, this isn’t the way to the mall,” he said a few minutes later. No shit, Sherlock. “Stop! Let me out!” His good judgment finally kicked in and he fumbled for the door latch and seatbelt release. I had disabled both, and even as he struggled with the latch I activated a switch that tightened his seatbelt. I pulled the car into a secluded lot and quickly got into the back seat behind him and fastened a metal collar around his neck. “Hey!” He said again, reaching up to fight the collar. Perfect. The cuffs were already attached to the collar and in a few seconds his hands were secured behind his head and also fastened to an attachment I’d installed in the headrest. I climbed out of the back seat and opened his door and tripped the seat reclining mechanism to lay him out flat, and tightened his seat belt to keep him that way.

Now for the moment of truth; I loosened his jeans and tugged them down, took a breath and did the same with his skivvies. He was perfect! A downy pubic bush that stopped short of his thighs and belly, a slender circumcised cock perhaps three inches long and nice balls bulging in a nearly hairless bag. He flinched and tried to shake loose and complained loudly when I gently took his balls in my hand but was silenced by a firm and threatening squeeze. I rolled his balls around for a full minute, judging their size and savoring their loveliness. They were normal sized but the diminutive size of his body skewed their proportions to make them seem huge.

In fifteen minutes he’ll be in the back of my motor home, just another disappeared youth from the poor district. I’ll transfer him to the bedroom, secure him firmly, and take that lovely cock into my mouth. His eyes will grow wide with surprise then roll back with pleasure as he receives his first blowjob. I can practically taste the fresh creaminess of his virgin seed. He’ll recoil in horror when he sees the elastrator tool and realizes its purpose, and his balls will tuck up and try to retreat back to safety inside his abdomen. He’ll buck his hips, struggling against the bite of the band and he’ll respond to the next three blowjobs with smaller and smaller ejaculations until his body is finally stripped of his seed. The little green band will grow tighter each time, and his balls will be dying but the nerves will still be sending their message of alarm all through his abdomen and he will hurt worse after each orgasm. When he thinks it can’t possibly get any worse I’ll castrate him. No long drawn out torture, just a quick slice from the knife to separate his nuts from his heaving body. He’ll be in a state of hazy semi-consciousness and won’t see me strip off my pants, and may only be dimly aware that I am pinioning his legs up to his shoulders. He’ll wake up when I hilt him, though, and the next few minutes will hurt even worse than losing his nuts. I’ll do him a dozen times during the next few days as he heals and I monitor him for infection. In some of these couplings he’ll be face up so I can see the anguish on his face, the others will see him bent over, ass in the air, and I’ll mount him like a bitch dog or farmyard animal. He’ll beg and scream for mercy every time and he’ll be well broken in by the time I secure him in his crate and ship him overseas to begin his life as a sex slave.

I was harder than a sailor in a whorehouse and light in the head and I had trouble concentrating during the short drive to the RV park, and I couldn’t help but encircling those lovely balls with my thumb and forefinger, imagining them as the small, hard, rapidly darkening lump that they will soon be. I had to struggle against my own erection to unfasten my seat belt, and I was just reaching over to release his when I heard the distinctive ratcheting of a shotgun action.

“Police, Cocksucker, don’t move!” I looked up into a round 12-gauge eyeball. Four more soon joined it. All were plainclothes detectives with their badges hanging from their belts. They patted me down, extracted the keys to my RV and the boy’s restraints and released his neck and hands, which immediately flew to his crotch to screen Mr. Binky and The Boys from the prying eyes of the detectives. They struggled with his seat belt a bit, trying to find the hidden release, and finally lost patience and cut it. The boy quickly pulled his shorts and pants back up and stood with the men.

“How did you find me?” I ask, sort of relieved that it’s the police who caught me. They are venial and can be bought, as can juries and judges. It’s the vigilantes that I worry about.

“We intercepted your last shipment,” the Lieutenant said. “He gave us your description and told us how you work. It was just basic police work to track your shipments and establish a pattern. We thought this might be your next city, so I convinced my son to act as bait. Did he hurt you, Son?”

“No, Dad, but he, you know, touched me.” The kid was blushing with embarrassment.

“Hey Lieutenant!” Another guy emerged from my RV with my elastrator, bands, and also an egg carton that he’d taken from my freezer. “Look what he had inside. This is our guy, all right.” He opened the egg carton to show the Lieutenant my trophies. That’s my get-out-of-jail-free card right there. They didn’t know my name or where I was parked until they followed me here so they couldn’t have gotten a search warrant. A man’s house, even his RV, is his castle and they can’t use anything in it as evidence if it was illegally searched.

“Let’s go,” the Lieutenant said, prompting us all into the spacious motor home that is my residence. “You like this thing, huh?” He said, flexing the handles on the elastrator and taking another look at the contents of the egg carton. I was starting to get a bad feeling about this guy.

“Hey Lieutenant, maybe the boy shouldn’t see this,” one of the men commented.

“He’s old enough and he can keep his mouth shut,” the Lieutenant said. “He can stay and watch if he wants.”

The boy elected to stay, and he watched as the detectives stripped me and tied me to the bed. “Anyone know how to use this thing?” The Lieutenant asked, flexing the handles of the elastrator. I didn’t speak up.

“I did a couple of thousand calves in Nebraska,” one man said. “Can’t be much different with a pervert.” I started to holler and was quickly rewarded by having one of my socks stuffed into my mouth. The Elastrator is made for calves, not bulls and he had to struggle to get both of my man-sized nuts through the loop, but then again, he didn’t care if he hurt me in the process. Once I was banded they hesitated less than a minute, lest they lose their nerve, I suspect, before the Lieutenant picked up the knife. It felt like it was white hot against the skin of my scrotum, and the Lieutenant held it there for a few seconds before completing the slice. I spit the sock out and screamed at the top of my lungs, but I had carefully soundproofed the RV and I knew that no one would be coming to my aid, even if it were too late. It was only then that I realized I had vented the seed I’d been saving for the boy onto my belly.

“Hospital!” I finally managed to blurt out. They hadn’t used any antiseptic and a wound such as they had just inflicted could easily become infected. I needed medical care.

“Don’t worry,” the Lieutenant said. “Sanders here used to be an RN. I guess you could say that he’s now a Deregistered Nurse. Another guy had joined our little party. He wore tight spandex cycling shorts that clearly showed the profile of a massive meat.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be taking real good care of you.” I could see his dick twitching even as he spoke.

“The boy doesn’t need to see this part and neither do I,” one of the cops said, and the others chipped in their agreement.

“Some uniforms will be around in about a week to formally arrest you, right after Sanders gets you loosened up for Bubba. That’s Big Bubba. He’ll be your cellmate while your waiting for trial,” the Lieutenant said as he was leaving. “The DA will press kidnapping charges on you, and the other jurisdictions will surely follow suit. I’d like to assure you that we’ll leave no stone unturned in the search for the vigilantes that perpetrated this heinous assault upon your person.”

And so my life as a functional male ended. I managed to escape Sanders and his donkey dick before they arrested me, but I still ache back there from all of his pronging. I spent a couple of months planning on how to abduct and castrate both the Lieutenant and Sanders, but I gradually kind of lost interest and now I don’t give a shit about them or men or boys anything else. Maybe that’s the cloud’s Silver Lining.