My circumstance gave me a lot of time to daydream, and for seven months I fantasized about a boy. Not a child, nor a virile young high school stud, but a boy. He had longish brown hair and a lithe, athletic build. He may have been eleven years old or possibly thirteen, but most likely he was twelve. It was his degree of development that I cared about, not his actual age. He wouldn’t yet be pubescent but he’d be aware that his body was changing. He’d be larger and more sensitive below the belt than he was a few months ago, and he’d notice other changes as well, but the Internet and the Sex Ed classes in school would have prepared him for these and they won’t be a mystery to him like they were in the dark ages when I entered puberty.

He’ll still be sedated when I strip him and he won’t be aware of me fondling his nuts, gauging their size, hang, and maturity. Fortunately, his are still small; larger than a child’s, to be sure, but still smaller than that of a pubescent teen. Also, his prick is still small and the few hairs around its base are still straight and wispy, unlike the coarse curly hair of a fully pubescent young male. Had he been more mature or still a child I might have turned him loose, but as it is he won’t know what hit him; He’ll remember walking through the woods listening to his I-pod or fucking around with his phone, and the next minute he’ll awake in my basement.

It’s not an ordinary basement, either. It has complete living quarters and is not only solidly fortified but also completely soundproofed and no one will hear him during those first few stressful days as he yells and screams and pounds on the walls. I’ll let him vent for a few days and he’ll gradually accept his situation and realize that he is my household servant/slave for at least foreseeable future, and that his own survival depends on pleasing me.

After a week or so I’ll introduce him to the real reason that he’s where he is. I’ll tell him to strip down and lie back on our bed, legs spread, and I’ll kneel between his legs and take his freshly washed prick into my mouth. His upbringing has warned him of the perils and depravity of faggotry, and he’ll resist, but I’ll restrain him. He is still too immature to produce semen but the stiffening of his small prick will tell both of us that it won’t be long before he can really appreciate the stimulation that I’m providing. We’ll continue this every few days until one evening he’ll suddenly convulse and I’ll be rewarded with the taste of fresh young sperm. I’ll take a sample from my mouth and place it under the microscope to check for the little wigglers that are the basis of all life, and then I’ll lick the slide clean.

This will mark the beginning of what will undoubtedly be the best time in this young boy’s life. I’ll milk him often during the next two weeks, possibly several times each day, and he’ll eventually become erect as soon as I direct him to our bed or wake him from his sleep. He’ll eventually figure out that he doesn’t need me to achieve pleasure, and before he reaches that point he must be fitted with a chastity belt so that he won’t be able to stimulate himself. I may leave him in the device for ten or twelve days, until an accidental discharge is eminent, or I may take him several times a day for several weeks in a row.

He’ll probably be my guest for five months after his first seed has been produced. He’ll have matured a great deal; his wispy pubes will have thickened and spread, his insignificant prick finally has became a respectable sized dick, and his balls have grown as large as they will ever be. He is also much stronger and is now capable of doing me physical harm. It is Time.

If he has been a good boy; docile and compliant, I’ll give him a sedative and he’ll sleep through the whole procedure and will awaken with only mild discomfort and a sense of loss. If he is more troublesome I will strap him to the bed and administer a local anesthetic so that he can bear witness to his unmanning, and if he has been a genuine asswipe I will forgo the anesthetic so the he can feel the pain of his castration and relive the experience forever.

He will need to wear the chastity belt for another ten days as he heals. Although his sperm producing days are over there are still millions of them stored in his body, and these will need to be removed before he can be freed. He’ll still respond to my milkings; it’ll take a while to flush the residual hormones from his body, but he’ll gradually become more difficult to arouse and his semen will contain fewer and fewer sperm until he is finally completely sterile and totally impotent.

At that time I will know for sure that I have taken every single one of his sperm, first to last, and that none have been wasted as a stain on his sheets, deposited in a dirty sock, wiped off his belly with a Kleenex, cast in the dirt or on a wall along side another boy’s as an adolescent comparison of manliness, and most importantly, none have been planted in the hungry cunt of some young bitch.

I’ll sedate him the next day for the trip back to his hometown and the reunion with his parents, but the young eunuch must first endure one more indignity. I have been celibate for over seven months, and his smooth young ass……

“Shut the fuck up, you motherfucking pervert, I’m trying to sleep!” My eyes suddenly flicked open as Hog hammered on the bottom of my bunk.

Shit! I have been ideating or verbalizing or thinking out loud or whatever they call it and my cellmate has heard my harmless fantasy.

“Keep away from me, you motherfucking fag!” Hog warned the next morning, as we accidentally bump elbows in the crowded cell. “Fucking child molester!” Hog had tried to sell some meth to an undercover cop but he said his lawyer would get him off. I never did figure out how he got the nickname: he wasn’t fat, didn’t ride a Harley, and he sure as hell wasn’t swinging anything special down below.

We were both inmates in the Madison County Jail. He had been here less than a month; I had been a guest for seven months. I had gotten fired from my job and had stopped at a tavern on the way back to my rented room. I was awakened about ten that night by the repetitive plopping of an under inflated basketball against the side of the adjacent retaining wall. I stumbled out of bed and looked out the window to see three young boys shooting hoops and fucking around. “Knock if off, you little bastards!” I hollered through the open window.

“Suck my dick, old man!” the youngest looking one warbled in his nearly pubescent voice. He had brown hair and a lithe, atheletic build.

“Yeah, fuck off,” one of the other boys added as they wandered away.

They returned just as I had fallen back to sleep, again bouncing their ball against the concrete wall. I grabbed the Louisville Slugger security system that I keep by my bed and went out to confront the little bastards. It wasn’t until they laughed and pointed that I realized that I was not only naked, but also packing wood other than the bat. That was about the same time the police car showed up. The cop challenged me and I brandished my bat at him, the Louisville slugger, that is, and he dropped me with his taser. I was found guilty of indecent exposure, menacing, and attempted assault and was given a year in the county jail to cool off.

The word spread through the jail and by noon I was a leper; no one would sit next to me and everyone seemed to know that I was a child molester. “I’ve never touched a boy, or a man for that matter,” I defended.

“Yeah, and I never tried to sell some shit to a cop neither,” Hog offered.

“Really,” I continued. “I must have been repeating something that I read somewhere or maybe it was in a movie that I’ve seen, or something like that.

“A man’s got no business reading shit like that,” someone opined.

“Damned right! And I done seen damned near every movie made and I aint never seen no shit like little boys getting nutted.”

“Hey!” I countered. “I’ve been here longer than any of you guys. Have I ever made a pass at any of you?”

“You so much as look at me and you’ll be singing soprano, Asshole,” a big black dude stated.

Actually, I was safe. The county jail only housed inmates convicted of misdemeanors, so the maximum sentence given was a year and unless you fucked up big time you only had to serve eight or nine months, so I was just about out anyway. There were a few guys like Hog, arms covered with crude jailhouse tattoo art, awaiting trial for felonies, but the violent ones were segregated from the rest of the population. A lot of the guys had been in and out of prison and jail all of their lives and were hardened criminals and gang members, but this wasn’t the State Pen and there weren’t any organized gangs here. Besides, there was video surveillance in all of the areas except the showers, and the homo jailers watched us carefully while we were in there.

I was paroled out after eight months, warned to stay sober, and offered a job in a tire store. It was heavy, dirty, minimum wage work but I couldn’t afford to be picky, and I used my meager earnings to rent a small room. The room wasn’t as large as the cell I’d occupied and I had to share a bath and toilet, but it was only a half a mile from the tire store and was all I could afford at the time.

I was at work one afternoon when an old Ford Bronco pulled into the service bay.

“Hey Cockbreath, blown any little boys lately?” Hog hollered out the open window loud enough to be heard all across the floor.

“Never have, never will,” I said, keeping my voice low, and then spoke up. “Good afternoon sir! How can I help you?”

“Wipe the boy butter off your face and fix this tire, molester.” Hog gestured to the worn out spare tire mounted on the tailgate.

“Yes sir!” I said loudly, then lowered my voice.” Did you get off or just make bail?”

“I knew dammed well the fuckers couldn’t make it stick,” he answered. I patched his tire as fast as I could and turned him over to the office staff and went to work on another job so he wouldn’t be tempted to say anything else to me.

“I don’t like that type,” the boss told me as son as Hog left, “and I don’t want him hanging around here, visiting, that is.”

“Yes Sir,” I answered. “He’s no friend of mine, just a guy I shared a cell with. I’m sorry if he caused you any embarrassment.”

“What he said about you being a molester?” He asked, somewhat warily. The boss’ two kids, maybe twelve or thirteen years old, came in after school and swept the floor and helped out here and there. They were polite and worked hard, at least when their dad was around, and weren’t at all like the basketball bouncing little fuckers that got me in trouble and were the object of my fantasy.

“Just jailhouse BS,” I said. “I’ve never had anything to do with anything of that sort. He’d just trying to get my goat.” The boss cooled off and I got back to work, but it was clear that he’d be watching me in the future, particularly when his sons were around.

I didn’t get off work until after seven that evening. A snowstorm was moving in and everyone waits until the last minute to have winter tires mounted. The boss was happy; lots of sales mean big bucks, and he was happy to pay me the overtime and even offered me a ride home, but I was so ashamed of the shabby room I rented that I elected to walk. It’s less than a mile and only took about twenty minutes in the morning, but the dogleg route I used after work added ten minutes. The reason for the detour is Mabel’s Happy Time, a small tavern that lies midway between my room and the store. I like beer, pool tables, and loud jukeboxes and Happy Time offers all three, but my early release was dependent on staying out of places like Mabel’s and I sure as hell wasn’t going to risk another three and a half months in jail just over a beer, so I doglegged around the place to ease the temptation.

The wind was cold and it was starting to spit snow, so I decided to go directly home. I was just past the tavern when I heard the blown-out muffler of Hog’s old Bronco as it started up. “Hey, Cockbreath, need a ride?” Hog stopped beside me and powered the window down.

“No. I’m fine, I’ll keep walking.”

“No. Get in,” he said, opening the passenger door. I started to refuse, and then saw the Mossberg combat shotgun leveled at me. It could have vaporized my head at that range or put a baseball-sized hole through my chest, but it was pointed at my crotch. I got in. “Put these on one wrist, loop it over that roll bar brace, then lock up your other wrist. You know how they work.” I’d been handcuffed before, and I knew exactly how to work the damned things.

“So tell me, Cocksucker, what’s it like to mess with a boy? He taste any better than a grown man? His ass feel any different?”

“I told you before,” I answered, “I don’t know. I’ve never done any of that stuff.”

“Horseshit!” I heard you plain as day, up on that bunk, talking about what you did and probably fingering your cock.”

“Like I said before, I wasn’t even awake and I don’t know what I might have said. It may just have been a harmless fantasy about the kid who got me locked up. I don’t have a clue.” I knew exactly what he was talking about: Fantasizing about what I’d like to do to the little bastard with the basketball was one of the ways I killed time while I was locked up.

“Yeah, well I got a fantasy too. About what I’d do if I ever got my hands on a child molester. Want to hear it?” As if he gave a shit about what I wanted. “Maybe I heard some asshole talking about what he did or wanted to do to a young boy, and maybe I figured that I’d better do something to make him decide to change his mind. You follow? Well, anyway I track this asshole down as he’s walking home from work and I offer him a ride, only he doesn’t want one, so I point my shotgun at him and threaten to blow his junk off and put him in a wheelchair for the rest of his life and that changes his mind.

“I handcuff him to the roll bar of my truck, then we drive out to this old barn I know about. I strip him down and spread him out on the floor, then I take the laces out of his boots and tie each lace around one of his nuts so that they’re separated. Next I take a block of wood, just about like that one there, and set it between his thighs.” He motioned towards an eight inch long piece of four by four lumber on the floorboard beside my feet. “I’ll yank on one of the bootlaces to stretch one of his nuts onto the block, and then smack it as hard as I can with a hammer about like this one.” He opened the console between the seats and removed what looked like a long handled meat tenderizing mallet. “If one smack ain’t enough, I’ll do it again, then after he comes back around I’ll do the other nut just the same way.”

“Fuck you,” I said.

“Yeah? Well after I’m done nutting the cocksucker I’m going to bend him over and buttfuck the holy living dogshit out of him. That’ll change his perspective on messing with little boys, don’t you think?”

Hog slowed the truck and turned off the highway onto a dirt road. The sky cleared enough for me to see the vague shape of an old barn at the end of the road. I shit my pants.