Ayzintion City—A Slave called Messner

I never really gave him any thought. Not at sixteen I didn’t. It started because I just knew I wanted to know what it would be like, and so I had told him to “Suck it.” I remember his hesitation, not really sure what to do really, as I stood there in the barn that first time and opened my pants to him. He was seventeen, and I liked looking at him, and I used to think about what it would be like to play with his pole and work his balls. He never wanted to suck me, but he did, because I wanted him to and because he had no choice in the matter. I never did suck him. I was the son of the patriarch, and if I wanted him to do something then it was enough.

Of course, my father would never have approved, but I wasn’t about to ask him. I liked the look of guys, and I lusted after them even if it was not allowed. I thought of them, of their cocks, and at night I would jerk on my meat and play with my prick until the white ropes of semen would explode from my loins. It was a need really, a need, and as desperate as I was to satisfy that need I was never able to. In fact, the more I tried the more I did it and the more the need seemed to intensify.

Messner was just one of my father’s slaves, and if I wanted his mouth to suck my pole then I knew I could have it. The first time, that very first time, he had hesitated and started to beg me and I had waived him off. I saw him looking at it, at my teenage rod, stiff and sticking out of my pants and up and eager and waiting. He wasn’t into it, and if he had had a choice he would have taken a woman in an instant and never gone near a man. As he stared at my sixteen year old pole that first time his eyes had watered, but he took it in, drank in my pole and sucked on it to my demands.

I made him lick it too, tasting the tip and the end and then sucking it like a warm ice sickle, licking the sides of my shaft up and down and up and down. He did it exactly like I told him, and I would often make him suckle my cock like a new baby sucks his mother’s tit. Sometimes I would push it into his face, past his beautiful lips where I worked it, in and out, the boy’s deep brown eyes wide as he took it in and ate it. I chastised him if he gagged, and he learned to suck it deep and hard, working his mouth around my cock. Oh GOD it felt so damn good. I loved him sucking on it, licking it until the feeling built and then built some more.

Eventually, I would always shoot my wad, firing it down his throat and I always made him swallow all of it. I didn’t want the mess for one thing, and I liked the idea that my seed was within him even if he did not. He hated what I made him do, but nevertheless he would often grow hard anyway, stiff and eager in his pants, and sometimes I would make him pull it out and jerk on it for me. I liked to watch him work his teenage pole, sliding his hand up and down his shaft and moving the skin in an almost primal desperation. He would start to breath deep, and harder, his eyes glassed over with lust or need as he stared at me, looking at my cock he had just sucked off and all the while I made him work his pole.

Sometimes, just to be mean, I would make him stop, to leave his dick alone, and then I’d watch him sit frustrated, with his dick twitching there on its own, untouched and unsatisfied. Sometimes I left him that way, making him suck me off a second time, and even a third. His prick would ooze liquid then, drooling then like some obsessed demon, desperate for relief and filled to the top with his cream.

Usually, I let him cum. For one thing, I liked to watch the ropes of his cream shooting out, in a solid line as he grunted from the feeling. He had a huge wad, and it always came with a vengeance. If I let him shoot he would just squirt and squirt and squirt, making a mess across the barnyard floor as he grunted out his load. Sometimes I made him catch it in his hand, and then lick his own spunk until he had swallowed it all. I knew he hated doing that, but I made him do it anyway and I would relish the moment as I watched his expression.

Over time, Messner became my play toy, and I started to get careless and began to use him everyday. It was just the thing to do, to make him suck me dry, and I got used to getting my relief from him every afternoon. It became the thing between us, and it was almost as if he was on this earth just to satisfy my teenage lust and to drink my seed as if it was his mother’s milk. I loved the feeling as I shot my wad, and it grew into an addiction that I let him continually satisfy.

After several months I fucked him. I don’t know what prompted it, but he had me hard and in his mouth and the feeling was building like it always did. I was looking at him, at the slave there, and his smooth lip and his brown eyes and then suddenly I just had this desire to mount him like he was a woman or something. He tried to beg me, but he knew he had no choice, and so he rolled over for me and exposed his virgin ass and I took him.

I think his hole was tighter than I thought it was going to be, and at first I almost couldn’t figure out how to get myself inside. But I pushed harder, and as I popped past his ring of muscle he had gasped out from the pain and perhaps, from the humiliation of it all. I fucked him hard after that, in and out and like a pile driver I drove my teenage manhood into him. When I came I threw my head back and laughed, all the while I squirted out my seed and dumped it into him like his ass was a pussy that was spread just for me. I flooded it into him, my teenage semen just filling up his bowels, and afterwards he was shitting it out all day as I laughed and smiled and giggled.

I would have been happy had it just gone on forever. It was the perfect setup for a teenage male, a regular hole to fuck and a mouth always willing to suck me dry, even if the boy who carried it on his face was not. Still, the more I fucked him and the more I came down his throat the more I needed to do it. It seemed to be a cycle, and slowly I became obsessed with my teenage slave and began to need him more and more.

I guess that’s how my father became suspicious. At first he thought I was fucking one of the slave girls, and I overheard him once laughing at the thought and bragging to his friends about his son’s desires. He confronted me, and I denied it, but he was a lot smarter than I thought and he knew I was fucking someone. I should have left Messner alone when my dad started getting curious, but hell, I was too involved with it then and the relief I sought had moved from something I enjoyed to something I needed.

The day my father opened the barn and caught us is a day I can never forget. He took it all in with a single glance, my cock buried in between his lips, my load right in the process of dumping down his throat. I looked, turned and saw my father just as I was squirting it out, and I remember thinking stupidly that I was caught and so it didn’t matter and I just kept pumping as I shot. God I came that time! Of course, Messner was doomed at that point, and even though it wasn’t really his fault my father couldn’t have cared less. They took his balls that very afternoon.

I was made to watch, the shame on my father’s face so great that he couldn’t speak to me. Before he did the castration he whipped me, in the privacy of his chamber, taking that whip and working it over my ass as he burned it into me. I can never forget that pain, and as he whipped me I cried out and I promised I would never let it happened again. Of course, he didn’t listen and instead just whipped me harder.

That little whip with its wooden handle pulverized my ass, up between my cheeks and down inside my crack. He whipped my bottom until it was raw, and then he whipped me again to make sure I got the message. The bits of leather snapped between my legs, and as it happened my balls turned red and striped and my cock burned like there was no tomorrow. My father had no mercy, not on me he didn’t, and not on Messner either.

As for Messner, I guess I didn’t care about him. I certainly never begged for the slave, and hell, perhaps my father was right and he deserved to lose them. Still, I had never been the CAUSE of a castration, and as they tied him down and made me watch I felt sick inside. Still, I got hard, and I can’t say that I didn’t enjoy watching his balls get taken.

Before I got there they had already whipped him, and his ass like mine was striped and red and raw. He was whimpering, but other than that he didn’t make a sound, at least not before my father used his knife. He knew he was doomed, and when his whipping was done they had turned him over and tied him on his back over one of the hay bales in the barn where he had done my bidding. It happened fast, and my father was in a hurry.

After my father had whipped my ass, and then had sent me to my room, well after that he had turned his attention to the teenage slave that had done my bidding. I’m glad I didn’t see his whipping, although I could hear it out the window and I knew it was being done. I don’t know how long it lasted, but it wasn’t long before they summoned me to the barn. When I went in they were all there, including the other slaves, and my older brother and two of the hands. Messner was bent over backwards over the bale of hay, his arms fastened to two pegs in the ground and his ankles secured to two others. He had red stripes down his legs and they had licked around to his stomach, and I knew like me that his ass was red and burning even if I couldn’t see it.

He was looking at me, and the tears on my face from my whipping. He was spread wide apart, with his arms stretched over him and his head and neck on the barnyard floor. His hips and genitals were jutting up and held high, over the bale of hay, exposed and open and all of his manhood on display. His balls and dick were on top of the bale of hay, as if it was a table, and the rest of him was secured to the dirty floor of the barn by the pegs.

His seventeen year-old prick was semi-stiff and laying along his belly. His balls were round and full, and they were drawn up under his prick as if they were trying to hide. I knew he had not ejaculated in a while, as I had not allowed it, and I had left him frustrated for the last few days. I could almost sense the fullness of his balls, the cream in them literally oozing out the tip of his prick, and his need and his desire for relief almost consuming him, even as he lay, waiting for his castration.

My father did the deed, and he didn’t wait long once I was there. He just reached out and tied Messner’s balls, the loop of cowhide thin and tight. He set the loop over the teenager’s big scrotum, and cinched it closed with a snap, and then, as the boy grunted from the pain of it, he grabbed one of the free ends and ran it around and around the youth’s big sac where his nuts resided. He wrapped the boy’s balls so tight that his entire scrotum bulged out, his twin orbs visible and round and just ripe for the taking.

The boy’s eyes watered over, the tears real, and the knowledge of what he was losing total and overwhelming. His prick responded, growing along his belly, the end flared and purple and almost eager with desire. As I was watching, his prick stirred, moving across his belly, a twitch really, and then after that the end of it began to ooze out in a clear thin little line of goo. It was almost as if his own balls knew the end was near, and the pressure within them was now so great they could no longer hold the cream that they contained.

My father reached to his waist and took his knife, and the room grew quiet. Time seemed to stand still, and Messner looked at the blade and then at me. I could sense his fear, the realization that his manhood was history and that his balls were going into a bucket like some barnyard animals.

My father made a motion with the knife and nodded his head, and my brother stuffed a rag into the boy’s mouth and I knew it was time. Messner sensed it too, and closed his eyes then, squinted them closed as my father brought the knife to his sac. My father was angry, and his anger was obvious to everyone. He grabbed the youth’s balls with his left hand, cupping them and pulling them out from his body. The boy pushed his hips, into the air, as he felt his balls being held and the knife against them. The skin was stretched tight there, and it would have been an easy matter to make the slice and to take his balls.

My father’s hand was tense, but he seemed to know what he wanted to do. Slowly, he began to squeeze the balls he held, and the boy grunted as he felt the pressure. It was a moment that is frozen in my mind forever. The two balls within the sac were big, and so pronounced as they were being squeezed, and the outline that they made left nothing to the imagination. They contained everything that made Mesner a man, and his load of sperm and his future as a father were all there, within those orbs that defined his very purpose on this earth. His prick was rock hard, and oozing, and it jutted from his mound of pubic hair. Suddenly, my father started the cut. I guess I had thought he would just rip the blade through with a single slice, in an instant, taking Messner’s balls in a flash that would leave him nutless.

But, he didn’t do it that way. Instead, he just started working the blade back and forth, slowly easing it into his scrotum, up under the boy’s twin testicles that were quivering inside of his sac. The boy jerked his hips and his eyes flew open, feeling his own castration as it began, and then in a wild, primal, desperate move he jerked his hips and began to ejaculate.

I saw the white lines of his cream literally shooting out of the balls my father was in the process of taking. The teenage boy grunted out his load, the semen shooting out with such force that it ran straight across his belly and down his chest. Again and again he squirted, his final act as a teenage male, the last and total essence of his manhood squirting out on his belly.

He came and came and came. Still, my father’s hand sawed with the knife, working the blade back and forth and back and forth, the boy’s balls slowly separating from his body and then, finally, and forever, coming free. They were still tied, the extra loops of leather holding them round and full, and as I watched they quivered in my fathers hand as if they had a life of their own. They somehow wiggled within the sack, the twin orbs clearly moving, almost as if their movement was somehow related to the cream that was still oozing from his spent prick. Of course, they were not.

The castrated teenager grunted, and his chest heaved as he felt the feeling no man ever wants to feel. He jerked his hips up and down, a useless gesture, and his ball-less cock seemed to twitch and spasm. Then, slowly, his last boner seemed to slowly die away, and the little movements within his round and severed sac of balls quieted forevermore. With that, the boy just collapsed, and like the wind leaves the sail, he lay their unmoving, uncaring, his world changed forever and his new life as a eunuch just beginning.

[Authors note: © Copyright September, 2002. All rights reserved. Not to be copied without the consent of the author. All comments are appreciated, more than you can know. [email protected]]