Sometimes prior to his claiming to bring the castration play to a close for the "real" thing, I declined to cum, telling him that I often fantasized about being nutted prior to my final orgasm because there was an inexplicable rush to being denied a last cum. The frustration of having my burning lust unrelieved was its own rush, I told him.

He responded, "Man you are just as twisted and perverted as I am. Sometimes I feel the same way."

Each time we got together for some new fangled way of removing our balls, he had me thinking that this time was "really it," yet I always came away from the encounter fully intact. But the castration rush was still there.

We played with the dual-castration invention several times and each time pushed the abort button at the very fail safe limit prior to our actual castration. Each time we cheated the blade was such a complete rush for me that I had decided if we ever had an accident and I was actually nutted, the flood of lust and the dangerous eroticism of it was worth it. Both Les and I made sure we had an exquisit climax prior to releasing the blade just in case we were slow to hit the abort button during our post-cum afterglow.

Whenever my banded balls were most at risk, and I felt most naked, exposed, vulnerable and unprotected, I had such a overwhelming lustful burning in my chest I sometimes didn't care if I lost my nuts during a castration play episode gone wrong. But whenever I left his house with my balls I was always happy as well, to be quite honest. I cannot put it into words; the desire to lose them and never be able to cum again. Only someone with the same desires can fully understand the lust to play at losing them!

Les invented other castration devices too, sometimes simple modifications of existing appliances and some quite unique and imaginative. For example, he modified a diesel big rig engine oil filter clamp so that it would fit around both our nut sacks at the same time. He instructed me to wank him off and he obliged me. At the appointed time, he ratcheted down the clamp and I felt that my emptied balls would be squeezed right off for sure. He also made some modifications to a meat tenderizer, the kind with the multiple blades to tenderize chuck steaks. He had me squat over the tenderizer with my banded ball bag hanging just an inch or so over the rotating blades. He strapped me down so I couldn't escape. He stood in back of me as I began to sweat and described my nakedness to me in the most vulgar yet provocative language; commenting on how red my nut sack was, and how pink and wrinkled my anus was, and how easily my cock could be made mince meat along with my balls if something went wrong. I began to think I was really going to lose my balls this time and fretted that I might not! Meanwhile, he slowly raised the meat tenderizer so that my hanging ball bag could actually feel the air currents caused by the blades. Les told me it was designed to slice off my nuts using scores of blades rotating simultaneously so that it would be over before I even began to feel the pain. He asked me if I had any final words before my balls were sliced, diced, minced and removed.

I only asked that he let me jack off one last time. He consented with the stipulation that the blades kept rotating and my balls remained just a quarter inch from the meat mincer. He also said I had to eat my own cum once it shot out of my cock and into my wanking hand. I worked my penis to a hard on, and masturbated carefully so as not to slice my nuts off inadvertently before I climaxed. It was great fun until Les announced that he had never, ever actually seen a man get castrated, and was anxious to witness what that looked like. As I squirted what I presumed was my last load of sperm, Les abruptly told me he was going to go through with it, and apologized for entrapping me. My penis squirted another spurt of cum at that statement.

Just as I braced myself for the castration I knew would eventually occur at any second, Les raised the tenderizer ever so slightly so that the blades came in contact with some of my scrotum's pubic hairs and then shut the machine off. I heaved a tremendous sigh of relief as he unstrapped me.

"Are you ever tempted to really go through with cutting my balls off when you have me confined like that?" I asked him.

"Yeah I am," he admitted, and then said, "but if I did castrate you, who would play my castration games? Who else out there gets off like you and I do at the thought of experiencing the ultimate nakedness? If I cut yours off, I'd want mine cut off too because there isn't anyone else I could find that would give in to my lusts and desires like you do."

"Well, if you someday cut mine off, then I'd have to cut yours off too because I wouldn't want you shooting sperm when I couldn't," I responded to him. "I'd have testicle envy."

"Then let's promise," Les said, "that if either one of us ever gets deballed, by accident or design, that the other will willingly submit to losing his balls also. That way we'll have testicle parity, agreed?"

I consented, and Les got his huge, sharp hunting knife and we pledged an oath to each other to willingly surrender our balls to the other if either of us ever actually lost them, either through castration play gone wrong, or other means.

Not too long after that, Les called me and asked me to come over that night after work. He said he'd been to the doctor and had some bad news to share with me.

When I arrived, his mood was somber. I couldn't tell if this was part of an act leading up to some more castration play, or if he was serious.

"My doctor has diagnosed testicular cancer in me," Les said woefully. "He said I have cancer in both testicles."

He let that sink in but my mind went numb. Testicular cancer? Surely Les was too young for that.

"My doc wants to remove both testicles this week," Les continued, "he says there is a great risk of the cancer metastizing and quickly spreading to other organs and even my penis."

Les had been this serious before, but usually adopted this tone of voice when I was the one strapped in for what I thought was real castration. To my recollection, he had never acted this way when it was his balls on the line. I had many questions and he did his best to answer them.

"My dad died of testicular cancer," Les said. "My mom never remarried. He was too macho to go to the doctor and when he finally did because the pain was so bad, the cancer had spread throughout his lower extremities. His doctor never even recommended surgery, that's how advanced the cancer was. They just sent him home to die."

"What about yours?" I asked.

Les' voice became worried. "Doc thinks we may have found it in time, but he won't actually know until he opens me up and castrates me. He also wants to take biopsies of other surrounding tissue, as well as extensive tests to determine the spread of the cancer. He has informed me, though, that my nuts are as good as gone."

I sat in Les' livingroom with thoughts, worries and even some doubts swirling in my mind. I didn't want my friend to risk his life by delaying his much needed surgery, but I also wondered, if fleetingly, if this was another ploy by Les to raise the stakes on our castration play, thus introducing another dimension to it for heightened lustful pleasure. That night we had the most glorious castration play ever, with Les begging me to nut him and cheat the doctor out of his fees. I think Les shot a half-gallon of sperm, as did I.

When he asked me later that week to accompany him to the hospital, I began to sense that he was really serious this time. In fact he was, and the nursing staff allowed me into his prep room for several minutes prior to Les being wheeled off for the procedure that every man, regardless of his fantasies and castration play, dreads. Les had already been administered some sedatives.

While in the prep room, Les pulled up his hospital gown, and pointed to his scrotum. I looked at it and thought that it looked normal. But I was not a doctor, and could not tell with the naked eye what medical diagnosis and ultra-sounds could tell.

"Please kiss them goodbye," Les said dreamily, starting to succumb already to sedation.

"Right here?" I asked incredulously.

"Please," he pleaded. I bent down and cupped his loose, dangling manhood in my hands and gently kissed them, saying softly, "Goodbye." All of Les' pubic hair had been shaved off and he looked like a pre-pubiscent 12-year-old.

"I wish you could just bite them off," Les whispered. "At least I would be unmanned by my lover."

That was the last thing he said to me just before the nurses came in and wheeled his hospital bed out of the prep room. I was asked to wait in the waiting room. The nurses said it wouldn't be a lengthy procedure.

I lost track of time, but a nurse came by sometime later and told me my friend was in the recovery room and I was welcome to see him there if I wished.

When I walked in the room, Les was sleeping. I took a seat and just sat there looking at him. As he slept, I became curious. I stood and approached his bed, pulled back the blanket and raised his gown. Sure enough, all that was left of Les' manhood was his iodine-stained penis. A surgical gauze was placed over where his testicles used to hang.

Words cannot describe how sad I was for my friend. Les was released from the hospital the next day upon my promise to care for him and attend to his needs. We found out within a few days that the cancer had been removed successfully, and that none had spread to other parts of Les' body. He could expect to live out his full threescore and ten years, though without his balls.

Within a week, Les was back in his machine shop and back to his routine. He told me, however, that he was not inventing new castration devices.

As time went on, I began to be more and more curious about our oath-did Les really intend to require me to keep my end of the bargain? After all, even though he did not lose his balls during a castration play gone wrong, he did undergo surgical removal of them and was a eunuch just the same. I began to wonder if he had a desire to have me join him in his balless state. So one night I asked him about it.

"I really don't care at this point if I take your testicles," Les admitted. "Since being surgically castrated, I haven't really had any urges or lusts or desires one way or the other. I hope you're not disappointed."

I explained to him that regardless of his feelings on the subject, I still felt duty bound to honor my end of the bargain and offer up my testicles to him. I had taken an oath to surrender my balls to him if he ever lost his, regardless of the methods or the circumstances. "It's not fair for me to remain a fully-loaded male when you've lost your testicles," I explained to him. "I am willing, if you are, to give them up in one final flash in the pan."

Les was sitting on his sofa at the time and thought about what I was saying. "Okay," he finally said decisvely, and stood up. "Let's do it right now." He walked out of the room.

I sat there shocked at his abruptness. Right now? Tonight? Lose them right away without so much as a chance to contemplate how they would go, or to allow lust to build up only to be satisfied with a lustily-played castration game? I got up and followed Les to his work shop. He pointed to a table and ordered me to strip and lay on it.

I blindly did so, still shaken by how soon this was proceeding. Still, an oath was an oath, and Les did, in fact, lose his balls to cancer!

When I lay my naked body down on the table, Les strapped me down, pinning my arms, waist and neck. My legs hung down, bent at the knees. He deployed stirrups and instructed me to put my feet in them. He then secured my feet snugly so that I was nearly immobilized.

"Do you want to cum one last time before I lop them off?" he asked. I nodded. Les then proceeded to stroke my reluctant penis, explaining while doing so what was about to take place. "I have an invention that we never used before," he said. "I built it just befofre my surgery and this is the first time we get to try it out."

After a few minutes, my penis sprang to hard-on life, and Les sucked it, and fingered my anus and prostate. The sensations began to well up inside me tremendously, and I started to allow myself to think that this really was "it."

If this was to be my last orgasm, I decided to let fly with the most voluminous and glorious climax I ever had. I kept reminding myself that I didn't deserve to keep my balls with Les having lost his. Even though the hosital disposed of Les' testicles as medical waste following his castration, I had promised he could take and keep mine as part of the oath we had made. As I thought of my impending castration, and the sacrifice of my manhood I was now making, my lust and my sperm flooded my body and then shot out in a huge stream. Cum sprayed my belly and chest and one strong spurt landed on my neck! I groaned and rocked and had such a powerful climax surging and pulsing through me I didn't think I'd ever finish cumming.

Just as I thought my balls were completely dry, Les said, "It's time," and I spurted some more cum. As I lay there in post-cum breathlessness, Les turned and then wheeled his untested device between my legs. It resembeled a small guillotine. Les told me it would chop off both cocks and balls.

I watched as he banded my balls and fed them through a slot on the guillotine. He secured my scrotum on the other side of the track on which the blade would fall. Then he stood back and held the string, eying me curiously.

"Like I said, I've never actually tested this thing," Les said. "Shall we?"

I nodded. An oath was an oath, after all. Instead of tugging the string and releasing the blade, thus slicing off my balls and welcoming me into the fellowship of the nutless eunuchs, Les handed me the string.

"If you're really serious about our oath, you do it," he said.

I took the string and waiting until I found my courage. I took one last look at Les, and told myself that this was it. I glanced down at my belly and chest and saw my sperm, my last orgasm, pooled there. I took in a deep breath, and yanked on the lanyard. The blade dropped down with a swish, and seemed to glide down the track in slow motion. At the very instant the blade disappeared behind the guard when my balls should have been chopped off, it stopped. I had not been castrated after all. I have to admit that I was both relieved and still sad for my nutless friend Les.

"Why?" I asked.

Les adotped his customary factual tone again. "There's no reason for you to lose your balls if you don't absolutely have to. Now I know this thing works, I intend to have some more fun with you and it."

He began to unstrap my naked body and licked the cum off my chest and belly, all the while saying that he intended to let me have some intense castration play with it in the near future.

"But we have an oath to honor," I protested. "I was fully prepared to give up my balls to you tonight."

"I know, I know," he said, waving me off. "But you never know when something might go wrong with our play and you will really be made a eunuch. You know how intense the enjoyment it in that. Until that time comes, just enjoy it."

I got up and got dressed. Before I left for the night, he walked me to the door, and said, "Look, I know that you meant to keep your promise to me. I respect that. But I need to tell you that I have always wondered what it would be like to cut my penis off, and my new invention will do just that. When the time comes, we'll do some penectomy and castration play, and I can assure you you'll be begging me to make you just like myself! But you won't know if its for real until the deed is done, if ever."

I left Les' house that night with lust and desire welling up again in my chest. Prior to this evening's castration play, I had never fantasized about losing my penis, and now I began to contemplate it. I decided then and there, that when the time came, both Les and I would lose it all in the most memorable event in the history of cockdom and balldom! We would be rendered cockless and balless in the most satisfying manner possible. When the second arrived for our complete and total nullification, we would eternally relive that second over and over again for the rest of our lives.

After all, an oath is an oath!