Ayzintion City – Just a Little Bit too Much

I am shaking with rage. It is just eight in the morning, and my foreman has just awakened me. For several months things have gone missing in the main house, including some of my wife’s jewels, and many of our family heirlooms. Now, finally, we have caught the culprit. But a slave! Who would have suspected? There wasn’t much doubt as to his guilt. He was caught in the city, held last night by the enforcement contingent of the council, and from the ragged looks on his face they did not go easy on him. He was caught in the central city where the underground market prospers, with a bag of my wares and trying to sell them. Since he has my brand on his ass, his status as a run away slave was discovered, and so he was dragged back here, to the ranch, and to my house. My foreman is a man I trust to do the discipline and keep my slaves in line. I own more than a hundred and most of them I do not know. He did a search of the boys quarters and found a second satchel under his mat. My own slave stealing my things! The anger boils in me, and I can see the other slaves have already taken notice, wondering what I will do and how soon I will do it. Ah, if I handle this wrong I will never recover from it and if there was one there could be many.

I look at the youth, standing in my house. They have tied his wrists together, and at his feet are the two sacks of goods that he has stolen. His hands are down, in front of him, and his hair is disheveled, the long rope from his wrists coiled on the floor. He has the lines of youth. His body is firm, hard, and built, and his clothes hang loose on his body. I cannot remember his name. I know I purchased him several years ago, as part of a bigger shipment, and I liked him then and gave him the easier duties. He has dark hair, with deep brown eyes and heavy lashes. The last I noticed him he was just coming into puberty, but that has been a while ago and now he has the more chiseled features of an older adolescent. He looks at me, his eyes bright, and he holds his head high, almost in defiance.

“Name yourself and tell me your age” I say.

He jerks his head, forcing his bangs out of his eyes. He takes a breath, and then answers, almost in a whisper. My name is Markus. I...I am 18 now.”

I study him for a minute. Then I say: “Explain yourself. You have one chance to speak, and I will listen. After you have spoken your words, I will not be listening, no matter your words or how loud you cry out with them. I am listening now...so speak.”

He stares at me. I can see the tears forming in the corner of his eyes. His adams apple bobs as he swallows, and then he shakes his head. He has been caught, and he knows he is guilty and there really isn’t anything he can say. I look at him harder then, trying to think how to handle this. I look to the man I trust with the whip, and ask him for his advice.

Trenton is almost forty, and I would trust him with my life. He snaps to attention as I address him, and then says without any hesitation: “You should kill him sire. I would recommend the whip, and then perhaps his execution, slow and drawn out with all the slaves watching. Whatever you do I would at least castrate him. If you won’t do that, then whip him until he is almost dead and then sell him. If you will let me sir, you are too easy on them, and they take advantage of you. I would definitely cut him and whip him sir if you do nothing else.”

I noticed the boy’s face flushed when the topic of his castration was mentioned. Ah, perhaps a young man fears that more than his own mortality. I see. I turn to the youth again, and say: “I said SPEAK. What do you feel is just and proper? You have stolen from me. Should I hang you? You have taken our family things and my wife’s jewels. Is it your jewels I should take in return?”

His face goes white. He answers then, begging me really, for his fate is in my hands and he has no hope but the hope of mercy. “Please. I am sorry sire. I am. I don’t know...I didn’t mean anything. Please, if you will let me live and give me another chance, I swear to God sire that I will work hard. Whip me if you want. I deserve the whip. I am stupid, and I made a mistake. I wanted those things, dreamed of the money I guess. I admit it. But please...OH GOD SIRE, please have mercy. I am begging you.”

I look away from him then and turn back to Trenton.

“OK. Take the slave to the barn and strip him, then tie an iron bar between his ankles to spread them wide. Afterwards lash him to the beam in the ceiling and assemble the slaves for the lesson. I will need the magic rope, and one of the empty slop buckets. And bring your whip. He thinks he needs the whip. Lets make sure we give it to him then. I’ll be there shortly. My foreman listens to my every word. Then, Trenton answers: “Everything will be ready. Do you want your gelding knife?”

Markus almost screams out “Please sire....oh please. Don’t cut me sir...please don’t do that to me.”

I look at him then. “Cut you? I have no intention of cutting you. You stole from me--you didn’t chase my women. Hell, perhaps if you had asked I might have even given you some of the things you stole. We will find out. After I have decided what will be yours, and what will be mine, then you will be whipped. That will be your punishment.”

The boy’s eyes light up, and he says with obvious relief “Thank you sir!”

I answered him then: “Don’t thank me yet. You might not like my generosity and the whip you ask for will hurt more than you can know. After you have been punished your duties are going to change. You might not like that either.”

With that, they dragged him out to the barn, and I went to take a wine to give them time to prepare him. I hate hurting slaves; it is not my nature. Perhaps Trenton is right. I do not make them where collars, and I let them have some freedoms. I allow them to breed if they asked, and I do not work them hard or too long. They eat well, and I go easy on them. It is rare that I allow a whipping, although sometimes it is necessary. Nutting them seems inhuman, but there are also times when it is necessary. The last time was the boy who chased my daughters. Yes, we cut him. I cut that one myself, so fast he hardly knew it. One minute he was a youth with balls lusting after my daughter, and the next he was not, a balless eunuch grunting out his last orgasm as he saw his balls in her father’s hand. I sold him then, and the other slaves got the message. You don’t fuck with my daughter. No, you don’t fuck with my family at all. Memories can be short. I can tell it is time for another lesson.

I let my mind wander to my plan, forming it even as I think it through. Yes, the magic rope is the key, and I am thinking it will be perfect for the task. I look at the piece I will use, and think back on the journey it has made. I got it from the provinces that are north of the northern province, from a land of magic and smelting furnaces and where the iron tools are made. I have never been there, but the great ships dock there and the trade routes come together there and it is there that the rope can be found. It is thin, thinner than any rope made. It bends, but will not break, not without a tremendous pull far beyond any rope or leather. It cannot be burned in the fire, and it can be twisted and then it will not untie. They call it “wire” and I call it magic. It is the rarest of things I own. In all, I have just ten feet of it. After today, I will only have nine feet left. With that thought, I leave for the barn, to do what I know must be done, the piece of wire in my hand.

As I walk into the barn the room is hushed, every eye following me. The slaves are all here, gathered to watch, to see what is done to one of them for stealing from the master and his family. They know the lad, have worked with him and talked with him. No doubt his friends are here in this crowd. Perhaps there is a girl among them too that had attracted his stare. I do not know, and don’t even care. They do not speak for him now, and they only wonder what will happen. I look to the boy, Markus, hanging from the ceiling beam with his wrists still tied together. His arms are stretched up, over his head and the rope has been looped over the beam, suspending him a few feet above the floor. His clothes are gone from when I saw him last, and now he hangs naked and exposed and on display to everyone in the room. I can see his black armpits are wet with sweat. His prick is hanging out, not totally relaxed but not aroused either, almost its like it is thinking of stiffening further with its exposure to the air. I notice it..it has the look of a youth. It is thinner than the prick of a man, but longer than any prick of a boy. It grows out of a small pubic mound, that is thick and contained, a splash of hair on an otherwise hairless body. His balls are big for his age, and hanging slightly, the way they do on a man when the room is warm and they have not been used in a while. His feet have been trussed wide apart, spread out with his ankles lashed to an iron bar. He couldn’t close his legs if he had to. At his feet are the two sacks of things he has stolen, and the empty bucket that is there as I asked. I turn to the crowd then, and then speak these words:

“The slave before you, the one you know as Markus, has dared to come into my home and steal my things. If he had needed them and had asked, I might have given them to him. Perhaps, well perhaps I will let him have some of them even now. Remember this as you watch him today. I will not have my house violated, and I will not tolerate my slaves stealing from me. He has admitted his wrong doing, and begged for the whip. So, he will be whipped when I am done with him.

I then slowly go to him, with the wire in my hand. I take it, and then, hefting his balls in my hand, I start to take one end of the wire and twist it around the top of his scrotum. He looks down, and as he sees it I hear him gasp, and then he’s talking to me, begging me. “Sire...OH GOD...OH GOD sire...please....not my nuts. You promised sir...you would not cut me.” I twist the wire into a loop, and then twist it again and then again. I twist it until the loop closes, smaller and smaller. Finally, it has closed the top of his sac, trapping his balls inside. I then, without a word, reach down and take the bucket. It is heavy, as it is made of wood, with iron rings that hold its shape, like a barrel. But it’s not THAT heavy, and I loop the handle around the other end of the wire, twisting it until it is attached to the bucket. Then, the task finished, I drop the bucket, and he grunts as the bucket jerks on his balls, pulling them, stretching out his scrotum and driving him almost insane with the weight! He screams “ARGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG” when I drop the bucket, and then seeing it, swaying beneath his widespread legs, he jerks even harder against his bonds and his eyes are filled with horror.

I speak then: “I promised not to cut you. I am a man of my word. I have no knife, and I will not slice you. Still your balls are holding the bucket, and as you can no doubt tell, they were not designed to hold such a weight.”

He is looking down at his scrotum, seeing the bucket and feeling the pull. I can sense his fear, and I notice a line of sweat running down his sides from his armpits. His smell is strong. The other slaves are watching, and I can see their eyes move from the bucket to the boy’s balls and back. It is then that I pick up the first of the sacks that contain the things he has stolen. I open the biggest of the two and when I reach inside I pull out a stone head, the sculptured head of Caesar that has been in my family for at least fifty years. My wife has come down to the barn, and when she sees it she screams. “OH GOD...THE PIECE...HE TOOK THAT?” I look at it. It is heavy in my hands, and as I look at it I notice that the nose has been broken off. I look at the boy, and then I said “You broke it...I would like to have kept it, but perhaps, now I don’t want it anymore.” As I say it, I drop it in the bucket, and the boy screams.

“OWLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!” “Oh GOD! OH... OH..... OH SHIT... OH GOD.... MY BALLS! PLEASEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!”

The other slaves gasp as they see the boys balls distend, stretching out and down, hanging down even more and the orbs themselves contained by the wire. He looks down at the bucket, and the stone head within it, the weight on his sac so great the ache is consuming him. I allow myself to smile, just slightly, and as I look at the boy I notice that his prickle has begin to rise, growing thicker, perhaps as a desperate measure to hold up his balls. As I watch it grow, I reach down into the sack, and as I do I pull out one of my family’s brass candlesticks. His eyes go wide when he sees it.

I examine it very carefully. I then say: “What do you think? You can keep the things I give you as long as you can hold on to them. What do you think? Should I keep this? I mean, Markus, if you wanted a candlestick I might have given it to you.”

The boys grunts out, “OH sireeee...oh please...I don’t want it...its yours...please.....I don’t...I...I”

I drop it in the bucket, cutting him off, and as I do I say “You can have it.” As it hits the bucket, he screams, then jerks wildly in his bonds, thrusting his hips and causing the bucket to swing. His balls have stretched out some more...just a little more, the orbs of his balls are tight under the wire, his sack so stretched it looks long and it hangs down, way down. He looks down at himself, and into the bucket, and then he’s begging: “OH NO....OH PLEASE..NO MORE ...NO MORE.... OH GOD IT HURTS!”

I see his face is sweating. I pick up the sack and his eyes follow me. Inside I find the pair to the candlestick, and as he sees it he gasps. He’s shaking his head...but I never give him a chance to say anything. Instead, I just simply say “Candlesticks should stay together” and as I say that I drop it into the bucket and he grunts with the impact. “URGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG” “OH MY GOD.” OH NO... no.... my balls..... oh GOD..... “

I reach inside, and there is my knife. He gasped when he sees it, and I can tell everyone is thinking about it, and his stretched out balls. At this point it almost seems like they are begging to be cut and it might even be merciful to cut them. Still, I promised. I turn it over...the ivory handle has not been damaged. I examine the blade, and the curved shaft is still honed to a razor sharpness. I then speak: “Ah...my knife. You are lucky..I think I want to keep this. I’m sorry, but I cannot allow you to have it, so it goes on my waist instead of into your bucket. With that, I slip the knife onto my belt, and I can see him breath a sign of relief even as he stares and grunts from his stretched out balls.

My hand goes down into the sack again. There is something in the bottom, and it is large and heavy. I set the sack down, and reach inside with two hands, and as I do I extract one of the rarest treasures in my home, a book, a book of writing and pictures and from the lands of the east. It is almost eight inches thick and leather-bound, with gold trimmed pages, and it is older than the city. It has been damaged, and the binding has been torn as he has dragged it about in the sack. Many of the beautiful pages are ripped, and the inlaid pictures have mildewed. It has been missing for more than a month, and now it is all but destroyed. I pick it up, the tears in my eyes. It is irreplaceable, and it is ruined. I look to him then, and he is looking at me in fear. “Markus, this is one book I would like to have kept. It meant a lot to me. Alas, you have not taken care of it.”

“Please sir...keep it sir. I don’t; want it...oh GOD..I don’t.”

“Well Markus, you must have wanted it. You stole it, remember? Well, I guess you can have it.” With that, I drop the volume into the bucket, and he screams “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!” as it hits the bucket and jerks his balls. They stretch out then, father down than I’ve ever seen a man’s balls hang. The youth’s balls are hanging lower than a bull’s balls hang, lower than any balls on any animal could ever hang. His sack stretches almost to his knees, and with the dropping of the book he is screaming now...a babbling scream as his balls stretch out, pulling on his cords and bulging with an intensity that cannot be descried. His prick is hard now, rock hard, jutting up at the sky and facing the crowd. It juts up and out like an obscene rod, the tip glistening with pre-cum and his single eye oozing copious amounts of fluid. I notice his thigh muscles are straining, trying to pull his outstretched legs together to somehow stop the misery his balls have become. They are a darker color now, the balls somehow holding the bucket and the things within it.

I have finished with the big sack..it is empty. I pick the sack up, and shake it free...over the bucket. Some small rocks fall out, and two or three gold coins. It all goes into the bucket, and he grunts as he feels it. He is babbling now....just apologizing and begging...and begging some more for mercy. His prick is so hard its really obscene looking, and it literally juts upward, stiff and hard and a stark contrast to his sagging ballsac. I notice that in the past few minutes his scrotum has settled even lower, if that was possible, stretching down farther and growing an ugly shade in the process.

I reach into the second sack, and right on top is a clay pot. It is from the Chinese first century, and it is older than old. I am sick as I extract it...the broken top has destroyed its value it and my heart is heavy with the sight. I grit my teeth with my anger. He looks at it, before I say anything he almost yells in desperation “OH SIR...PLEASE KEEP IT SIR!!!”

I look at him, and I am so angry I cannot speak. Instead, I shake my head, and dropped the once priceless artifact into the bucket, where it shatters completely. It explodes with a tremendous noise, and he screams, then jerks his entire body, and his dick is bouncing as he spasms from the pain. “OH .... OH.....NO....oh NO! ....PLEASE....I can’t... I can’t hold it...MY BALLS! Oh please. Please get it off of me! Please..... something’s tearing!”

I look inside, and the sister pot is there. It is larger than the other one, and as I pull it out it is obvious it is broken as well. The entire top is missing, and without a word I drop it into the bucket. He is screaming “NO!!!!” even as I drop it. It too shatters, the pieces falling to the bottom of the bucket. He is wild then, grunting in his misery, and when I pull the rest of the pieces out of the bag he just babbles in fear...”NO...NO...OH NO...NO...NO” as I drop them into his bucket to join the others. I cannot believe his scrotum...stretched out to his knees. It is stretched a good foot, the boys balls stretched so obscenely that they do not look human. Still, they somehow support the bucket, and the contents within it.

The last bag is almost empty. I almost laugh. I can tell he’s not too happy with the things I have given him. I reach down into the sac, and extract the last of the contents. There is a small bag, a bag of jewelry. I look at it, and his eyes plead...and then he says “I’m sorry..oh sire....oh please forgive me.”

I am angry as I see the jewels. The big broach was my mothers, and he stole it. I hold the bag and say “Well Markus...what have we here? I might have given you some of these, but not all of them. Ah...a ring. Now this ring was a friends. Yes....perhaps...well, perhaps he would want you to have it” I say.

I then take the ring, which is sized for a man’s finger, and with some effort I push it over the tip of his bulging prick. I have to twist it to get it over the head of his dick, and it doesn’t want to fit, but I force it and it goes. Then it settles below the head, in the little ridge of flesh there, ringing his throbbing dick with a gold band. Yes, I like that. “Don’t you like that Trenton?” I asked the foreman.

My foreman is smiling, and he nods. “I wouldn’t want it to come off sir.” Yes, perhaps he has a point. I look at him then and Trenton is holding up another kind of ring, a modern ring made in the city. He is smiling as he holds it, a big toothy smile that shows his eagerness. It’s just what I’m looking for. I remember we had them, but to date I’ve never used them on my slaves. This ring isn’t a piece of jewelry. It is made in the shape of a hogs ring, the kind they put through a bores snout to keep him from digging. This ring isn’t made for a bore though, but is instead made for a slave, designed to puncture a slaves cock and be buried in the meat of his dickhead. If he tries to fuck with the ring in place, the pain would make it impossible. I laugh as I take it, and then I take the boys dick in my hand, the ring in the other. He is watching it, and with the pliers Trenton hands me I take the ring and with my hand I grasp his stiff dick harder, steadying it. Then, with the ring in position where I want it, I squeeze the handles hard and the ring pierces into the meet of his dickhead, penetrating into its depths, biting into it with a vengeance that will never end. To just touch it will drive him mad. I do just to see, and as I let my thumb wiggle the metal he screams as I do it.

“AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! OH...GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD!” he yells as he bucks his hips. With the new ring in place, the shiny gold band behind it can never be removed either. The two rings play together, the movement of the one causing the other to bite and to tear. He grunts from the pain, and as I listen to him I know he will never get rid of it. Yes, like a pigs snout, the head of his prick sports a piece of metal right through the meat, a curved ring that can never be removed, forever holding the other ring in place, adorning his prick from this minute forward. I like the look of his prick now. I like it a lot.

I’m almost done. I glance at is balls and they have let the bucket slip some more. I look through the rest of the jewelry, and decide to keep most of it. The broach I am less sure about. It was my mothers, but my wife dislikes it. A pity. The broach is big, and the necklace that it is attached to it ugly, and heavy. I heft it in my hands, and finally, with some reluctance, I decide I am done with it. “Here, take the broach. You wanted it, and so I will give it to you. His eyes are wide with fear, and in desperation he is shaking his head sideways that he doesn’t want it. I ignore him, and then I take the stone and drop it into the bucket...and as I do I see his balls drop even further. Something inside of his sac has let go, as the balls are dangling lower now, unable to hold up the bucket which seems to be slowly descending downward. Finally, it stops, suspended again by the skin of his scrotum. He is jerking, his dick quivering, the tip with the ring punched into it so red and flared and eager than it looks almost obscene. The bags are empty, and the things he stole he now holds. He holds them between his legs. He holds them off the ground by his balls. His eyes are wide, and the pain is so great he is just babbling, his speech no longer really comprehensible.

I nod my head, and then I say to Trenton “I am done. If he holds his items though his whipping, they are his. Give him ten strokes with your whip, and then cut him down.” Then, as I watch, Trenton begins with the whip. CRACKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK! “ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH” the boy yells. Then, the whip is moving stroke after stroke, crashing into his naked rear. CRACKKKKKKKKK! “GODDDDDDDDDDDDDD!!!” Again, and then again the leather cuts into his ass. One the sixth swish the whip curves around and caches the front of his scrotum, and it almost severs it as it hits. I see a tear....a little spot of blood really, and it opens wider from the weight of the bucket. He is jerking and thrusting even harder after that, and his struggles are causing the bucket to swing. The whip is relentless, cracking into his ass, burning into it really, the pieces of leather curving around and driving the thief insane from the pain. His ass is so red so fast it doesn’t even look like an ass. Crackkkkkkkkkkkkk! Eight! CRACKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK! Nine!

Suddenly, and unexpectedly, he starts to ejaculate. His body shudders, and from around the little hog ring the semen just wells up, and then unable to shoot out it instead is just suddenly pouring from his cock, drooling down its length and then, dripping, into the bucket below. It’s a tremendous load, and he just seems to shoot and shoot and shoot. I’ve never seen such a load come out of a boy. I don’t know what happen then, as he ejaculated. Perhaps it was the earlier cut from the whip, that just finally split from the strain. Perhaps it was the muscles in his balls, that simply reached the limit of their endurance as he was cumming. Perhaps, perhaps it was the final weight of his own load, the boys own cream dropping into the bucket that was just a little bit too much. Whatever the reason, whatever it was, as we all watched the boy's balls just suddenly separated at the wire, and with a grunt and a scream the bucket crashed to the floor even as the whip was moving to make its last cut. He was going crazy then, thrusting his ball-less cock into the air and jerking his entire body with the spasms of his castration. I looked at the bucket then, resting there, underneath the crying boy, and decided if he didn’t want the stuff then I would take it back. I picked it up then and as I did I noticed the boy's scrotum was resting on the top.

I changed the boy’s duties after that. He was sent to the pits, where he would work the messes and sort the garbage. In the evening he served the other slaves, spreading his ball-less ass and bending over for his nightly fuckings. Occasionally I would summon him and take his rear in my own bed. It was always good, and I liked to listen to him grunt as I fucked his ass. Sometimes, when I would think back on the things that he took, I would fuck him really hard, and force his cock into the bed below. He would always grunt louder then, when the hog ring would dig into his dickhead as I pushed hard with my pleasure. I love to fill his ass with my semen, and listen to him grunt as I do it. Yes, he is the last slave that has ever stolen from me, and I am fairly confident things will stay that way.

[Authors note: Please drop me a note if you enjoyed the story or post an anonymous comment to the archive. If you liked it enough to read it, I would please appreciate your taking the time to tell me. Thanks. [email protected]]