Ayzintion City--The Double Purchase

Ayzintion City is a place like no other place on earth. It is city where the slave traders come, and the slave buyers come, and the entire city with its ancient buildings and associated businesses are all linked to the trade. It is a place where the Eastern Province and the Southern Province converge, and sometimes the slave auctions will trade as many as a thousand boys in a single week. Ayzintion City has existed since the first maps were drawn, and while it is well known among those that deal in human flesh it is almost unheard of outside of that elite circle. The city is hidden in the mountains, and it is surrounded by water and deep ravines. Unless you know the way into the city, you would never be able to find it. The majority of all slave trading that is done has its roots to Ayzintion, and if you are interested in buying or selling or you need to find a boy to own it is there that you will be drawn.

I stand with my sixteen year old son and look at the slaves waiting for their turn on the auction block. I have only been to Ayzintion once before, when I was younger, and yet the memory comes flooding back. It’s a busy place, and it's exciting to be a part of it. I am not a rich man, so the prospect of making my own purchase was just never a possibility before. But, I've done well the last few years in the trade business, and now I have made a little money and while I do not have a lot I perhaps have enough. Still, the purchase of a slave is a difficult decision and I cannot afford to make a mistake.

I have come to buy one, like many other travelers to the city, for the kitchen and the house and to make our life easier. I don't know anything about buying them, but as I am looking up and down the line there is a pair that seems to hold my attention. They are obviously friends, and apparently they came in together. They are too young to be captured soldiers, and it occurs to me that their own fathers may have sold them. For a moment I think they may be brothers, but as I look closer I don't think that is the case. Perhaps, they were just bread into captivity. I really don't care, and what brought them here and to the auction block is not of my concern. I can only afford a single slave but as I look at them it is the pair that I wish I could buy. Both of the boys are dirty, and it is quite apparent they haven't had a bath in many days. Still, as I stare at them I know that I wish I could own them.

The slaves waiting to be sold range from the very young to those of middle age, and the prices will very with the age. I also know that as the auction progresses the prices will invariably rise, just because there is always some hesitation when the bidding first begins and as the choices diminish the buyers get bolder. That is to my favor, because the two that grab my attention will be the second and third slaves auctioned. I feel my purse, and heft the weight of it. I don’t have much, only fifty thousand degos in all, and yet, with luck, it should be enough to buy one of them.

I decide to put my money on the third slave. He's young and strong and that’s what I need. His placard says he's from the northern province and of Slavic decent, and he's seventeen years old. Looking at him I can see there is a fire in his eyes, and his muscles ripple in the light of the late morning. He's built. I stare at him and contemplate the work he could do for me. He's well into manhood too, with a thick prick and a big sac, his stones heavy and hanging loose and ready. His stomach is flat and ripped, and his hair is so black and so smooth that it shines in the light. I like him, and yet I know that he will not go cheap.

I'm willing to spend the entire purse to get him, and since I have no intention to nut him I don't need to save any money in reserve. I've never really believed in that practice anyway, and while I suppose there are slaves that are better after their balls have been stolen from them I just have never considered it a just thing to do. Besides, it’s a very costly procedure and the risk is not insignificant. Of course, even if I wanted to do it the most important factor I suppose is that it simply is not something I could afford.

They drag the first slave in the line to the block. He's blond, with blue eyes that dart back and forth as he looks around the room. I am not interested in him, but I observe the sale carefully to get a feel for the way the rest of the auction will go. He's in his twenties, a strong lad, with a thick chest and a flat, ripped stomach. His legs are powerful, and his thigh muscles and his firm, tight ass reveal the fine definition of his muscles. His legs are hairy, and as they turn him around you can see that the back of his thighs are covered. His wrists are bound in front of him, like they are on all of the slaves here, and he looks to the crowd with defiance, a man who has his wits about him. He's a solid man, and as they bend him over to show his ass you can't help but notice the big, thick sac that holds his two stones that have helped to shape his body. He's the kind of slave that makes a solid field hand, and as the bidding commences his price rises rapidly and is soon way past what I can afford.

In ten minutes it is over. He goes for 85,000 degos. Shit! That is a third more again than all the money that I have to spend, and there is no way I can scrape together anymore. My son looks at me with a worried look, and I try and smile, but suddenly it is quite apparent that I may not get any slave today. I had thought that fifty thousand would be enough, but the prices have come up some since I was here and now I realize I need more.

I can still hope, and I need a slave badly. The heavy loads in my business are getting too difficult for me, and just loading the wagon now is a chore that I dread. My wife too deserves to have a slave in the house, to do the laundry and to work the kitchen. As I think of her and look at the Slavs I know that she would like them. I look to my son. He is anxious, and I know he wants a slave so badly that he can hardly contain himself. I almost have to laugh at that, the laziness of youth hoping I will buy one today to take some of his chores.

Of course, even as I realize we may get nothing, I look to the pair and I feel my heart begin to pound. I just can't take my eyes off of them. My son notices my stare, and whispers to me: "Father, you like the Slav's I see....which one are you going to try and buy?" I smile, and answer: "Jeremiah, either will do. But I fear it will take a lot of luck to go home with any slave today. I guess if I had a choice I'd prefer the older boy. He reminds me of you and he looks like a worker."

My fifteen year old blushes, and yet he grins as well. The older Slav looks over at us just then, his eyes finding my son and for a second the two boys link. Then, suddenly, our attention is drawn to the younger of the pair as the guards are dragging him up to the platform so he can be sold next. He's just thirteen, the magical age when the first sprigs of manhood sprout like spring flowers, changing his body into what it will become. This boy has barely started the process, and for me, he's just too young to spend my money on if there is any chance of getting the older one in his place.

I have no interest for a boy in the bedroom, and hence he's just way too young to be useful and until he grows stronger he will be nothing but a mouth to feed. He's handsome though, and he has potential and I am not blind to see it. Still, he's just a kid, and I need a stronger slave with a firmer body to do the work I need done. There is one thing though that makes me consider bidding on him. As I look around I can sense that the crowd that has gathered does not seem that interested in him, and I begin to think perhaps I should make my bid on him just to insure that I get something and do not go home empty handed.

The young teenager looks scared. His jet black hair has bangs that almost cover his eyes, and his upper lip is dusted with just the very beginnings of hair. There is no length to it, but it’s a very slight darkening of the fuzz there, and as he smiles I cannot help but look at it. Above his root there is only a wisp of a bush, and it is confined and tiny and so sparse you might miss it totally if your gaze did not linger there. His prickle though has already lengthened some like it does on a teen, and its hanging down now thin and long and it looks big on the small boy. Still, the rest of the boy is undeveloped, and he looks very young and somewhat skinny even, and I'm not sure what kind of physical labor he is capable of. Yet, even so, he is handsome, and I like his jet black hair and his sparkle in his eyes. Jeremiah smiles, and tells me he likes him too. I sense his eagerness, and yet, while I contemplate a bid someone else beats me to it.

"Twenty-five thousand."

GOD! That's half of what I have, and in the opening bid! Somebody obviously wants him if they are starting the price that high. That scares me, because if the kid goes for more than fifty I know I'll get nothing today. There is no way the stronger slaves will go for less than the boy.

The auctioneer doesn't miss a beat. "Twenty-five.......we have an opening bid of twenty-five. Let's have fifty here. Do I hear fifty?"

Someone else calls out "Thirty thousand."

I am shocked at how fast this is going, and just for the kid. The auctioneer is working the crowd, building the excitement and I know I'm in trouble. He is talking now, fast, working the magic with his fast talking tongue: "Look at this boy.....he's worth three times the bid we have! Look at him! He's just eager and waiting and oh-so-sweet! Come on! Make your bids! Let's here fifty!" he says.

Then, the auctioneer spins the boy around, so that he is facing us, and he squeezes on his cheeks to show us his perfect teeth. Next, he spins the boy back around, and then he forces him to bend forward at the waist. As he does that, he also reaches forward under his legs, and grabs the boy's young balls and grips them with enough force that the lad's eyes go wide. As he holds his balls he grips his arm, and slowly turns the boy back so that he is facing us again. The boy stares out, his head up and his back arched, with the man's hand around his balls, squeezing them. As he feels it and stares at the crowd his mouth is open in a look of surprise.

Just then, the auctioneer releases his arm and a few seconds later he pushes a finger into the boy's ass, and when he does the young teen gasps with the feeling of the penetration. The auctioneer is an expert, and he works his finger in and out of the boy's hole then, until he gets the reaction he wants. As we all watch, the young stallion's little prick begins to grow, and everyone laughs. The auctioneer flashes a big grin and says "This one will make a good whore--look at his prick already jutting up and eager and hoping for it. Do I hear fifty thousand? If I get a bid for fifty I'll even knock half off of the cost to nut him."

The boy's face flushes white, and he looks to his friend, the older boy waiting his turn off to the side. His eyes are deathly afraid, and its immediately apparent that he's not happy to be portrayed as a potential sex slave. The boy suddenly jerks upright, pulling his ass away from the man who is still probing him with his finger. He's wild then, and tries to get away, and when the auctioneer reaches out to stop him the boy reacts without thinking. He swings his hands, which are bound together, in a desperate move to protect himself, and he hits the auctioneer in the chest as he does, trying to push him back and away from him. The man grabs the boy then, by his collar, and the boy reacts, and for a second the two of them are wrestling as everyone watches.

The boy is yelling for help then, and his anger blasts from his mouth in a stream of obscenities that surprise me. He's a feisty one!

"Let me GO! FUCK---let me go you pervert! Leave me alone...No...NO you don't! I'm not gonna be someone's sex toy---I won't! I WON'T!!!! Let me go....LET ME GO you FUCKING ASSHOLE! Somebody HELP ME!!!!"

The man twists the boys collar and jerks him hard, using it as a handle to jerk the boy back and forth, shaking him and strangling him at the same time. His motions shut up the kid and the boy starts to gag as the man twists his collar even more, pinching off his air supply. Suddenly, the older boy seems to snap then, and he jumps up on the platform to help his friend without any hesitation. The older teen is moving like a flash of light, and even with his hands tied together in front of him he doesn’t hesitate to make his move. It happens so fast that nobody even tries to stop him until it is too late.

He yells "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!" just as he swings his bound fists, and with a hard blow he hits the auctioneer square across the face. The blow lands like a brick, and it's hard enough the auctioneer lets go of the young boy's collar. His eyes roll back into his head then, and he staggers, trying to remain standing. He shakes his head, perhaps to clear his vision. It doesn’t work, and the older boy swings his fists again, hitting him under the chin this time, and as he does the auctioneer crumples like a sack of potatoes.

The younger boy staggers, sucking in his air now that he can breathe again. The older boy is on top of the man who is on the floor, and the younger lad joins him and jumps into the fray. For a second, the two boys are on top of the auctioneer, pounding his face, out of control and for a short time everything is in chaos and I fear they may kill him. Of course, it only last for seconds. The city guards are on them both then, and quickly too, and before they can do too much harm both of the boys are dragged off of him. The older Slav is pulled back to his place struggling, and in the seconds that follow the guards seem to multiple, the two becoming four and the four becoming eight. They seem to come in from everywhere, and they are all business. Both boys are just completely overwhelmed, and before they know what is happening they are bound up with more rope. Soon, the wraps of hemp have them so trussed up they look like pigs waiting for their slaughter.

I study the knots. Their wrists are still tied together, but the rope goes down now, between their legs and comes back up around their thighs. Another rope goes around their necks like a noose, and it is hooked to a loop around their waist, holding their heads up and forcing them to stare straight ahead. There is a rope that it tied around their elbows, that goes behind their back, pulling their arms out and making them totally immobile. Their feet are bound too then, so while they can hobble there is no way for either of them to even walk. Finally, and to me unnecessarily, there is a length of hemp that ties each of them to a post now, so that they are held in place. The entire process of trussing them up doesn’t take long. Within a few minutes both boys are secured, tied like animals, and it is obvious to all of us that another outbreak from them just isn’t possible. The other slaves notice too, and after that the room seems to quiet some. It occurs to me that whatever will be their fate now there is nothing they can do to stop it.

Even so, the disruption takes several minutes to get under control. Finally, the auctioneer is standing again, and he tries to pick up where things were before. I notice that his lip is bleeding and one of his eyes is going black. He's angry, and that is quite apparent. Everyone is shocked by the outburst from the boys of course, and it is just so unusual for a slave to cause a commotion, especially here during the auction, that no one is quite certain what to do.

Everyone is thinking the same thing. Perhaps this pair of boys is a little dangerous even, and even I have my doubts after watching their antics. The auctioneer is wiping his lip, and from the murmurs in the crowd I can tell that the interest in the boys has lessoned. Nobody wants to deal with a troublemaker if there are other possibilities on the block, and besides the trussed up boys look frail now, and don't look to be much of a bargain to anyone anymore.

The auctioneer tries to regain some kind of control, even though the momentum has been lost. He announces: "I have a bid for thirty thousand; look at the spirit in this boy! Sure, he's a hot head" he says....and then, grabbing the back of the boy's collar again he jerks the boy's head backwards, hard. That forces the youth to arch his back, and as he does he prick sticks up and slightly outward. The man says just as it does: "But look at his assets. He has a hot, virgin ass too, and I'm sure he will make a fine whore for the man who can control him." The boy's eyes go wide, and his fear is intense. He tries to jerk free but he's tied so tight now that he is helpless. Besides, the man's grip is tight on his neck and I can see the boy's eyes bulge out as he feels the man almost strangling him once again.

The auctioneer keeps one hand on the collar that rings his neck, and uses his other to wipe the blood from his lip. Next, the auctioneer jerks the boy's head around and looks right into the boy's face and says "I'm going to nut you for FREE. Do I hear SOMEBODY offer me forty?"

Noone says anything. The boy's face has gone white. He struggles, even bound as he is, and there is some giggling in the crowd as we all watch the boy's reaction to being told he will be castrated. He's scared, that much is apparent, and the crowd seems to feed on his fear. Perhaps they even enjoy it, and maybe even are a little eager for it. I look to the older teen, that is waiting off to the side and all trussed up like his friend. His eyes are deep and brown and wide open too, and he is scared as well. I can see him as he scans the crowd and jerks against the rope that ties him to the pole. The auctioneer is good, and he has tried to generate interest and regain the momentum that was lost. Perhaps he would have been more successful if there were not so many slaves still to go. The boys seem so wild I do not think many will want them. Still, at least one buyer, a fat man with a big belly, licks his lips and calls out his bid.

"I'll give you thirty-five thousand----but I want the pair."

There is a murmur in the crowd, and all of our eyes flash to the fat man in the back, who has bid thirty-five thousand degos for both of the troublemakers. He has lust in his eyes, and there is a bulge in his pants that is obvious. He's in his forties, and both of the boys are staring at him and the look of the man scares them to the core. The auctioneer is hesitating, not sure what to do, as only one of the boys is on the block and he sure doesn’t want to give them away. I sense he's about to force the sale back to one boy at a time, and if that happens perhaps an opportunity will be lost. I swallow, and before I lose my nerve I make my move.

"I bid forty-five thousand, but I want them both too."

My older son looks at me like I am crazy. The young boy's eyes roll back into his head, and for a second I think he is going to feint. But he doesn’t...and instead he starts jerking hard against the ropes that bind him, fighting his restraints as the prospect of being sold nears. Suddenly he is screaming, yelling out so loud once again the auction is interrupted, and the guards move to him and it takes a minute to gag him. He has a lot of spirit, and its obvious he is going to be a handful for whoever buys him. I look to the fat man who is bidding against me and as I do he spits in the dirt at his feet. As he watches the boy fight his gag and jerk hard against his restraints I can see that he is contemplating his next move. The fat man's groin bulges, and he rubs his crotch and leers at the boys. I can tell he wants them, and its obvious what he will do if he get hem.

The auctioneer looks disgusted, but he tries anyway. Looking at the fat man, he says "Forty-five thousand is the bid....do I hear fifty-five for the pair of troublemakers?"

Nobody says anything.

He lets go of the young boy, and walks back over to the older of the pair, to try a different tactic and perhaps increase the bidding. He tosses his hair, playing with him, and as he does the boy makes the mistake that will doom him. He spits in the face of the man who is selling him, and as he does the audience gasps. The fat man looks away, disgusted, and waives his hand in a gesture of surrender. Whatever interest the crowd had left for the boys is gone in that instant, and the auctioneer senses it and gives up on the sale. He knows that he isn't likely to find many buyers now and he's better off to get this pair sold and move to someone else. It’s a window of opportunity, and I am not blind to see it. Luck has gained me what my money could never have done by itself.

The auctioneer isn't stupid, and besides, he's angry, really angry, and with the older teen's spittle dripping from his chin he reaches the end of his patience. He doesn’t even try to seduce another bid, but instead says the words to the pair that bring me victory: "FUCK YOU. FUCK BOTH OF YOU. YOU'RE SOLD---YOU GOT THAT? SOLD to the man there, in the black shirt, for forty-five thousand degos. However, there is one condition for this sale."

The room goes quiet, and I have no idea what he will say.

Then, with a grin he looks at the older teenager and adds "Your sale is contingent on you losing your balls, and like your friend over there, I'll throw that in for FREE!"....and then he laughs and laughs and laughs, and the audience joins in as the two boys gaze out in horror.

The look on the boys' faces is priceless. Knowing they are going to be castrated now, they look totally shocked, and the crowd literally roars with laughter as the boys' fate is sealed. I am watching the boys' expressions, and as the laughter builds I see the older teenager jerk his head and his eyes go wide as he registers the words from the man who wears his spittle. You can see the fear then, in his eyes, as he realizes he's been bought and his jerky teenage attitude has doomed his own balls. I'm not sure I want that to happen, but alas, it is out of my control and perhaps, once castrated, they will both be more docile and easier to control. I've done well, and have made the purchase of a lifetime. Two slaves, for less than the price of one, and I've got their castrations thrown in for nothing!

After that I go to the payment window and the two boys that are mine are taken down and moved to the holding area. I make my payment, and then, with my son in hand, I leave the auction in progress and move to the area where their castrations are to be done. When the auctions are going on the city square is a busy place, and the castrations, when they are ordered after the sales, are done quickly so that the purchases can be finalized. The room is already filling up, in anticipation. The crowd is mostly men from the city, although I see that a few women have come as well. Around the table the stands are full. Some of the crowd has been here for hours, just to hold their seat so they can watch the nuttings and hear the screams first hand. Most of the men waiting have beards, but there are a few younger men in the crowd, and even a few boys, as well as the usual contingent of pre-pubescent street urchins that are hoping to catch a glimpse of the action.

Auction days are always a little wild. There is a keen interest in watching a nutting, and with these boys there even seems to be an air of excitement as the crowd anticipates watching them lose what hangs beneath their legs. My seat is saved, as it always is for the purchaser. The bench directly adjacent to the table is open and waiting, reserved for me and my son, and as we take our seats I cannot believe how close we are to where it will happen.

Personally, I've never witnessed a cutting, and so I'm not sure exactly what to expect. My son and I stare at the empty table, and I can tell it is old and worn and the stains that cover it reveal its long history. There is a slave worker there cleaning the table, washing it down with a strong lye soap. He wears a collar and a pair of shorts, and nothing else, and as I look at him I can tell he has been unmanned. His face is smooth, and his arm pits are devoid of any hair. As I watch him prepare the table it occurs to me that he may have once been strapped to it.

I wonder how many men and boys have left their balls here? At each of the corners are thick leather straps, well worn from years of use. There are also four additional straps nearer to the middle, as well as a wooden dowel that juts up from the bottom third of the table. The dowel catches my attention, and as I watch the slave worker is applying a thick grease to it, rubbing it in and coating the pole up and down its full length. I am not exactly certain what it is for, but it is about an inch in diameter, like a broom handle, the end rounded and smooth. It juts up at an angle, almost like a wooden phallus, stiff and hard and seemingly ready to impale its victim.

The crowd continues to gather. The bleachers hold about thirty on each side of the table, and they are already full. There is standing room around the ends of the table though, and a rope there marks a line for the crowd. The room fills up quickly. There is a tremendous interest in the upcoming nutting, and the crowd seems excited and eager. Apparently, there is something about a gelding that always draws a crowd, and the atmosphere seems festive and eager. For some reason men always seem excited when a gelding is about to happen, as long as it is someone else's balls that are to be taken.

As I look I see the cutter, and I recognize him. Carlos is as famous as any cutter in the city, and I know that I am lucky that he will be doing my slaves. If I had to pay him myself I could never afford his work. He likes everything clean and tidy, and perhaps that is why he has one of the lowest infection rates in the city. Today, like most days, he is wearing a white hat and a white shirt, with creased black pants that radiate his professional nature. He is pure business. I know that he has his own unique way of cutting, and I can see that his preparations are meticulous and careful. He even walks slowly and deliberately, and yet with an unhurried purpose that shows his concentration. As we all watch, he pulls a wooden lever that starts the grinding wheel. A big leather belt is hooked to the gristmill that is driven from the water that rushes outside. As it turns, he slides his knife to the wheel, and the sparks fly as he hones the edge on the spinning stone.

As I watch I can see he is concentrating on the sharpness of the blade. His knife is much smaller than I imagined it would be, the little curved blade not anymore than four inches in length. Still, he draws it across the spinning stone until it is razor sharp, working the blade back and forth and holding it just so as he forms the angle he desires. It's obvious he knows exactly what he is doing.

Suddenly, there is a murmur like a wave that runs through the crowd, and I look up to see the older Slavic boy being dragged toward the table. The crowd parts to let him through. His hair is wet now, and his body is pink and flushed and the dirt he had been covered with is gone completely. It's obvious that while we have been waiting he has spent the time being scrubbed clean and the smell of the lye soap is still with him. As he fights the slaves that drag him to his fate I cannot take my eyes off of him. His prick is semi-erect, probably from the process of his washing, and as they drag him to the table where he will leave his balls he is struggling with an intensity that is hard to describe. His dick bounces up and down, jutting up from his wet mound of hair that defines his sex. Even his mound is neat and trimmed now, and the hair under his arms has been clipped into neat little ovals. He knows exactly what is supposed to happen, and he is begging and fighting and doing everything in his power to prevent his fate from becoming a reality.

As they get him to the table he goes wild.

They flip the boy over on his back then, and he screams. Then, with two slaves holding his arms, they drag him up, across the table, until he is up past the dowel that points toward where his head will lay. They lift him up then, until he is almost sitting on top of the table, fighting them with all that he has. Two other slaves have his legs, and they stretch them out and apart and he arches his back and fights the men that are holding him. They hold the collar around his neck, and one of the slaves pulls backward on it, pulling him down to the table. As he arches his back higher they spread his legs some more, and then begin to drag him downward toward the wooden dowel rod that juts up eagerly as if it is waiting for him. They slide him toward the middle of the table, and suddenly the boy's bottom bumps against the dowel. He feels the wooden pole as it bumps his hole, and his eyes are wide and his face flashes with fear. With his legs spread wide, his hole is totally exposed and they have him in position so that the rounded end of the dowel rod presses against the ring of muscle that guards his rectum.

I can see everything. I am right there, looking at him and the table and the wooden dowel that rests against his hole that is ringed with hair. He arches his head up higher, fighting it, and his eyes go wider. Then, they push him down some more, slowly and firmly, until with a gasp the big rod disappears into the teenager's rectum. His face flushes beet red with shame. They slide him all the way down until his hole is stuffed with the greased rod that penetrates to his soul.

He screams, and his eyes are flared open and desperate, as he feels the pole penetrate into his guts. "OH FUCKKKKKKKKKKKK" he says as the rod bottoms out in his ass, the end pushing directly into his prostate. There is a bit of laughter in the crowd at the boy's reaction. They pull him flat out then, impaled on the table, and then they secure his wrists with the leather straps that are there for that purpose. The boy struggles, and his hips move up and down, sliding his rectum up and down over the pole that impales him. He can no longer move sideways, and the pole that fills his ass insures he will be unable to move as his balls are taken. He gasps again, and the fear in his eyes is total and unmistakable. The big slaves draw out his legs, and secure them. Two straps go around his ankles, and then two more, thicker straps are brought up from under him, around his thighs so his movements are limited. Another strap goes around his waist, holding him down and flat to the table, and limiting his movement. Two final straps go around the boy's biceps, so that he is lashed to the table and helpless, with nothing left to do but wait for his castration to be done to him.

The area is well lit, as the noon sun shines down through the overhead skylights and nothing is left to the imagination. The boy is begging, wild, and he looks up and down at the crowd. His eyes are frantic, the knowledge that he is about to be unmanned sending shivers throughout his body. He looks to me, and then to my son, and then he is pleading as if there was no tomorrow.

"OH Señor, oh GOD. Oh please...don't.....don't let them do this to me. PLEASE! PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

The crowd is laughing, at his struggles, and the erection that is growing from the boy by the second. As the thick rod slides within his ass the boy's cock grows eager, stiff and ready, almost as if it is anxious for it all to begin. His sac is huge, fat and heavy with his bollocks, and as he fights and jerks against his bonds his big teen balls bounce within their sac and the skin of his scrotum tightens as his prick grows ever larger.

Carlos approaches the boy, and as he does so in his hand he carries a silver bowl. I know it is filled with salted water, and as we all look at it I know immediately it is for his balls. God. The boy sees it too, and figures it out in a second, and as he looks at it and the knife in the cutter's hand he starts to shake and jerk even harder. I am so close I can see his sweat, smell his musk that is still discernible even in spite of his washing. As I watch his ass clinches the pole that impales him, riding it up and down and up and down to the limit his bonds will allow. He jerks and struggles and begs for mercy and his desperation makes the crowd giggle.

Carlos takes the hardening boy's prick in his hand, and pulls it down, between his legs, almost to the table. Then, with a snap, he lets it go, and it bounces up and slaps against the teenager's belly. The crowd laughs, and the boy's face flushes bright red with the humiliation of it. Carlos does it again, and then again, and within seconds the boy's teenage cock is like a piece of steel, thick and hard, the very tip anointed with his prostate fluid that is being pressed out and up from inside by the rod in his ass. Most importantly, his prick is up and out of the way now, exposing his balls and opening the way for their destruction. The end of his dick is wide, and purple, almost as if it was eager for things to begin.

The boy's head is propped up, so that he is staring down between his legs, looking at his stiff cock and big sac, and the man that is preparing to cut it open and steal his stones. The boy starts to scream then, as he sees the knife, and as he does Carlos looks to the slaves that are helping him and says: "Gag him."

The boy jerks against the restraints then, and the crowd smiles with the thrill of his struggles. His face is bright red. It's obvious the boy feels totally humiliated at what is happening to him, embarrassed to the core to be so stiff and hard in front of so many people, all eager to watch as his balls are about to be taken. Even so, as he fights the bonds he moves his ass up and down over the pole, fucking the table, literally, and as he does the crowd grows giddy with excitement. The entire end of his prick glistens in the light, his fluids oozing out his prick and literally dripping out of his dick in a string of goo that is apparent to everyone.

Carlos is all business. His white shirt is crisp, and creased, and his black pants and white hat are perfect and oh-so-neat. He is in no hurry, and yet his skilled hands move carefully and slowly. He moves a small pot of charcoal, the way he always does, and carefully he sits it down between the boys leg's, near to his scrotum. The heat from the fire almost immediately starts to sag the boy's balls, the muscles in his sac relaxing from the heat. As it happens, his scrotum drops lower and lower as the heat warms it.

A slave shoves a piece of white lien into the boy's mouth, and after that the only sounds of his desperation are moans and groans as he screams and begs. He never stops yelling though, even though his words are no longer intelligible. It doesn’t matter what he says anyway. The fact that he is about to be castrated makes his desperate screams at least acceptable. Still, the crowd finds his grunting entertaining, and they enjoy listening to him beg and struggle as he fights with all he has to keep his balls. His muffled cries and searching eyes add fuel to the crowd and increases their overall enjoyment. The laughter increases, and they grow giddy as the time for the boy's castration nears.

Carlos stirs the pot of charcoal with a flat metal tool, working the coals until they are glowing red. As the fire intensifies, the boys sac sags even lower, his balls loose and ready and almost begging to be taken. Carlos is in no hurry, almost as if he is teasing the crowd. Everyone it seems is excited, waiting to see the boy's balls be taken out. It’s a tremendous contrast, the eagerness of the crowd and the terror of the boy. For the seventeen year old teenager, it’s the worst moment of his life, and as he nears his unmanning he is wild with desperation.

I stare at the slaves that are helping Carlos. They are all eunuchs. As I look at them I notice their eyes are fixed to the boy's sac, staring at it and the stones that it contains. Is it envy I see? Perhaps. The boy's bulging sac holds their rapt attention, and its obvious they are eager to see his unmanning. Perhaps there is some consolation for them when they can watch it be done.

Slowly, Carlos picks up the leather gut-string that has been looped over his wrist. He looks to me, and then to my son, and he smiles as he picks it up and works it into a loop with the cinch knot of his trade. My son is eager, watching everything, and as I look at my boy I can see he is mesmerized by the entire procedure.

Carlos slides the leather loop up over the boy's sac, so that the loop of leather gut encircles his scrotum. His scrotum is actually hot now, warmed by the charcoal pot, and it hangs loose and down like the sac hangs on a bull. Carlos takes one hand and grabs the boy's balls, pulling his stones down, hard, into the bottom of his sac and stretching out the skin as he does so. The boy arches his back and feels the pole in his ass....and at the very moment when the boy is looking at me Carlos jerks his wrist and snaps the knot closed tight. The boy's eyes go wide, as the leather jerks his sac closed like a purse, trapping his two balls in his sac and shutting off the blood that has nourished them for all of his seventeen years.

"ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" the boy yells into his gag, the feeling of his bound scrotum driving him insane with pain and fear. He bounces, jerks against his restraints, and as he fights and pulls and jerks the crowd screams in delight. The boy cannot believe the feeling. He arches his back, and thrust his hips hard, and the pole in his ass slides in and out of his hole. The feeling as the leather cuts into his sac is overwhelming him, and it hurts! He screams into his gag again, and his reaction after that is wild and panicked. He knows his unmanning has begun!

Carlos leans over just then, so that he is close to the boy's ear. I am so close I can hear what he says, but most of it is lost to the crowd. "Boy, take it like a man....and enjoy your castration. Everyone is smiling....don't fight it so. If you struggle, you only make it worse, and in the end I'll take your balls just the same. If you relax, I'll make it quick and it will go easier for you."

His words do not calm the boy, and if anything, his struggles intensify. He continues to fight against his restraints, desperate to keep his manhood even though by this point it is all but done. Carlos picks up his gelding knife, and shows it to the boy. The knife is thin, and razor sharp, and when the boy sees it and realizes it is time he starts screaming anew. The crowd laughs, and as they laugh they bend forward so as not to miss anything.

Carlos turns to me then, and says "Señor, if you wish it, the boy can be made to spill his seed before it is done. It is not necessary however, and I can take his balls and leave him frustrated. It's up to you and the results are the same in either case. Do you wish to have him squirt?"

It's not a question I had thought much about. Still, it seems cruel to take his balls with his prick so hard, and eager, without at least giving him an opportunity to shed his seed one final time. I have another thought. I once heard a rumor that a frustrated male that is castrated that way has a greater risk of infection, so not knowing if there is any truth to it I just nod my head, and Carlos smiles. Then, he motions to my son, inviting him to come forward, and my boy is so eager that I let him go. With only a little encouragement from the cutter, I watch my son grab the boy's stiff prick, and hold it in his right hand. Carlos picks up the teens bound scrotum and sets the blade against the right side of his sac, just above the big ball there that is pushed against the tight skin. Then, Carlos says: "Boy, when you shoot your seed I will take your balls. Lets get it done."

The boy gasps, and his eyes go wide and he shakes his head from side to side. His eyes beg for mercy. He struggles, feels the knife against his sac, feels my son holding his pole. Then, as we all watch, Carlos says something to Jeremiah and after that my boy begins to work the skin of the teenagers cock up and down, sliding it over his pole with the movement of his fist. He starts out slowly, and I watch him carefully. I notice my son is stiff in his pants, and obviously excited to be given this privilege. I also notice the way my son grips the teen's pole, that he knows how to do it without being told, jacking the boy's rod up and down in what I would have to describe as a well practiced motion. My son picks up the pace on his own, like he knows what works, and a slap-slap-slapping sound begins as the teenager's cock becomes a blur. Watching my son as he does this makes me smile.

The restrained teenager struggles even harder, and as he watches my son jack him off I realize that he is much more developed than is my own boy. Still, all that is about to change in an instant, and as Jeremiah jerks his fist and pumps the teenager's cock the moment nears when it will all be done. The teenager realizes it, understands what is at stake and what it will mean if he dares to ejaculate. He fights the feeling with everything he has, trying perhaps to put his mind elsewhere or to shift his thoughts in a useless gesture to delay the inevitable. Even so, you can tell my fifteen year old knows what he is doing, and as he works the older teen's pole it's obvious that the feeling is building, and as it builds the crowd's excitement increases exponentially.

Carlos senses the time is nearing. The boy's sac is drawing up, tight, pressing his balls within his bulging scrotum. The teenager's nipples are like points, and there is sweat on his face and under his arms, wetting his sex hair and emphasizing his desperation. Carlos pushes the boy's right ball hard enough that the skin of his scrotum is stretched thin, waiting for the moment to begin his unmanning. The boy can feel the knife there, against his skin and above his ball. He can also feel his prick pulsating, the skin of his cock being slid up and down, up and down. He stares at my boy, and the fist that is working his pole, and then suddenly everything moves together and in that instant all is lost.

With a gasp and a grunt he begins to ejaculate, his semen flying up and out of his young teenage pole to the roar of the crowd. Everyone is watching him. My boy continues to pump him, emptying my slave's balls as Carlos simultaneously begins the actual unmanning. As I watch, Carlos pushes his blade deep into the boy's sac, and with the pain from the knife the boy arches his back and screams into his gag, even as he squirts out his load and pumps it across his belly.

Carlos makes a twisting motion with his wrist that holds the knife, and as he does he fillets open the boy's entire right side of his scrotum, popping the boy's right ball out of his sac in a single expert motion. Carlos reaches into the pot of charcoal, and pulls out the flat bladed tool. It's red hot, glowing, and with a light touch of the metal against the cord the testicle comes free, the cord melted in two and severed from the boy who owned it. As that happens his ball drops into the salted water of the silver bowl with a splash, and the boy grunts as he feels it come free. Carlos makes it all look so easy, like he has done it a thousand times. Of course he has, and it shows.

Dropping the cauterization tool back into the charcoal, Carlos switches hands, and picks up the boys scrotum again and squeezes it to the point that the left ball is pressed up against the side. Again the knife point penetrates into the sac, deep, above the ball hidden there. The boy grunts with the feeling, the pain so deep and so primal that it defies anything he has ever felt before. With a sweeping movement Carlos twists his wrist again and opens the sac from the other side, and as he does so the boy's last remaining ball pops into his hand, held to his body then only by the thin cord that pulsates with a life of its own. Carlos hesitates then, and waits as the boy jerks his hips up and down against his restraints, pumping out his final bit of jism in squirt after squirt after squirt. Finally, his last wad is finished, and as it ebbs to a drool, Carlos picks up the hot blade one more time. The boy is staring right at the man who is holding his ball, the two of them locked eyeball to eyeball as the moment between manhood and nothing lingers. Then, with a wink, Carlos makes a quick little jerk of the tool and with a wisp of smoke it is done.

Castrated.

The teenager collapses onto the table, and his eyes roll back and he heaves, sucking in the air and feeling the pain that racks his body. There is no bleeding. None. The crowd is wild, and they start applauding, loving the show and excited to have seen the troublemaker's unmanning. My own son is grinning, and I can see that he is fascinated by the two orbs in the silver bowl, which are pulsating and quivering in the salted water to the point they are forming ripples on the surface. They represent the essence of everything that made that boy a man, and now, empty, alone, they sit like stark reminders of a stolen manhood.

They drag the boy away, his last load of semen still smeared and wasted on his belly. The boy is as limp as a rag doll. I have to smile, my slave's free castration really putting him in his place. I know his spirit has been broken, and I am fairly certain that in the future he will be much easier to handle now that his balls are gone.

Nobody moves. Carlos picks up his knife and wipes the blade with a rag. The eunuch slaves wash down the table, and the strong smell of lye permeates the room. The wooden dowel is regreased. There is some discussion about it, but in the end they leave it in place. The preparations do not take long. My boy starts to go back to his seat, but Carlos invites him to stay. I can see that Jeremiah is enjoying himself, and I have to smile as I look at him.

A few minutes later they are bringing out the other slave I have purchased, the young teenage boy with the smooth skin and the innocent face. He too is fresh from the shower, his skin pink from his scrubbing and his hair loose and unkempt. I like his black hair and his deep brown eyes, and he looks so cute that it is hard to believe they are dragging him to be castrated. The boy glances to his friend, who is in the corner and laying flat on a mattress of straw, and as he sees him limp and whimpering I can tell he knows it has been done. The young boy's face goes white then, and he is scared to the core. His struggles increase, but even so, he is no match for the big slaves that are dragging him to his fate.

He's a young boy, and even though he is fighting his struggles do nothing to slow the operation down. They secure him to the table with a minimum of effort. When they push him down over the rod he screams, and his tight hole can barely contain it. Yet, with some effort the thick pole finally pops past his ring of muscle and after that the impaled boy has a look that can only be described as pure astonishment on his face. I don't think he can believe the feeling as it fills his bowels, and even though his prick is small it soon juts up stiff and eager once the rod is against his young prostate.

It occurs to me the two boys have shared the same dowel in their rears. It makes me wonder, and as I look at my son and the look in his eyes it occurs to me that there may be another rod that my slaves will eventually come to share. You can never tell the future, but it’s a possibility I know. I hope not, but I'm not sure, and my son looks eager and excited and I can tell my boy's prick is stiff and it pushes out his pants. I stare at my boy, and the bulge in his pants, and as I look at the fuzz on his cheeks I wonder how it will go as he grows into manhood. My son looks back at me, and he has no idea what I am thinking. I give him a wink and my smile and he grins back at me. He's having a great time.

In contrast, the boy on the table is miserable. He hasn’t said a word since he was impaled. His face has the look of shock, the thing in his ass just consuming him. He can't believe the feeling. Soon, they tie him down, legs spread wide, and with his head propped up he looks so young and innocent I'm not sure about where things are headed. Still, the castration is free, and it will more than double his value once it is done. But he looks so young, and it is obvious he has never shaved and his chest and armpits and legs are totally devoid of any hair. The light hair that is just sprouting above his pole seems to emphasize his youthfulness, and it seems a shame to nut him and end his growth spurt almost before it can begin. It’s a dilemma, and for the life of me I am not sure what to do. However, it's not really my choice to make, and so I watch it happen even though I myself certainly would never have paid for it to be done.

Carlos seems to ignore the age of the boy. Its just another sac to open, another set of balls to take. My son is rock hard I see, and his prick is so stiff that it juts out his pants, and I can even see that there is a spot of wetness that surprises me. Carlos says nothing, other than to nod to the boy. The slaves are holding a gag for him, but Carlos shakes his head and they do not put it in place. That surprises me too, but the boy is too scared to talk, and his foul mouth is silent and he waits quietly for what is to come.

Carlos takes a loop of leather, and once again, as I watch from only a few feet away, he snaps the boy's scrotum closed with a jerk. The boy gasps as it happens, arching his back and grunting, and then his voice cracks with a pubescent squeak and he says: "Shittttttttttt...oh shit....oh fuck that hurts!" Then, looking at Carlos he says "Oh sir...don't....DON'T!" Still, Carlos makes a double knot, tightening the leather and trapping his balls. The boy struggles, and there are tears in his eyes after that as he feels his balls being strangled and knows the end is coming.

The boy's cock is stiff though, and I notice that it bounces to his heartbeat as he fights the pain his noosed nuts are radiating. They look so young, and so tender, his hairless balls just beginning to sprout the boy into manhood. They are less than a third of the size of the seventeen year old who was just unmanned. It seems a waste to take them, to end his growth and neuter him, but it eliminates the future risk he may poise and it is the auctioneer that has mandated their removal as a condition for the sale. I doubt I could stop it if I wanted. Well, it is free, so I watch and stare with the rest of the crowd.

The boy's pole is jutting up, vertically. It is nothing compared to the older boy's. Still, it is well past the prick of a child, and it juts up with a vengeance. Its about four inches in the air, stiff and eager, and the end is flared and purple. I wonder if he is making semen yet. It is hard to tell, but if he isn’t he is very close to that point when it will happen.

Carlos leans forward, and whispers in his ear. "Boy, take it easy, and do not fight it. You cannot stop it, and if you fight it and struggle it will only hurt worse and in the end your balls will be taken just the same. If you are good, I'll do you quick. Do you understand?"

The boy stares at him, and then slowly he nods, and after that he ceases his struggles, relaxing his legs and no longer thrusting up and down with his bottom. Its almost like he has resolved his fate, and instead he just watches and waits for what is to come.

With a nod, Jeremiah begins to work the boy's pole then, up and down in the same way he had worked the older teens. The boy is watching it be done to him, and I try to gauge his expression. It's obvious this is a new sensation to him. He is watching his cock be jacked, and yet he just stares and watches, not saying anything, waiting as Carlos holds his balls and waits to see if anything will happen.

Time seems to stand still. Faster and faster Jeremiah works his rod, up and down and up and down. My boy's hand is a blur as he pumps the young cock, the loose skin of the boy's dick sliding up and down with the motion. It goes on and on, and after a few minutes I begin to think that nothing will happen. The boy is too young. Then, just when I least expect it, the boy shouts out "God...I'm gonna pee...oh...I am PEEINGGGGGGGG" and then, with a squirt from his dick, he yells "OHHHHHHHHH..oh.........OHHHHHHHH". He bucks his hips then, slamming his ass up and down on the rod, and as he does his watery load pumps out of his young prick and shoots upward, across his chest and flat belly. The first shot goes over his head and off of the table it is so powerful. The expression on the boy is one of total amazement, the shocked look on his face registering his surprise as he makes his first spurts into the world of manhood.

Carlos grabs the boy's sac, and I can sense the moment for the boy's castration is at hand. He pushes the point right against the young teen's scrotum, just above his right ball, and in that instant I know that everything for him is about to change. The audience senses it too, even as the boy finishes squirting out his clear semen and gasps with the spasms that are racking his body.

Time stands still, and the instant lingers. I glance to the silver bowl, waiting eagerly for another set of balls. God. Castration! The instant between sex and sexless, between a life of excitement and hope and lust verses one of servitude and sorrow and lost opportunity. It ALL hangs in the balance, Carlos's curved polished blade poised to do the job and everyone it seems eager to watch it happen.

"Stop."

I gasp. God, the word is mine! I have barely whispered it, but nevertheless I have said it, said it loud enough that I have been heard, and yet even though it is I that has formed the word I am not sure it was done as a conscious thought. Carlos looks up, and then to me, and his eyes narrow. I say nothing, and it's apparent Carlos isn't sure I said anything although he heard the word and he is looking for its source. I don't say it again, and I just stare and watch and I can't make myself move. As we look at each other, he seems to hesitate, and then, suddenly, he moves his wrist, and rotates the boy's scrotum in his hand, so that the curve of his blade comes up, under the young teen's balls, wrapped around the neck of his sac like a hook of razor sharp steel poised to make a single cut. With only one pull he can take the boy's sac in an instant, balls and all, and I sense it and the boy feels it and knows it is about to happen. He is shaking with fear, and he closes his eyes and clinches his teeth as he steels himself for the pain to come.

"STOP".

This time, I speak louder, and Carlos looks back at me, staring at me, hearing me form the word and this time knowing I have done so. Still, he holds the boy's balls, and he makes no response. The boy has heard me this time, and his eyes are open now, staring at me, looking at me with a sense of desperate hope that defies description. My son is looking at me too, unbelievingly, as is everyone in the crowd, and I can sense the anger there as they are anxious for this to get done.

Slowly, and very carefully, Carlos says to me these words: "Señor, the boy's castration is a condition of his sale. Stop sweating it. It's just a set of balls and I need to take them."

I shake my head from side to side, slowly, trying not to show too much emotion. Even so, I am not sure of myself, and yet I can't stop now what I have started. "No...please. The boy is mine, and I own him. I do not want him nutted. They are more than just another set of balls to him. I'll pay you five thousand for your trouble."

Time stands still. The boy's eyes widen, as he hears me offer the last of my money. The crowd starts to chant "Nut HIM! NUT HIM! NUT HIM! NUT HIM!" They are angry, and as I stare at the boy's tender sac in the cutters hand and the knife that is waiting to take it I do not know how it will go. My heart is pounding, and my mouth is so dry I cannot swallow. We stare at each other, Carlos and I, the owner and the cutter. The essence of everything that makes this boy a man is at stake and only an instant separates the outcome one way or the other.

I sense I have not been heard.

"Please"....I whisper......"p l e a s e----take my purse and spare the boy."

I hold out the purse that contains my last five thousand degos. There is a long moment of silence, and I can see the cutters hand as it holds the sharp steel against his scrotum. Finally, Carlos shrugs his shoulders, and drops the boy's thirteen year old balls and they bounce under the leather that has them tied. Suddenly, he moves the knife, and then, with a hard, fast jerk, he slices upward and I scream. The knife takes off the leather tie in an instant, missing the flesh of his sac, and the boy's balls are suddenly freed, flushing bright red as the blood rushes back to them and the noose of leather is sliced away. The crowd is angry, but I can breathe again, and then, without another word Carlos takes my purse from my hand and leaves the table. The boy is mine and he is whole.

My son is perplexed, and he spins around and looks directly at me, the question written across his face. I notice his erection is gone. He knows enough not to ask, but I tell him anyway.

"Jeremiah, sometimes in life you find out that what you THINK you want and what you REALLY want are not always one and the same. Sometimes the fantasy is far more exciting than the reality, and sometimes the reality is nothing like the fantasy you thought it was. God has made us in his image, and this boy is as perfect as any boy has ever been. I cannot destroy him. There is right, and there is wrong. I cannot undo the wrongs I have made. But it is past time to do the right thing. This boy is one of the family now, and I intend to treat him as a son."

The boy suddenly is crying, his big tears pouring out his eyes, and his chest heaving up and down as he sucks in lungfuls of air. The relief is too much for him, and he sobs and sobs and sobs. Some of the crowd begins to disperse, shaking their heads, and my son and I begin to unbuckle the boy. As I do that, I look at his little prick, laying flat and spent across his belly, his first pool of semen in a puddle that drools from the tip. I know I have done the right thing, and I am glad for it even if those that watch think I am a fool. I don't care, and I am confident in my decision. They don't understand. Perhaps they never will.

I glance to the side table, and see the silver bowl. It seems to be waiting for the sac that is still attached to the boy who is mine. As I look at it I notice the dead balls of the other, and some of the salted water has even spilled out over the top. They are big, and they have swelled even bigger in the salted water. Even so, there is plenty of room in the bowl for more. While some of the crowd is dissipating there are new arrivals too, and it's apparent that there are other slaves on the way who will leave their balls in that bowl today. I have learned a valuable lesson, about life and living and power and honor.

As I stand, I give my reserved seat up willingly for the next owner. I look over and see him, eager and waiting, the fat man who is licking his lips with an eagerness that is hard to describe. I wonder who he has bought. I guess it doesn’t matter, and all I can think about is the two teenagers that are now mine. They will always be a contrast, and in the years to come as I watch the younger one outgrow the other I will ever be reminded of what I have learned. Jeremiah understands and perhaps that is enough. It is time to go.

[Authors note: © Copyright January, 2003. All rights reserved. Not to be copied without the consent of the author.]