Cat 'n Mouse

by allen baker

It just had to happen. I didn't give a shit where or how, just so it did. My whole life since puberty, I had been ruled by raging hormones. All the books say that by late twenties or early thirties, that rushing testosterone begins to abate and slacken. That the frantic urges of youth die down. Bull shit! I just had my fiftieth birthday five months ago, and my tented crotch was living proof that it just ain't so.

A good lookin' dude walked by and my magnetized prick pointed north. I heard a gravely voice on the phone, and it happened. A bare manly chest on the soaps, and I'd be rigid. A glance at a porn shop window, and I was pointy. It still didn't take much at all for me to be instantly randy.

During my youth I felt normal. In my 30's and 40's, I was proud of my constant virility. But by the half-century mark, I was tired of it. When I realized that was so, I vowed to change it. As a birthday present to myself, I promised I would make it end, no matter what the cost.

And the cost was high, but I was willing to pay. My doctor refused to do anything about it, so I started haunting the internet hoping to find someone who would. And so I met Dr. Slice. That's the only name he'd ever offered. Cute name but menacing, too. We met in a chat room dedicated to male modification. I had chosen DeManMe as my cybername. Immediately he asked if we could go to private chat. Once there, he asked what I wanted done and why. He empathized with my needs and inquired how I preferred it to happen. I immediately said I didn't care how, as long as it was safe. The then elaborated on his own needs.

He would be glad to help me out as long as his own needs were met. He required that I become his victim. That I suffer. That I felt and expressed pain. His needs were the exact opposite of mine. He was rarely aroused. The only way he could get off was by inflicting suffering and pain. In his earlier years, bondage and torture caused the desired response. But now only permanent damage would bring him to a climax. We were a match made in hell.

And so the games began. We would not set a specific date. He guaranteed only that the job would be complete before the end of six months. But he wanted the thrill of control. We were not to meet ahead of time or talk on the phone. I was to email him my picture, address, and a signed permission statement absolving him of responsibility should I later change my mind. He would kidnap me, probably more than once. He might toy with me, torture me, get my hopes up and then let me go. Then do it again the next night or next week or next month. I wouldn't know for sure if this was the time.

Of course, just him telling me that made me horny as hell. I sat nude in front of the computer with my dick juice slobbering onto the keyboard. Ten minutes later I'd emailed all his criteria. My fate was sealed. There was no turning back. Suddenly I was nervous. Had I don't the right thing? Was I really ready to give up sex? Give up my manhood? To loose my balls forever? Too late to rethink it. Too late. And when I realized that, I shot a huge load all over the monitor. I watched as it slowly dripped down the screen, blurring the words that suddenly appeared there: You're mine. Be ready.

For two weeks I was spooked by every noise in my apartment building. By every slam of a car door. By every barking dog, by every suspiciously slow car that passed as I made my way along the sidewalk. I shivered as I passed dark alleys. I began to avoid areas that I once enjoyed. I bypassed the parks near or after dusk. I so wanted it to happen, but it scared me to death. Dr. Slice was a master of psychological torment. I found myself trembling most of the time. Not from fear, but from anticipation.

And then it happened. When I least expected it, it happened. Broad daylight. Mid-Saturday afternoon. Shopping crowds clogged the sidewalks. Two punk teens bumped me into an alley. With two quick pushes I was trapped in a car trunk. The motor was already running, and the lid barely latched before the tires squealed, and we were away.

I was shaking and excited and scared as hell. What had I done to myself? But I no longer had a choice. We hadn't driven far before the car slowed, and I heard the whine of an overhead door. We moved forward, the whine repeated, and the engine stopped. Soon I heard a voice through the trunk lid telling me to search around for a plastic bag. When I located it, I told him. He had me put on the blindfold and then cuff my wrists behind me. The trunk opened and he guided me out. My legs wobbled from tension as he led me away.

Finally I heard a door close behind me. Then I stood still as I listened to him getting undressed. He walked up to me, but I was unprepared for him to rip off the blindfold. Light scorched my sight. I blinked furiously to adjust. There he stood. A master's mask, a leather harness with a straining cod piece, and black boots. That's all. That was enough. He moved behind me to uncuff my wrists. Then he ordered me to strip. My hands shook as I complied. Then he pointed to a padded table.

Once I was on the table, he attached straps and bindings to hold me down. A ball gag insured that my vocalizations would be muted. Then he took a small flog and began to beat my chest. Slowly the pain increased with the intensity of his blows. Slowly they worked their way downward toward his eventual target. I had begun to flow with the pain. Meld with it. Embrace it. And all the while I kept wondering if this would be the time that he would take them.

Finally he placed the flogger aside and rested his arm. My chest was heaving with a deep breathing attempt to cope with the pain. Then he picked up some type of apparatus that had metal bolts and wing nuts. He placed it around my left ball and began to screw it down. My nearly normal breathing now disappeared, and my chest began to pant. He slowly flattened my ball. The pressure was exquisitely tortuous. Deep in my gut the pain grew from a mere taunt into agony. Tears of ecstatic torment coursed down my cheeks.

Then he left it that way and picked up a small plastic packet. As he tore open the end, I recognized a hypodermic needle inside. He pulled it free of its sterile holder and eyed it carefully. Slowly, oh so slowly, he lowered it to my crotch. The tip pierced my scrotum over my right testicle. He didn't hesitate. Relentlessly it slid deeper and deeper into the core of my male orb. Only when he had completely buried it did I realize that I'd been holding my breath. With a whish, I let out the air and sucked in new. My body shook in reaction to this new experience. And a whimper escaped around the gag as I watched him unwrap another needle.

I had counted to five before he stopped and stood back to admire his work. He popped off his leather pouch and began to stroke himself. He was huge and extremely hard. His slit oozed dick slime as his fist slid up and down his length. It was a mesmerizing sight. But he didn't take it to completion. Soon he was back at the table loosening the clamp. My left nut had nearly gone numb, but the feeling came swishing back with a vengeance. I cried out, and he smiled.

And then I felt my eyes widen when I saw the scalpel in his hand. He held it up and rotated it as light flashed off its deadly surface. I began to hyper ventilate as he moved his weaponed hand to my defenseless scrotum. Lightning flashed behind my eyes as the tip of the blade slit a line down the left side of my pouch. Finally I knew the meaning of agony. And my dick was rock hard.

I watched in wonder as he slipped a latex-covered finger into the opening and fished out a grey ball attached to cord. Was he going to mash it? Cut it? I watched in fascination. He picked up another needle packet. The needle slid into the ball as I grunted. Then he blindfolded me again. The needles slowly came out of my right nut. The accumulation of pain retreated somewhat. I could then feel him fiddling with the left one, but I wasn't sure what was happening. Then a sharp prick of another needle in skin followed by a tug. That action was repeated a few more times before I realized that he was suturing the opening closed. Was I minus a nut? I didn't think so, but it was still so painful so I wasn't sure. Then he doused the area with disinfectant, and I screeched.

After he had me totally unleashed, he removed the gag. Slowly I sat on the edge of the table and felt my crotch. My first touched proved that I still had a full pouch. But it felt different. I was still in pain, probably from the stitched opening.

I barely remember the ride back in the trunk of the car. I just remember finding myself back in the alley with my clothes in a muddle at my feet. I ducked behind a nearby dumpster to struggle back into my clothes. I nearly passed out as I zipped my jeans up, causing added pressure on my crotch. Gingerly I walked back to the bus stop and headed home. Once there, I quickly shed my clothing and eased into a hot tub of water to ease the pain. As the warm soapy water cleaned off the streaks of dried blood, I got a better look at the incision. It was neatly closed in fine, even stitches. The guy definitely had experience. A real doctor? Nurse? Maybe.

But then I examined the ball itself. Touching elevated the dull ache to sever pain. My pouch looked different on that side. Not swollen so much as lumpy. Then it hit me: he hadn't removed the needle! He had returned my left nut to my sack without taking it out! I was still impaled!

By the end of two weeks the stitches had fallen away and the cut had healed to a fiery line down the sack. The pain was of course still there. But my head had finally adjusted to it. Like a dull toothache, it was there, but the brain had pushed it to the back of awareness. But when you drink very hot coffee, a bad tooth flares up. It didn't take much pressure or much of a bump to my crotch to do the same. I had switched to boxers and loose-fitting cargo pants to compensate. Up to six months of this? How would I survive it?

Another side effect had occurred. This whole thing started as a method of curbing my sexual appetite. Instead, the constant discomfort in my groin kept me constantly rigid. Instead of diminishing my randy ardor, it had enhanced it. I was constantly thinking sex. And when I was with a partner for a quick toss in the hay, it was exquisite agony. There was no experience like it.

A month and a half went by in this condition before I was again snatched away. This time was totally different than the first. It was late at night, and I'd just exited a gay bar with hope for an all-nighter with a real hunk. He was in on it. Suddenly I found myself bound and gagged in the back of a van. My trick for the night grinned in from through the back window as the van pulled away from the curb.

This time the ride was long. The city faded away into a black, starry sky. Finally, I dozed. When I awoke, I was being hauled from the van to the interior of a barn. Farm smells and crisp country air broke in on my drowsiness and pulled me back to my situation.

I had thought up to then that the driver of the van must be Dr. Slice. I'd been wrong for he was waiting in the barn, mask and all. He pointed off to a side stall, and his helper tied me between two posts. Blacksmith coals glowed off to the side. In spite of the cool air, I broke into a sweat and pleaded into the gag. The helper removed my pants to allow the objects of attention to swing, open to assault.

This time, Dr. Slice wasted no time in picking up his scalpel. The now familiar pain of cutting hit the right side of my scrotum. He pulled my right nut into sight and let it dangle. Meanwhile his now-nude assistant moved an anvil into place in front of my crotch. Again, my dick stood tall as I gazed at this man's naked crotch. It was more than naked, it was smooth and sexless. No sign that a cock and balls had ever existed there. Dr. Slice did nice work. And my prick pumped pre-cum out of its slit as I anticipated my eventual fate.

The assistant tied a cord around my exposed ball and anchored it centered on the anvil. Dr. Slice picked up a rubber mallet and headed my way. Without its protective skin coating, my right nut was easy prey. He began by lightly tapping it. Soon the accumulated taps were causing agony. I wanted to scream out to him to finish it off and stop. But I couldn't, and he didn't. My pain gathered deep in my groin and caused my bowels to relax. The air was suddenly putrid with stench as excrement slid down my legs to the straw covered floor.

The pounding stopped. Dr. Slice made a gesture to his assistant. He went to the coals and pulled out an iron. The end of it was white hot and sizzled. He handed it to the Dr. Slice and knelt in front of him. The leather pouch came off, and Dr. Slice buried his rock hard dick down the assistant's throat. Then I watched in horror as the glowing metal slowly descended toward the anvil. At three inches away, the heat was intense. At two, I began to burn. He held it at bay just one inch above my nut. The metal swayed there as he pumped himself down the nullified man's throat. My ball slowly, painfully roasted with the heat. It turned from grey to angry red. I shouted and screamed into the gag. Dr. Slice smiled and moaned as he pleasured himself in the guy's mouth. My ball slowly turned golden brown as it cooked to a tender morsel.

Dr. Slice tossed the iron back to the coals, grasped his slave's head and pumped himself to a loud climax. When he'd finished. He took up his scalpel and severed the cord that had connected me to that ball since birth. One ball was gone. Half way to my goal.

He picked up the roasted bit of meat and slowly fed it to his slave as I watched.

The next few weeks were a whirl of blissful pain. The right side of my sack was healing nicely. But the residual pain of burning meat stayed with me. Would it always be that way? And of course the needle in the left one still added to the agony.

Then just four weeks after the barn event, I was pulled into the doorway of a deserted storefront. This was not the same guy as the one in the barn, but he wrestled me to the back room where Dr. Slice waited. This time, I wasn't tied. The muscle-bound assistant just held me from behind. Quickly, Dr. Slice dropped my pants and felt my left nut. When he connected with the head of the needle, I jumped in distress. He made a very small cut. He jerked out the needle, and I shouted in pain and relief. He then sucked on my hard dick as he jacked himself to a shuddering climax. Then he stopped sucking and left me throbbing in desire. He put a quick band-aid on the small incision, and they were gone.

I just stood there with my pants at my ankles, marveling at the speed of the event. My emotions were roller coastering. He had me just where he wanted me. He was playing with my emotions as well as my body. I was the mouse that the cat played with, tormented before going in for the kill. Did the mouse enjoy the game as much as I? I pulled up my pants and left.

A month, then two slipped away without another event. I was having a blast with my new lopsided pouch. It had healed. The needle was gone from the left side, and the burn pain on the right had lessened. And so I was constantly hard. Constantly on the make. I hit the bars most every night. Expecting that each night could be my last. Wondering after every climax if I'd just shot my final load. I was at the height of my sexual life. I couldn't get enough. And still I wanted it to be over. I wanted the drive to die. I was neglecting the other parts of my life. I couldn't go on at that pace. I needed that final nutting to be rid of my tormenting desires.

It was late on a Friday night, and I was at The Dregs. A middle-aged leather dude caught my eye. He spotted me staring and sauntered over to my table. He didn't introduce himself or ask to join me, he just sat down. When he finally spoke, it was with authority. "We'll have one more drink before we leave."

With that one statement he announced his authority and put me in my place. I tingled with anticipation of being this man's bottom for the night. I just knew I was in for a thrill.

He didn't say another word as we sucked on our beers. He just stared with smoldering looks at my crotch and my face. He downed his and stood up. With a quick punch, he landed a fist in my crotch and ordered me to follow him. As soon as I had recovered enough to stand, I hurried after him into the parking lot. I saw him get into the drivers seat of a van and ran to jump into the passenger's side.

We were already moving when I realized that we were not alone. I swivelled my head to look into the back. "Hope you don't mind a gang bang," was his only statement. I immediately recognized the guy from the store front and the chap from the barn. Behind them sat the two punk kids from my first abduction. I turned to stare at the driver and realized this was the face behind the master's mask. This was Dr. Slice!

We moved quickly into the warehouse district and pulled into an abandoned building. The guys wrestled me out of the van and out of my clothes. They held me over a barrel in front of the headlights as one by one they raped my ass and throat. I lost track of how many times I felt spunk gush down my gullet or spasm into my back tunnel. I also lost track of how many times I spewed my own sperm without ever having my cock touched.

Eventually, their urgent needs were satisfied, and I was pulled to my feet. The four men then grabbed my feet and wrists and held me spread eagled onto the grimy floor as Dr. Slice stood between my legs. "It's time, boy, that I kept my promise."

The toe of his boot connected with my remaining ball, and I screamed. It happened again. And again. About the time I thought I could take no more, he stopped kicking and stepped closer. I watched through tears as the boot slowly descended onto my scrotum. My remaining nut was trapped between the floor and the sole of his boot. He stroked himself as he slowly shifted his weight to that boot.

I focused on his flying fist as more and more pressure was applied to my nut. Just as I saw his spunk fountain into the air and start to fall on my body, he pulled his other foot off the floor. All his weight was on my tormented testicle. It wasn't up to the pressure. I actually hear an audible plop as it was pulverized into mush. I screamed and screamed until I was hoarse.

Dr. Slice pulled a knife from his pocket and took away my scrotum forever. I hadn't anticipated that, but was beyond objecting. Quickly he stitched me closed, and then they were gone. The cat hadn't killed the mouse, only maimed it. I was left lying alone on the dark warehouse floor. Nude. Castrated. Content.