Self-Sacrifice

by Allen Baker

From the very first time we met, months before I moved in with him, he told me that his ultimate aim was to have a slave who loved him so much that he'd willingly castrate himself as a display of loyalty. So I can't possibly say I walked into the situation unaware. I guess I trusted him enough to be certain that he'd never forcefully denut me. What I hadn't reckoned with was that I'd fall so under his spell, that I'd really want to comply.

After that first night, he never mentioned it again. But it hung in the back of my mind. Even a year after I'd become his permanent slave, it loomed there. Every time Master tested me, it hung there. Every time he started a sentence with, "Are you loyal enough to ...," I'd mentally tense. Expecting to hear the demand to cut my nuts off, I'd have eagerly agreed to the actual request, no matter how demeaning or painful. But he made no such demand.

But eventually, I found myself spending more and more time on the Internet, looking at pictures and reading stories and actual accounts of being a eunuch. I'd stare in horrified fascination at pictures of castration procedures. I found a video among Master's collection documenting a number of such procedures that I'd watch when he was out. Eventually, I realized I had become obsessed by the idea.

I must have dozed off the day he returned to find my on the floor in front of the TV with that special tape playing in the machine. He looked at the screen, then back at me. He didn't say a word. But I did. It came out before I even knew I was going to say it. Before I even knew I had decided it. "I want to do this for you, Sir. I want to become your eunuch slave."

At first no response. Then, "Are you sure?"

I trembled. I was frightened. But I was sure. "Yes, Sir."

Again, no immediate response. The silence was heavy between us as we both stared at the screen. "My birthday's next month. It would make a nice present." He said it softly as he slowly stripped. He turned me onto my stomach and planted himself deeply as we watched the video together. He slowly pumped, in no hurry to finish off. He commented on the screen scenes. "Is this how you want it? . . . That would really hurt, wouldn't it. . . . Look at that empty sack, just flapping skin. . . . God, isn't that totally smooth crotch beautiful?" Eventually, as the knife sliced into yet another scrotum, we both climaxed. We lay still as the tape rolled on into static flickering. Finally his dwindling member plopped from my sloppy ass, and he rolled me over into an embrace.

"You don't have to do this. It means everything to me that you've volunteered. It isn't necessary for you to actually go through with it."

"Oh, but, Sir . . . It is! I want it. I have to. Now that I've offered, it would be torture to keep me from it." I couldn't believe I actually pleaded to be emasculated. I couldn't comprehend the desperation I felt at not being gelded.

Looking into my eyes, he could read the sincerity. The need. "Let's not commit to it right now. We've got a month for you to tink about it and reconsider."

When I started to speak out, he placed a silencing finger against my lips. The he placed his own lips against them. We necked and cuddled and fell into a comforting nap in front of the flickering screen.

* * * * *

We didn't talk about it again the rest of that week. But our sex play became intense, revitalized. Both of us knew why. He'd always been keen on ball torture. Now he focused almost exclusively on it. One last fling? Would he miss having them to abuse?

If I had any doubts during that next month, it was about that. Would he tire of a slave that had no balls? Somehow he must have sensed my concern and finally spoke of it.

"Boy, are you having second thoughts?"

"Not really, Sir. At least not for myself. I'm just concerned that you may decide that you don't want a slave who has no balls to torture. Would you eventually miss that pleasure, Sir?"

He gently smiled and shook his head. "A Master always has the option of selling a slave. But I could never part with one who has made that ultimate sacrifice. Have no fear, you'll always belong to me. Always have a place in my heart."

I can't tell you what a response those words caused in me. All the tension and fear that I had wrongly thought was caused by anticipating the procedure evaporated. I was his permanent property. I could not have been more ecstatic. I'd willingly do anything for this man.

"How do we proceed, Sir? What process would please you most?"

He knew I was saying that I was ready to go through with it. He smiled. "I'm not certain, yet. I've ruled out some. What I have decided is that I don't want it to involve anyone else. I want it to be just the two of us on my birthday. So, no doctors, no professional cutters. No pain killers, either. I want you to feel it all. To be in pain for me."

"I'd like that, Sir." I trembled, but smiled.

"Also, the decision has been yours, therefore, I think the action should be yours as well. The ultimate gift, to do it yourself while I watch. While I masturbate and watch. And I want it all on film so we can watch it together over and over."

I shivered in anticipation and dread. And fear. "What if I start and can't finish it? What if I pass out or something? I don't want to disappoint you, Sir."

"You won't. I've found some devices on the Internet that may be just right. I'll continue to check them out before I make a final choice."

* * * * *

We left it at that for the moment. From then on, I had no doubts. But I was fearful. More than that: I was in an agony of fright! And I was also perpetually hard and oozing. I found myself constantly fondling my nuts. Fingering them. As if trying to memorize the feel, the texture, the heft, the swing, the pull, the pinch, the squeeze. The everything that soon would be in the past.

Master noticed me doing it, too. He didn't comment, but he'd smile as he saw me with my hand in my jock pouch or staring at my sack in the mirror.

During those few weeks, many packages arrived from Internet companies. It was a delicious self-denial to let them sit on the entry table and not open them. He'd come home and grin at me as he'd pick it up and take it into his study to open behind the closed door. At the time, he didn't show me what was in them. They'd be locked in his private study closet.

Months later, he would show them all to me. These instruments of castration. They were all ingenious, diabolical, exciting, and frightful. But I had to agree, he chose just exactly the right one for us.

* * * * *

The day before his birthday, he told me he had made the final choice, but he didn't tell what it was until the actual time. The actual test of my love and loyalty. He did say that I would not be bound or restrained in any way. That I would be doing it totally myself, that he wouldn't be required to assist in any manor. That way I'd make it truly an event of my own choice and doing, my own sacrifice, my own act of devotion and love.

That was all I needed to know. That night before his birthday was the first and only time in our relationship when he asked how I'd like to spend our time together. I had been so used to never making decisions, that I had a hard time making a choice. Finally, I made half a choice, "Anything that causes extreme pain to my nuts. If this is the last night I have them, you should have the pleasure of taking them to the limit and beyond. When we're done, they should be bruised and swollen. They should ache so that I won't be able to sleep. I don't want to able to walk in the morning without wincing."

He took me at my word. He started off by binding me to my special chair, the one with the ten-inch dildo attached to the seat. He put a hood over my head, but left the eyes uncovered. He grabbed the ball gag and buckled it tightly in place. He attached a parachute around my nut sack and added a two-pound weight. "We're going to start by watching a couple of new videos. They should give me a few ideas for tonight."

I squirmed in anticipation as he hit the VCR button. The title made my dick lurch: "Cracked Nuts." I watched as guys had their balls hand-squeezed, placed in vices, attacked with leather straps, pinned down on butterfly boards, slapped, kicked, stomped, and nailed to two by fours. Every ten minutes, Master's watch beeped, and he'd add another two-pounds to my stretched scrotum. After two hours of films, I was blubbering inside the hood. The tears were preventing me from seeing anything more on the screen. Twenty-four pounds were nearly pulling my gonads out by the roots! My chest was heaving with the strain. But my cock was rigid and dripping threads of clear man juice clear to the floor.

He turned off the TV and came back to the chair. With a finger he started tapping my balls. Each gentle tap built on the one before. The repetition soon had me screaming around the gag. Finally he stopped.

"They're getting cold. Best release them for a bit. I'd hate for them to get numb. I want you to feel every second of this night."

He untied me from the chair and led me over to the workout mat. Walking chaffed my tender nuts. It felt good.

"Lie down on your back with your hands behind your head." I complied. "Spread those legs."

He knelt between them and pulled my foreskin down over the tip of my prick. He slid a large ring through the four piercings there and hooked it through my navel ring before closing it off.

"That'll keep him out of my way for a while." He then snapped a leather strap around my sack. It was snug, but not binding. "We'll leave plenty of room for swelling." The smile was not reassuring. He resumed the gentle tapping on each orb. It built and built until my fingers were cramping from holding onto each other. I was determined to keep them behind my head, and it wasn't easy.

He stood and moved over to the equipment wall. I shook when he took down the wooden paddle. He'd only ever used it on my ass before.

Even the first swat was not gentle. On the third, my hands took on a life of their own and pulled out from under my head. I was able to stop them before they reached my waist. By the look on Master's face, it's a good thing. Hurriedly, I replaced them.

"I know at some point I'll have to restrain you. But first, I want to see how much your can take on your own. We're not anywhere near that yet. I know you want to please me, boy. You'd better keep those hands right where they are for a long time yet."

He had thrown down the gauntlet: the double challenge to my manly self-image and my loyalty to please him. I gritted my teeth and entwined my fingers. Inwardly I vowed that they'd break each other before I'd let go again.

Oh vanity, vanity! Yes, I held out much longer. I drew blood from my tongue. I popped a finger joint. But eventually, I failed: I disappointed myself and let go. In the meantime, he'd gone on with the paddle. Switched to using his fist on my punching bag. Then resorted to blows from his steel-toed boots. The strap was indeed tight now from the swelling.

Yes, my hands finally flailed the air and grabbed at my wounded manhood as I rolled to the side of the mat and vomited.

He just stood and watched. When I had finally stopped being sick, he said, "After you've cleaned that up and had a quick shower, we'll continue." A motivating boot slammed into my ass.

In the shower, I realized what a beating my poor balls had taken. They were tender to the touch and swollen to nearly twice their normal size. There was not one spot of natural color anywhere. Black and blue, abraded and cut, yellow and purple. I groaned as I soaped them up. It was even harder to dry them.

I returned to our basement playroom. He sat me on one of the workout benches and handed me a small plain-paper wrapped box. One of the packages I'd seen arrive? Apprehensively, I unwrapped it. He sat in his recliner with a beer and watched. When I opened the box, the first thing I saw was a reflection off of thick, clear acrylic. Then I recognized it as being a vice similar to one used in the video. I stared at it.

"Well, go on. You know what to do with it. Put it on those tenderized nuts and make it snug."

Even just the amount of pressure needed to keep it in place was agony to my already battered balls. When I was ready, he came over to inspect. He caressed the surface of the clear acrylic where you could see my flattened orbs below. "Very nice. Give it another quarter turn." I whimpered, but complied. "The dishes aren't done. In fact, the whole kitchen needs cleaned. Get busy. Oh, and every three minutes, my watch alarm will beep and you're to give ‘em another quarter turn. Best get at it. The sooner the kitchen's spotless, the sooner I turn off the alarm.

* * * * *

The kitchen was done, and I was again tied in a sitting position on the workout bench. I was in a constant state of agony. My swollen nuts had been compressed to a three-quarter inch flat mass. And I'd been compelled to do it to myself! Now Master took over.

"I'm going to take this off in just a few minutes. But first, we're going to take it one more complete turn and leave it for three full minutes."

By the time he'd slowly completed the full rotation of the vice handle, I was heaving and screaming. Suddenly, my cock spasmed and spurted into my belly button. The action pulled even more on my nuts. By the time his watch beeped again, I was hoarse from screaming. Then suddenly the pressure was released. I was nearly sick again and had to fight back my nausea.

He licked and gently sucked my injured area. His warm mouth soothed me, and I sighed in contentment. Finally he stopped and brought over the butterfly board. He had to pry/push each enlarged nut through the opening that previously had easily accommodated them. Against this white foamboard background, they looked beautifully awful. They were more spectacularly colored than anything we'd seen in the movies earlier. I was glad he was videotaping all of the action. I could hardly wait to see it, to watch it with him.

Now he brought out the needles and began to pull and stretch at the sack. I quietly moaned as each on pushed into, then pierced the skin surface. I gloried in the feel as it slid neatly through my hide and out the other side. Then he'd stretch it out and stick it into the board. My cock slit oozed as I watched myself being stretched and positioned. Finally, he had nearly forty needles attaching my double mounds to the board. They were going nowhere.

"I'll be right back." I heard the door from the garage to the kitchen slam, and he came back in with a box. He set it on the table, and from my position, I couldn't see into it.

"Before we get to tonight's final treatment, I want to fuck your mouth, and I want you to come, too." He unsnapped his black leather pouch as he straddled the bench. He hauled out his thickened piece and fed it to my eager throat. He was so aroused by our evening that it was only a matter of minutes before his lunges resulted in his dumping his manjuice down my gullet. When he'd totally finished, he pulled out. "I'm not going to touch your prick. But I'm going to press down on those trapped balls. When I order you to come, shoot your load." Over the time we'd been together, he had trained me to come on demand. I knew I would. He sat on the bench in front of me and, with locked elbows, placed his palms over my imprisoned balls. He slowly leaned in, placing more and more of his weight onto his hands, onto my nuts. I began to see stars.

"Shoot, boy!" I spasmed and cried out my pleasure and with one last press, he released my balls. I shot and shot and shot.

When I finally regained my normal breathing, he was wiping me off with a towel. He stood, buckled a ball gag into my mouth, and returned to the box from the table. When he came back with a hammer and a very long finishing nail, I began to blubber into the gag. "I know, you were hoping we were done. We nearly are. Just town nails and that's it for the night." I thrashed my head from side to side and shouted into the gag. He ignored it. I watched in horror as he positioned the first nail and raised the hammer. He looked into my eyes and whispered, "I love you." The hammer struck. It took him three hard blows to get it completely through and anchored into the wood. I thought I'd die. But I held on. He undid the gag and kissed me slowly and gently. He licked at my tears.

Then he released my right hand. "Feel it." He continued to kiss and neck as I tentatively explored with my fingers. I couldn't believe it. Only a quarter inch of the three-inch nail protruded from my left nut!

He broke away and went back to the box. When he came back, I was in shock. In his hand was his power nail gun. On high power, I'd seen it bury an eight-penny nail into oak! "I won't do this to you, slave. But if you really want to show your Master your true devotion, you'll pull the trigger yourself. After all, tomorrow you're going to lose them anyway." While he spoke, he plugged it in and aligned it over my right ball. Then he gently grasped my hand and placed my finger onto the trigger. He held the tool in place and waited. For a long time I just stared down at my crotch and trembled. My mind was totally numb with fright. Slowly, I raised my eyes to his face. He was calmly looking into my eyes. Patient, waiting. I took a deep shuddering breath, pulled the trigger, and passed out.

* * * * *

At some point during the night, my bladder woke me. That and the pain. I vaguely remember Master having carried me into the shower and putting me to bed. Vaguely. I turned on the light. Even with the covers on, I knew he had bound my legs and waist to the bed frame. Bondage? Or assuring that I wouldn't roll over onto my balls during my sleep? Or both?

There was a bottle of pain killers and a glass of water on the night stand. And a note that said he was not concerned with my pain but he did want me rested for his enjoyment of the day to come. Considerate. I took two and reached for the urinal. When I pulled back the covers, I saw why I was still in such pain. He had removed the needles, but the two nails still impaled me to the board. I groaned at the sight of my two black, swollen testicles with runs of dry, crusted blood down their sides.

Gingerly, I slid the tip of my cock into the urinal and drained myself. By the time the flow stopped, I was hard and excited. I caressed my shaft and oiled its head with the ooze from its slit. I drank down the warm yellow liquid I'd just provided and began to shank my shaft. By the time I was pounding in earnest, each stroke pulled at the nails and intensified the feelings. When I came, I gasped and shot twice directly into my mouth. And then, I was again asleep.

* * * * *

When I finally woke, Master had bound my wrists as well. He stood there smiling. "About time! My bladder's nearly ready to burst." He climbed onto the bed and straddled my chest. I dropped my jaw and drank in his morning juice. He ended by dumping a white load as a chaser.

"Happy birthday, Sir."

"Thanks. Time to remove those nails." My muscles tensed. They hurt nearly as much coming out as they had going in. Yes, I screamed. Yes, I bled. Yes, I loved it. Yes, he smiled.

He tied my hands to the ceiling hook in the shower. And washed me all over, giving close, painful attention to my crotch. Then he inched up behind me and fucked my rear end. With every lurch, my sensitized balls flew out and slapped painfully back against my legs. He triggered my orgasm when he cried out with his own.

* * * * *

We'd made our way through the day on a pretty normal routine. We had long-standing reservations at our favorite restaurant for a special birthday dinner. I couldn't disappoint him, but I did have to change my plans of what to wear. It took a lone time to find a dressy enough outfit that could accommodate my swollen front and allow me to walk with minimal pain.

I enjoyed the meal. Candlelight, soft music, my favorite person in the world. But my mind kept slipping to the main event to come. And I think his did, too. I was getting more and more nervous. And my throbbing balls did nothing to help me put it aside for the time being.

Finally we had paid and found a taxi back home. We sat in the back and gently necked. He nibbled on my ear and whispered. "Just wait ‘til you see. I've borrowed some extra cameras; we'll tape it from all four corners of the room. You're so great. All my Master friends will cream with envy when they see the tapes. It's the best birthday present I'll ever have in my entire life."

His litany went on and on between kisses and nips. And the whole time his hand caressed and pressed at my lap. I moaned and groaned and shivered in anticipation. He could tell when I was ready to shoot, and he would stop for the moment. Then he'd start again. By the time we drove up to the front of the house, I was whimpering in frustrated desire. The front of my trousers was spotted with my ooze. Between my roaring hard prick and my sensitive nuts, I could barely walk up the steps and into the house.

As soon as we were in, he began. "Strip and wait here!"

While I was getting nude, he disappeared down the hall. I shifted from foot to foot as I stared at myself in the hallway's full-length mirror. My black, distorted balls loomed even larger in my mind's eye. They dominated my vision. I said my last good-bye to them as I waited for him to return.

When he did, I nearly swooned. Full-leather chaps and boots, leather jock, leather vest with a harness showing underneath, leather mask. My hero. My master.

He locked a collar onto my neck and attached a lease. "Heal, boy."

I dropped to all fours and followed along to our playroom. Once there, he took off the leash and pushed my face into his jock. He unsnapped the pouch and fed me his meat. "Just nurse on that and listen." I was contented to do both.

"I told you this had to be wholly your choice and your own doing. I did a lot of searching on the net and have come up with a device that lets you do it all yourself. I'll just watch. Or I can hold and cuddle you if you wish. Or face fuck you or pound your ass for you. But in no way will I restrain you. Nor will I help you. It's your present to me. And I'll love you for it. Finish sucking me off, and then we'll get started."

He had me so hot, I ate him voraciously. I had to have his jism down in my stomach. I had to please my Master. Suddenly, he gushed into me over and over. After a while he pulled out and pulled me up for an embrace. He finished the kiss. "Ready?"

"Yes, Sir." I was embarrassed that my voice trembled. But he seemed to like it. He started recording on all the cameras, then he led me to his recliner and sat me down. On the table beside it was a tray covered with a cloth. He removed the fabric, and I got my first look at my fate. I was perplexed. It appeared to be made of thick glass or plexiglass. A cube about six inches on a side and about four deep. The bottom, which was made of a grey opaque material, had a hole in it. The clear lid was sitting beside it. On one of the other sides was mounted a small, black box with a button and two lights. The green light was lit. Beside the tray was a large pitcher of water. After staring for a couple of minutes with no further understanding, I looked up quizzically at my Master.

As he began to explain, the color surely drained from my face. My eyes widened and were drawn back to the contraption beside me. When he finished, I found I'd been holding my breath.

"It came with an animated instructional video. I'll put it in, and you just follow the instructions." He slipped the tape into the VCR and grabbed the remote.

"Welcome to the Video Instruction Manual for your new Ball-Eliminator." The male voice was rugged, deep, compelling. "But caution! This is NOT A TOY. Once in place the Ball-Eliminator CANNOT BE REMOVED. This is NOT a fantasy trip: this is the real thing. The Ball-Eliminator is unbreakable. A sledge hammer won't even scratch it. Once you surrender your testicles to its confines, they are essentially gone. If this is your desire, then proceed."

Master hit the pause button. He placed the remote in my hand. "From now on, you have to do everything for yourself. Hit pause after each section of the instructions and then follow his directions."

"Yes, Sir." With a deep breath, I hit the play button.

"The first, and biggest, step is to place your nuts through the hole in the heat resistant back plate of the Ball-Eliminator and slide it closed. Once closed, it will permanently lock in place and NOT reopen."

On screen, an animated man drew his nuts through the hole. A hand pushed the constriction piece tight around the base of the sack and there was a click. I hit the pause button.

Master was sitting on a chair across from me. As he watched the screen and me, he slowly stroked himself. My hands trembled as I brought the box to my crotch. It was easy enough to force my balls through the opening. But I hesitated twice before I could finally bring myself to side the trapping mechanism closed. The locking click was much louder than I had expected. It resonated throughout my groin. It reverberated throughout my brain, bringing sad tears coursing down my cheeks.

I looked to Master and saw the reassuring approval in his eyes that I so needed. That gave me the energy to resume the video.

"Place the two metal probes deep into each ball. They are not for electro-torture. They are sensors to judge when the procedure is complete." Pause again.

Amazingly, just the day before I would have panicked at such a suggestion. But I had already endured so much that this seemed a nearly reasonable request. When I actually complied, it was relatively simple to reopen the nail holes and insert the probes there. I wondered, suddenly, if that had been Master's purpose with the nails all along.

The voice continued. "Now fill the cube with water and secure the lit. It will create a watertight seal and, like the base, will lock into place." Pause.

It was a strange sensation to see my balls encased with water in a glass container. It was almost like they'd already been removed and bottled in formaldehyde for preservation and display. I stared a few moments in fascination.

At last, I again picked up the remote. "Congratulations, your preparation is complete. The Ball Eliminator is ready to do its job. Just push the button on the control box. The red light will come on indicating that it is functioning. The mechanism will gradually begin to heat the water until it reaches a rolling boil. The entire procedure normally takes between thirty and forty minutes, but could be less or more depending on the individual. The sensors will automatically turn it off when the job is complete, and the red light will go out. When that happens, turn this program back on to receive final directions and instructions for aftercare."

I place the VCR remote on the table. Master suddenly pulled me to my feet and planted a passionate kiss. He hugged me as tightly as he could with the contraption trapped between us. Finally he broke off the kiss. "I know you're doing this out of love and to demonstrate your loyalty to me. Thank you, boy. I've very proud to have you as my slave."

Tears of joy now streamed down my face. Master had never said such a thing before, and now I even had it on tape to relive again and again. With a smile, I confidently pushed the button.

I don't really know what I had expected. A sudden jolt? An electric zap or tingle? But at any rate, I felt absolutely nothing. I had to look for the red light to be sure it was working. It was. Master just held me in his arms. Slowly, I began to notice the change. The water went from cold to body temperature to warm. Suddenly, I was scared and began to tremble.

"Would it help if we tried things to distract you?"

"Oh yes, please, Sir."

He picked up the flogger and pushed me to my knees. I buried his again throbbing dick into my throat and held onto his thighs. He began to lightly strike my back and butt. Slowly he increased the tempo and the severity of the blows.

But all too soon, my crotch demanded more of my attention. The water temperature had gone from shower hot to stove-top steam. I began to whimper. My hands tried to pull at the box. I shifted back and forth on my knees. My breathing became more ragged.

Master pulled out of my mouth. "In pain, boy?"

"Oh yes, Sir."

"Good." He drew me to my feet and leaned me over the exercise horse. The wooden paddle slammed into my ass. Each stroke was severe. For split-seconds, I'd forget my balls. "Faster, Sir. Harder, please, Sir. Please."

He tried to comply, but eventually his arms gave out.

I sobbed. I flailed my arms. "Oh, god, it hurts! I can't stand it! Give me a knife; I'll cut them off now. Please, Sir, oh please!" I blubbered on as my knees gave way, and I writhed on the floor. I pounded on the infernal contraption with my fists till they bruised. "Oh, please, Sir. Help me. Cut them off. Anything. Please. Please."

His face steeled and hardened. "Don't wimp out on me now, boy. Hand in there. I want to be proud to show this tape. Do you want me to hurt you more?"

"Oh, yes, Sir. Needles. Yes, on my tits, through my cock. Through my tongue. My eye lids. Anything, everything. Your bullwhip. Cut me. Shred me. Make me bleed. Please, Sir, hurt me bad. I want to hurt for you, Sir."

He smiled and complied. He did his best to divert me, at times he actually succeeded.

I learned the meaning of eternity that night. It lasted for 43 minutes. Suddenly, the box beeped, and the red light went off. We both stared at it. Then looked at my crotch in the display box. The box was still hot, but the water no longer bubbled. Suddenly, I realized that everywhere else hurt more than there. I wobbled on my legs. Master dropped his whip and eased me into the chair.

He got a basin of cool water and rinsed off my face, my chest, my arms. I just sat and let him. We didn't speak: we were both tired.

"I'm ready to go on now, Sir." I wasn't really sure I was. But I knew if I didn't get on with it soon, I'd fall into an exhausted sleep right then and there. He just nodded and stood back.

I punched the VCR remote and followed the next set of instructions. The lid came off easily now, and I drained the still-hot water back into the pitcher. Then I tied off my sack outside the box and was surprised at how easily the knife cut through the now tender sack and cooked tissues. I set the box on the table beside me. It was a startling sensation to see myself in the chair and my balls on the table. But they no longer hurt.

It did hurt to suture myself shut. But no more than some other parts of my defiled body. Less than some piercings I had endured. Finally I was done. I reached in and picked up my separated scrotum with its pair of contents. Surreal emotions washed over me while I gingerly knelt at my Master's feet. I held them up to him and whispered, "These are now yours, Sir. They always were. I love you, Sir. Happy birthday."

We both had tears of happiness on our cheeks. He took them and placed them on a tray. He picked me up in his arms and headed out of the room. "I'll clean you up and put you to bed."

Over his shoulder I could see the tray. "Sir, what will you do with them?"

"Well, tonight I'll put them in the freezer. In a couple of weeks, when you're fully recovered form all this, we'll have a belated birthday party. I'll invite all my master friends to come. While we are all watching the tapes of tonight, you will fill a large tray with crackers. Then place thin slices of that thoroughly cooked meat on the crackers and serve them to my friends while they watch the show. And if they ask what it is, tell them you'll get them the recipe before they leave."

I shivered in his arms and moaned. But I also kissed his ear lobe and whispered, "Oh, yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."