Historians and Civil War re-enactors love to sit around and argue about the various could-have-beens that might have changed the outcome of the war. If President Davis had not traded California and the Arizona territory to Mexico in exchange for their support, or if Spain had not sent the huge ironclad ‘Conquistador’ to break the Union barricade, or if England hadn’t invaded through Canada and forced the Union to fight on two fronts the North could have won the war. All that is moot, of course, since the Confederacy didn’t lose, but you can’t help but ponder what life in the South might be like today if the Yankees had won the war. It’s not that the sanctimonious assholes are bad people; it’s just that their minds are hopelessly closed when it comes to issues like slavery, and they seem to think that heartless slave masters get their jollies by mass castrations of black men and boys.

This simply isn’t true. Occasionally the surgery is required for medical reasons, just like for common citizens, but it is never practiced on children. Loss of the testicles weakens a slave and makes him less capable of the heavy work required of him, and a child castrated young will have no more muscular development that a women and has a reduced value on the farm or workplace, thus slaves are left intact whenever possible. Theirs’ is a life of toil and drudgery and one of the few pleasures available to them is the comfort that having a working set of balls provides, and everyone knows that happy slaves are productive slaves.

Mass castrations of blacks? If you read your history books you will learn that all blacks that took up arms against the Union forces were granted freedom and citizenship after the war, and the many captured prisoners of war assumed their places as slaves. Other prisoners from the Mexican and Cuban campaigns augmented these whites over the years, and now only about ten percent of the two million male slaves in the Confederacy are black, and only about a hundred of these two million are castrated in a year, or fewer than five-thousandths of one percent. That hardly qualifies as mass castration. There are far more citizens castrated every year for sex offenses than slaves.

Castration is only used as punishment for specific crimes: assault on a master or his family, having carnal relations with any citizen, committing forcible rape with another slave, or any form of sodomy with a minor are crimes punishable by castration, to be witnessed by the other slaves of the plantation. Any other crimes or infractions result in a public whipping, or, in the case of homicide, execution. The only possible injustice lies in the fact that slaves are not entitled to trials by juries of their peers; the owner conducts a hearing and determines the guilt or innocence and imposed the proper sentence.

Tyler knew all of this, of course. After all, he had completed the freshman year of high school and as such was probably the best educated slave in the Confederacy. Slaves normally receive no classroom education what so ever, but Tyler had not always been a slave. His parents were both citizens and he had been born a citizen. The problem came in when his parents split and his mother remarried. That was okay, but then the dumb cunt had went and gotten herself knocked up. The population control mandates are clear: Two kids per couple, and Tyler already had a much younger brother. Mom and her new husband elected to keep the unborn child and commit the difficult fourteen year old into slavery for the rest of his life. It was ironic, in a way, because slaves are allowed and encouraged to breed prodigiously. The petroleum crisis limits mechanized farming, so all crops are cultivated by manual labor and a large slave workforce is required to feed the Confederacy’s citizens.

Unlike the other slave boys who had been born to the collar, Tyler resented his status and as a result he conveyed the attitude that he was better than the others. They naturally disliked him, and in the four years since his indenture he had been given the lowest and most vile job on the plantation: gathering the shit from the toilet pits to till into the fallow fields. Adding insult to injury, the smell of shit permeated his clothing and he was compelled to strip naked and scrub himself in the cold water of the creek at the end of each workday before joining the other boys in the barracks shower room.

“Hey, Needledick,” one of the other eighteen years olds taunted. “Wanna wipe my ass for me?”

“Fuck you,” Tyler answered. He wasn’t big or strong enough to fight the other boys but he could still stand up to them verbally.

“What with? Who’s going to help you?” The other boys joined in the laughter, causing Tyler to turn away. He had as much sack as any of the other white boys, but the cold water of the creek had shriveled him to insignificance and the warm shower didn’t have the affect on him that it had on the other boys. Plus, as a citizen he had been circumcised at birth, a rite denied normal slaves and one that added to his disgrace.

“How many more days do you have left to get it wet, Needledick?” Another boy taunted.

“None of your fucking business, Asshole,” Tyler replied, but he knew that every slave on the plantation knew exactly what he’d been charged with and he felt his already shrunken balls recede even deeper into his groin and his face grow red with embarrassment at the reference to his virginity.

Tyler had never gotten laid, a fact that hadn’t bothered him until he came to the plantation. Promiscuity is discouraged in all adolescent citizens and most remain virgins until the night of their weddings. Bordellos service adults but youngsters are expected to satisfy themselves or seek help from like-minded boys their own age. The slaves have no such restrictions and are encouraged to mate as soon as capable of doing so, and the bell-like tinkle of their slave collars clanging together in the haylofts and from behind the bushes bring smiles to faces of both slaves and masters alike. The women don’t resent this arrangement in the slightest; it’s not only good recreation for them, but also, falling with child gets them out of the harsh work in the fields and into an easier lifestyle for at least a while. Youths leave their families on their thirteenth birthdays and live in the barracks until they marry, and by the time they turn eighteen all are well experienced and many are already fathers and mothers.

Tyler’s didn’t know all of this; he thought that the idle chatter he’d heard had been bullshit, just like it had been in the high school locker room, and his initial attempts at furtive nighttime masturbation were met with hoots of derision and he’d gotten the snot beat out of him by another boy the first time he suggested hooking up. By the time Tyler learned that the ladies were fair game and hot to trot it was too late. The girls shunned Tyler due to his uppity attitude, assumed orientation, and rumors of a maimed cock, and consequently he was still a virgin but to his own hand. It practically killed Tyler to wake up with a boner every morning knowing that the other boys had gotten laid last night. With all the normal teenage horniness but no form of assisted release, Tyler took to jacking off while he was working alone in the pits, topping the reeking piles of shit with his virgin white seed like icing on a cake.

“Hey! What are you doing?” The voice was high and reedy, and Tyler instinctively quit pumping his cock and pulled up his underwear. “I want to see!” Tyler looked up to see a young boy, maybe eleven or twelve years old, not yet pubescent, staring at him from the edge of the pit. Tyler was about to tell the little asswipe to get lost, but before he could respond, the lad had shed his shoes and pants and waded out to where Tyler stood. “I want to touch it,” the boy said. And Tyler let him. And then Tyler did something with the boy that was forbidden, an act that was witnessed through the binoculars of a watchful overseer and duly reported to the slavemaster.

The plantation owner served as magistrate and arbitrator for all judicial matters, but he was away on business, so Tyler’s trial would wait until his return. In the mean time, the shit pits still had to be emptied and Tyler was allowed to return to his duties.

“That’s really going to hurt,” one of the kids in the shower taunted. “They’re going to stand you up and take a couple of bricks, then Pow! You’ll be hitting the high notes.”

Instead of responding Tyler left the steamy shower room, dressed, and went to the barracks. In a way he felt cheated. The evening shower and bullshit session was a facet of the slaves’ lives that was not tightly regulated and they all looked forward to the half hour or so in which they could all unwind, and now that was also fucked up. He finally climbed into his bunk and tried to sleep, his mind drifting to how the young boy had marveled at his erection, then stroked its hardness and confessed that one of his buddies had said that he had to suck one or he’d never grow hair and have one of his own to play with. Tyler knew it was wrong but he willingly allowed the boy to drop to his knees and take him into his mouth and all sensibilities were forgotten until the overseer rudely interrupted them, at which time the boy swore that he’d been coerced.

“I find you guilty of willful sodomy with a minor child,” the plantation owner said after reviewing the testimony of the overseer and the boy and consulting his Slave Owners Procedures Manual “and I sentence you to castration, witnessed by all.” Tyler was summarily locked up in the plantation keep until execution of the sentence. A hundred and fifty years ago it would have been carried out right on the spot, and the slave may have or may not have survived the experience, but now all castrations are performed by a medically trained professional, usually a veterinarian, and the eunuchs rarely die from the procedure.

Fairoaks has two hundred slaves to farm the acreage, plus a few more for household servants, and on the appointed Sunday all were present in the courtyard as witnesses. The young unmarried men, the primary target of the lesson in law and order, stood directly in front while the unmarried women and the families with young children stood off to each side. The master was there, of course, but his family had elected to forego the trauma of seeing a youth get his nuts carved off. The master was sort of winging it, unsure of the exact protocol for the taking of a slave’s balls. The last slave castration at Fairoaks had occurred some twenty years ago, while he was still away at college, and had been presided over by his father.

The State appointed castrator had arrived early that morning and, as per law, had reviewed the transcripts from the hearing to make sure that it had been conducted properly and that the boy was not being nutted over some trivial grudge. The master was the legal owner of the slaves and they were his property, but they still had to be treated fairly and humanely, just like the livestock. “The sentence is upheld,” he solemnly stated. “Proceed.”

Tyler was escorted to the large post set in the center of the yard wearing only his metal collar and then bound with four heavy leather straps to the post, hands above his head and feet tied together behind the post. The boys had all seen him naked but never in this vulnerability and most of their hands drifted down in involuntary protection of their own assets. The girls had all been wondering about his allegedly mutilated cock and were now satisfying their curiosity without shame or embarrassment, objectively comparing it to others they had known. Tyler’s attention was riveted on the small propane fired forge hissing away on the ground in front of him. It was the same one that had heated the iron that had branded his left ass cheek four years ago, only there were now two parallel handles projecting form the glowing firepot.

The State castrator tore a short strip of adhesive tape from a roll and taped Tyler’s flaccid cock up against his hairless belly, then stretched a common elastic band around the boy’s scrotum, compressing his balls into a tight lump and isolating them from his groin. Without hesitation he then removed the tool that had been heating in the forge. It was a large set of pincers, jaws four inches wide with a center girth large enough to encircle a grapefruit, and they glowed dull red with the heat. Tyler’s eyes grew wide as he spied the jaws open on the implement, and he began to scream in terror and pound his head against the post, but the castrator didn’t hesitate. A large puff of smoke, the smell of burning hair and flesh, and the boy’s scrotum separated and fell to the dusty ground.

A few of the women screamed and fainted, several of the boys also dropped to the ground, but most of the others sported tents in their trousers, a few of which were adorned with dark wet spots. Tyler sagged mercifully unconscious against the straps until taken down and carted off to the infirmary. He would be given antibiotics to guard against infection and allowed to recover for ten days before being released for light duty for another month, at which time he would be expected to return to the shit pits. His sacrifice lay where it had landed, avoided by all, until nightfall when one of the dogs packed it off.

“Can you still, you know, get it up?” One of the other boys asked a month later, staring at the pink scar of his mutilation. “And can you still shoot off?” He was still compelled to strip and shower with them every day, but they were somewhat friendlier now. He had erred and had gotten caught and had paid the price, but it could have happened to anyone of them instead of him.

“Fuck you,” Tyler croaked. His voice seemed to have changed, and it now had the same pubescent contralto he’d had as a young teen.

“Hey Tyler,” an overseer called out, entering the barracks. “I’ve got a letter for you.” It was rare for a slave to receive mail. Most of their families were right here on the same plantation, and few could read anyway. Tyler, however, received occasional letters from his mother.

“Dearest Son,” the letter began. “It is with heavy heart that I must inform you of the untimely death of your beloved brother Richard. He passed from a sudden infection two months ago.” Tyler didn’t really give a rat’s ass about his brother; Mom had always favored the spoiled little shit and Tyler wasn’t even certain that they shared the same father. “I would have written you sooner, but I was so overcome with grief that I couldn’t bear to spread the bad news. On the brighter side though, you can now regain your citizenship! You are no longer a slave! Isn’t that exciting! I notified the Board just last week, so by the time you get this letter your status will have already been changed and you will be a Citizen again! I hope and pray that you haven’t become involved with any of the lowly slave girls, because I’m looking forward to spoiling my grandchildren. I’ll see you soon, Son. Your loving mother."