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The Restaurant Flavius sat in his favorite restaurant awaiting his favorite meal. He knew it would be fresh. Three boys, none older than fourteen, had sacrificed their balls for his meal, not fifteen minutes before. He had chosen the victims himself: had watched as their scrotums had been slit; had seen their balls slip out of their purses; had heard their muffled screams when the cords to their balls had been severed. He hadn't seen their faces. Hood had been pulled over their heads. Their screams had been muffled by gags. He preferred to be able to see their faces when they were nutted, but, because women sometimes dined at the restaurant, the boys were hooded when castrated. Flavius thought it was a sign that the Empire was growing weak. He remembered the days when women had attended the games along with their men to watch slaves fight and die-to watch them be castrated by the hundreds. Now, only the bawdier women-courtesans and prostitutes-attended the games. He didn't care that women no longer attended the games. He wouldn't have taken his wife, anyway. To him, wives were only for having children. For sex-for love-there were men and boys, especially neutered slave boys-those who had recently grown their man hair-then lost their balls knowing what their loss would mean. In the slave market, strapped to poles, the boys were brought to orgasm time after time before they were cut. Other slaves, using their mouths and hands, would drain the boys' balls of the last of their seed; then a cutter would step up to one of the boys, looking into his eyes as he lifted his balls-and smile, knowing that the boy knew he had ejaculated for the last time-that the last of his seed had spilled onto the ground. The boys always began to squirm, straining against their bonds, when the cutter lifted their balls-and they pleaded. Oh, how they pleaded. They had learned how much pleasure their balls could provide-and, having learned, didn't want to lose them. As nut-less slaves, they would pleasure free men, but would have none themselves. Squirming and pleading availed them not at all. Without fail, all were nutted. With a sharp knife, the cutter would slit their sacks, then, when their balls dropped free, he would burn through the cords with a heated knife. Flavius loved the slave markets. He liked to watch the boys' faces as they were cut-liked to hear their screams as they lost their manhood. He could buy balls at the slave market, sometimes buying a bucketful and having them prepared by his slaves at home; but, they never seemed as fresh-and he never knew which boy had sacrificed his balls for his meal. The six balls he was eating tonight cost more than a bucketful at the slave market, but he'd picked out the boys himself-had watched them get milked for the last time. It was worth the price. They were tender, juicy, and cooked to perfection. After he finished his meal, he liked to visit the boys who had just been cut-to thank them for the meal they had provided him. He was a citizen of the Empire; they were slaves. Condescendingly thanking them for their balls inflated his sense of importance-not that he wasn't important. He was the overseer of Cracus Pompius' estates. His position had status, and, since he managed Pompius' money, some of it managed to slip into his purse. As miserly as Pompius was, Flavius couldn't live as well as he wished-as well as he thought he deserved-on his salary. At first, he was frightened to be stealing from Pompius, but he's been doing it for years and hadn't been caught. He was too smart to be caught, he told himself. If he hadn't stolen, he couldn't have afforded to eat at the restaurant three times a week as he did. In passing, he wondered how many boys had lost their balls to feed his stomach. It must have been hundreds. Nor, could he have visited the back rooms, possibly fucking a boy who's balls he had eaten weeks or months before. Sometimes he looked at their faces, wondering if he's eaten that particular boy's balls, but there had been so many of them. After a while, their faces had blurred into one. They were, after all, just slaves. It was late by the time Flavius returned home, but his sons had waited up for him. He had one daughter and three sons living at home. His two older daughters were married with families of their own. His wife had borne three daughters before Flavius' first son had been born. Two other son's had followed in subsequent years. The sons worshiped the father; the father doted on his sons. Verius, the oldest, fourteen, had a shadow on his upper lip and a few scraggly hairs on his chin. Flavius looked at him proudly. His heir was rapidly becoming a man. Of his brothers, Octavis was thirteen and Lacius was twelve. They, too, he thought, would make fine men. The tutor he had provided for them was expensive, but well respected. They were getting the best education that Pompius' money could buy. As Favius looked at his oldest son, he thought about the restaurant. Possibly it was time to take his son with him-to let his son choose boys who would sacrifice their balls for his meal. That was part of becoming a man: to walk up to a boy; to poke your finger into his chest, telling the slave master that you wanted that boy's balls; to see the look on the boy's face as he learned he was to lose his balls; then, to watch as his balls were dropped into a bowl, knowing that you would be savoring them as he writhed on the floor in a back room, bemoaning their loss. Yes, he might even treat his son to a boy afterward. Maybe he would watch as his son fucked one of the boys-or they might share some boys. Yes, that's what they'd do. They'd share a couple of boys, taking turns with each. He could teach his son a thing or two-just as his father had when he'd been a boy. Flavius took his son to work with him the next day. As showed Verius around the estate, they came upon Pompius. He had a scowl on his face-but he always scowled. "Who is this?" he asked, indicating Verius. "This is my oldest son, Verius, my lord," answered Flavius. "Do you have others?" "Yes, my lord. I have two other sons." He didn't mention that he had daughters as well. Daughters weren't important. "Did you want something, my lord?" "Not at the moment. Are you showing your son about?" "Yes, I'm taking him to Herclei tonight," he said, naming the restaurant. It'll be his first time to choose boys to be unmanned for his meal." "Ah, yes, Herclei. You go there often, do you not?" "Well, ah," Flavius answered, hesitantly, "I go there once in a while." He wished he hadn't mentioned Herclei. It was expensive. As stingy as Pompius was, he might think he was paying Flavius too well. Looking Verius up and down, Pompius said, "enjoy yourselves," then walked away. Flavius wiped the sweat from his brow. At the restaurant, Flavius and his son were seated at his favorite table-the one down front where the chosen boys were castrated. Then, they were taken to the slave pen to choose the six boys who would provide their dinner. Flavius followed the slave master guiding his son with his hand on his shoulder. There were thirty or forty boys in the pen-none older than Verius. Walking among the boys with his father, Varius' cock became stiff. He relished the power his father had given him. He could point to any three of these boys-none much different from him, except that they were slave and he was free-and they would lose their balls. What would that be like he wondered-to have your balls cut off? For two years he had been masturbating-sometimes several times a day. He loved to come. Without balls, he couldn't. A certain boy captured his attention. About the same age as he, the boy was handsome and taller than he. His cock, too, was larger than his by at least two inches-almost as long-soft-as his was hard. He was envious of the boy's good looks-wished his cock was so large. The boy might be handsome; his cock might be large; but, Varius had something better; he had power-the power to choose the boy. Gleefully, he exercised it, poking he boy on the chest, saying, "This one. I want this one." The boy blanched, color draining from his face. "No, please, young master. Not me. Please choose someone else," he said, as one of the slave master's assistants grabbed him by the arms to lead him from the pen. "No, slave," said Varius. "You'll do nicely. I'll dine on your balls tonight." He chose two others, but it was the first boy's balls he wanted the most. Wanting to know when he was eating them, he requested that the boy's balls be placed on a separate plate. After choosing their boys, Flavius and Varius returned to their table. Shortly after they were seated, the six boys were led out to posts only a few paces from their table. Each boy had a hood over his head-one color for those chosen by Flavius and one color for those chosen by Varius. Even with the hood over his head, Varius recognized the boy. His cock, hard with anticipation of what was to come, jutted out from his body. It was huge-especially on a boy so young. Under the table, Varius slipped his hand beneath his robes and began rubbing his cock. Glancing at his son, Flavius knew what he was doing. Varius' eyes were fixed on the first slave boy he had chosen. Flavius could see his arm move. In a moment, Varius closed his eyes and bit his lip, moaning softly. Flavius knew that his son had come beneath his robes-but hadn't he done the same when he had chosen his first boy to be nutted? Varius opened his eyes after he'd come. His father was watching him, smiling. He felt his face burn, certain that his father knew what he'd just done-but was distracted from his embarrassment by the show which was beginning. His boy, the one with the big cock, would be the first one to be nutted. "Young sir," the slave master said, talking to Varius, "this one is yours. Would you like to milk him before we take his balls." "Yes," nodded Varius. His cock became hard again at the thought. Walking up to the boys, he placed his hand around the boy's cock. It filled his hand. Slowly-methodically-he began pumping it. He had never done another boy's cock. He heard the boy mumble behind his gag, but couldn't understand what he was trying to say. He wished the boy hadn't been gagged-wished he could see his face-hear him beg to keep his balls. "How does that feel, slave?" he asked, as he pumped the boy's cock. One hand, not being enough, Varius used his other as well, pumping the boy's cock with both. In a moment, the boy began thrusting his hips; then, with a gush, semen erupted from his cock, shooting several feet. Varius watched in amazement. His never shot more than a few inches. After he had come, the boy's cock subsided. Varius returned to his table. A slave then began working on the boy, using both his mouth and hand. The boy came at least ten times before he was finished-before his cock would no longer get hard. Then, it was the cutters turn. Although he couldn't see, the boy must have sensed that the situation had changed-that the person lifting his balls had something in mind other than extracting another climax, because he began to struggle-although, tied as he was, with his arms to the post above his head and his feet to rings on the floor, spreading his legs, he could do little to avoid what was to come. Picking up his knife, the cutter split the boy's sack from top to bottom. The boy's balls slipped out of their sheath, hanging in the open for all to see-once the cutter moved the boy's cock out of the way. Knives heated in a brazier of hot coals. Picking up one, the cutter stepped back to the boy. While his assistant held the boy's cock out of the way, he grabbed the boy's naked balls between his finger, pulling on them, stretching the cords-then, held the hot knife to the cords. Varius heard the cords sizzle-saw the boy's balls drop into the cutter's hand. Beneath his robes, his cock spewed out another load. He hadn't even touched it that time. The rest of the boys were done quickly-all of them having been milked at the same time by different slaves; then, the cutter walked down the line, nutting each. All too soon, for Varius-all too soon for the boys-they were ball-less. Their balls, collected in bowls, were taken to the kitchen to be prepared for Varius and his father. The balls were delicious. Varuis had eaten balls before-when his father had brought a bucketful from the slave market-but, now, he understood why his father spent so much time at the restaurant. Looking the boy in the eye, knowing you were the cause of his unmanning-watching him have his balls taken-seasoned his balls better than any spice or flavoring. When they had finished eating, Varius and his father went to the recovery room to thank the boys for their balls, as was his father's custom. The boy writhed on the floor, clutching at his groin. Varius had the slave who accompanied them, pull the boy's hands away from his crotch. The flaps of his split scrotum were plastered to his legs. There was nothing between the flaps-just emptiness. The cock, which had so recently filled Varius' hands, hung limply to one side. Never again, would it spurt out the boy's seed. "Thank you, slave," Varius said. "Your balls were delicious." The boy, not opening his eyes, only moaned. Varius had been naked with his father in the baths, but his father had never seen him with an erection. Neither had he seen his father's cock hard. Glancing down at his throbbing cock, he noted the difference between his and his father's, whose cock was almost as large as the slave boy's. Although overshadowed by his protruding belly, it was impressive. Varius had inherited neither his father's large nose or his cock. Hard, his scarcely exceeded five inches. Two boys, both the same age as Varius, were brought into the room, where he and his father reclined on couches. Diminutive cocks, shrunken from disuse, hung from patches of man hair. Flaps of skin-their empty scrotums-hung from their cocks. His father gave him his choice of boys. He chose one, wishing it could have been the first one he had chosen to be nutted; but that one was writhing on the floor in another room. It would be weeks before he could be similarly used. Perhaps, his father would bring him back; then, he could choose the boy. Fucking him, knowing he had caused his unmanning, would be exquisite. He had his cock sucked for the first time-fucked for the first time. Never again would he pump his cock, he decided-not when there was a slave he could use. Perhaps, he could convince his father to buy him a boy-perhaps, the one he had unmanned. If not, he could use his brothers. Bigger than they, he bullied them unmercifully. Neither of them would admit to having done so shameful an act-to being used like a slave. Yes, he thought, as he plunged his cock into the slave's ass, if his father didn't buy him a boy, he would use his brothers. The next day, at work, when Flavius saw his employer, Pompius asked, "Did you and your son enjoy yourselves last night?" "Yes, my lord. My son unmanned his first boys. It was a coming of age experience for him." "Good, to reward you properly for your service to me, I've purchased you another meal at Herclei. They will expect you tonight." The price of a meal included the use of a boy afterward. Even though Flavius had his fill the night before, he wasn't so old that he couldn't be aroused on a subsequent night. The sight of the boys being unmanned was a powerful aphrodisiac. Arriving at the restaurant, Flavius was shown to his favorite table, then, taken to the slave pen, where he chose the boys who would provide the balls for his meal. Brought hooded to the posts in front of his table, they were milked-then nutted. Although he had seen it done hundreds of times, his cock became hard when the first boy lost his balls. It was still hard when the last boy's balls were added to the bowl. As usual, they were delicious-perhaps, even more delicious because Pompius had paid for the meal. Afterward, as was his custom, he visited the boys to thank them for their balls. Three boys, lying on the floor clutched at their mutilated groins. They were his sons! He had eaten the balls of his sons! Turning to the slave master, he saw that Pompius, accompanied by several of his soldiers, had entered the room. Pointing to his sons, he asked, "Why?" "You thought you could steal from me with impunity?" asked Pompius. "But, my sons?" said Flavius. "They are only the first payment for your perfidy. Take him," he said to his guards. Taking him back into the restaurant, they strapped him naked to a pole. Without a hood, he watched the cutter-the same one who had unmanned so many boys at his request-pick up his knife. He felt the pain when his scrotum was split open-saw his heavy balls drop out of their sack-felt the cutter's rough hand on his sensitive balls. He blubbered, just as had countless slaves, begging to have his balls spared-but it availed him nothing. The cutter, picking up a glowing knife from the brazier, applied it to the cords of his balls. They dropped onto the floor. Old and tough, no one would eat them. They would be thrown to the dogs-along with his cock, because it was the next to be burned off with the hot knife. The quill of a feather was stuck into his urethra to keep it from healing shut. "I've confiscated your property. All your family will be sold into slavery," but Flavius wasn't listening. He had fainted when his cock had been cut off. Tormented by the pain in his groin, Varius could scarcely think-but he was aware that his father had been arrested. He knew, too, that his father had eaten his balls-and those of his brothers. Although unable to see though the hood which had covered his face, he had heard his father's voice-had felt his breath on his face as he had hefted his balls, telling him that he would enjoy seeing them cut off-telling him how much he would enjoy eating them. He had screamed into his gag, trying to tell his father who he was, but the muffled sounds he had made had been incomprehensible. The pain of having his balls cut off was excruciating; the knowledge of their loss was devastating. Only the night before he had discovered what pleasure they could provide. Now, he no longer had them. The flaps of his empty scrotum hung from a limp cock-a cock that might never again become hard. Varius and his brothers healed. His brothers were sold in the slave market. He was never to see them or his father again. They kept him at the restaurant to be trained for the patron's couches. Placed into a cage with other boys, he saw that boy-the one he had chosen that night. Although his cock was still larger than that of the other boys, it had diminished in size from disuse. Like Varius, flaps of his shredded scrotum hung from his cock. He stared at Varius-recognition in his eyes. Nudging two of his companions, he pointed to Varius. Although he wasn't certain, Varius thought that the others might be the other two whose balls he had eaten. They walked over to him. The boy poked him in the chest, saying, "I choose you, slave. Do you remember me? Do you remember my friends? Remember telling us how you enjoyed our balls?" Varius turned to run, but the other two boys grabbed his arms-opened his mouth to shout, but had a rag stuffed into it. Going to a corner of the room, the boy retrieved the blade of a broken knife. "You ate our balls," he said. Now, we'll eat your cock." After sawing off Varius' cock with the rusty knife blade, he divided it into thirds, giving a piece to each of his friends. He took the part which included the head, stuffing it into his mouth, chewed for a while, then said, "Your cock tastes good, slave." Having taken the rag from his mouth, Varius held it to his groin in an attempt to check the flow of blood. None of the boys moved to help him. He had been a master. Although now a slave, he wasn't one of them. |