Stepka

Chapter 1:

While surfing the Internet last night, I came across some pictures of Stepka, on a porn site of Russian boys. 

They had some beautiful boys, but I think Stepka was the best.  He definitely had the biggest cock of any of them, an almost ten inch monster.  But those were taken before his final picture shoot. 

I searched for that one, but couldn't find it.  I didn't really expect to.  Those pictures are probably both difficult and expensive to obtain.  Not everyone would want to see those pictures, but those that did, would be willing to pay for them.

Don't get me wrong.  It wasn't a snuff film.  When I met Stepka -- when he told me his story -- it had been two years since he'd done the shoot.  And I met him two years ago in a bar in Moscow.  That would make him twenty-two, now.  He had just turned eighteen at the time of the shoot.

Since Communism fell, Moscow has become a great place for sex, straight or gay.  It's a poor country, and as in most poor countries, sex is easy to find if you have money, and they love American dollars. 

A taxi driver had taken me to the bar.  Of course, the first thing they ask you is, "What are you looking for, Mister?  You want a nice girl --"  they usually hesitate then, sometimes raising an eyebrow -- "or do you want a boy?"

"Uh..." I said, "Do you know someplace that has some young boys?"

"You want a little boy?" he asked.

"No," I said, probably louder than I needed to, "not little boys -- young boys -- eighteen or nineteen years-old."

"If you want a little boy," he said, "I can get you one."

"No," I insisted, "I want one at least eighteen."  I didn't know the minimum legal age for sex in Russia, but I figured I was safe sticking with boys eighteen or older. 

Now, I might have fucked a willing sixteen year old, given the chance, -- and had it not been against the law -- but I wasn't into little kids.  I wanted a boy with a full grown cock and with hair on his crotch.  I wanted a boy that could come.

"I know just the place," he said.

From the outside, the place was a dive.  Afraid I'd get robbed, I was afraid to go in -- until I saw a boy walk into the place.  He was beautiful, and I mean beautiful, not that he was feminine, he was all boy -- or I thought so at the time. 

What I guess I should say is, he looked like a boy, but he was beautiful as only a young boy -- one before he's acquired the masculine characteristics that come with age -- is. 

He could have passed for sixteen.  That's the kind of beauty I'm talking about.  I was in love. 

One look, and I was in love.  I would have walked into hell -- would have fought the devil himself -- for this boy.

The cab driver walked in with me, introducing me to the bartender.  I imagine he got something for bringing me there. 

Cab drivers do in most such cities, Mexican border towns, Bangkok, for instance. "What are you looking for?" asked the bartender in thickly accented -- almost unintelligible -- English.

I looked across the room.  He was sitting at a table by himself -- although I didn't understand why.  He was easily the most handsome boy in the place.  "Him," I said.  "Is he available?"

"Stepka?" the bartender said, "You want Stepka?"

Stepka.  So that was his name.  Suddenly, that was the most beautiful name I could imagine.  "Stepka," I repeated, "Yes.  I want Stepka.  Is he taken?" 

I was certain he'd say, "Stepka is always taken," but he didn't.  "Have a seat at a table," he said.  "I'll ask him to join you."

At least that's what I thought he said.  This place obviously didn't get too many American tourists, and as I said, his English was bad.  At least, that's what I hoped he said.  Anyway, I took a seat at a table.

I saw him walk over to Stepka's table, lean over, speak into his ear, then look at me, nodding his head in my direction. 

Stepka finished his drink, stood up, then walked over to my table.  By that time, I had a raging hard on and was about to cream my jeans. 

I couldn't believe I might get to go to bed with such a beautiful boy.  I'm not a bad looking guy, but -- hell -- I was forty.  I might not ever have another one such as he.

I wanted him.  More, I think, than I'd ever wanted anyone.  I wanted to fuck him, but I wanted him to fuck me, too.  

I wanted him to shoot a load into my mouth.  Fuck condoms.  I wanted to taste his spunk.  Shit -- I would have risked AIDS for a taste of his.

"Did you want to talk to me?" he asked.  His English wasn't good, but it was far better than the bartender's.  At least, I could understand him.

"Sit down," I said.  "I'd like to buy you a drink."  He sat.  I glanced at his crotch as he did, hoping to get some indication about how big he was, but he was wearing baggy trousers, which was unusual. 

All the other boys in the place wore pants that looked like they'd been painted on.

"My name's David," I said, sticking out my hand. 

He shook it, giving it a shy, hesitant shake.  "My name is Stepka," he said.

"Stepka," I said, "That's a nice name.  I like it." 

It was kind of a dumb thing to say, but as much as I wanted him, I was feeling a little insecure.  What if he didn't want me?  I was more than twice his age, after all.

"Are you an American?" he asked.

"Yes," I answered.

"I would like to go to America," he said, "Is everyone in America rich?"

"No," I said, laughing, "most of us aren't.  I guess we're better off than people in many other countries, but we're not all rich.  I'm certainly not."

He looked disappointed, so I quickly said, "but I'm on vacation.  I've saved up for it and have a little money to spend."

"Were you..." He hesitated -- seemed embarrassed -- "looking for a boy."

It was my turn to be embarrassed.  I never paid for sex in the United States.  I had in Bangkok, when I'd traveled there, but that had been years before, when AIDS hadn't been such a threat. 

It wasn't that I wasn't worried about AIDS now.  I would use a condom, except maybe when I gave him head. 

I didn't know how to go about buying sex.  Should I negotiate for what I wanted now, or should I wait until we were in the room?

Then, too, where would we do it?  Did he have a room, or should we go back to my hotel room?  But I didn't say any of what I was thinking, I just looked up at him and said, "Yes."

"Do you want me to come to your hotel room?" he asked.

That was a good question?  Did I want to take him to my hotel?  If I did, the staff was sure to know that I was gay and had brought a boy to my room.  I'm a closet queer, I guess. 

No one at work knows I'm gay.  They might suspect it, but no one knows for sure.  I'm pretty discrete about who I take to bed, but that does mean that I spend many of my nights alone.  "Do you have a place here?"  I asked.

"They have rooms here," he said, "but they charge by the hour, and the rooms aren't too clean.  I thought you might want me to spend the night." 

Of course, I'm putting what he said into my words, saying what I think he meant to say, not actually what he said, since his English wasn't good.

"Sure," I said.  "We can go to my room, if you want -- and I would like for you to spend the night."

"I'll get us a taxi," he said -- stood up, walked to the bartender, said something to him, then came back to the table. 

During that time, different thoughts raced through my mind: could I trust him? were they planning to roll me?  was he HIV infected?

Get a grip on yourself, I said.  You want him; you know you want him; you'd risk all of that to have him; besides, it wasn't like I was a wimp.  I was six foot two and weighed a hundred ninety-five pounds. 

He was about three inches shorter than I was and weighed forty or fifty pounds less.  At about 5'11", he was tall enough, but slender.  I worked out with weights.  He obviously didn't -- but that was OK.  I like slender boys.

We were on our second drinks when the taxi arrived, so we tossed them down; I paid the bill, and we left. 

The bartender said something to Stepka when we left, but in Russian, so I didn't know what he said.  Whatever it was, seemed to embarrass Stepka, because he turned red. 

I told Stepka the name of my hotel.  "That's a nice hotel," he said.  "Are you certain you're not rich?"

Chapter 2:

It was a nice hotel.  Russia might be a poor country, but the better hotels in Moscow are expensive. 

I was paying a hundred fifty American dollars a night for my room, but that's not really more than a nice room in the USA.  It's just that I thought it would be cheaper in Moscow. 

But, like I had said, I was on vacation; and this was probably the only trip I'd ever make to Russia. 

I wouldn't have come in the first place, if I hadn't seen all the pictures of Russian boys on the Internet.  From them, one would think that every boy in Russia is gay -- and beautiful.

Well, I don't know about all Russian boy, but Stepka was beautiful, and since he was coming to my room, I assumed he was gay.

When we arrived at my hotel room, I went to the desk for my key while Stepka waited for me at the elevator.  I told him I didn't care if he came to the desk with me, but he said, "It's better that I don't.  I'll wait for you."

In the elevator, I asked him whether he'd been to this hotel before.  He said he hadn't, but that everyone knew it was a good hotel.  The place he worked probably didn't get many foreign tourists, and most of the cliental of the hotel were foreigners. 

Stepka didn't have the look of a boy that had a lot of money.  He had clean clothes on, but they were showing signs of wear.

Once in my room, after I had shut the door, Stepka said, "I like you.  You're a handsome man."

"I -- I think you're beautiful, Stepka," I said.  Well, there went any chance I had at negotiating a good price.  I'm certain my lust for him was written all over my face. 

"I'm kind of new at this," I said, "Do I pay you first, or afterward?"

"If I please you," he said, "then you can pay me.  If I don't, you owe me nothing."

Now, you're probably thinking, that's dumb, but with me it was the smartest thing he could have done. 

There was no way I was going to cheat him, and I gave him more than I would have, had we negotiated a price in advance; but that was after I heard his story.  The story had a lot to do with it.

Next, he kissed me, running his tongue into my mouth.  I almost shot my wad right then.  He rubbed his hand over my chest, then slid it down to my crotch. 

That did it.  I came, pumping my jism into my shorts.  He had his hand on my cock at the time.  He knew what was happening.  My cock jumped with each squirt. 

I hoped this wasn't one of those, I'll get you off, but no more situations; but I didn't think it was.  He had come to spend the night, after all. 

I might have been forty, but I had several more orgasms left in me that night.  With him in bed with me, I knew I did.  I opened my eyes.  I had closed them during my climax.  He was looking at me -- smiling.  "I think we made a mess," he said.

"That's OK," I said, "I have plenty of clean underwear. 

With that he undid my belt, then unzipped my jeans.  I just stood there and let him, my arms down at my side. 

He dropped my pants.  They fell down around my ankles.  I looked down at my shorts, at the wet spot of the front of them.  Then he pulled them down. 

I was already hard again.  I wanted him.  God, I wanted him.  "You have a nice cock," he said.

It was nice enough I guess; not large, only six and a quarter inches the last time I measured it, six and a quarter inches when I measured it at twelve years-old, and still the same twenty eight years later. 

Too bad.  With all the fucking and masturbating I'd done since I was twelve, it should have grown.

I reached for his crotch, but he pushed my hand away.  "Not yet," he said.  He helped me off with my shirt. 

Except for my shoes and socks and the pants gathered around my ankles, I was naked.  "Sit down," he said, "I'll take off your shoes."  I did; and he did. 

I was completely naked and he was fully dressed.  A crazy thought went through my mind; he could grab you're wallet and run.  If he did, would I, naked, run down the hall after him?

Of course, I didn't have to find out.  He folded my clothes, placing them on a chair.  "Lie down,' he said.  I did; and he climbed on the bed beside me, still fully dressed. 

I started to say something, but before I could, he took my cock into his mouth, sliding it down his throat. 

Man, the kid could give head.  I've had good head before, but none so good; but that he was a beautiful young boy, probably had a lot to do with it.

It wasn't long before I came.  He swallowed it all -- hadn't put a rubber on me first.  I knew I didn't have AIDS, and I'd never heard that you could get one from a blow job, so I wasn't worried, but you do have to be careful. 

I had come twice; and I hadn't even seen him naked -- hadn't even touched his cock through his clothes.  "Take off your clothes, " I said.  "I want to see you."

"You might not like me once you see me," he said.  "If you don't like me, though, you don't have to pay me anything."

Not like him?  How could I not like him?  Did he have a small cock that he was ashamed of?  I didn't care.  I would have preferred a large one, but by now, I was so enamored with him, that it wouldn't matter he had a small one. 

I wasn't prepared, though, for what I saw when he took off his clothes.

First, he took off his shirt.  His chest was hairless, maybe a hair or two around his tits, but from where I lay on the bed, I couldn't tell. 

There was a little bit of a fullness to his tits, like those of a young girl just entering puberty.  I liked it actually, but I like boys who appeared a little androgynous, boys, who if they had long hair, you'd have to look at twice to decide whether you were looking at a boy or girl.

Actually, I was eager to wrap my mouth around one of those tits.  "Keep going," I said, hard again, even though I'd come twice in less than a half hour.

Turning his back to me, he took off his pants, kicking off his shoes as he did, then folded his pants, placing them on a chair.  I wouldn't have had such patience.  Mine would have been on the floor in a pile. 

He stood for a moment, clad only in boxers and his socks, then slid off his boxers, still keeping his back to me.  Was he that shy? I wondered.

I tried to catch a glimpse of his cock and balls between his legs, but he kept his legs close together.  "Would you turn off the light?" he asked.

"I want to leave it on," I said.  I want to see you."

"All right," he said, then turned around..

FUCK! He had no cock or balls.  I mean he had nothing on his crotch except for hair.  I could see a scar where he once had a cock and balls, but he had them no longer.  He didn't have a slit.  If he planned to have a sex change, he hadn't had it yet.

"I'm sorry, man," I said, "but I'm not into doing boys that are having a sex change.  I mean -- if I wanted a girl, I would have gotten one.  I dig boys, that's why I took you.  I thought you were a boy."

He began crying.  He wasn't faking it.  Fucking tears streamed down his face.  "You think I wanted this?" he said, framing his empty crotch with his hands.  "They did this to me.  I never wanted it.  I'd give anything to have my cock and balls back."

Shit, I couldn't stand it.  Never in my life had I ever seen such a look of despair. 

I got off the bed and walked over to him, taking him into my arms, nestling his head against the hollow of my shoulder, and caressed his hair.  I kissed the top of his head. 

I wasn't thinking about sex anymore.  He was just a kid, a hurt kid that needed to be comforted.  I would have been a real jerk, if I'd done otherwise.

He continued to sob against my shoulder, his arms clinched tightly around me.  "It's OK," I said.  "I want you to stay.  You don't have to leave."

I could tell he was trying not to cry, but his breath kept catching in his chest. 

"Come over here," I said, "Sit down on the bed."  He did, resting his head on my shoulder. 

I loved him all over again, but this time, with the love of a father for a son.  He needed to be loved.  I could tell he was starved for it.  He wasn't faking.  No one could have faked such despair.

His sobs gradually subsided.  Once they had become only sniffles, he lifted his head from my shoulder. 

"I'm sorry," he said.  "I'll leave.  I know you don't want me.  I should have told you right off, but --"

"But, what?" I asked.

"If I had, you wouldn't have wanted me, would you?"

"I --" What could I say?  If I had known, I wouldn't have taken him.  He was beautiful, but I had wanted a boy with a cock.  I wanted to suck a boy's cock. 

Hell, I like that as much as having mine sucked.  No, I wouldn't have taken him, if I'd known, no matter how beautiful he was. 

If I'd just been looking for a hole to fuck, I could have found a girl.  I like cocks, damn it.  I said none of this out loud, but he must have seen it on my face.

"You don't have to pay me," he said, "but if you could, would you give me some cab fare?  I -- I don't have any money with me."

"Hey, you don't have to leave," I said.  "We don't have to do anything.  Hell, I've already climaxed twice.  That's enough for an old guy like me.  It's a big bed.  We can share it.  And, don't worry, I'll pay you.  You got me off.  That was the best head I've ever had."

Damn it.  I liked the kid.  Cock or no cock, I liked the kid.  I glanced down at his crotch -- then at mine.  I had another erection.  For some reason, his empty crotch turned me on. 

God! I wondered.  What's it like to get your cock and balls cut off, and especially at such a young age?  Maybe some people can do without sex, but I can't -- I wouldn't want to -- I like sex.  I like it a lot.

Here was a beautiful boy -- I didn't think at the time that he was older than eighteen -- and he'd lost both his cock and balls.  No wonder he had cried.  "They did this to me," he had said.  Who did it to him -- and why?

"Will you stay?" I asked.  "I want you to stay.  It's late.  At least stay the night."

"Are you sure you want me to?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, "I'm sure."

"OK," he said, actually using that all too American expression.

"Good," I said, tousling his hair.  I stood up.  "I'm going to fix myself a drink.  Would you like one?"

He did, so we had one, followed by a couple more.  I was feeling a bit of a buzz from the liquor, and sitting next to a naked boy, even one without a cock, was making me horny; but I felt strange about suggesting that we have sex. 

Not many minutes before, I was feeling fatherly toward him; now, I wanted to fuck him.  Somehow, that seemed like incest.  I know it wasn't.  Hell, I'd just met the kid, but it seemed like it was.  Still -- I wanted him; and I had brought him to my room for sex.

Either he read my mind or -- more likely -- saw my hard cock and the lust in my eyes, because he leaned over and kissed me, pulling me down on the bed. 

We lay side by side, kissing; then I felt his hand touch my cock.  I touched his crotch, half expecting to find a cock, to discover that it had been an illusion that he had none, but, of course, he hadn't one.  All my hand found was his pubic hair and the ridge of a scar. 
I wanted to ask him about it -- about what had happened to his cock -- but not right then.

He stoked my cock with a gentle, caressing, motion, kissing me at the same time, running his tongue into my mouth. 

Then he lay back on the bed, raised his legs, and beckoned to me with his hands -- and his eyes. 

I could see his hole.  It invited my cock; and my cock wanted to go to it.  My cock wanted his hole as much as it had ever wanted any hole or mouth.

I scooted up between his legs so I was once again kissing him.  I felt his hand grab my cock, guiding it in to his hole.  I plunged my cock into it.  His hole was tight and hot.  God, it felt good! 

As I pumped his hole, I sucked on his tits.  As I've said, they were fuller that those on most boys, probably because he no longer had balls.  He seemed to like it. 

Feeling my climax approaching, I raised up on my hands, trying to thrust my in cock as far as I could.  Then, I came.  God -- it was a great climax, even though it'd been my third one that night.

"I love you, Stepka," I said.  At that moment, I did.  In the throes of my climax, I did."  He didn't say anything.  I'm sure he'd heard that a hundred times from guys like me, guys that had forgotten him by morning.

As we cuddled afterward, I asked him, "Did you come?  Can you come?"

"No," he said, "I don't come.  I fake it with some guys, if I think it's important to them, but I don't come.  I haven't since I was cut.  It felt good, though.  I liked doing it with you.  You're nice, much nicer than a lot of the guys I meet.  Most of them just want a quick fuck.  You -- you make me feel like you like me.  I don't mean because you said you loved me.  I know that was just sex talk, but --" he hesitated, looking away, then continued, "when you held me while I was crying, I felt like a little boy being held by his father.  It felt good.  I don't remember my father ever holding me like that."

"That's how I felt at the time," I said, "and I do care about you.  I like you.  I like you a lot."

"Even if I don't have a cock?"

"Hey -- I like cocks.  I'm as queer as they come.  I'll admit that.  I wish you had one.  I'd be lying, if I said I didn't, but still --" I wasn't certain how to continue; then said, "I -- I like you.  You're special -- uh, I don't mean because you don't have a cock.  There's something special about you.  You're beautiful, for one thing.  I don't think I've ever seen a more beautiful boy; but besides that, you're special.  There's something about you.  You would be an easy boy to love."

He kissed me, an appreciative, not sexual, kiss.

"What happened?" I asked.  "How did you lose your cock.  You said they did it to you.  Who's they?"

That's when he told me his story.  He told it to me in fits and starts, jumping back and forth from one part to another, but I'll tell it here, as if he'd told it to me from the start to the finish.

Chapter 3:

Along with so many kids in Moscow, Stepka was born into a poor family.  His mother had a job under communism, but couldn't find one under capitalism, so only his father worked.  They lived in a one room apartment.  The bathroom -- only one on each floor -- was down the hall; and one had to his business and get out, or listen to someone pound on the door and shout, "There's people waiting out here." 

His mother and father slept in one bed; he and his two brothers, Rodion and Garik, slept in another.  They had a little refrigerator that held mostly milk and a few other perishables, and a hot plate, but no oven.  They had no privacy. 

Stepka's mother and father fucked under the covers while their children were in the room.  There wouldn't have been much to see, even if they hadn't done it under the covers. 

Stepka's mother pulled up her gown, and his father pushed down his shorts far enough to take out his cock and stick it in.  His father didn't believe in foreplay.  Not even kissing her first, he rolled on top of her, stuck in his cock and pounded it into her until he came, grunting all the time. 

When finished, he rolled off, pulled up his shorts, and went to sleep.

Stepka didn't remember ever hearing his father tell his mother that he loved her.  He certainly didn't remember that his father ever told one of his sons that he loved him. 

When Stepka turned eighteen, his father told him he'd have to move out, but Stepka didn't have a job or any place to go.

In a club once, he'd been approached to pose as a model; but the pictures would be sold to gay web sites, and Stepka wasn't gay. 

He'd jacked off with other guys before, but that was all.  He liked girls and only wanted to fuck girls.  Guys didn't turn him on. He needed the money, though, and he'd been told that he wouldn't have anything but jack off. 

But people he knew might see his pictures on the Internet -- on a gay site.  They would probably think he was gay, too.

Still, he needed the money,  and he had the guy's card.  He had promised Stepka $200 American just to jack off while they took pictures of him.  It was more money than he'd ever had; so  he called to make an appointment for an interview.

* * *

Stepka raised his hand to knock on the door.  The picture shoot was being held in suite of rooms at a hotel.  He hesitated, wondering whether he wanted to go through with it, but knocked.  It was $200, after all.

Four other boys had showed up for the interview.  When he walked into the room, Greggor, the man who had given him the card, walked up to him, shook his hand and clapped him on the back.  "Stepka," he said, "so glad you could come."

"See, Bruno," he said to thickset man in the room, "I told you he was a beauty."  Beside Bruno and the four boys, one other man was in the room., Since he had two cameras around his neck, he was obviously the photographer.

"We'll see," said Bruno.  "All right, boys.  Get the clothes off.  Let's see what kind of equipment you have."

Stepka wasn't exactly modest -- he'd never had any privacy at home, dressing and undressing in front of his whole family -- but it was different, knowing that Bruno wanted to inspect his penis, knowing that he'd have to line up for inspection with the other four boys. 

He stripped, but was slow enough about it that Bruno said, "Come on, let's go.  Get your clothes off."  Finally, Stepka and the four boys were naked.

After Bruno inspected the boys, he rejected one for being too hairy. "You won't do," he said to the boy, "I want smooth, young, boys."   That boy dressed and left. 

Meanwhile, Bruno inspected the other boys, stopping at Stepka, who by several inches, had the biggest cock.  He picked up Stepka's cock in his hand.  "Nice," he said, "Let's see it hard."

"What?" asked Stepka.

"Get it hard," said Bruno, "You have a big cock, but it's no good if you can't get it hard.  Let's see it."

Stepka's face burned.  He knew it'd turned red.  He knew he'd have to jack off, but had thought it would only be in front of a photographer. 

Instead, counting the three boys left in the room, six people were watching him.  But knowing Bruno would reject him if he couldn't get it hard, he began rubbing his cock.

He wasn't having much luck.  His cock was only about half hard.  "Come on," said Bruno, "I want to see it hard."

Then, he turned to the boy next to Stepka, "Give him head," he said, "Maybe that'll get him hard."

The boy seemed willing enough.  He looked at Stepka's cock, then at his face, smiled, then knelt in front of Stepka, taking his cock into his mouth. 

His mouth was soft and hot.  Before long, Stepka's cock was hard, but when hard, Stepka's cock had a pronounced downward curve.  It was huge, but it was curved.

"He's got a curve in it," Bruno said to Greggor.

"Yes," said Greggor, "but look how big it is.  It must be at least ten inches long.  We can still use him, even if he has a curved cock."

"Well, it is big," said Greggor.  "Let's see the others."

The boy giving Stepka head, apparently turned on by it, already had an erection, but his cock was only about six inches long. 

Of the other two, one had a cock about seven inches long, but the other had one shorter than six inches.  Still, they kept him -- for now anyway.

"OK," said Bruno, pointing to Stepka and Kornil, the boy who had sucked his cock, "I want to do a shoot with you two."

"But," said Stepka, "I thought I just had to jack off."

"Hey, said Bruno, "do you want a job or not?  If you do, you'll do what I tell you."

"But I'm not gay," said Stepka.

"Straight -- gay.  I don't give a shit," said Bruno.  "We're here to take pictures.  Who or what you fuck afterward is none of my concern.  Now, are you going to do the pictures or not?"

"I'm not sucking anyone's cock," said Stepka, reaching for his clothes, " and no one is fucking me up my ass."

"All right -- all right," said Bruno, "he'll suck your cock, and you can fuck him.  With your big cock, that'll make a more interesting shoot, anyway.

Stepka considered leaving, but he need the money -- and it wasn't like he was going to have to suck anyone's cock. 

He had friends that had been sucked off by some guy, and no one thought them gay because of it.  "OK," said Stepka.

He had to kiss him, though.  The shoot started with them kissing -- tonguing each other.  The kid, Kornil, was good looking, and seemed to enjoy kissing Stepka.  He had a hard on the whole time. 

They both masturbated while they kissed, then Kornil scooted down, taking Stepka's cock into his mouth, pulling on his own cock at the same time. 

"Don't come in his mouth," said Bruno.  "We want to see come shots.  When you're about to come, say something, and Kornil will take your cock out of his mouth."

Kornil couldn't get much of Stepka's cock into his mouth, and it wasn't too long before Stepka felt his climax approaching.  "I'm going to come," he said. 

Kornil took his mouth off Stepka's cock, pumping it with his hand.  Stepka shot all over his face.

Stepka shot a big load.  It would have squirted a couple of feet, had not Kornil's face been in the way. 

Some of his spunk when into Kornil's open mouth.  The boy's face was covered with it.  He smiled licking it from the corners of his mouth.  I wonder what it tastes like? Stepka thought.

Then, Shasha raised to his knees and shot all over Stepka's grroin. 

"Good," said Bruno.  "that was a good shoot.  You boys go into the bathroom.  You can wash up, and we'll do a shoot in there while the other two are doing one in here.  You can handle this one, can't you, Greggor?"

"Yes," said Greggor, picking up a camera.

"You said I'd get $200 just for jacking off," Stepka said to Greggor.

"I just work for Bruno," said Greggor, "You'll have to talk to him.  He's the boss."

"I'll give you an extra $100," said Bruno.

"And if I don't do this other shoot," asked Stepka.

"Then except for a free blow job, you get nothing," said Bruno.

What else could he do?  He needed the money -- and $300 was a lot of money.  Besides, he wasn't going to suck Shasha's cock; and it had felt good to have Kornil suck his.

First, the two of them washed off under the shower.  Then Kornil had to suck on his cock for a while to get it hard.  Stepka had difficulty concentrating on sex with Bruno watching and the photographer taking pictures. 

Once his cock was hard enough, Kornil bent over, facing away from Stepka, presenting his hole for Stepka's cock. 

Stepka had to lube up his cock to insert it.  It it helped that Kornil got fucked regularly.  Still, Kornil said, "Ow...jeez you have a big cock."

 At least Kornil's hole was tight and hot.  Despite the flash of the camera and Bruno's continual instructions, his insistence for Stepka to pull out before he came, Stepka felt his climax approach. 

He pulled out his cock, then pumped it with his hand until he came, shooting his spunk all over Kornil's back.  Again, he shot a good load, even though he'd just climaxed a few minutes before. 

Stepka had just had his first blow job from another boy and had fucked a boy for the first time, but it's just business, he told himself.  I'm not gay.  Kornil might be, but I'm not.

When they came out of the bathroom, Greggor was still shooting pictures of the other two boys. 

One was on the bed with his legs up.  The other was between his legs pounding that boy's hole with his cock. 

The boy on his back was pulling on his own cock.  First he came; then the boy pounding his hole, pulled out, jerking on his own cock until he shot his spunk, mingling his with the other boy's.  Then he bent over and licked it before kissing the boy.

Stepka dressed, was paid $300, then left, telling himself he'd never do it again.  Obviously, the other boys were gay.  He wasn't. 

He hadn't done anything: it had been he that had fucked the Kornil; and Kornil had sucked his cock.  That certainly didn't make Stepka gay.  He hadn't enjoyed it; he'd just done it for the money. 

Still -- it had felt good.   With his eyes closed, he couldn't tell the difference between Kornil's hole and a girl's cunt.

Chapter 4:

With the money, Stepka bought some clothes and found himself a place to live, a one room apartment similar to his parents.  Before long, his money was gone. 

He'd gone to a club every night, usually fucking a different girl each time, but he kept thinking about Kornil.  He didn't know why. 

He knew he wasn't gay.  But still -- Kornil gave good head, better than any girl he'd ever known; and he had a tight, hot, hole.

When Stepka's money ran out, he gave Greggor another call.  They arranged for another shoot, the next night.  "What about Kornil," Stepka asked, "will he be there?"

"Do you want him to be?" asked Greggor.

"Yes," said Stepka, "he's nice.  I like him."

"All right," said Greggor, "but you'll have to do a little more than last time."

"What do you mean?" asked Stepka.

"You'll have to give him head this time."

Stepka hesitated.  He hadn't counted on having to suck Kornil's cock, but he needed money; and it wasn't like he wanted to suck cock, was it? 

Kornil wouldn't come in his mouth, either.  The photographer always had the boys pull out first, so he could shoot the come shots. 

Well -- even if Kornil shot all over his face, he could wash that off; and $300 for a few hours work -- that was easy money, more than his father earned in two months.  "OK," said Stepka, "I'll do it.  $300 again?"

"Only if you do two sessions like last time," said Greggor.

"OK," said Stepka, "two sessions, but only with Kornil.  I'm not sucking some other boy's cock."

"I'll have Kornil there," said Greggor.

They used a different hotel this time.  Bruno, Greggor, and the photographer were present when Stepka arrived, but not Kornil.  "Where's Kornil," Stepka asked, "I'm not doing this shoot with another boy."

"Hey," said Bruno, "sounds like he's in love.  Maybe we should be charging him, instead."

"I'm not in love," said Stepka, "I just know him -- and he's nice.  This is hard for me.  I -- I'd be more comfortable with him."

"Don't worry," said Bruno, "your boyfriend is on the way.  He should be here any minute."  Within minutes, Stepka heard a knock on the door.  It was Kornil.

First, they kissed.  Feeling Kornil's tongue in his mouth, Stepka stuck his in Kornil's mouth. 

He closed his eyes, forgetting the photographer for a moment, surprised by the stirring he felt in his groin.  He liked kissing Kornil.  It turned him on. 

Then, he had to undress Kornil, playing the seducer this time. 

Stepka took off Kornil's shirt, kissing his tits, while he unbuttoned his jeans.  Then, he pulled them off, leaving Kornil clad only in his underwear. 

Kornil's hard cock was making a tent of his briefs.  It was pulled down when Stepka slid down Kornil's underwear, springing back when released.

Once Kornil was naked, the photographer told Stepka to kiss Kornil's cock.  He did, touching a cock with his mouth for the first time. 

Then, Kornil helped him undress.  Soon they were both naked.  "All right," Bruno said," to Stepka, "suck his cock."

"I've never done this before," Stepka told Kornil, "I'm probably not too good at it."

"You'll do OK," said Kornil, smiling.

They lay on the bed, Stepka taking Kornil's cock into his mouth as far as he could. 

Bruno kept yelling, "Deeper.  He has a little cock anyway.  You should be able to take it all into your mouth." 

Stepka tried, but he kept choking.

Before long, Kornil said, "I'm going to come."  He pulled his cock out, shooting his spunk onto Stepka's face.  Stepka had sucked his first cock.  At least, Kornil hadn't come in his mouth.

"Not a bad shoot," said Bruno, "but you need practice.  I could tell you hadn't sucked cock before, but we'll play it that way.  It might work out all right.  All right, for this next one, we're going to do a video.  I want both of you to fuck each other."

"Hey," said Stepka, "Greggor only said I had to give head.  He didn't say anything about getting fucked."

"Look at his cock," said Bruno, "that little thing's not going to hurt you.  He should be the one to complain, taking that monster of yours up his ass; and I don't care what Greggor said.  I run the show, not him.  If you don't want to do it, you can walk out now."

And not get paid, right?" said Stepka.

"That's right," said Bruno.  "It's all or nothing; but if you walk out, I'll never use you again."

Stepka's rent was due; and where else was he going to get money? 

Besides, he liked Kornil, and he knew Kornil liked him.  "All right," he said, wondering what it would be like to have a cock stuck up his ass, "I'll do it."

They took turns fucking each other.  It hurt a little when Kornil stuck his cock in, but afterward, it actually felt good.  Stepka was surprised that it did. 

When he climaxed with Kornil's cock pounding his prostate, he gasped.  It was one of the best climaxes he'd ever had. 

Then, Kornil pulled out, masturbating until he shot his spunk onto Stepka's groin.

After the shoot, Stepka and Kornil washed up together, even washing each other's backs.  "Want to go for a drink?" Kornil asked him.

"OK," said Stepka.  It wasn't like they were strangers, was it?  They had each sucked and fucked each other; and to Stepka's surprise, he had liked it, even given the presence of the photographer, Greggor, and Bruno. 

What would it be like if they were alone, he wondered, if they actually made love, not performed for a camera? 

I'm not gay, he told himself.  I just want to see what it's like to actually make love to a boy.  It's just an experiment.  It doesn't mean anything.

Kornil took him to a gay bar.  Boys kissed each other in the booths and danced together on the dance floor.  When Kornil kissed him, he kissed him back. 

"Do you want to go to my place?" Kornil asked.  For an answer, Stepka nodded.

"Nice place," said Stepka, when they arrived at Kornil's apartment. 

It was nice, with a living room, bedroom, and kitchen, not just one room like Stepka's.  "Do you have a job, or do you just work for Bruno?"

"No job other than the picture shoots," said Kornil, "but I usually do at least one a week or perform on a web cam.  It pays the rent.  Why don't you work at it full time?  It's good money."

"Yeah," said Stepka, "maybe I will."

They had a couple of drinks; then Kornil kissed him.  Before long, they were both naked, in bed, sucking each other's cocks, head to groin, good old sixty-nine. 

When Stepka felt himself about to come, he started to warn Kornil, so he could pull his mouth away, but Kornil came at that moment, shooting his spunk into Stepka's mouth.  Stepka swallowed it.  It doesn't taste so bad, thought Stepka.

The two of them spent much of the night fucking and sucking, sleeping late the next day.  "Why don't you move in with me?" Kornil asked him. 

Stepka told him he'd have to think about it.  He was still telling himself he wasn't gay; and just because he liked fucking Kornil, he still wanted to fuck girls. 

If he moved in with Kornil, he'd be admitting to himself that he was gay; but if he sill liked girls, he wasn't was he?  He was confused.  Maybe he was bisexual. 

The next night, he went to a club, bringing home a girl afterward.  He fucked her, but only once.  Then, losing interest, he rolled over an went to sleep. 

Hell, he told himself, I spent all last night fucking, after all; but while he had fucked her, he'd been thinking about Kornil.

When he got up the next day, after giving the girl a quick fuck, he went to Kornil's apartment. 

"Hi," said Kornil, when he answered the door.  "I'm glad you came over.  Bruno called.  He wants to do another shoot tonight.  He says he'll give us $500 this time."

"What do we have to do for $500?" asked Stepka, "Will it be just you and me, or will there be other guys?" 

Stepka was willing to do just about anything with Kornil.  They had done everything he could imagine a couple of nights before, but he didn't like the idea of sucking some stranger's cock or having some stranger's cock up his ass.

"Just the two of us," said Kornil.

"OK," said Stepka.  He still had most of the $300.  Now, he could earn another $500 for doing what he wanted to do, anyway.

Chapter 5:

This shoot was in a warehouse that looked deserted other than one room containing the set for the shoot. 

Every time they did a shoot, it was in a different location.  Stepka wondered about that, but there was a bed and Kornil.  That would be enough.

They sucked, and they fucked, most of it being recorded on video this time. 

After they had finished, Bruno said, "Good shoot.  You were much better this time, Stepka, much more relaxed.  Good work.  We can use the two of you for other shoots.  Actually, I have a client coming over now.  He's interested in the two of you.  This might be worth some real money. " 

He handed them both a drink.  The set was equipped with a bar.  When Stepka reached for his clothes, Bruno said, "No, don't dress.  He'll want to see the merchandise."  With that, he pointed to Stepka's cock.

Stepka didn't see the client arrive.  He'd passed out long before he did.  Bruno had put something in his drink.

When Stepka awoke, he was strapped to an operating table. 

"Ah, awake, I see," said Bruno.  He caressed Stepka's face.  "You are about to make a shoot of a lifetime, Stepka," he said.  "My client," he indicated a man standing in the shadows -- a bright light overhead prevented Stepka from seeing the man clearly -- "is very much interested in your cock.  With it's size and it's downward curve, it's unique.  He wants it for his collection.  You see, he collects cocks.  He has quite a collection, all plasticized."

"But don't worry," he continued, "the doctor here," he indicated a man in a surgical garb along with mask, "is quite proficient at cutting off cocks.  He's done hundreds of them.  He'll do a good job.  You'll hardly have a scar."

"You're crazy," Stepka said.  It must be some perverted game they were playing.  They wouldn't really cut off his cock -- would they?  Then, he saw Konil standing beside the table.  He was still naked, too.  "Konil," he said.

"I'm sorry," said Konil, "I didn't know until tonight they were going to cut off your cock.  I knew Bruno was thinking about it.  Mr. X," that's how he referred to the client in the shadows, "likes big cocks, especially ones that are unusual like yours.  I should have know they'd cut yours off, too, but I hoped they wouldn't.  I really wanted you to move in with me."

"They're really going to cut off my cock?" asked Stepka, not quite believing what he was hearing.  If they did, what would they do, just slice it off.  He didn't know anyone that had a bigger cock than his, something he'd always been proud of.  Now, they were telling him they were going to cut it off?

"I'm afraid so," said Konil. 

"Help me, Konil," he said,  "You told me you loved me."

"I do," said Konil, "but what can I do?"

"What are you doing here?" Stepka asked.

"For the video they'll shoot," said Konil.  "It'll be a continuation of our love making session.  They'll show me being held while they cut off your cock.  I'll get to kiss you one last time before they do.  Patched together with our other sessions, it'll make a hell of a video."

While he was talking to Konil, the doctor stepped up to the table.  He had a syringe in his hand.

" This may sting a little," he said, his voice muffled somewhat by the mask. 

Then, he began injecting Stepka, giving him shots in his cock, his balls, and several in his abdomen beside his cock.  He had to use more than one syringe. 

"Now, we'll wait a few minutes," he said.

Fifteen or twenty minutes passed.  Stepka wasn't certain how much time; he'd been appealing to each one in the room individually, trying to find someone sympathetic to his plight, but other that Konil, could find no one. 

The doctor picked up his cock, sticking a pin into it.  Stepka didn't feel anything.  Neither did he feel anything when he stuck a pin into his balls. 

He couldn't feel his cock -- but it was hard.  He didn't understand how it could be.  He certainly wasn't aroused. 

Konil must have read his mind, though, because he said, "He injected your cock with a drug.  It'll keep your cock hard during the operation."  Konil leaned over, kissing him on the mouth.  "I'm sorry," he said, "You had a nice cock.  I'll miss it."

Stepka still couldn't believe they were really going to cut off his cock. 

At least, he didn't until the doctor split open his ball sack, revealing his balls.  They squirmed, moving up and down on their cords.  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the photographer filming the operation.

His head was propped up so he could watch, too. 

First, the doctor tied off the cords to his balls, then taking a small pair of scissors, he snipped through the cords to his left ball. It was the one that hung down lower than the other. 

"There's the first one," said the doctor, holding his ball up in his hand, showing it to Stepka,

"you're half way to becoming a eunuch."

He had actually done it.  He had actually cut off one of Stepka's balls. 

"No more, please," said Stepka.  He knew that a man could function with one ball. 

But having already tied off the other ball, the doctor picked it up, holding the scissors to its cords. 

"Here goes," he said, then cut it off, too.  "You're a eunuch, now."  As proof, he showed Stepka the other ball.

He was a eunuch.  The doctor had cut off his balls.  They were gone, lying in a small dish on a stand beside the table.  "That was the easy part," said the doctor.  The cock is much more difficult.

It took him almost two hours to complete the operation.  A catheter had been put in Stepka's cock. 

The doctor followed the cut he'd made in Stepka's scrotum, slicing the skin down along the base of his cock below his scrotum, then cut through the skin around the base of his cock.

Next, he sliced through the tissues connected to his cock, pausing as he did to tie off blood vessels. 

Stepka saw him cut through his urethra, then pull it through a small hole he'd made a few inches above his rectum. 

Then, after some more cutting a tying, he lifted out his cock -- all of it -- base and all.

Then, he sewed him back together.  When the doctor was through, Stepka had stitches from where the top of his cock had been down to a couple of inches below the bottom of his scrotum. 

The catheter came that had been in his penis came out of a small hole an inch or so below that.

The doctor put Stepka's cock into a box and handed it to Mr. X.  Just because the man wanted Stepka's cock for his collection, they had stolen it from him.

The doctor injected something into a vein in Stepka's arm.  That was the last thing he knew.  He awoke some time later in a locked room.  He hurt, but not too badly.  He felt woozy, like he'd been drugged.

He wasn't certain how long he was kept in the room.  No outside light entered it, and there were no clocks in the room. 

The doctor checked on him, eventually removing the stitches and catheter.  His scar was still puckered up, but the doctor said he was healing nicely.

Blindfolding him, they took him from where he'd been held, releasing him on the streets of Moscow, leaving him with $1000, more money than he'd ever had, but not enough as payment for his cock and balls.  He had neither any longer.  To pee, he had to sit like a girl.

He looked for Konil, but his apartment was empty.  Stepka suspected that he wasn't the first boy that Konil had seen cut.

The money didn't last long.  Before long, Stepka was broke again, and without balls, he'd lost much of his strength. 

He was depressed, too, certainly because he'd lost his cock and balls, but probably because his body had to adjust to living without testosterone. 

His body changed, becoming softer.  His tist grew, not a lot, but they grew.  His hips became fuller.  Without  a job or any other way to make a living, he became a prostitute, working in the bar where I'd found him.

Chapter 6:

"That's a hell of a story," I said.

"It's all true," said Stepka.

"I believe you," I said.  "Did they ever catch the guys?"

"The cops didn't even bother to look," said Stepka, "I wasn't anyone, just some poor kid.  Money talks with the cops.  Bruno had probably paid them off to make certain there wouldn't be any trouble."

"And you never saw any of them again?"

"I saw Konil," he said, "he came to the bar, paying me for a night of sex."

"You went with him after what he did."

"It had been a year by that time since I'd had my cock cut off; and I'd forgiven him for any part he had to play in it.  I was glad to see him.  I guess I still loved him a little.  I had come to realize that I had loved him, and that I was gay.  I had fucked girls before, but I had never loved one.  Konil was the first person I ever loved."

"Was that the only time you saw him?" I asked

"No," said Stepka, "he came around occasionally, but like you, he likes cocks, and I didn't have one.  Eventually, he stopped coming.  It's been six months since I've seen him."

My heart went out to the kid.  He'd lost everything, his cock, his balls, and the only person he'd ever loved.  I put my arms around him, holding him tight.  "I want you, Stepka, I said.  "I don't care that you don't have a cock."

He stayed with me the whole time I was in Moscow.  I never got to suck a young boy's cock.  I wish I had.  I still regret not getting to, but I don't regret the time I spent with Stepka. 

I did love him.  I knew I couldn't have him, that in a week, I'd be leaving, never to see him again, but for that week, I loved him. 

I bought him some clothes, a CD player, and other such goodies and gave him $500 when I left.  It wasn't much. 

I wish I could have given him more, but I was running short on cash.  He came to the airport to see me off.  I kissed him goodbye.

I wrote to him a couple of times, but he couldn't read English, so had to have someone to read the letters to him. 

Eventually, I stopped writing.  We were worlds apart, both in distance and culture. 

I knew I'd never go back to Russia, and they wouldn't give a Russian prostitute a visa to come over here. 

It'd probably been a year since I'd even thought about him.  Then I'd seen the pictures of him on the Internet, pictures taken when he still had a cock.

It had been one hell of a cock.