It started out to be just another typical day on the road. Awake early and momentarily disoriented by the strange motel room, then start the miniature coffee maker and hit the bathroom for a shit shower and shave, get dressed then fire up the laptop. E-mail, bank balances, weather, news, and road reports for the day’s travel. Another cup of coffee, then the comics and daily crossword, and finally, a quick dip into the darker side of the Internet. I like porn and you do to or you wouldn’t be reading this, and there are a few rather kinky sites that I like to check out.

‘Nice Load,’ the heading said. He looked like a typical college kid, maybe twenty or twenty-two years old, Latino dark, in very good shape, and moderately well endowed. He slowly fondled his ample balls and seven-inch cock, then picked up the pace until he finally erupted like a hose. His first gush flew up across his face and was followed by six more thick spurts on his chest and belly, each of which were larger than any four of mine, back when I was capable of four, that is. Fake? No, another camera angle showed a close-up of the thick ropes of goop shooting out the end of his dick.

My first thought was that it was a tragedy to waste such a load on his belly when there were so many starving children in China, so as to speak. My next thought was to wonder how long it had taken the kid to save up that much jism. I had been a pretty lusty young man but even a week’s accumulation from me wouldn’t have amounted one of his spurts, and after a week I’d usually start leaving messes in my sheets. I watched the thing again then finally shut down and loaded my car.

That evening, several hundred miles away in another anonymous motel room, I finished up my legitimate activities and went back to the site. It was still impressive. My prostate is larger than ever, but even so the best I could manage were two weak squirts and that was on a good day. Usually I get only about half hard and my goop just kind of seeps out. This kid was truly gifted, and as I lay awake fondling my shrunken balls I decided that I’d give anything I owned to have his capacity, if only for a day. I woke up about midnight with a boner. This was normal twenty or thirty years ago, but artery disease, the medications that control it, and other factors have reduced my potency to the point where I normally have to use the Little Blue Pill to achieve a full erection. I’ve never been really well hung, but I was as hard as ever and my balls felt full. Not huge, like a porn stars, but large and firm, like they’d been forty years ago.

There are three rules about getting old: Pee when you can, never trust a fart, and never waste a hard-on. With that in mind I threw back he covers and lifted the sheet and went at it. I knew it was going to be a good one when I felt the pressure in my balls start to rise, just as it did when I’d been a teenager, and when it finally happened it literally took my breath away. The first spurt hit my face and many more covered my belly. It looked as if a bottle of reach dressing had been emptied on my chest and belly. Common decency demanded that I get a towel and clean up, but instead I rolled over and went to sleep, completely spent.

I woke up the next morning with the top sheet adhered to my chest and a big brown-rimmed stain on the bottom sheet where the goop had dripped off my belly. It was the first time since adolescence that I had had left a mess in the sheets and never one so large. I couldn’t help but wonder what the maid might think. Hombre! Stallion! Bull! My God, what a man! What balls he must have! Or whatever the Hindu equivalent might be. I spent a long time in the shower scrubbing off the crust. My balls felt sensitive; not sore, but a good feeling of fullness and well being just like after the first time I’d gotten laid. Not conquest by any means. I had been seduced by an older lady as a teenager and this had just been masturbation but there was still satisfaction in the knowledge that I was indeed a real Man properly equipped with parts that functioned as intended.

I finished dressing and fired up my laptop and immediately went to the Nice Load site. It was unavailable and had been flagged for removal. Oh well, it had served its purpose. I had just finished and was packing to leave when there was a knock on the door. I pulled the covers over the bed sheets to cover the stain, and then answered the door, expecting the maid.

“Delivery,” The guy announced as I opened the door. “Delivery for Howard Nelson.” What the hell? I hadn’t given anyone my itinerary; in fact I really didn’t even have one. I was just kind of roaming around taking pictures of the scenery. How could anyone have tracked me down?

“That’s me, I guess,” I said, signing for the delivery.

“Just call the 800 number when you’re ready for it to be picked up,” he said, handing me a thick envelope. It weighed about two pounds and was constructed of double ply paper with padding between the layers, and it felt like the contents were encased in bubble wrap. It contained several small sealed parcels; each one marked with a number and the warning to Do Not Open Until Ready For Use. Huh? Ready for what use? There was also another mailing envelope, pre addressed, constructed of heavy waxed cardboard. The last item in the envelope looked like an over sized Christmas or Birthday card. It was about six inches square and looked to be about six layers thick. I unfolded it and scanned the illustrations, and dropped it on the bed as if it were on fire. It was a how-to booklet on do-it-yourself castration! The first picture showed how to use the contents of package number one to shave the crotch and scrotum, the next illustrated using the enclosed syringe to inject local anesthetic, and things rapidly went downhill from there. What the fuck was going on, anyway?

I had decided that I’d had enough of this shit, so I packed up and was headed for the door when the phone rang. Not my cell, but the ugly beige 60’s throwback that all motel rooms seem to have. “You have received the package and instructions.” The voice was that of an adult male, no discernable accent. “Place the removed items in the shipping package and call for pick up. You may then go to bed and rest for the remainder of the day. Neither the maid nor the manager will disturb you. You are free to leave any time after I receive the merchandise.”

“Who the hell are you? What kind of scam is this?” I asked indignantly.

“I am the person with whom you entered contract.”

“Huh? I didn’t sign any damned contract with anyone!” I was still pissed.

“You distinctly conveyed that you’d give anything to have the ejaculatory capacity of my agent, the young man. I granted you that capacity and in return I demand payment. Isn’t that clear?”

“You mean you want my balls?”

“Precisely. Please comply immediately.”

I slammed down the phone, still incredulous. How could this happen? I’d only made a casual passing thought, and I hadn’t said anything aloud and I certainly had not written anything down, let alone entered into any kind of binding contract. Wait a minute. Maybe the motel is in on this. Could I have said something out loud? Do they have camera and microphones in the room? Is it possible to track my web viewing back to this room? That must be it. They know which site I visited, and any normal male would probably jack off after looking at the kid perform. The delivery guy is probably in on it too. Well fuck them. I’m outta here.

I grabbed my tote bag and laptop case and opened the door. It started as a sensation that was almost erotic, like a lover wearing a furry glove had gently grasped my scrotum. Another step and the gentle grasp turned into a hard squeeze. I took another step and promptly dropped my tote bag as what felt like a vise clamped my testicles. I was only half way to my car. I paused to catch my breath, and then took a step backwards. The pressure immediately eased, and when I got back to the room it had reverted to a gentle caress. I waited five minutes before trying it again, this time with my baggage. Same result. No way in hell I’d ever make it to the car, let alone out of the parking lot or whatever the limit of his control was, however it worked. I tried it four more times that day and each had the same result. I was fine inside the room but as soon as I stepped out the door an invisible force had me by my balls, and it was evident that I wasn’t going to leave the premises until I surrendered them.

Stephen King overtones aside, why would anyone want my balls anyway? It’s not like I’m a virile young stud. I’m pushing sixty and am no longer a part of the breeding pool and certainly not a threat to anyone’s harem. There must be better balls than mine available. I thought about it all day, and finally resigned myself to a course of action. I didn’t know if I could go through with it, but I had to try. I couldn’t stay holed up in a motel room forever and any attempt to escape would result in my castration anyway, only by a much more painful method.

I hadn’t eaten all day and it seemed likely that I might miss a few more meals so I picked up the phone and ordered a pizza. “Set it down right there,” I told the kid, motioning to the small table. “I’ll get my wallet.” He was a skinny kid probably eighteen or nineteen years old with the start of a scraggly beard that didn’t do much to conceal a complexion that just about matched the topping on the pizza. He wore the standard uniform shirt from the pizza parlor and blue jeans that were a size too small and made the bulge in his crotch prominent. He’s hurting now, but he’ll feel a lot better in a day or two, I’m sure.

The next night, several hundred miles away in another anonymous motel room, I slowly fondled my balls, wishing again that I could cum like the kid on the web site. Oh, I checked first; there’s a good Thai restaurant in town, and they deliver.