Joshua's Playroom

My name is Joshua, but just Josh for short. Sometimes, though, I do like to be called by my full given name. I have always had a thing for power and control, ever since I was a little kid. I could easily get just about whatever I wanted from my mom and dad – I was their only child. I knew how to play them, please them, and when necessary, just downright manipulate them. I am sure they knew, but it just didn’t matter to them.

One of my school counselors told me once that I had a very high IQ, and that I could do and be anything I ever set my mind on. So I knew at least in the brains department, I had something over most everybody. It felt pretty lofty, and gave me a sense of superiority – after all, I was better. I would lord it over the other kids at school. School just came naturally to me, and it wasn’t long before I was in a special school, skipping grades, and taking advanced classes. It was just more proof that I was better than others.

I was pretty outgoing in nature, and I always had lots of kids who were tag-alongs. To me, they really didn’t matter a lot. There weren’t too many that I would consider an equal. So, mostly I would use my minions for my own amusement and convenience. They were fetch boys, carry my books boys, and so on. I always led them on to believe that it was a privilege for them to hang out with one of their betters. I guess I was quite a bit arrogant, but I did have my way. Best of all, they took it, and came back for more.

To me, it was a pretty powerful thing to be able to have that much control and influence over others. Hell, I was even pretty good at intellectually intimidating my teachers, and then manipulating them into whatever I wanted. I could be a regular little demon that way. I never had anything but the best grades, skipped most any class I felt like, and got away with it.

When I was about 12, or maybe even 13 years old, I don’t really recall the specific age, my puberty began. I was horny all the time, and as curious as anyone could be about sex. I spent a lot of time in the library, both at school and downtown. I learned a lot of the book stuff about sex and all of its many aspects. I was feeling pretty confident at first. I was a regular at jerking off – that was one of my early discoveries, of course.

One day I realized that some of the guys who hung around were not only experiencing the same sorts of things I was, but that some of them were pretty good looking, too. It seemed like, at the time, we all came up with the notion of a circle jerk at the same time. We would find places we could go – Steve’s garage, the woods behind the high school, over at the back of Mahoney’s lot, wherever – and jerk off. We would try to see who could come first, who made it last the longest, who could shoot the farthest, and how many times in a row someone could jerk off and get off before our arms about fell off. God, our poor dicks were sore.

I really enjoyed those sessions. I liked looking at all those surging and burgeoning dicks. Some of them seemed to grow overnight. I was always fascinated. Some of the guys were starting to be interested in the girls, but I wasn’t. I was interested in the guys. They made me horny. The more I thought about it, the more horny I would get, and it got so I would have to leave class three or four times a day to jerk off. Never mind 2 or 3 more times later at home.

A couple of the guys who were getting into the girls noticed that I wasn’t. By this time I knew I was gay. For me it became a matter of deciding whether to be out, and if so, how to deal with the aftermath. The two boys who had challenged me in the schoolyard hadn’t done it in front of anyone, not like some idiot jock dickhead. But they insisted on wanting to know. I guess I felt offended that they could make such a demand of me, but then these two were my friends and equals.

So, I decided that the best thing to do was to come out with them. They both decided that it was OK and were pretty cool about it. They even identified for me some of the other boys that they knew or thought were gay. One I had a lusty eye for was on their list, but I had to find out for sure, because they weren’t.

The boy’s name was Peter. His family had moved here from Switzerland about 2 years ago. His dad was a physicist, and his mom was an international attorney. Peter was an only child, too, and had lots of time alone. He had occasionally joined some of our circle jerks, which by this time were beginning to become less populated and less frequent, as some began to chase the girls. By this time we were both 14, and always horny.

One afternoon I approached Peter and engaged him in conversation, eventually suggesting that he and I might want to go somewhere and jerk off together. He wasn’t so sure, so I set about manipulating and convincing him to get him to go along. The thing that turned the trick for me was my suggestion that we could also do some “other things” if he was interested.

Peter’s dad usually worked late at the lab, and his mom was out of the country on business, so we decided to go to his house. After raiding the kitchen we went up to his bedroom. I guess there just wasn’t much subtlety in me that afternoon – just horny desire. I simply asked him what he would like to do, as I started to undo my pants. He turned intensely red, and started to stammer. That was when I knew he was mine, and would do whatever I wanted him to.

Basically, I just systematically started to strip him of his clothes, all the while exploring every inch of his body with my hands. It was obvious that he was turned on and enjoying the stimulation beyond measure. His breathing was getting raspy, and as I touched him in certain places I’d found to be sensitive for him he would simply shudder with excitement. When at last I knelt in front of him and pulled his briefs down, I didn’t even get a chance to take him in my mouth before he shot his hot white load all over my face. I just let him do it, not even attempting to get any in my mouth, only encouraging his arching and thrusting penis with my stroking hand.

When he was all done shooting, and I had worked about every last drop out of him, I commanded him to kneel in front of me. “Lick all of it up. Clean my face, and I want to taste it.” He tentatively started to lick my cheek, getting a big gobber of his own boy cum on his tongue, when I simply shifted my mouth over and kissed him. I pushed his mouth open with my tongue, demanding a taste of my boy. And I knew he was my boy when he responded with enthusiasm. Quickly, he would take a big lick on my face, and then race back to share another kiss. I simply knelt there and allowed it.

When he was done, I told him to stay on his knees. I stood up, pulling off my tee shirt as I got up. I stood in front of him, and told him to strip me. That was all the encouragement he needed, as he began removing my pants with gentle eagerness. His hands were all over my torso, legs and butt, as my pants slipped down to my ankles. I stepped out of them as Peter grasped my briefs, sliding them down while rubbing his face in my crotch. Gently, but with firmness, I pressed my raging cock to his lips with one hand, my other on his head giving encouragement. As I parted his lips I stroked his head, encouraging him. Peter was tentative at first, never having done this before. For that matter, neither had I.

Bliss was the next several minutes as Peter sucked on my cock, and played with my balls. He wanted me to shoot all over his face, attempting to pull away as I began to shudder with my first spurt of cum. But I wouldn’t let him pull away. I firmly grabbed his head and repeatedly spurted into his mouth with everything I could muster. I practically shoved my dick down his throat, forcing him to do nothing other than swallow and swallow. When finally I released him, he came up sucking for air. I pulled him close, keeping his face in my crotch, but allowing him the opportunity to catch his breath.

After a bit, I pulled Peter to his feet, pulled him tight against me, and kissed him vigorously, almost fiercely. I led him over to the bed, where we sat, his head on my shoulder, my arm around his. It occurred to me that I was taking a very masculine role with Peter, and I wanted him to be submissive to me. I pushed him back on the bed, and pulled his legs up off the floor. I leaned over him, kissing him, as I began to straddle him and then gently lie down on him. I wanted to do anything that would maintain my superiority over him sexually.

While kissing him, I began to rub his chest and nipples with one hand, getting him excited again. His nipple boners demanding attention, I took his hand and put it on his chest, encouraging him to rub and play with them. I went lower and began to suck his dick and balls, but not to the point that he came. His breath raspy, his body glistening from the repeated workout, his dick quivering, wanting to shoot, I got up over him on my knees and commanded that he turn over.

He did so, and I began to rub his back and neck, working my way down to his butt. Well-formed and pleasing to touch, I played my finger around his butt hole, knowing what I wanted to do. Never having done so, I didn’t know what it would be like to fuck someone. But I was determined to find out. I knew from talk with the other guys that we would need lubrication, so I got as much spit in my hand as I could. I rubbed it on the end of my dick, then working a couple of my wet fingers into Peter’s hole.

Peter just lay there, waiting, knowing what was coming next. I lay down atop him, feeling the smooth, hairless skin of his back against my chest, his butt against my loins. I reached down with one hand and lined up on his hole, firmly pushing my dickhead against it. I could feel my cock forcing his hole open. Being inexperienced with sex, I simply shoved my cock in hard as I felt his hole open.

Peter gasped out in pain, his butt clenching up tightly against my cock. Oh, did that ever feel good. I’m sure Peter wasn’t feeling the greatest, but he did take it. After a minute or two, the pain must have subsided, because Peter’s anus-clenching grasp on my cock began to relax. I reached under him, my hand finding his cock, as I slowly began to thrust my boy cock in and out of his ass. I kept working his dick with my hand while I fucked him. It didn’t take long before I was surging into him, trying to push my dick all the way through him as I came. The smoothness of his butt, the softness of his rectum around my penis, the constriction of his anus, was more than I could stand. I came like I never had before.

I rolled off Peter, pulling him close, ignoring his still throbbing cock. I kissed him and ran my hand over his chest lightly, knowing it would keep him turned on. He started to grasp his cock, but I pushed his hand away. “Oh, God, I need to get off!” he said. In as much of an authoritarian voice as a 14 year old could muster, I asked if getting my cock in his bum felt good. He said not at first, but after it stopped hurting it felt great. I told him that he could ask me to do it to him in the future. He said Good, as I pushed his hand away from his cock again, more firmly. Please, I need to get off. Ask me if I will allow it! Will you let me get off, he asked. Please, Sir, I commanded. Please sir, he said as I lay back and watched him jerk a few times and then shoot all over himself.

I had begun to establish my need for dominance, my willingness to impose my wishes, and to make Peter want and beg for them. Often he would over the next several years.

From the day that Peter and I first had sex, forward, we were virtually inseparable. It is true that I dominated Peter, but I also did care for him. Slowly I worked on Peter, maneuvering him to do my bidding as often as possible. Occasionally, as a reward, I would give him a thorough blow job. If he was exceptionally good, I would allow him to fuck me, which I actually enjoyed very much. But I wouldn’t let him have too much of a good thing.

It was my thinking that I was protecting Peter from a harsh world, being gay, that I was so possessive and sheltering, yet as I commanded him in every way, he did nothing except confirm my superiority. I had an obligation to lead those who were less able than I. It helped that Peter was very cute, and so needy, the result of lack of close parenting. In many ways, despite our being age-mates, I was his daddy.

Peter looked to me for the guidance of my wishes in everything he did. The more I guided and reinforced, the more dependent he became, and the more superior I felt. Slowly, as age fourteen turned to fifteen, sixteen, and on, Peter was so under my every control, that often a look would suffice to get him to do whatever I wished.

I had begun to choose his clothing for him, how he would cut and brush his hair, even down to his bathroom habits. I would control his every action in bed. The problem with that, though, was that sex was becoming a bit boring. One afternoon, while Peter was vigorously sucking my dick, I made him stop. I told him that this was boring; tears began to well in his eyes, believing that I was condemning him. In a way I was, even though my dominance subjugated his creativity. I told him that he was responsible to come up with some new ways to have sex and to please me. I further told him that if he didn’t he would regret it – I left it hanging like that.

Peter let go of my cock and crawled up and tried to snuggle in close to me. I was having none of it, and became cold to him. He began crying, sobbing that I didn’t love him anymore. I simply told him, Do something new! His first idea came shortly when he asked me to lie on my stomach. I did so, and he tentatively, then with more assurance, began to rub and massage my back – he always did a good job. Soon, Peter was astride me, sitting on my butt. It felt nice and I liked the feel of him there. He began kissing and licking my back, slowly working his way ever lower.

As Peter worked his way down my back, he slid further down my legs, keeping them pinioned between his own. He began to massage my cheeks, periodically kissing them. I was getting more turned on every time he came closer to my crack. Suddenly, his tongue was stuck in my hole, and was licking and twisting, leaving no nerve ending untouched. It was driving me insane with pleasure. The more he licked, the more I would hump my butt up, trying to shove it into his face. He firmly kept pushing my butt down, licking and licking. I was practically screaming in the torment of my pleasure. Suddenly, I humped my ass into the air, and blew my load all over the bed.

After having left a pool of pleasure on Peter’s sheets, I fell back to the bed, reaching for him. I didn’t care that he had just put his tongue in my butt; I simply wanted him to kiss me. He asked if that was new and exciting enough. I said yes, but I was greedy, I wanted more. For the time being though I was thrilled. I allowed Peter to mount me, whereupon he would fuck me until he nearly came, and then hold back. He did this about 6 times, until finally neither of us could stand it any more. As Peter blew a huge load up my ass so far I could taste it, my own dick spasmed again, forcing my ass to clench about his cock, milking it as dry as I could.

I never did tire of Peter licking me there. I even did it to him on occasion as a reward for obeying me so well. But, as I said, I was greedy. I wanted more, something different, and I was going to get it. By this time we had both turned 18, and Peter had just finished with high school. I had already been at university for nearly two years. But we were now both legal for everything except alcohol, and neither of us cared for that anyway. One evening Peter was lolling about on my bed as I was playing around with my computer. Peter had taken to calling me Master Josh when we were together. As a result I did a search engine run on master, then sexual master, then gay sexual master.

A number of very interesting sites came up, and I insisted that Peter come sit next to me and read with me. The sites that turned me on the most were the ones with bondage. We had to stop in the middle of reading so that Peter could suck my dick. As we resumed, the one thing that we both noticed was that most of the “slaves” wore collars that signified that their masters owned them. I wasn’t the only one turned on. The next afternoon we drove into downtown and went to a sex shop that I had seen before. We looked around at all of the toys and accoutrements available, wanting several of them. We found a collar that we both liked, along with a harness with cuffs attached to the waist, so that I could bind Peter’s hands if I wanted. We also bought some “leg irons,” as the clerk called them, so that I could lock my slave’s feet to the bedposts.

It was a bit of a bill, but then I figured it was worth it. We went immediately back to Peter’s house so that we could try our new items of pleasure right away. Immediately, I ordered him to remove his shirt; we put the harness on him, cinching the buckles in back so he couldn’t reach them. It looked fantastic along with the collar that he had worn out of the store, much to my delight. Next, I strapped Peter’s wrists to his belt line. Each hand was cinched to his side at either hip.

He stood there with this innocent, helpless look that made me know that this was the best thing we had done yet. I quickly pulled his pants and briefs down, his erect cock practically snapping me in the face. I pushed him to the bed, telling him to lie down on his stomach. Quickly, I went to the end of the bed and applied the ankle chains to my slave’s legs and the bedposts, leaving him spread-eagled and helpless. While Peter lay there quietly, I stripped as fast as I could manage.

With great relish, I began to work Peter’s back and then legs, kneading them with my fingers, the feel of his body under me as relaxed as I think he could be. I then surprised him by burying my face between his cheeks, giving him the same over-stimulated pleasure that he frequently gave me, licking the smooth, tight anus as thoroughly as I could. When I felt I had him worked up enough, I grabbed a tube of lube, got us ready, and began to try to give Peter the gentlest sex I could, but it was no use. As soon as my cockhead touched his anus, I shot a load all over his ass and back. I was just too excited about Peter’s helplessness.

I licked my cum off his butt and back, feeling generous. He was groaning with pleasure and wanted to kiss me. I wouldn’t let him, explaining that my refusal was a sign of his helplessness and my control. He simply agreed, saying Yes Master. As he lay there I lightly stroked Peter’s hair, loving the feel of his fine blond hair in my fingers. After a bit of rest, I sat at the head of the bed, moving down a ways, thus jamming my crotch into his face. Peter began to lick my balls as I told him to get me hard so that I could ravish him.

It didn’t take long before the magical effects of Peter’s tongue had done its best work, and I was soon astraddle my boy once again. This time I was able to gently enter my boy with as much care as I have ever mustered in our various escapades. I believe that was the night that, more than any other, cemented our bond. As I pulled him to a sitting position, it was apparent that Peter had felt as excited as I was and it showed. As I unstrapped his wrists, unshackled his ankles, and helped him remove the harness, I told him to leave the collar on. He asked me how long he should wear it. I told him permanently, wear it everywhere. It’s ok if the world knows you’re my boy, I’m proud of you. He smiled and agreed.

We were enjoying our summer, in bed nearly as much as out. Peter always wore his collar. I only allowed him to remove it to bathe or shower, unless I took it off. We were both surfing the net a lot, of course; looking for interesting sites. We explored a lot of the Bondage sites. We became a fairly frequent customer of the sex shop, until we had amassed quite a collection of harness-wear, both for Peter and I, along with things like ball stretchers or splitters, cock rings, and a seven-strap ball harness called the “gates of Hell.” I made Peter get his tongue pierced, inserting a ball stud, to improve his cock sucking.

We also did other piercing that summer: Peter acquired a Prince Albert, a pair of nipple rings, and a ring through the area between his scrotum and his butt hole. We were really getting into the piercing, when I stumbled across a slave site where the master had castrated his boy. This turned me on to no end. When I showed it to Peter, he became somewhat alarmed. I knew what I was going to do with my boy, and I knew I would have to work him around to my position, to get him to actually ask me to allow him to be castrated.

Before I could begin to bring Peter around to my point of view, tragedy struck, hitting me hard. My parents were killed in a head-on car collision with a drunk driver who had swerved across lanes on the highway. I was left alone, not a caring soul in the world save Peter. I was only 18, barely a legal man, let alone one experienced in the world. I got quite an education that summer. Peter’s dad did have the kindness and grace to step in and assist me with making arrangements for the funeral and burial. I leaned on Peter a lot at that time; it was about the only time I didn’t feel completely in power over him since I had known him.

I also found myself left fairly well off financially. My father had owned a medium-sized manufacturing business, while my mother had been a family practice physician. When the estate was finally settled, I owned a house (paid for), a business with a management team that ran it for me, and about four million dollars in the bank. Not bad for a kid only 18 and on his own. It was a hard way to do it, though.

At first, when Peter wasn’t with me, I just kind of banged around in the house, not really knowing what to do. Even though my folks had always been working, so it seemed, the house still had had a lived in feeling. That was gone now, and I missed it. So I insisted that Peter move in with me, especially since he was going to be starting university in the fall, and I would be available to help him with studies. Peter agreed and after a while of working his parents, they agreed. Peter was soon settled in for good.

By the time I was nineteen, I had graduated with my Bachelor’s degree in pre-medicine, and had already been accepted at the medical school. Peter had declared a major in physics, taking after his father. I agreed with him that it was a good fit. He was quite the wonder with mathematics.

While school was a constant in our lives, so was sex and control – my control. The more we read on the net, the more thrilled I became with the idea of having all kinds of toys and devices available for use. We began assembling a dungeon of sorts that was quite the playroom. I was still convincing Peter that offering me his nuts was a good thing, knowing that eventually he would come around. I knew this was one thing I could not command, and keep Peter But I kept bringing the subject up here and there, never telling him he should. I would occasionally download stories about castrated slaves and kept boys, and left them printed out for him to read. He did read them, and I know he was turned on.

It got to the point that Peter wasn’t opposed or alarmed by the idea of giving me his nuts, but he was terrified by the idea that I might throw him out after he did it, and then no one would want him. But then, if he was going to do it, he had to trust me to love him and take care of him. Because that was the case I didn’t bother to tell him that he was my heir. He had to choose.

Finally one day, we were lying in bed and we had been doing some castration play – I had an elastrator band around his shaved balls – when he said that if I had a knife handy I could just cut them off. Of course, this pleased me tremendously, but I told him that we would have to wait and do it surgically. We decided that I would castrate him at home, but that I needed to do some practice first. After all, it wasn’t just Peter’s nuts on the line, it was his life.

By this time I was beginning to do my second year of medical school, and I had already done a lot of cadaver study, so it was easy to get into the lab. Over a period of three weeks, I practiced castration on five cadavers. On one I removed his balls and scrotum, on another I removed them by inguinal excision, cutting him above his cock and fishing his nuts and cords out through his lower belly. On one I slit his scrotum in the middle to remove his testicles, and the other two I slit on either side of the scrotum.

When I was all done, I had become rather a master at castrating men, at least dead ones. I left the method of his castration up to Peter. We had acquired a doctor’s exam table, complete with stirrups for our playroom. I had also acquired by purchase, and occasionally by pilfering from school, a great many surgical instruments that we would need.

Finally I asked Peter if he was ready, and he said no, I hadn’t castrated a live man yet. After some discussion, we decided that we had to set about finding someone that I could work on, and then had to decide what to do with him once we were done. We came up with a plan to get a van without windows and grab a young man off the street near the university at gunpoint. We could secure him out of sight in the van, and bring him into the house from inside the garage. We hadn’t decided what to do with him afterward.

It worked perfectly. I had rented a van that one wouldn’t think twice about being in the area of the university – students moved all the time. Of course, we wanted to do this out of sight of traffic, and after dark when we wouldn’t be seen so easily. We were cruising slowly around some of the neighborhoods, Peter behind the wheel, when we saw the one we wanted. Peter slowly pulled in about 30 feet ahead of him, and I stepped out with the gun at my side.

As the boy approached, I appreciated him even more – he was absolutely gorgeous. He was about 19, with sandy blond hair that was cut short but allowed to just naturally fall into place. Later I discovered some of the bluest eyes I had ever seen on anyone, and long, natural, sweeping eyelashes, that just drew one’s attention to his eyes. It was warm out, so he only had a tee on with shorts, a backpack slung over his shoulder. When he was about six feet away, I raised the gun and said hi.

He saw the gun and stopped in his tracks, not knowing what to do. I moved over to him, took his arm, and guided him to the van, telling him not to be stupid and get shot. By this time Peter had gotten into the back of the van and opened the side door. I made the boy get in, and Peter ordered him to lie down on the floor with his hands behind his back. Pulling his pack out of the way, Peter quickly applied handcuffs, while I chained his ankles to the passenger seat base.

Peter applied tape to the boy’s mouth, as I shut the door. We both got in our seats and we drove steadily out of the area. We took a circuitous route back home, just in case anyone had seen us, even though it was dark, and had taken no more than 30 seconds. When we got home, we pulled into the garage, and shut the door. It was at this point that we both heaved a huge sign of relief. We had successfully kidnapped a boy with the intention of nutting him.

Firmly guiding our new charge to the basement playroom, Peter removed the handcuffs while I held the gun on him. I ordered him to strip all of his clothes off, including all jewelry. He asked where to put it as he did so. I told him to just drop it on the floor. He asked me what we were going to do, and I said I would explain everything in a few minutes. I told him to get on the exam table and lie down; Peter put his feet up in the stirrups, and began to strap him down with the straps we had added. When the young man was immobile, I asked him what his name was. Michael, he said. Well, Michael the first thing that’s going to happen is that you’re going to get fucked. I told Peter that he had done an excellent job tonight so he could fuck Michael first.

Michael said I am not gay. You are now I said. Peter lubed him up, and stood on the step at the base of the table, lining up on Michael’s asshole. He did have the good grace not to ram him; gently pushing in, he told the boy to squeeze and release his muscles, it would make any pain go away faster. Finally, Peter was all the way in and slowly but steadily began to piston him. Peter was watching me: the only person he had ever had sex with was me and he wasn’t sure if he should really do this. I went over, stopped him, kissed him, and said you don’t have to. He pulled out and stepped away.

I stood in Peter’s place, and looked at the boy’s face. Tears were lightly streaming down the sides of his face as I entered him. I told Peter to come over and fuck me, while I fucked Michael. It was quite the time as Peter and I got our timing down and got into rhythm, both of us pumping at a steady pace. Soon Peter blew his load in me, but kept on pumping me while I continued to pump Michael. Soon I jammed my cock into Michael as hard as I could cumming with a force and intensity I hadn’t had in a long time. What an affirmation of raw power and control. Not only had we kidnapped this boy, I had taken his ass without a peep.

Peter and I set about washing Michael up, and then I began to shave him with a set of safety razors, until his crotch was completely nude and soft and smooth to the touch. He asked what we were going to do. I told him that I was a medical student, and that I was going to practice some of my surgery skills on him. With an utter look of terror on his face, he asked what kind. I told him cheerfully that I was going to castrate him. He didn’t make a sound but began crying once again; he knew his fate was sealed and there was no use fighting it.

I began to inject Michael in various locations around his lower abdomen and his thighs. While the lidocaine was taking its effect, I thoroughly scrubbed Michael’s crotch with betadyne. I draped him, and then came back and picked up a needle, scratching him in various places around his crotch, asking if he could feel that. By this time Peter was gowned and masked. I scrubbed my hands thoroughly, then allowing Peter to help gown and mask me.

We approached Michael, and we heard a small cry, then he became silent. Peter became my nurse, handing me a scalpel. He had decided that he wanted me to practice a scrotal removal. I took hold of Michael’s scrotum, slicing it down the center, carefully but without hesitation parting tissue as I went. Quickly I had his left testicle exposed, and grasped the spermatic cord above the testicle with a clamp. Drawing a loop around the cord, I pulled it tight, making three sutures to keep the ligation tight. With another scalpel, I sliced off the testicle, and removed it with another clamp, handing it to Peter, who eyed it up carefully.

Using a cautery I seal a few bleeders around the area, then put several sutures into the end of the cord as extra insurance. I then released the cord, and it slithered back up the inguinal canal. Repeating the procedure on the right side, I had easily made Michael a eunuch, and told him so. The tears began in earnest again, a few sobs with them. Now came the hard part. I cut across the top of Michael’s scrotum, intersecting with the cut I had earlier made down the center. Pulling the flaps back from the tee shaped incision, I removed unneeded inner tissue. I then trimmed the flaps back, having to cut one of them twice, so they would match up nicely. I then used gut to make a purse string suture-line up each side of the tee, the stitches pulled to the inside of the cut. The only place they would be exposed was at the intersection of the cuts.

After everything was stitched, I over stitched each line to remove the pressure from the gut holding the tissue together. The result would be a barely visible scar line and a small dimple at the cross. I put a drain in at the intersection of the tee. I was done. Peter moved in and bandaged Michael. I walked around and looked at him. There was such a look of utter defeat, I could not see the bottom of it. I was even more power-sated than before. I started an IV on Michael, giving him a sedative, and hung a bag of Keflex as well. When we were all done, we simply left Michael where he was, securely strapped.

I took Peter to my chest, stroking his head, and said, My darling your next, OK? He looked up at me, a slight smile on his lips, and said I love you Joshua.

In the meantime, we had to figure out what to do with Michael. Two days after castrating him, I put a collar on Michael, securing it with a padlock. The padlock also secured a rather strong wire cable coated in plastic. I attached the other end to an eye bolt firmly anchored 4 inches into a ceiling joist. He examined himself as he sat on the edge of the table, looked up at me, and asked Why? You satisfied my whim and desire I said. You were good practice. We watched the TV news and the newspapers closely for the next several days, and there wasn’t a single mention of Michael.

As Michael healed, Peter and I debated what to do. Finally we decided that it was necessary to kill Michael and hide his body so that we would never be found out. About ten days after having castrated him, Peter and I went to the basement and hanged Michael. His inert body hanging from the ceiling, we pulled a leather trunk over and placed it beneath him. Lowering the corpse, we got him into the case, latching it tightly, having also put Michael’s clothes and jewelry in as well. That night Peter and I took turns at digging a deep hole in the back garden. It was perfect; there were no close neighbors to see, and no one would be the wiser.

The following weekend, Peter climbed up on the table, and we repeated the process. The only difference was that I didn’t need to secure him with as many straps. Peter spent the night on the table, an IV in his arm, sleeping peacefully, me at his side the whole night. Peter had offered me his most precious possession, and I had gratefully accepted.

Having both been thoroughly turned on by what we had done, especially me, Peter and I repeated our feat three more times over the next two years. The last one I did I also penectomized. By this time I was in my general surgical residency, and was quite capable. It had been about six months since we had had a subject, and we were both hungry for one. Peter had had his eye on a man in a part of town other than the university. He had followed him one day, and found out where he went. He was a walker, living near where he worked. We were easily able to grab the man, who was about 25, and bring him home. He gave me some resistance in the playroom, so I tasered him a couple of times, and that stopped.

What made this guy, Allan, different from the others were not only his age but also his willingness to talk and chatter away. The others were extremely intimidated. Allan, even though he no longer had nuts or a cock, didn’t give us any resistance, cooperating in every way. I began to play cribbage with him. We would bet for points, and quite often I would come out the winner. One day I suggested that we bet for his life. He quickly came back and asked what I would wager. I said my nuts.

I think he had already figured that one way or another, he was a goner anyway, so why not. The simple fact is, I ran into one hell of a streak of bad luck, and Allan very quickly garnered the 100 points needed to win. A look of triumph on his face, he asked when the castration would be held. I told him I’d let him know, and left. When Peter came home from school, I told him what had happened; he simply assumed that I would do nothing about it, but I was hooked. I told him that he was going to nut me the following Saturday! Certainly it was poetic justice, but I had to know what the others felt.

The following Saturday, with Allan intently watching, Peter became my general surgeon. He was frightened and unsure. I ordered him in a commanding voice to snap out of it, and pull himself together. He had helped me on all the others, and he knew damned well what to do. I had taught him everything. As Peter prepped me the lidocaine was beginning to take effect. Soon, it was time. Peter looked at me with a plea in his eyes; Allan was intently watching, sure I would stop all this as a hoax.

I ordered Peter to begin, and he did. He worked slowly and carefully, first removing one testicle, and then the other, removed my scrotum, trimming everything up very neatly. He did an extremely professional job, save for the fact that it took him half again as long as it took me. When he was done neither of them could believe that I had really gone through with it. On the other hand, I don’t think I could either, or at least it hadn’t hit me yet. But, done it was. Peter gave me some pain medications and helped me over to a bed we had set up in the playroom. With Allan quietly watching the whole time, Peter nursed me to a rather rapid recovery.

What an astounding and new situation. As I healed I decided that I actually liked the feel of the smooth place where my nuts had once hung. Peter didn’t quite know what to do either; suddenly I seemed to lose my invincibility and authority in his eyes. He began to say no to me. We still hadn’t disposed of Allan, having delayed I guess because of my castration. He and I continued to play cribbage, even though it had cost me dearly. We now seemed pretty evenly matched.

On about the 20th day that Allan was our prisoner, he and I were playing cribbage on the bed he slept in, when Peter walked in. Just then Allan suggested a new wager; I listened. He suggested that we play for his freedom, and that I put up Peter as my wager. If he won, he could leave a free, if altered, man and Peter would have to go with him. Looking at Peter I saw him nod ever so slightly. I said Okay upon condition that if you lose you will be hanged as soon as the game is done. Agreed he said. And your life? Don’t push it, I said.

Peter pulled up a chair to watch. Allan and I cut the cards for deal, and he won. Maybe it was an omen. It was a fierce battle and took twelve games to finish. Ultimately, Allan won by a score of 102 to 98. I looked at him and he smiled. I looked at Peter and he looked down, refusing to meet my gaze. What a tumble. I was amazed and stunned. I knew I would keep my word, just as I had before.

I immediately unlocked Allan’s collar. I asked him if he intended to go to the police, and when I should expect them. He said probably pretty soon. I gave him his clothes back and saw both he and Peter to the door. They took Peter’s car and drove straight to the police.

The upshot was that the cops took statements, photographs, had physical exams done, the whole works. Allan had convinced them that Peter had been brainwashed and had been living as my slave. While all of this was going on, the cops sought a warrant for me, as well as a search warrant for my house and property. I met them at the door, offering no resistance. I had no power once Peter had taken his back.

Eventually, I was charged with about two hundred counts of kidnapping, assault, illegal surgery, and capital murder. Of course the news coverage was sensational in the extreme, and worldwide. Everything took about six months from start to finish. I had made my resolve. I pleaded guilty to capital murder, all counts, according to the directions I gave to my attorney. I ordered him not to do any appeals either. One of the conditions of my pleas was that a sentence of death be imposed, and that a short rope be used to hang me so that I would strangle like my victims. Everyone was in agreement. I guess just like being castrated, I wanted to know what it was like.

An automatic appeal was sent to the state’s Supreme Court, my attorney arguing that the plea and sentence stand, as did the DA. The anti-death penalty people didn’t even dare to file a brief. After the court upheld the death penalty, they refused to allow a short rope. That would be cruel and unusual punishment they decreed.

Once the court ruled, I was taken back to the district court and a date for my execution was set. I was moved to death row at the state prison. I remember what one of the guards yelled as I was walked down a long hallway, hundreds of faces watching from behind many bars. “Stand back. Dead man walking. Nutless dead man.” One of the rules is that I have to wait at least sixty days on death row before execution. I’m sure it’s just to torment the prisoners, but that’s okay.

I’ve been giving interviews with this writer who is going to do my story. This is kind of a guideline for him. I just spend my days, waiting for them to end. My attorney is quietly arranging for Peter to get my estate once I am dead. He is living with Allan now, and basically they are hiding out from the press. The state is helping them out. I still love him, though, no matter what.

Oh, the irony here is that the date of my execution is my 26th birthday. The judge at sentencing wished me a happy one.

I hear them coming for me now. In about 15 minutes or so, I will be hanging by my neck from a big rope. Oh and the warden said not to worry, they’ll use a short rope anyway.