“Sorry kid, but this has got to happen,” Jax said, loading a green rubber band the size of a Life Saver candy onto the protruding prongs of the elastrator tool. He closed the handles to expand the band into a two-inch square, and then crossed the floor to the bed where the naked boy was tied. The kid’s eyes grew wide as when he saw the tool; he knew what an elastrator was used for, and he willed his testicles to ascend back into his body. Two days ago he’d been just another eighteen-year-old freshman at State University, and now he was about to be castrated.

For the most part it had been a typical Saturday for Cody. Studying for the impending midterms, a little beer, then a little romp with his main squeeze. Nichole shared an off-campus apartment with another sophomore, and on that Saturday night the place was all hers. Cody rented a couple of movies and came over about seven, hoping for a little action. They’d had sex before, but the time of the month was wrong for her and Cody had to settle for one of her world famous hand jobs, where she fondled his cock and balls with such skill that he was kept on the very edge for over an hour before allowed his orgasm.

He left for his dorm about eleven and stopped at the edge of the park and ducked behind a tree to take a leak. His dick was slightly slick from her massage oil and his balls ached a little from her exertions, but it had been an okay evening and he was so engrossed in both himself and his pissing that he was totally unaware of the two people that had crept up behind him. He had just zipped back up when his arms were seized from behind.

“Hands behind your head, kid. Scream or holler and you’ll spend the rest of your life in a wheel chair.” The command was reinforced with the prod of a gun barrel against his lower spine.

What the fuck? Who in hell would mug a college kid? “Okay, okay, take it easy,” Cody said, planting his hands behind his head. His wrists were quickly secured with plastic riot cuffs and a collar of light chain was looped around his neck and fastened to the cuffs, severely limiting his range of motion. “What do you want?” Cody pleaded, “I only have a couple of dollars on me.”

A tight hood was drawn over his head. “Shut up kid. Make it easy on yourself or we’ll have to hurt you.” The struggling boy was forced through the park and finally felt himself being pulled up some steps and into what seemed to be some kind of motor home or bus and led down a corridor and thrown onto what felt like a large bed. He felt himself forced to the end of the bed, and then heard the snap of a padlock being fastened. “That’ll hold him, let’s get going,” one of the men said.

Cody immediately tried to sit up, but was securely fastened to something or other by a short chain attached to the collar around his neck that also restrained his hands. He heard the grind of a starter motor, then the deep rumble of a diesel from somewhere beneath and behind the bed, then the hiss of air as the brakes released. Cody felt the stop and go of city traffic, and finally the steady drone of what he assumed was one of the interstates leading away from the city. He dozed fitfully for an undetermined amount of time, then awoke to find the coach stopped, engine softly idling. He could still hear heavy trucks passing by in the distance and a few accelerating nearby and deduced that they were either at a truck stop or rest area.

Cody was aware of the presence of another person in the room just before he heard the lock unsnap. The man then released the buckle securing the hood and pulled it from Cody’s head. “Okay kid, stand up,” the voice ordered. Cody squinted his eyes against the painful light, and finally was able to focus on one of his captors.

A mask concealed the man’s face, but Cody could see that he was short and rather slightly built. His hands were small and his fingers looked almost effeminate, but he had coarse, dark hair covering his arms and sprouting out of the top of his shirt. Cody was in good shape and was also a fast runner. If he could get his hands free he felt he had a decent chance of taking the guy and getting out of there. “I, uh, need to pee,” he said. “How about letting me loose for a minute so I can use the bathroom?”

“Don’t even think about trying it kid, you won’t make it ten feet before Jax nails your ass.” At least Cody now had the name of one of his captors, and a reasonable estimate that there were only two of them.

“Uh, I still have to pee.”

“Okay,” The man said, grabbing the boy’s arm and directing through the door of the small bathroom to the shower stall. “Stand still,” The man ordered, and then Cody felt the man fumble with his belt and zipper, and finally the cool rush of air as the man pulled Cody’s jeans and skivvies down to his knees. “Okay kid. Let her fly.” The man made no effort to leave or avert his stare, and Cody stood there a long time. Willing his body to release its urine. It had been years and he’d just been a little kid the last time someone watched him piss.

“I, uh, don’t think I can do it with you watching,” Cody finally said, embarrassed.

“Jesus, kid,” the man finally said, then stepped from the small room and closed the door. Cody stepped onto the rim of the shower stall and leaned forward to rest his head against the opposite wall, and felt his bladder relax and the welcome sound of his piss stream hitting the floor of the shower. “I suppose you want me to shake it off for you,” the man asked with a sneer before pulling Cody’s pants back up and herding him back to the bed.

The bedroom had no windows and the only indication of night and day was through the translucent dome of the overhead escape hatch, but Cody estimated that it was midday when they finally stopped again. The other man, Jax, came into the bedroom with a fast food bag and a large cup of soda. He was also masked but was much larger than his companion and had the bulging muscles of a bodybuilder.

“Okay kid, I’m going to move your hands around to the front now so you can eat. Don’t try and do anything stupid or you’ll pay. Got it?” He then released Cody’s wrists, one at a time, and refastened then with leather coated cuffs to the neck chain, leaving just enough slack for Cody’s hands to reach his mouth. Jax wedged a liter bottle of cola between the mattress and wall, inserted a straw, then deposited a hamburger and container of French fries in front of Cody’s face. “Bon Appetite, kid,” he said, closing the door behind him.

The coach began moving again and the familiar hum of the interstate highway soon lulled Cody to sleep. He woke several times, still hoping it was all a dream, and racked his mind to try and figure out what was going on. His dad was an employee of an investment bank and although relatively well off, was certainly not enormously wealthy or politically influential in any way. Nichole’s father, by contrast, was immensely rich and had what seemed to Cody like underworld connections and didn’t seem particularly fond of Cody or his attentions to his daughter. Perhaps he was behind this apparently well organized kidnapping.

Cody had no way to measure the passage of time, but there had been another fast food gastronomic delight and two more of the humiliating assisted urinations before the bus was finally parked and the engine shut down, and he estimated that they’d been on the road somewhere around a day and a half. He didn’t have a clue where they were; Thirty-six hours, more or less, at freeway speed from Boise could put them anywhere in the Western two thirds of the country, all the way from Phoenix to Seattle to LA to Omaha, maybe even as far as Dallas, New Orleans or Chicago. The only positive aspect of the situation was that they didn’t seem intent on hurting him.

“Okay kid, it’s Nine AM Monday morning: Show time,” Jax announced, entering the bedroom with Andy, the smaller man. They each grabbed one of Cody’s legs, and despite his kicking and struggling quickly had them tightly bound to opposite corners of the bed. Jax then produced a pair of scissors and in less than a minute the boy was completely naked, his clothing a worthless pile of rags. Cody was naturally embarrassed; nudity was accepted in the common shower rooms of the dorm and the locker room, but that was among college kids his own age and not these men who obviously had something else in mind.

Cody almost shit in the bed when Jax produced the elastrator. Back when he was thirteen he’d spent a summer on his uncle’s ranch and had helped his fifteen and sixteen-year-old cousins band some calves. Cody had put a band on his fingers that evening to test the tightness, and the older boys had joked about banding Cody. He had worn his jeans to bed and slept facing the wall so they couldn’t jump him, and had gotten up in the middle of the night to go into the bathroom and masturbate. Later he’d heard his cousins do the same thing. Messing around with the elastrator and fantasizing about castration had seemed erotic back when he’d been a newly minted adolescent, but now, five years later, the prospect of castration scared the shit out of him. “No!” he screamed, willing his testicles to ascent back into his body cavity.

Jax probing fingers soon found their quarry, and in less than a minute Cody’s testicles had been forced through the loop, the prongs retracted, and the band rolled off of the tool. Jax left the boy writhing on the bed and picked up the phone and punched in a number.

“Mr. Miller?” Jax said when a man answered the phone. “Cody would like a word with you, I’m sure.” He ignored the man’s questions and held the phone up to Cody’s ear. “Say hello to your dad, kid.”

“Dad!” Cody pleaded, “They’re hurting me! Do what they say! Please!”

“Just shut up and listen,” Jax told the boy’s father. “You’re going to get an Email in about five seconds. It’ll contain a link to a live web camera. I’ll call you back after you’ve watched it. Have a nice day.”

Cody’s dad immediately opened his Email and clicked on the link. It opened to reveal a brightly illuminated close up of his son’s beardless face contorted with pain. The camera then panned out to reveal the collar around the boy’s neck, his youthfully hairy armpits, and the tattoo on the right pec that the boy had gotten against his parents’ wishes and was so proud of. The camera shifted down to the smooth hairless chest, flat belly, and finally the circumcised penis that the father hadn’t seen since his son had been a child. A hairy hand intruded on the scene to brush the cock up over the belly to reveal the green band that had compressed the boy’s balls into a bulging lump the size of a doorknob, which now, several minutes after the banding, had turned from a healthy pink color to an angry red.

The boy’s father cringed as he saw the same hairy hand grab his son’s captive balls and stretch them out from his body and apply the edge of a large hunting knife to the tender skin attaching the scrotum to the body. The screen went blank just as his pone rang.

“You bastard!”

“Shut up and listen. In four hours your brat can be on his way back to Boise intact or in a hospital minus his nuts, the choice is yours. If you ever want to have grandkids get a million dollars together and deposit it in the Cayman Islands account number that I’m going to Email you. The band stays on his balls until I get confirmation from the bank. I’ll use the knife unless I get confirmation within four hours, or sooner if I smell any cops snooping around. He doesn’t look too comfortable, so if I were you I’d hurry.”

“I can’t get the money that fast. I’ll need at least……”

“Blow it out your ass. I’ll turn the web cam back now on for your viewing pleasure, and in four hours you can watch your kid lose his nuts. They’ll already be dead by then anyway.”

Cody’s dad heard the man hang up, paused for just a second, then hastily booted up his laptop, sat it on the desk beside his office computer, and went to the live web cam that featured his son. The boy was straining against his bonds, sweating profusely, and his scrotum had turned even a darker shade of red. He easily had a million dollars in assets that could be liquidated, but he had no time to do so. There was only one immediate source of that money: The bank he worked for. He could start the transfers and be done in less than a half hour. Would his son’s testicles survive that long? He chanced another glance at the screen. The boy was still struggling, and obviously in a great deal of pain. He willed himself to not look at his son’s crotch, but couldn’t help noticing that it was now almost black.

He would certainly lose his job, and possibly even face prosecution, but he saw no other option. The police or FBI would take hours, if not days to pinpoint the location of the camera, and by then his only son would be a Eunuch. He switched on the answering machine to inform callers that he currently wasn’t available, then started the process to transfer money from several different investment accounts to the offshore bank account that he’d been given. He knew that the money would only stay there for a few hours before being transferred somewhere else, and that tracking it down would be futile. He felt the familiar tension build in his chest, the numbness in the fingers of his left hand, and then the pain that radiated from his jaw down his left arm. He reached for the phone to summon an ambulance, but fell face first onto the floor instead. The image on the laptop showed that the boy, still struggling against his bonds, had inexplicitly achieved an erection that swept up across his belly in a graceful seven-inch arch. It was purely coincidence that the son’s ejaculation occurred at the same instant as the father’s death.

“Did you see that?” Jax asked Andy. “The little turd just got his rocks off!”

“How long now since you banded him?” Andy asked. “Any thing from the bank yet?”

“Nada. It’s been twenty minutes, so it should be any second now.”

“How long will the kid’s nuts last, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Jax answered, “but it’s never taken us over half an hour to get the money.

“What now?” Andy said, three and a half hours later. The wire transfer of the money had not occurred, and the boy’s father refused to pick up his phone. The boy was now exhausted and nearly comatose from the pain of his dying testicles, which were now a purplish black color and dead beyond redemption. He had shit himself and the two abductors had closed the bedroom door against the stink and were viewing him by way of the web cam.

“We carry out the threat. If word gets out that we didn’t follow through, then we’ll never be able to pull this again.” Jax put on his mask, pulled on a pair of latex gloves, picked up the hunting knife and headed for the bedroom.