It’s different today, and more advanced. No more beating your wife. Ignorant, pregnant, home-bound women are déclassé, except on the religious fringes. On the other hand, you can fuck all the men you want. You can find a boy on the street corner, move him into your home without anyone noticing, then get your employer to pay his health bills. Isn’t the modern world great?

There’s no question that I prefer having a man around, compared to a woman. Don’t ask why, I just do. But I also like the household services a woman used to do, her subservience, her willingness to perform, the way she did what I wanted, no questions asked. The house would be spotless, the meals prepared, the clothing laundered. I could invite business associates for a home-cooked meal without a second thought. And, I could fuck her whenever I wanted, which would have been a lot. I also would have liked to beat the shit out of her every once in a while, then fuck her so hard and so long that she’d pass out. The kids would hate, I admit, but she would took care of them, too.

These days, there are few men who can be both completely dominated and completely domestic. Most men like to be in control. Then I discovered the faggot who became my slave. I’ll spare you the tedious details. I found him by accident, I’ve trained him hard, and he performs like a dream.

He isn’t allowed outside the house without my permission, which almost never comes. He cleans, launders, and landscapes. And he’s a passable cook. Of course, he’s naked all the time, except when I invite guests over. Everyone agrees he’s the best servant they’ve ever seen. They wouldn’t believe how well he serves when they’re gone. He’s shorter than me, thin without being a waif, and completely smooth: I had his hair removed long ago. He spends his days taking care of my household needs, and if those are met, he locks himself safely in a cage until I return. He spends his evenings with my dick up his little ass. Of course, I beat him senseless on occasion, but he’s generally so good that beating have become rare. Even then, one suspects that he pisses me off just to get me to beat him up. Whatever, it works for me.

So all is perfect in my world, right? Well, actually it is, because the beauty of owning a slave is that I have complete power to change anything that’s not quite right. For example, every once in a while, I’ll see something that really gets me hard. Like the faggot I saw at the leather bar that had “slave” tattooed across his ass cheek. Next day, my own faggot was ass up at the tattoo parlor, with “slave” inked on one cheek, and “property of Master T---“ on the other. Or, there was the time I couldn’t stop thinking about the friend of mine who cut open his slave’s piss slit, just to keep him from pissing standing up. A week or so later, I cut a little slit into my faggot’s dick, just below his balls, and just like that, he only pissed while sitting.

Which got me thinking about something else. I really, really enjoy fucking this slave. He washes himself inside multiple times a day, then lubes his hole so that I can slide in whenever I’m in the mood. And I have to say, seeing him bare-assed, tattooed as my property, dripping lube down his hairless legs--it all gets me going. Let’s just say I fuck him a lot. But the one thing I cannot abide is a hard slave dick. I don’t mind if he enjoys getting fucked. Hell, I’d prefer that he likes my dick in his ass. But he’s my slave, right? He should be concentrating only on my dick in his ass.

He’s never been allowed to ejaculate without permission, and he knows better than to touch himself, but still, his little hard four inch dick just started working my nerves. There was only one solution, and it was permanent.

I wouldn’t ordinarily give him the choice, or even let him in on the plan. But I thought it was only fair since there would be no way to undo it. I also figured that this way, I’d be able to always tell him that it was his decision. Of course, he probably knew that I was going to do it anyway, with or without his assent. In any case, I explained the problem and my intended solution, and he eagerly nodded his approval.

There are “Masters” who might be tempted to perform the procedure themselves. It is, after all, a common livestock management practice. I am not one of those Masters. There is plenty that can go wrong when it is attempted by amateurs. Rushed to an emergency room, the authorities would probably not understand what had happened or why it had been attempted. I do not like to put myself in a situation where the approval of others is required or where public humiliation or embarrassment is possible.

Luckily, there was no need to self-administer. I have a good friend who is a physician of the highest reputation. He is well aware of my domestic arrangements, and I have frequently consulted him on other medical issues. He agreed to perform the procedure, though naturally, there could be no record of his assistance.

I brought the slave to his office on a pleasant spring evening. His now-empty office had closed some time before, affording us both privacy and professional surroundings. The slave took off his meager clothes and laid down on the examination table. The doctor examined the slave’s genitals, carefully planning the operation in his mind. Then he stepped to a cabinet and began placing instruments on a tray. While the doctor prepared, we discussed mutual friends and laughed about long-ago events and then he described how it would all be done. There would be a local anesthetic and a small incision on each side of the scrotum. The cords would be clamped shut, the testicles would be snipped off, and then the cords sutured. Another suture would close the scrotum. It would take only a few minutes.

All went according to plan. Ironically, my faggot took it all like a man. The doctor performed flawlessly. And I was left with what I really wanted: a deballed slave. When I got him home, I naturally fucked him silly. Repeatedly.

Over the next couple of weeks, the slave healed up nicely. I liked the empty scrotum look. He still got hard for a while, then less so, then finally not at all. He’s still an eager bottom, even more eager since the only way he’s getting any cum is if I put it in him. Blissfully, I do so often.