& the Basket Case

I

***

I’ve been through quite a lot since I came to San Carlos Island when I was a boy of about ten. I think was ten…I could have been eleven. I don't really recall, as I don’t think about it much. Usually I’m too busy nowadays to have time to sit and jot things down on my computer, but this one just has to be preserved for posterity! It’s not rare at all for us to get new boys on the Island, in fact, I think there were some other boys on the plane when I first arrived here with my dad some years ago. This last wave of new boys we got, though – how do I say this? What’s the old expression? This one really took the cake and ate it too. (I think that’s how it goes!)

Now, for those of you who might not be familiar with me and my stories (how could you NOT be by now?!), let me do a short recap to bring you up to speed.

San Carlos Island is a tropical resort located in the Pacific Rim Area. It’s a Confederation of a bunch of former island nations that used to be several different countries about a century or so ago. Right smack in the middle of it sits our Island, which is a high profile tourist resort that caters (generally) to men and older boys who have a taste for sex. And not just any sex, I must add. Our invited clientele, who are all carefully screened before being allowed to come here, are almost always well-to-do men who like to have sex with young boys. It’s legal in this Confederation and some other places, although it’s highly illegal (or so I hear), and sometimes even punishable by long prison terms, in others areas of the world.

One more clarification while we’re at it:

Our clients don't come here to have sex with just any boy. There are plenty of places in the world where you can pick up a boy for a LOT less than you’ll pay for one here! That’s one thing about this Island – Ben Toeber may own it and run it like a business, but that’s just the veneer he shows the rest of the world. In fact, San Carlos is probably THE safest place in the world for a boy to live. Especially for boys who might be gay and LIKE to have sex. Boys like me, for instance. No one here is going to hurt you, and the clients CERTAINLY aren’t allowed to hurt you. (Unless you’re in the S&M Division of the boys who live and work here, but that’s another story). I guess Ben figured out a long time ago that the ancient practice of sex with boys was never going to stop, so he created a safe haven for it to take place. Making money off of it helps, too, I guess.

Where was I?

Oh, right!

The boys who live and work here, and I’m one of them, aren’t technically boys – anymore.

We’re eunuchs.

Nullos, to be specific.

Used to be, a few of the boys were allowed to keep their dick, or their balls, for select clients. But no more. We’re all nullos nowadays.

In case you don’t know, and I’m not sure how you couldn’t know already if you’re reading my ramblings, a nullo is a biological male who has had his penis and testicles/scrotum surgically removed. This leaves him (some people prefer to use the pronoun ‘it’, and that REALLY irks me!) with only smooth skin between his legs, and NO way at all of being able to sexually pleasure himself, or perform sex in a dominant role. Removal of the external genitalia consigns the nullo to a permanent role of being a “bottom boy”, “sub”, or whole lot of other terms.

In short, we GET fucked – because we CAN’T do the fucking. We’re completely dependent upon the guests for our sexual pleasure.

And we like it.

Hell, we LOVE it!

And in case you’re wondering why any male would want this to happen to him, keep in mind that not all of the boys here came here WANTING it. In fact, the greater proportion of them had NO clue whatsoever that they were going to be castrated and become ‘employees’ of San Carlos Island. Sure, there’s a few who contacted Ben and came here willingly. It’s not that we’re an unknown national secret, or something; we can easily be found online on the Web. Some others were found by our Finders. Those are adult Staffers who travel the world looking for the most beautiful (and preferably, gay) boys that they can find. They then negotiate a contract with the boy’s parents or guardians, and the boy is brought here in one of Ben’s private jets to begin his career of servitude. Becoming a nullo comes later, only after they’ve been trained to sexually service the clients. Most of the boys here, though, were sold as sex slaves.

Don't be alarmed by that term, either.

Technically, I suppose we ARE slaves. We’re all told at the onset that we are, and that Ben owns us for the duration of our contracts and we are not allowed to leave the Island. But we’ve really got it quite good here, you know. Slavery is legal in a lot of parts of the world now, but that’s not the kind of slavery we’re talking about. Life is good here, unlike what you probably think when you hear the word “slave”. It’s just that sometimes it can take a new boy a LONG time to figure that one out. I know it did me. I went through a spell where Ben almost sold me off, I was so upset and depressed about being abandoned (and then later fucked, used, and left) by my own father who had sold me to Ben in the first place. Add to that my own attachment disorders with my trainer, Matti, and you’ve got the makings for a real basket case!

So to sum it up, boys come here via whatever means – voluntarily, found and recruited, or sold by their guardians for whatever reason. The most usual reason is money, though. Once the boy arrives on the Island, he becomes Ben’s property, and if the guardian came with him, he’s usually paid off and leaves. The boy is then given a thorough physical by our medical staff, then he’s assigned a personal trainer to teach him everything there is to know about sex. After a few weeks, depending on how apt a pupil he is, he’ll be castrated and then put to work for the duration of his contract. Contracts may run for as little as one year (rare), or two (most common), or from arrival upon the Island to the date that the boy comes of age. Remember, only the most beautiful of boys make the cut. (That’s an intended pun!) Who wants to fuck an ugly boy, anyway?!

That’s that in a turtle shell, as they say.

Now, seeing as how you’re up to speed by this point, let me get back to the reason I decided to write this.

My name is Sander Gobin, and I work on Staff at San Carlos Island. I’ve been here for a number of years, since I was ten or eleven. I’m sort of tall (just shy of 2 meters), slender, tanned and toned, and devastatingly beautiful, I might add. My main job is to meet and greet new arrivals, or “newbies”. I get them settled in when they first arrive, and sort of supervise their training and help them to learn the tools of the trade here. Seeing as how I’ve been a nullo since a couple of weeks after I arrived, it’s not like “I” can train them, and Ben says I have just the sweet personality for the job. Newbies tend to trust me, for some reason.

I took this position when I got a bit older, late teens, as most of the clientele want the younger boys for sexual partners. Don't get me wrong, there are still quite a few men (and a very rare woman) who come here to see some of the older boys. It’s just that the bulk of the guests want the young ones, and I’m getting on a bit in size, if not in male characteristics. It won’t be long until I’m off to college somewhere off-Island (which I might add, the Island pays for!), and there’s plenty of younger and smaller boys to do all that real work. Besides, it’s not like I’ve got a boyfriend or anything, but that’s another story. I still don't know how I’ll react to the fact that I’m going away, though, looking like a tall, prepubertal fourteen year old, despite the fact that I’m older than that!

My job is usually pretty smooth, with very few problems. But every now and then, I get a live one, like I said. About a month ago, this one kid arrived that’s just driven me crazy ever since he set foot off of the plane. I was having a good day up until I met him. Hell, I was having a good CAREER up until I met him. He even got on Hop Sing’s nerves, and trust me, THAT takes a lot. (You can read all about Hop Sing and our adventures here, too.) If it weren’t for the fact that I literally owe Hop my life, I don’t know if I could have dealt with this kid, especially without his help. I mean, I’ve felt suicidal before, but jeeez, this kid made me wanna jump off the roof! (Keep in mind I live in a penthouse, too…)

Most of the boys who come here adapt in time. Some take longer than others, but I was soon convinced that this kid wasn’t going to adapt at all. I figured that Ben would either have to cancel his contract and cut his losses, or sell him to an individual – or worse, a brothel. We won’t go into it here, but brothels in this day and age are true hell-holes. I would have been sold to one if Hop hadn’t saved me from myself, but like I said, that’s another story. This new kid’s only other chance would have been adoption by a client and taken home with him/them, but that’s VERY rare. So I figured that this kid was destined for the auction block. Not a pretty thought.

Maybe that’s why we put so much effort into him.

He arrived in the way that all newbies do – on the plane. I was advised about a week in advance of his arrival, and saw that he’d be arriving with several other boys, two by the names of Kyle and Jack. According to my roster, Kyle had already been permanently chemically castrated and that Jack had not been. I should probably mention that all newbies MUST be prepubescent – NO signs of secondary male sexual characteristics. That’s the whole point of the Island’s trade, after all. I also saw that Kyle was about thirteen and was dangerously near puberty when his father had taken him in to be castrated in advance, but that it had been a success and Kyle was even anxious to come and be nullified. The notice also stated that Jack didn’t know a thing.

(In case you were wondering, fathers pretty much own their children in most parts of the world now, and as overpopulated as it is, sterilization and even castration is perfectly legal – and preferred. Breeding is expensive, and a lot of folks don't have that luxury now. It also helps that Ben has several private clinics report it to him when an exceptionally pretty boy is neutered.)

But that’s how it is for most of them, and that’s how it was for me. If they knew in advance that they’d be somewhat brutally castrated upon arriving here, they might try to run away or worse.

Still, I always have to laugh when I read reports like this. If they still did nullifications like they did back in my day, that’d REALLY scare the hell out of any boy who knew THAT in advance. We don't just slice off a newbie’s genitals in the Arena in front of all the guests and boys anymore. Talk about hurt! Now it’s done humanely by our doctor in a real, sedated, surgery. I guess Ben’s getting soft in his advancing years, huh?

So there we were, at the airport. From the information on my roster, it was easy to spot the kid. His name was Peter “Petey” McConnell, and he was – like the rest of them in this batch – an American. He was also short. Damn short. For a minute, and if it hadn’t been for my roster, I would have sworn that Ben had begun importing six year olds! The smallest kid I’d ever seen in all my years on the Island was Lewie (Lu Dong Bin), and he’d grown up in poverty in some remote off-the-map village in rural China. Again, that’s another story. But just for the record, Ben almost NEVER takes a boy younger than nine.

But according to my info, “Petey” (how appropriate, I thought…) wasn’t six. He was ten, due to turn eleven in a few weeks.

He was also a midget.

Now let me clarify this – midgets and dwarves are not the same thing. Dwarves are little people that are usually out of proportion in body and generally have orthopedic problems to boot. Midgets are just little people – normally proportioned, just very small in overall stature. Like I said, Petey looked to be about six years old. Synthetic hormonal cocktail or not, like we all take to maintain our sex drive and stave off the detrimental effects of eunuchoidism (like macroskeletalism or osteoporosis), Petey was sure to be a big hit. I figured that even when he was seventeen or eighteen, he’d be lucky to look like a twelve year old.

Yep, little Petey was in for a brilliant career, I thought, once I found him. He was hiding in the back of the group, and just standing there staring at his feet. It was obvious that, unlike Kyle and Jack, he hadn’t spoken to any of the other boys on the plane ride and hadn’t made any new friends yet. I thought that was a shame, really. You DO need some friends, even if you are a pampered sex slave…

I found out later that he’d hidden in the bathroom all the way here.

So other than being short, Petey had wavy and loosely curled light brown hair that had seemed to bleach out some in the sunshine. It covered his ears, and was down to his shoulder blades in the back. It also hung down over his eyes, and he had to constantly keep brushing it away so he could see. His eyes were wide, wild, and a very dark brown that was almost black. He was dressed in a white A-shirt with a round and snug (probably fake) gold necklace on, and white gym shorts. He was wearing cheap, clear plastic flip-flops for shoes, and it was obvious that whoever had sold him (again, according to my info) hadn’t spent many credits on attire. Other than that, his watch (probably a fake, too) was his only possession. He didn’t have a carry-on, like most of the boys who’d brought some of their prized possessions or treasures along. All in all, like I said, he was so cute that I could just imagine Ben’s reaction to him! Hell, if I’d have had a dick, I’D have fucked him! And that’s saying something, seeing as how I had mine cut off when I was ten or eleven.

Not that Petey would need good clothing, anyway. The only time us boys on the Island wear clothes is if the client wants to indulge in a fantasy and play dress-up. I once had to dress up as a 19th century golf caddy, and so did my friend Chris. Let’s not go there again, please? I still have bad dreams about tweed knickers. The only good part about it was being UNDRESSED on the 15th hole and fucked silly until the next boy and his guest played through!

So there we were, at the airport.

“Welcome to San Carlos Island, your new home,” I greeted the newbies. “My name is Sander, and I’ll be showing you around some.” I paused, trying not to smile too broadly as the new arrivals all stared at me. Seeing a genuine nullo in person, I knew, could be quite shocking.

There were looks of surprise, of course; there always are! Stunned looks, and a few looks of outright horror. It was obvious that the boys had been talking, that someone had known what happened to boys who came here, and that word was out. It was also easy to spot who hadn’t had the Neutersol shots yet, because all of them that I could see that hadn’t had shots were sporting raging little erections all of two inches long! Those that weren’t, I knew, had already had their balls and penile nerves toasted by Neutersol.

Oh, and just in case you didn’t know, Neutersol was a drug developed in the very late 20th century for use on animals. It was later refined into a human form, which is injected into the testicles. After a few reformulations, the most current batch causes the testicles to atrophy, cease function, and eventually turn to mush. There’s also a corollary formula, which is injected into the penis to permanently kill all tactile and erectile nerves, thus rendering the male forever impotent. The reason we use it to help convince the boys that surgical nullification is in their best interests, seeing as how they’ll never use their male genitals again.

Anyway, I answered all of the newbies’ questions patiently.

‘Yes, they were going to have their dicks and balls cut off.

‘Yes, men were going to have sex with them.

‘Yes, they were slaves.

‘Yes, they were earning credits for it by the day and would eventually be freed and rich.

‘And yes, you could cum by having your ass fucked.’

“Whoahhh, cool!” Someone breathed, followed by a THUD from the back of the group.

Thus it began.

Petey had fainted.

This wasn’t all that unusual, though. A few sniffs from the smelling salts, and he was coming around again. And as soon as he did, he scuttled backwards on the floor, like a crab, away from the rest of us. His dark eyes were wild, and he was trembling as he backed himself up against the far wall. It was really comical, come to think of it. I tried to ignore it to spare him further humiliation.

“OK, everybody take off all your clothes, shoes too. Any personals go in the lockers with the clothes. You won’t be needing them anymore. Everyone here goes naked, as far as us slaves that is.” THAT set off some more discussion, which was typical. I answered their questions calmly, almost in a memorized script, as they disrobed and stowed their clothing in lockers there at the terminal. I was passing out the usual sandals, though, since the pavement can get pretty hot, when I noticed that Petey still hadn’t taken his clothes off.

“Undress, ahhh…,?” I coaxed him.

“P-P-Peter,” he squeaked, in a voice that sounded like cats dancing on glass. If this kid had been born in the 16th or 17th century, he certainly would have been in NO danger of being castrated for the sake of his singing voice!

“Take your clothes off, like everyone else, Peter,” I repeated, and he just looked at me and shook his head. He looked to be on the verge of tears.

“Peter,” I said again, “Let me remind you – you’re a slave now. San Carlos Island, namely Mr. Ben Toeber, owns you. You have to do as you’re told, or it could be very bad for you. Follow the rules, and it’ll be very NICE for you. The sooner you get naked, the sooner we can get you all settled into your dorms and you can start enjoying the place.”

“H-how can I enjoy it if you c-c-cut my d-dick off?” He squeaked again, which made some of the other boys laugh. Some of them seemed to be thinking the same thing, though, so I repeated myself on the part of the introduction about how good it was to be a nullo and get fucked. I could tell that Petey wasn’t buying it, though. Finally, I had to threaten him with a forced stripping, and writing him up to be punished.

“Y-you b-beat kids here?” He said in a very low voice.

“Maybe,” I wheedled. (Of course we DON’T beat the boys! How could you think that?)

Then, with an absolutely crushed look on his beautiful face, he began stripping. When he pulled his shirt off, there were tears on his cheeks and his lip was trembling. When he finally got his shorts off, I could see that his genitals looked perfectly normal – for a toddler, I thought. The last thing to come off were watch and necklace, and he started crying when I made him leave those in the locker. He didn’t seem to believe me when I told him that he could have them back after his first year was up.

Don't look at the screen like that! We have to break them of all off-Island attachments, you know. After a year, they could have their personals back, and those what had them could even have family visits.

The next challenge was the application of the red slave collars. I’m sure you all remember those and what the color codes mean. They’re quite stylish, in fact.

Most of the boys accepted theirs, seeing as how my gold one got their attention when I produced their red ones. They were all pretty surprised to find that the collars were “intelligent,” too. Needless to say, I had to put Petey’s on him, and he didn’t like it at all. He tugged at it, twisted it, tried to pull it over his head, but of course it wouldn’t give. There was no way he could break it, and when he seemed to realize this, he started to cry AGAIN. Normally, I don’t draw attention to this, and I tried to ignore it. It’s a normal reaction, after all.

About then, Ben came in. Rather, Ben’s huge erection came in (I’m sure he’s on Viagra!), and Ben followed behind it!

Once again, a group of raging little erections popped up to salute him. I figured there’s be no problem with this group (well, maybe one other, plus Petey). Ben greeted the boys heartily, giving some of them a jarring hug and a few kisses, as he ushered them out to the golf cart that would transport us back to the boys’ hotel.

“We’re missing one,” I told Ben, and I knew it was Petey. “Computer, where’s Peter?” I asked my collar.

“Peter McConnell is hiding in locker #13,” the automated voice of Mr. Tsu, our IT resident and Hop Sing’s dad, told me.

“Page him,” I replied, and it did.

A moment later, and a very hysterical Petey was dashing out the front door and trying to hide behind a bush. Ben was howling in mirth. I was beginning to grow irritated. “Peter, you can’t hide. Your collar has a GPS locator in it in case you get lost on the island. Now come HERE!” I said more firmly.

“There’s a v-voice in this slave c-c-collar!” The bush squeaked in a very rough soprano.

“NOW, Peter,” I repeated firmly. Ben laughed.

With head hanging, he shuffled over to me. A few of the other boys laughed, but not all of them. A look from me silenced them. “Time to get you settled in,” I reminded him.

“I d-don’ wanna,” he whimpered, and I reminded him that he had no choice.

“Fine, you can walk then,” I told him, “Or I can have security come and collect you?” (Ben was still laughing.) I then turned my back on Petey and headed for the cart. I wasn’t walking with him, that was for sure! “Those scratches you just gave yourself look pretty painful, though. I bet we could fix them right up?” I coaxed him, not looking back.

I hadn’t taken five steps, though, when I felt a small, warm hand tentatively slip into mine. For a little fellow, he had a hell of a tight grip as we all set off for the boys’ hotel. He sat on my lap in the cart, buried his face in my shoulder, and just trembled as if freezing to death all the way there. Ben thought it was cute…

Once we arrived, I figured my problems with Petey were over. He’d have his own room until after orientation and training started, then he would have the option of sharing a room in the hotel if he wanted to. After all, I used to share a room with three other boys. We might be slaves, but we’re not prisoners here. Besides, our collars always knew where we were, so if there were no boys in a dorm room, but too many in another, that was fine too. It’s nice, sometimes, to have someone to sleep with – even if you CAN’T do much of anything with each other.

I showed Petey his room and how to activate the door, and showed him everything in there: online computer, World*Net TV, stereo system, video game center, the works. I figured he’d be thrilled. Newbies always are. But oh no…

“Y-you mean I have to s-stay here by m-myself?!” He stammered, and I explained to him that he’d eventually be allowed to sign up for a bigger room with roommates. But not yet. He then asked if he could leave the light on.

Petey was afraid of the dark. I sighed hard, but told him that was fine.

I then introduced him to the shower and began explaining to him about keeping clean – both inside and out. The idea of repeated daily enemas, though, almost sent him into a panic attack.

“B-but I HATE those! They hurt! The d-doctor g-gave me one, and I HATED it!” He howled, trying to head for the door.

But it wouldn’t let him out until the system was triggered by water use. I HAD thought of that, after all, and patiently explained to him that if a client turned him in too many times for having shit on his dick after fucking him, that he’d be punished for it. He might even be sold off, and/or go broke on his contract if he didn’t bring in enough income. The fact that he was going to be rich when he was freed didn’t seem to phase him, though.

“Eight y-years,” he whimpered in a rather pathetic voice. “So what if I got c-credits? I’ll have no d-dick!” He covered his small genitals and turned sideways. Apparently, being naked in public was still bothering him.

“Peter,” I repeated for like the fifth time, “You HAVE to get used to this. You don’t have a choice,” I reminded him firmly. “You can be happy here, or you can be miserable. The choice is yours. Trust me, I chose ‘miserable’ for a while, and it almost killed me. Now, if you want out of the bathroom, you have to get clean.”

I then explained the red and green soaps to him, making sure he knew NOT to get the red soap on or in his hair unless he wanted to be bald, and bald for life. Recall that the red soap kills hair follicles. Sometimes we get a boy who uses it on his head, though, like Hop Sing. Mostly, that’s the Asian boys; maybe it has something to do with Buddhism? I don’t know…

The idea that Peter would never grow any hair on his body didn’t seem to bother him, though. It seemed to be the one thing that didn’t, however, as the enema nozzle scared him so bad I thought I was going to have call Dr. Knox! Then I realized that it was built for the average-sized boy, and I had to call for a smaller one to be sent up. After all, there was no way I was getting that plug up Petey’s butt, and I think he knew that, too!

It wasn’t easy getting the smaller plug-style nozzle up his tight little butt either, and it was painfully obvious for the both of us that Petey had never been fucked before. Once it was in, he just fought with it and I inflated it so he couldn’t push it back out. He grunted and moaned, but it was obvious that he wasn’t enjoying it. I then turned the solution on.

“SH-SH-HIT!” He gasped.

“That’s the main idea, yes,” I agreed. “Several times a day, in fact.”

“Ohhh,” He moaned, as I turned him on his right side so as to completely fill his colon with the warm cleansing solution. After several minutes of slow-flow, he was beginning to look like a pregnant girl! “P-please let me g-go!” He wailed, trembling despite the warm water and the fact that he was beginning to sweat.

“Not yet,” I told him. “Now, it doesn’t cramp you, does it?”

He shook his head.

“That’s the formula. It’s not designed to hurt you. It’s not fun if it hurts, remember that, Peter,” I told him, while he held the enema. After all, the plug wouldn’t LET him pass it. When I finally did let him expel, it was clear that he was going to need several more to get him cleaned out. The kid’s diet must have been abominable for him to smell so bad!

To make a long and traumatic story short, after much emotional carryings-on that we won’t go into, I had Petey clean and more than ready for a nap. Most newbies need a nap after arriving, when the excitement (or in this case, panic) catches up with them.

Putting him to bed proved to be difficult, too, though. I should have known…

One of the first priorities for a newbie – and ESPECIALLY for someone like Petey – was to get him USED to having something up his butt. If anyone needed prepped and loosened up, it was Petey. While I was trying to figure out which drawer they had the newbies’ training toys stashed in this time, I heard a squeal of delight for a change. I turned and saw him standing there in a white hooded bathrobe, the ones we’re allowed to wear on chilly days or nights. He was actually smiling, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him to put it back where he’d found it. Instead, I held up the smallest butt plug in the kit. Apparently, he knew what it was and where it went!

Petey’s eyes went wide (well, even wider than usual) and he tried to lock himself in the bathroom closet when I explained that he had to wear the butt plug 24/7 until he was trained. Lucky for me, the door didn’t lock. The prepping harness in the kit did, though, and after I’d wrestled Petey to the floor and hiked up his robe, I sat on him while I shot some lube up his tight little hole and inserted the small plug. Hell, I wouldn’t have even known that that plug was in me, if I’d had it in, it was so damn small! For Petey, though, it must have felt like having a tree trunk stuck up inside of him.

He cried out, he squired, he howled in agony and begged me to take it out. At least it sounded that way. Do you know how hard it is to put a training harness on a struggling boy with one hand? Finally, I got it in place and connected to the plug, then I cinched it down snug to his waist and got it all locked in place. Petey stopped struggling and just lay there, panting in defeat.

And of course, he started bawling again.

“T-take it out! P-please, S-Sander, sir, t-take it out of me! I d-don’t like it!”

I wondered if he stuttered all the time? Some clients like things like that though. We’ve got one boy who’s a deaf mute, and while he can sign and he’s smart as a whip, it turns some clients on to think he’s totally clueless. (Trust me, he’s not!)

I was also starting to realize how tired I was, too, after spending the last several hours with Petey. He didn’t offer any resistance as I picked him up and tucked him into his new bed, either. He just squirmed and made faces, clenching and flexing his hole trying to get the plug out. He wasn’t having any luck, either…

After getting him settled and telling him when dinner was, I got up to go. But a hot little hand had me by the wrist, and those wide, dark eyes were pleading with me.

“J-just stay ‘til I g-go to sleep?” He begged me.

And since I was just too damn tired to care, I tapped my collar, clocked out, and just sighed again as he crawled into my lap and held onto me like I was a life preserver or something. The plug was obviously driving him crazy, too, because it took a while before he fell asleep. Even then, he didn’t stop squirming.

The last thing I remember of that afternoon was Hop Sing banging on the door and yelling at us to come down to dinner, and almost spilling Petey out of my lap when I jumped up!

But it gets better, you just wait and see…

I’ve got a client now, but I’ll be back later with the rest of the story.