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The quarter of the city that is devoted to the slave markets, consists of two straight streets with a number of smaller lanes running between them. One of the streets has a wider space, a large square, where anyone can come and sell slaves, standing them against the wall and remaining there while possible buyers walk slowly around the circuit. Women and girls can be taken into a small alcove off the square to be stripped down. Boys and men are simply demonstrated nude in the first place. Then there are the slavers premises. Some are open to the street. One walks in to a large courtyard where the slaves are lined up, men, boys and eunuchs on one side, naked, with women and young girls, still dressed, on the other. If you are interested in any particular slave they are taken out for you. The boys, men, and eunuchs are examined in a common space, under a portico. Women and girls are usually taken to a private room where they will disrobe. Other slavers are more select, often these are the ones who specialize in particular types of slaves. If you wish a Greek slave tutor for your son, there is one establishment that has a number of them. There is another which deals solely in cooks and household servants. There are even more private dealers who stock slaves suitable for particular sexual tastes, the well-hung youth, the virgin girl, the hirsuite stud, or the pretty Greek. There are dealers who specialize in ethnic types, utilizing a net of contacts so that one can buy a pale boy from Britain, a blonde-haired woman from Germania, and even more exotic types, the black, well-hung African or the sleek feminine Indian. These are only some of the kinds and places to be found in that quarter of the city. There are wealthy dealers offering many slaves, there are the poorer ones, in mean quarters, who only hold a few. There are those dealers who only sell recently captured slaves from military campaigns on commission to the army. There are middle-men and whole-salers. It is busy any day of the week. There are always small trains of slaves going to and fro. There are buyers who are rich, arriving with a small retinue of servant-slaves. There are householders seeking a cheap servant. There are estate owners looking for squads of field-hands. There is a constant noise, of chatter and questions, of spruikers proclaiming their wares, barking stray dogs excited by the commotion, and beggars whining for a coin. This particular day was no exception. It was unpleasantly humid. There was no breeze coming up from the harbour to leaven the heavy air. The summers heat had come, but it had been a moist thick heat for days now. No-one moved unless they had to, seeking relief from the sultry air in shady, cooler interiors. Still a number of buyers and sellers moved through the mazed streets of the slave dealers quarter, jostling in the narrow places in the lanes, and welcoming the wider spaces of the streets with their cordial vendors and water-carriers. I was seeking to buy a young eunuch to act both as my servants and as a companion in my bed. Like many men I have a preference for eunuchs to serve my pleasure, and while I am not a truly rich man, I have always had enough money to indulge my tastes. I was only fifteen when I first took a eunuch to my bed. It was a day when my as yet unformed sexual desires had swollen again within me, desiring but as yet knowing no object. My father had just purchased two newly-cut Slav boys to serve in our intimate quarters, their castration permitting them easy movement from my mother or sisters baths to my fathers or my own dressing-room, without any consequence. One of the boys came in to clean my wash-stand that afternoon. He was blond, like so many of the Slavs, and slim and wiry. Like many new eunuchs he was still sullen about his fate. Somehow, idle that day, I was studying him as he wiped down the surfaces, and I conceived a great desire to see him without his clothes, to examine his eunuch state. In spite of being always served by a number of eunuchs, until this day I had never considered asking one to disrobe so I could see their difference. As I considered this thought, and contemplating what I might find, I found my still virgin prickle swelling in my trousers uncomfortably, harder than I seemed to have experienced before. The boy was startled when I ordered him to take off his clothes, but he had no choice. He reluctantly took off his shirt and trousers and even more reluctantly removed his loin-cloth. Below his stomach, I could see a neat patch of dark-brown hair, a prickle of fair length hanging there heavily, just dangling, and nothing behind it. I made the boy lift up his prickle so I could see this absence, but this was still not enough for me, so I ordered him to lie on my bed and spread his legs wide. There I could see the recent red scar of his gelding and a narrow streak of fine hair running down further into the shadows of his rear. As I crouched over his groin, looking at him there, I suddenly wanted him to touch my own prickle which was now painful in its extension. I found myself pulling it from my trousers and demanding that he play with it. The hour that followed saw me come to my first orgasm within minutes, as the boy awkwardly stroked my prickle, with another coming shortly after as I lay on top of him, dry-humping him, my prickle plunging between his legs where once his balls had been, and a final one came a little later when somehow instinct led me to his rear, and I forced my prick into him with the aid of some spit, roughly, clumsily, while he cried out at the indignity and the hurt, and I rode his bucking until the seed was again squeezed out from me. Since then I have had many eunuchs. My preference is for newly-cut boys, somewhere between fourteen and, say, seventeen, but I have had younger and I have had older. I like them newly cut because somehow it excites me more. Just as they are new to that state, so too does it make their state more vivid to me. I usually own between two and four eunuchs of my own, but I buy and sell. Ill own a boy for a year or so, and then sell him on. At first, I only brought new-made eunuchs in the yards where they were sold. Then I discovered the particular pleasures of buying an ungelded boy and having him cut. One day I had asked one of the smaller slave-dealers if he had any eunuchs for sale. He said he had not, at that instant but they had three boys they were just about to cut and that I was welcome to look them over. There were three miserable boys in a mean cell off a yard at the rear of his slave-pens. They knew their immediate fate and knew there was little that could be done about it. One of them was dark haired, a boy not long captured somewhere on the Hungarian plains. He was somewhere around sixteen years of age, tanned from the sun, except for that whiter skin exposed by his nudity. He was brought out from the cells and held for me while I liked him over. There was a young maleness I liked in the way he held himself. There was still a sense of pride in him. He possessed a prickle perhaps slightly bigger than usual, a full, rounded pair of balls and a rear that was a perfect shape, curved neatly, compact, tight. After I had negotiated a purchase-price, he was returned to the cell while I was invited to share a wine with the dealer, talking of his trade and its state, until one of his slaves announced were that everything was readied in the yard. My heart was beating hard as we returned to that rear courtyard with its dusty walls and air of neglect. In spite of my fondness for eunuch slaves, I had never yet witnessed one being made. I stood there to one side of the gelding block and watched as one of the other boys was dragged out to be done first. He was about fourteen, with that scrawniness of all slaves who had arrived in the city in the slavers trains, only half-fed and whipped along. They soon had him bent over that block and secured, his legs stretched wide apart, his ankles strapped to short stakes. His position exposed his rear to my eye. His buttock cleft was opened showing his tightly puckered asshole, a scattering of hair and the dangle of his balls below. But I had little time to study him for a whole process was acted out quickly for me there. The boys balls were tied with a thin cord. A bowl was placed on the ground between his legs. A flat razor was given its final strop. Then I watched the boys body jerk and shudder as his stones were severed by the overseer in a sawing motion. A minute later the boy I had just purchased was in the same position. He had battled right the way up to the block, despite his awareness of how hopeless his struggle was. Then he too was bent over, his underparts exposed to every eye, his balls tied like they were those of a yearling colt, his prickle felt by the overseers groping hand, and the husk of the razor being stropped sounding in his ear. He had an erection, just like the first boy I had seen clipped. It was close up along his belly, only drawn down into view when the overseer pulled on his balls to bring them to the razor. It wavered there in the air, precisely in response to the overseers grip on his balls. The boy was splayed out by his bonds, but the overseers grip and heave on his nuts had somehow splayed him further. The first slice of his balls made the boy throw back his head, his body shuddering, seed suddenly splattering from his prickle, his thighs and buttocks jerking as the source of his malehood was cut from him. Even though he was gagged, his impotent wail of outraged pain was loud enough so that it still sounds in my ears. I can hear it deep down in myself. Two weeks later he was in my bed for that first time, free for my examination, brought to submit to my desires and his body was penetrated by my prickle for the first time, with him hating me, hating what I had done to him, hating his submission to me, grunting and gasping with each resented thrust. I recall the pleasure of that hour with particular satisfaction because it somehow doubled every pleasure I had taken in eunuch boys previously. There was his young body. There was his gelded manhood. There were my orders as he spread his legs, or crouched on all fours so that I could see his state. There was his sullen submission to my will. For the first time I had caused a boy to be brought to that condition as well as my enjoyment of it, and I found much intensity in both the doing and the consequences. I must have spurted my heart out that day when my prickle had finally buried itself deep in his new heat. Over the next few months I watched his angers and resentments abate as he grew accustomed to his state. Eventually he even came to my bed willingly, finally eager to roll and spread his legs, to display himself, and to take my prickle inside of him. He was just the first of many I have chosen since to have gelded for me. Now I was looking for another, a new boy. I had been out once before, a week previous, beginning the same search, but I could find no boy that interested me then, and so it seemed to be again today, in the heavy air, when even the slaves seemed to droop from the heat as they stood in their naked rows. I had visited the yards of the major slavers but there was little on offer that suited my tastes. Then I returned to the public square, on impulse to check it again. There was the usual collection of farmers offering supernumerary field-slaves, householders selling servants, and, as always, there were large numbers of the eight or nine year old children of slaves, grown now old enough to be sold. Hot and sticky in the humidity, I was ready to return home. The whole square had a dispirited air to it now. I had stopped to purchase a refreshing drink from a vendor when I saw a man and two boys entering the square. They moved along one wall and the man seemed to choose an empty space there where they stopped. They were across the square from me and I could not see the boys clearly enough to have any idea of their looks. The man was dressed shabbily and he walked with a stick, limping along, with the boys following him. When they stopped, one of the boys, the dark haired one slowly began to undress, and to join the row of naked male slaves offered to the gaze of prospective buyers. I sipped my cordial, resolving to cross the square and check this boy. As I watched I seemed to see an argument where the other boy, a blond, seemed to stand his ground with the man, to stubbornly refuse something. Eventually the man raised his stick and the boy retreated from his stance and began to slowly undress, his whole posture one of resistance. When I finally crossed the square both boys were standing naked there, against the wall, still new to that position, awkward, but it was not their awkwardness I noticed first. I found myself studying them, the dark-haired one around fifteen or so, the blonde slightly older, and for the first time that day I found myself interested, with the dull edge of desire rising in my gut. The dark-haired boy looked almost underfed. He was slim as many boys that age are slim, but there was a sharper leanness there as well. He had a light olive skin slipping to a pale cream in his groin, where the pale somehow made vivid his black pubic curls and the clutch of his genitals, the dangle of his prick and the under-round of his balls. The blond was sturdier, more filled out, but he too had an air of neglect about him, his hair tangled and knotted. His skin was a golden tan. His chest was nicely curved, his nipples a darker brown. His stomach was not quite flat, but curved a little outwards. He was well-hung for a youth of his age, his prickle hanging straight and somehow thick. They were aware of my study, the younger boy embarrassed somehow at my scrutiny, the older one more resentful, avoiding my glance, his head turned away from me. The man with them looked at me with suspicious eyes. How much are you wanting for them? I asked. How much are you offering? he replied, as if he were making a joke, but with an unpleasant wheedling tone in his voice. May I have a look at them? I asked him back. Thats what theyre here for, he said. I began with the younger dark-haired boy. He was nervous as I approached him, licking his lips. I began to check him carefully, from the state of his ears and teeth, down to his arm-muscles and his underarms, taking my time for you can never be too careful with the slaves offered here. I squeezed his nipples, felt his lean stomach and then went lower. The boy almost moved back from my touch as I reached his soft pubic curls, damp in the moist hair. His prickle, when I held it was a good shape and weight. I skinned back his foreskin easily. His balls were held high and were plump in their sac. I rolled them in their confine, feeling their shape and size. His thighs were smooth and hairless. In between I talked to the man. The boy had only been trained for farm-work. I told him I wanted household slaves. Hes quick enough his owner said, hell learn. I turned the boy around. His back was smooth without whip-scars and his buttocks were small and neat. I felt them, more muscle than fat, and they fitted my hand well. I spread them a little and could see an alluring darkness between them. I turned him back and glanced down his front again. Looking at boys like this, when you know youll have them gelded if you purchase them is a curious thing. Somehow anticipation gnaws within you somewhere. You are feeling their balls knowing that within an hour theyll be losing them. You are holding a prickle knowing that it will be soon upraised for its final spurt. And feeling this within I knew I had decided to buy this boy. I liked the tone of his skin. I liked his leanness. I liked his neat buttocks. I liked the thought of him nutless. Why are you selling him? I asked casually. This struck a nerve in the man. Try making money with only a small holding, he said. I have had two bad years. Seed rotted in the ground. Then I slipped and hurt my leg. Money-lenders want their money I could smell wine on his breath. I looked at the blond and moved to him. To my surprise he stood back from me, looking at the man with a plea in his gaze. Hes never been handled before, the man said slowly. The boy was breathing quickly. Hes my younger son, the man said in unwilling explanation. It was not unusual for the poor to sell their younger children into slavery. There were always a number of them in this square, but usually they were a lot younger. There was the money to be made from their sale but there was also the fact that, as slaves, they would frequently have a better life and be better cared for than if they remained free. Now stay still or youll get my stick again, the man snapped at his son. I approached him carefully. I had never examined a slave under these circumstances. I could feel his flinch away from me as I began my inspection, taking the same careful route as I had with the other boy. He was clear-eyed. His face still downy except for his upper lip which must have been shaved that morning. His teeth were white and clean. My fingers checked his muscles and traced his nipples and then moved downwards. I reached his pubic curls, a dark-brown, damp too, flattened against his skin. Then I reached underneath to cup his balls, feeling his unwillingless in his stand, sensing his outrage. It was strange too, to do this in front of his father, weighing his balls, feeling their hanging heaviness, looser than the younger boy, while his prick head bounced against my wrist. Then I held it, pulling at it a little. It was a goodly length. He was harder to skin back than the younger boy, but I slipped his foreskin back to show the soft heaviness of his glans. Youd be wanting him as a household slave too? he asked. I nodded. I need a boy or two. I have a large house, I said, and there are many duties that need doing. I also need a boy to learn how to manage things and to work with my house-manager. Hed be good at that, the man said, but I wasnt listening to him, feeling want again, as I released the youths prickle, seeing it differently with my minds eye, hanging down without the upward push of his rounded balls, and all airy behind. I turned him. His buttocks were pale, more fully curved than the younger boy, and I gripped them, pulling them apart gently just to see the slight hairiness there, his asshole still unseen but imagined It took a time of bargaining before I managed to buy them both. To-and-fro we went, until at last the man agreed, counting out my money greedily twice over before the silver coins went swiftly into an empty leather purse. I had the boys dress, watching their moves, knowing that they were now mine. The blond would not meet my look, though the younger boy did, with curiosity. Now you behave for your new master, the man said finally, as if hed taught them something. And to my surprise that was it. He turned and hobbled away without a backward glance. Now come with me, I ordered my new slaves, my mind awhirl with the unexpected circumstances of having not one but two new slaves, and what I must do in the next minutes, with desire mingling there with those thoughts, imagined instants of their gelding flashing in my mind There are a number of slavers who will geld any slave for a price. I used the most popular one, usually. There were often other boys to see cut before my own boy came to the block. There was the shared interest of the waiting owners as to what was occurring. There were murmured conversations and mutual appreciations. You watched each new slave as he was drawn to the block and clipped, seeing his differing reactions to the circumstances, studying how he submitted or fought, watching how his prickle stiffened, staring at the way the knife cut through his flesh I had the boys walk in front of me, where I could keep an eye on them and as I directed them, left here, right down this lane, I calmed a little, becoming more focused on the immediate future, more directed, harder. I began to relish this enjoyment, anticipating so many things. And as they walked before me I could see their rears, tightly contained in their worn and ragged trousers, that were another future promise. When we reached the slavers yard, I had the usual conversation with the overseer and paid the price for their cutting and their keep for three days. It was an ordinary event for him. He had no more interest in it than he had in anything else. Theres already a couple in there to be done, he said. Theyve not yet started but it shouldnt be long. He gave my boys to a slave to take to the cell where they would be held until it was their turn on the block. Now do exactly as you are ordered, I told them. They had no idea what was happening, but they soon would. Theyd be stripped down for the holding pen, where the gelder would check their balls if he were there, and somehow through circumstance, whether they overheard a remark, whether they were told by another boy who was awaiting his fate and knew what it was, they would be fully aware of what was about to happen by the time they were dragged out of the gate to the block. They always did. I watched them cross the yard together, guided by the brusque slave, then I turned and took the other way, down a shaded passage right to the end and turning into the gelding yard. I had been there several times before over the years. The walls were high and thick. They were whitewashed up as far as a slave could reach with just ochre mud higher up. In the days heat and humidity it was too still in that confine and the weight of the air seemed to make it smaller and too close. The waiting owners, two of them, stood in an awnings shade, fanning themselves. The two gelding blocks stood in the middle of the yard, thongs dangling from their four corners, bowls and brazier arranged in a straight line along the wall beside them. My conversation with the owners was as usual, the hows and whys of our reason for being here. One was a fat rug-merchant, sweating and huffing. His boy was being gelded because hed just begun to spurt seed and he always had his household boys cut as soon as this happened. The other man was sourer, with a fifteen year old in the holding pen, there because of the fact that he was becoming unmanageable, willful, and he had been seen too often with an erection in his trousers to be trusted in a house where there we two daughters nearing marriageable age. We did not have long to wait before the slave who always did the cutting arrived with the others who assisted him. The youngest, whose duty it was to fetch the bowls and hold the prickles of the boys as they were clipped, was also a eunuch himself, not infrequently having to lift his shirt and display himself to an owner who needed evidence of the cutters skill or to display the type of gelding in which he specialized. Id seen it happen in the past, the boy standing there, bare-loined, his shirt pulled up to his midriff while the gelder pointed out the smoothness of the cut. It took only a minutes organization before the first two slaves were dragged one at a time from the holding cell. The first to come was the youngest, almost pathetic in his shivering fear. He pissed himself as he faced the block, a quick spurt of urine flashed out of his prickle onto the dusty card, splattering it. The blocks were short. The slave was tied to it, by the wrists at the upper end, but his legs were bent at the knee at the bottom, and tied, around the ankle to the thick legs. This allowed the gelder to stand between his knees, to easily reach his balls and prick. The boy was quickly tied there and just as swiftly gagged. Then the other slave was dragged into the yard. He was flailing wildly but he too was hauled over the smooth surface of the other block and finally secured. Then the measured process began. I stood back from it to watch. They did the younger first. There was his small erection, jutting up from his barely streaked belly, there was the tying, there was the cutting, when his head hit the table with an audible sound, his young chest gasped for breath, and his wail acutely pitched despite the rag in his mouth. The prickle of the older boy was already stiff as he waited. I had a partial view of his length, curving, thick, and unhooded. His cutting was equally quick. I saw his prickle shiver in the young slaves grip and spout three or four gouts of sperm, emptying himself out over his own stomach. Both of them were cauterized, just a touch of the red-hot iron on the wound, then they were untied and half-dragged, half-carried to the long recovery room that took up one whole side of the yard. Now I was waiting for my own boys. I had never had two of mine gelded at once. I was impatient while the gelders slaves readied the tables, laid back the bowls in position, and then walked across the yard to the short passage that led to the holding pen. I had a look at them before, said the gelder, theyre both well-made boys. The blonde-haired one has a bit of fight in him. He grinned. Had to have him held down to even get a feel of his balls. His slaves appeared at the passage-entrance with my dark-haired slave. While he did not want to come, he still allowed himself to be pulled across the courtyard. I saw again then his wiry form and I knew his desirability again. He was naked between the two clothed slaves, and as he was drawn towards the gelding block, there were glimpses of the dark patch of hair in his groin and the fleshen line of his prick. They twisted him suddenly when they reached the table. He had no time to think before he was on his back on the block. He grunted and cried out through his clenched teeth as they pulled his arms upwards over his head, while his legs were seized and hauled down and bent over the tables end. Securing him there was a quick matter of winding the leather thongs around his wrists and calves. A slave forced a gag into his mouth. Then he was there on the block, ready. The slaves returned to the holding pen. It took them a long minute to reappear. The blonde boy was doing everything he could to avoid being taken. He ground in his heels. He twisted and turned. He stopped. He was fighting against them so strongly that the only sounds he made were of effort and frustration, almost animal sounds. But it was inevitable that he too reached the gelding block. I saw his startled face take in the position of his fellow slave and I heard his bellow, but it was too late as he was turned and tripped backwards, onto his back. As he was drawn onto the block, he scissored and flailed his legs, so that I could see his balls and underneath, now revealed, now hidden. They slaves continued with their tasks as they had always done, and gradually he too was tied there, limb by limb, and gagged. When he lay there, finally held, the only result of all his exertions, was his heaving chest. I said he had a bit of fight in him, said the gelder to me, before walking to the block and beginning to organize himself. The other two slave-owners had loitered behind to watch, as well, but I left them and approached the block too, as was my right as owner of the pair. Their thighs were widely parted by their position on the table, and I could see up between them as I walked. There was the younger boys cream thighs and his high hung balls. There was the blond youths tanned legs and fuller sac. The dark-haired slave was near-erect. His pointed prickle was slim and long. He raised his head to see me approach, his eyes wide and shocked. The blonde was still panting, able only to breathe through his nose, his body still heaving. The gelder approached the younger boy, reaching up between his legs to take his balls in hand. I watched him slowly stretch them, as if he were milking at the teat of a cow, slipping his hand up and pulling down, again and again. With the other he held the boys member, massaging it too. He must have done this a thousand times. Then I watched him pull the fine cord noose up, over his hand, over the boys balls, and close it tight at the top, until it squeezed the skin together tightly, somehow making a little package of the boys nuts. Then he went to the blond, and did exactly the same. The boy grunted something behind the gag, lifting his head up to look down his body to see the gelders easy actions on his own balls and prickle. A minute was spent upon him, slowly, and when his prickle was released it was no longer soft, but was half-grown. Then the noose was tightened, and a sharp frown of pain crossed the boys face, closing his eyes and making him bite hard down on the rag in his mouth. The gelders boy took two of the small earthenware bowls and slid them up between the thighs of my two slaves, first the dark-haired younger slave, then the older. Then he went and stood by the younger boy, waiting his order. He glanced at the gelder with a wolfish look on his face and I saw his interest in what was occurring. Even though he too had been on that block, he had no sympathy but only some darker interest. The gelder pulled one of the two small curved knives from his belt and fingered its blade with his thumb, to test its edge. He then glanced at me and raised his brows. I nodded. He looked to his boy who reached across the youngest slaves stomach and took his prick in hand, holding it up, as if it were pointing to the sky. My slave lifted his head again, looking at what was happening, feeling his balls gripped and pulled hard, seeing the knife moving down to slide under his balls, but somehow unable to believe it. The gelder simply paused for a second, and then, as if it was a matter of no consequence at all, began to cut through the skin at the top of the boys balls. All of a sudden the stillness erupted. The young slaves hips thrust up and semen spurted from the end of his prickle. The gelder sawed back and forth. Then I saw the skin part and the gelder drop his handful in the bowl. He was done, so simply and easily. The blond too had watched it all with lifted head. His face was pale. It was something that probably was easier for the younger slave to bear for he had been raised a slave and accustomed to his body belonging to another. For a boy raised in freedom, the thought of what was about to happen violated his sense of himself. When the gelder moved to him, so did the gelders boy, who needed no command to take the blonds prick and hold it. It was harder now, as if fear and anticipation had filled it. The blond slave grunted several times, and seemingly pushed at the table, then lifted his head again, as his balls were held in the gelders hand and yanked out over the bowl. His eyes were wide as if they were seeing everything. Again the knife moved down in an easy motion. Again it was placed under the blonds balls. And again the gelder paused for a moment, and then started his cut, moving the knife back and forth. At first I thought the blond was not going to spurt, but just as his balls were severed, coming away from his body, cut free, with a final convulsive shudder, her too arced his hips, and spurted, for the last time, the semen oozing from his prick in a series of throbs, running down the boys hand who held it. The gelders boy grinned at the sight. Both my slaves were there, both cut, both moving in their agony and ache. The gelder glanced at me, then moved to cauterize them. This was swiftly done. Then the slaves were freed, one by one, from their bonds and taken to heal. When I collected them three days later, the same gelder displayed their cut state to me with an easy pride. Both the boys stood naked before me, heads bowed, staring at the floor, while the gelder moved from one to the other, to flip up their limp prickles to show the still healing cuts, pleased with their progress. My household slaves are now familiar with the reception of newly-made eunuchs. I rest them for a week or so, giving them only easy tasks. Their healing wounds are bathed. They are fed well. They are permitted to sleep. It was then two weeks since they had been cut and both of them had taken on normal duties. They no longer walked with that cautiousness of the just-clipped eunuch. They moved freely and had begun to take on some interest in their surroundings. The dark-haired boy was quickest. The blond remained in a dark mood, staring with a sullen air, and obeying orders only slowly. I called the younger boy into my room. It may have seemed casua to him at that moment, but l but I had waited for this moment since I first saw him at the slave markets. He was accustomed now to obey me. He entered the room and waited for my order. This time though I ordered him to take off his clothes. He was startled and did not seem to know what to do. I simply waited and at last he began to lift his shirt over his head, to reveal his slim chest and flat stomach. Then he undid the draw-string on his trousers, slipping them down to expose his legs. Finally, reluctantly he unbound his loin-cloth, standing naked at last, aware of his difference, the way his prickle hung there in the air now. As he waited there naked, I felt my desire for him mount within me. His stance, his bowed head, the nutted void between his legs, all gathered together to swell inside me. Placing my hand on the nape of his neck, I drew him to my bed and made him lie down. Then I slowly spread his thighs with my hands and explored between them, feeling his cut, the just healed stub of his ball-sac, and I studied that empty space under his prickle which lolled against his stomach. He submitted to this, letting my fingers stroke between his legs, roving deeper under him, or back upwards to tickle his prick. Aroused completely now, I took off my own clothes and joined him again on the bed again, asking him to hold my own prickle, to stroke it. He did so cautiously at first, then more confidently, and so it began. Finally I positioned him on all fours, spreading his thighs again to oil up his rear, slipping my finger up that hole between his slim nates, greasing it, seeing it bare with no balls hanging beneath it. Then I oiled myself up and knelt behind him, my prick-head against his asshole. With my hands on his waist, I pulled him down onto me, slowly, feeling my prickle push into him, gradually at first, hard, then suddenly freer up inside him, slipping there, until I was all the way in. And then I fucked him, pushing him back up on all fours and thrusting myself into him and withdrawing, repeating it again and again, hearing in my ears his guttural sounds, his groans and grunts. He tossed his dark head against the feel of it. He tried to spread his legs wider to make it feel it better. I slammed myself hard inside of this boy I had made into a eunuch to service this very need. I slammed myself into him once and twice and then more times, until at last, in his hot interior I felt myself move to my climax, finally spurting myself out within his squeezing confine. Afterwards, when he lay beside me naked, I studied his face, touching him on his cheek, knowing that he was mine now forever, that I had made him as he was. Then sleepily I pushed my hand down between his legs and dozed with it there, under him. I had him twice the next day. The first time I just told him to strip and crouch on all fours on the bed. I stood behind him and looked at that buttocks crease with its puckered entrance, and the dangle of his ball-less prickle below. Then I rudely entered him, without ado, just using as a receptacle for my seed. That night though, I had him in more complex ways, moving him to facilitate views of his nutted state, ordering him onto his back and to hold his own legs apart, his heels by his ears, or demanding he stand and bend over, his legs spread, while I touched myself and gazed. I fucked him every way I could. I taught him then the meaning of his role in my life, and then fucked him again to make sure. Then I withheld myself from him for two days, when I was largely occupied by my business outside the house, and I returned it was not him I called for the the mid-afternoon, when I had closed the shutters on my room and it was dim. The blond eunuch came to my command, waiting there, his face set, for some task. Take off all your clothes, I said, sitting on the edge of my bed, and come and stand in front of me. He did not want to do this. At first he did not move. Come on, boy, I ordered, I dont want to have you whipped. His dumb fingers fiddled with his shirt until finally he lifted it, showing that paler tan of his skin, and affording a brief glimpse of his underarm hair, as he did it. Eventually he had stripped. He had deliberately turned his head away from me. No, come here, right in front of me. My tone was harsh, tolerating no argument, and he came. Closer, I ordered. Then he stood right before me. He did not wish to be this close. His groin was level with my eyes. I could see his pouting stomach, the dark-brown curls of his pubic hair, and the hang of his prickle with his foreskin that came right down over his glans. He still had his hips thrust forward in the manner of ungelded boys, but behind his prickle, between his smooth thighs, there was no longer any rounded sac holding his balls. I reached forward and touched his prickle, taking it in my hand. He shook at that touch. I lifted it to see the darkening of the new skin over the cut that had unmanned him. I touched him there with a delicate finger. Then I began to masturbate him, rolling that foreskin up and down his prickle. His breathing was disturbed but I paid no attention to it. I continued there until he began to swell a little and become a little hard. I took away my hands and looked at his prickle, standing horizontally out front, with nothing behind it, seeing straight along its base, between his parted thighs, to the carpet on the floor beyond. Then I continued at my task, until eventually he was hard. In the months to come he would lose this ability, day-by-day, until hed barely rouse, if at all. His prickle stood up against is belly, like a statue without a base. His erection revealed his nutted state like nothing else. Now turn around, I ordered, moving him with my hands. His buttocks curves were clenched against me, but I parted them with a firm hand to see his asshole, with a fine lashing of hair about it. I had the oil ready and I began by rubbing it round that skin, then slowly pushed inwards, bit by bit, until I was full finger deep. I could move him with my finger-push, him feeling me inside and reacting. I oiled him well, for I knew that hole was to get a great deal of use that afternoon. Then I turned him and stood up myself. His face was distant. It was as if he were not there. I ordered him to the bed and then, half-commanding him, half moving his limbs myself, forced him to positions that displayed his eunuch state to me and perhaps confirmed it again to himself. He would not meet my gaze, turning away from me whenever he could, but he somehow maintained his erection and Id stroke it every so often, feeling its cylindrical length, rubbing beneath its head. Then I stripped myself. He did not want to look, but I saw his first quick glance at my own prickle-length, upraised there in the rooms dim heat. I put a pillow down and told him to lie on his stomach with it under his groin. It was here that he wanted to refuse, that he became a hard core of resistance. I gripped the nape of his neck, under his hair and pushed him over, reaching down and pulling his thighs apart. Once there he lay supine. I moved myself between his legs. His buttocks were perfectly positioned. I let my hand stray underneath again and tickled that space below him. Then without ado, I placed my prickle-head at his hole and began to heave into him. I took him roughly, without consideration, for he still needed this lesson in his state, in his new role as a slave. My hard entry made him grunt against me, at first, and then he produced those gasps and cries that he could not help and I wrenched a further space into him, until I was hilt-deep in his rear. Then I gave him a fucking he would never forget. I took him everyway my mind could conceive. His cries in his not long broken voice became a constant, and he protested with Nos and eventually he begged with pleases but I did not let up. Finally I permitted myself to draw close to that orgasm I had so long desired. I had his legs up on my shoulders as I fucked him. I could look down and see my prickle enter him. I could see the scar of his gelding. I could see his prickle, now only half hard. I stopped. Pull at yourself, boy, I ordered, and then we might soon stop. Desperate for cessation, he did as I ordered, fumbling at himself, his eyes squeezed closed. Trying hard to stiffen himself, it took him a few long minutes before he became hard. I watched him there with my prickle still plunged deep inside of him. Now keep on pulling it, I said. He seemed to like it now, easing his hand along himself, masturbating with intent to reach an end. I began to fuck him again, slow at first, then harder, until I was plunging deep into his open asshole. I could hear his cries reach towards some crescendo that my movements mimicked until I reached that final place and I throbbed out my seed and pushed it in further and spat some more until I was completely spent. He shuddered and gasped again as I withdrew myself. With his legs lowered and his aching body now free, I looked at him. On his belly was a splattering of clear, seedless fluid which was all he could produce now. His face was pained still and he could not look at me. I knew he must still feel my heat within his aching ass, a pain there from being to roughly taken, too often, a new pain but one he would have to get used to. I sighed, breathing out, relaxing, easy now, replete, moving down the bed a little. In the late afternoon, in the now silent room, I was where I wished to be, satisfied, becoming drowsy, a fine eunuch slave newly cut, newly fucked, stretched out beside me |