For the first time since my castration six years ago, I was hit with a long lost recollection from before my balls were cut off and I became the property of my cutter. Suddenly this forgotten memory flash came from another life.

I was running late between two regular ‘suck and fuck’ appointments today because my earlier top kept me locked in a cage long after I was scheduled to leave. He gave a lame excuse that I was being punished for not servicing his cock properly. I am a professional and I knew I had done a good job. He was just being a cheap conniver looking to grab some extra mancunt time without paying for me.

Distracted by a confusing mix of excitement, anger and apprehension, I was riveted back when I saw this handsome young guy rush into a midtown street, desperately seeking a taxicab. Because I was so late, I only got an instant’s glance sideways at the beautifully dressed suit, but that was all I needed to spark a rare déjà vu experience.

For a moment, I remembered that I used to be an active up and coming alpha male just like that guy. I haven’t thought of my old life since my owner did the brain-wipe after my castration and reprogrammed my mind to be his slave eunuch. That other expunged life seems so alien to me now. I can hardly believe I actually felt myself so pompously important, lugging around my heavy briefcase, crammed with my arsenal of papers I used for ammunition in my negotiating table wars.

I still can’t believe that I was once just like that hot young fast-tracked rising executive. Dressing up everyday in a $1,000 suit, five days a week. Frantic activity from 7 AM to 7 PM over deadlines missed and useless meetings to handle the unending series of ‘deal breaker’ crises over the pettiest points of trivial disagreements between petulant self-centered hyper-egos battling each other to show who has the biggest dick.

Instead of seeing that Joe Corporado as a hot guy in a hot mode, my reaction after being turned on by him was that he looked silly. I thought his well-cut and obviously expensive Italian suit was like a Bozo costume and him rushing about his business was just another robo-exec caught on a treadmill. All his effort to succeed and get ahead was just him going after a bigger treadmill.

I have to say it made me appreciate how much I prefer my life now as a eunuch slave. When I gave up my balls to my master, my life priorities were reordered. Now after having lived in the freedom of my submission, I can’t imagine having to submit to that other conventional life in the mainstream rut.

Bottom line is, I’m a whore and I’m a damn good whore at that. If I may ask permission to say so of course Sir, please. I like being a eunuch and proud to be a whore. I’m even prouder to be shown off as what I am and do best.

I became my master’s property when he castrated me. The bond he created then is permanent, but not monogamous. I am one of five eunuchs he keeps in his stable. My master made it clear to me before he cut me that while his ownership, control, use and care of me would be until the day I die; that I was also an important investment and would need to pay my way to cover my expense to keep.

He said he could send me out into the ‘cardboard cutout’ suit and tie world, but that would require him to relinquish control of me while I posed in a straight environment. That is something he was not willing to do. Instead, he decided that I would be a eunuch whore, offered out to other men for their use, who would pay a lot of money for that. He also got me a job in a gay B&D leather goods shop to fill in the time I wasn’t getting paid for use of my two holes.

In my daily report, I must provide him with the details of every contact I make with any person. He likes that I run all across the city showing myself off as his work of slave art. He loves hearing about the people I accidentally run into on the subway or street who were business colleagues from my former life. I always get a residual feeling of humiliation whenever I bump into a former work acquaintance with me as now a leather slave. These encounters produce a self-centered sense of shame at them seeing me and shocked by me being an obviously pervert gay in my leather clothing with my hairless head, my tattoos, my nose and ear rings and the chain collar around my neck.

In fact, that kind of disgrace is what he enjoys and so often walks me on a leash through Midtown in the middle of the business day, just for my humiliation. Sometimes he stops and spends a few minutes telling some old acquaintance of mine about me being his property, castrated by him and how I now earn my living. Surprisingly, a few of those humiliation encounters turned out to be men interested in using me sexually and have developed to be good customers. Mostly I’m sure, the juicy dish on me is immediately launched into the business community gossip mill and officially entered into my permanent record.

At the beginning of my new career as a eunuch whore, another gelded slave handled all scheduling with my clients. Once I got some experience and had proven my reliability, my owner turned my scheduling over to me. Now I make my own appointments on my own. Since I gave over full control over every aspect of my life to him, it feels strange to have responsibility without being told what to do.

After one really bad day when a bunch of scheduling problems came up which almost sent me into a panic mode. I gave my standard report of my day to my master and got permission from him to express my feeling that I wasn’t capable of making the decisions required to handle multiple situations.

His response was one of the most touching moments between us since I became his property. He is so wise about the nature of slaves and understands me so well. What he said was he gave me this one single task to teach me how utterly dependent I was on him to control and manage my life.

Since he took ownership of me, my owner has worked me out extensively to build up my muscles. He knows how to improve a slave and I’ve got to say he’s done a great job with me. I never knew I could ever be such a good-looking stud. I realize that he and not me did this to me.

He enters me in contests at all the leather fairs he takes me to. I really get off on being displayed, up on a stage under spotlights and having all these hundreds of hot guys in leather drooling over fucking me. Everybody knows I am owned property and the contests are great advertising for my future customers.

At the private events where I can be displayed naked, the full extent of my owner’s modifications to me are exposed right there for everyone to see. His obvious pride in my being an admired piece of art that he created gives me a tremendous sense of satisfaction and fulfillment.

People tell me that I am a clone. With my shaved head, permanently welded chain collar and the fact that when I must wear clothing in public, it is only in leather. I think there is some strong jealousy there because I’m 6’5" tall, well built and look so good in leather. So their criticism I take as a complement.

With my hairless head and body, the gold ring in my pierced septum and the half dozen others in my ears, the chain collar around my neck from which my tattooed body reaches up, the markings progressively extending into the last unadorned facial skin. The startling modifications to my body and my leather clothing make it obvious to the most obtuse passersby that I am a whore. That’s the whole idea.

I am a slave. I like being a slave and love living my life in a way that fulfills my basic slave nature without any camouflage of my sexual identity. My whole public image is as a creature that its entire purpose for existence is sucking and being fucked by other men’s cocks. Since I was trained to enjoy my work so much, I am proud of what I do and proud to be shown off as what I am.

So friends, I have told you all about what I am and feel in these episodes. From here I think I should tell you what goes on in my li8fe. Being an owned slave fulfills my life. Being a eunuch completes it and used perfects it.