Peter (Revised)

I spent many hours jerking off while reading the stories about castration, penectomy and nullification. The idea became so powerful that I decided to have a circumcision performed, just to experience the feeling of a knife cutting into my genitals.

I’ll never forget the feeling of being in the doctor’s office, my cock and balls exposed as the procedure began. The local anesthetic numbed the entire crotch area. When the doctor lifted my penis and sliced away my foreskin, I knew then and there that there was no turning back. I must be castrated in order to have any peace of mind.

Then last month I made contact with Peter in the Archive Chat Room. I knew right away that he would be the man who would castrate me.

We live on different sides of the earth, me in California, he in Scotland. But the distance meant nothing to me. Peter projected a powerful erotic attraction that came through whenever we chatted online.

I learned that he was about 50 years old, some 17 years older than myself. Like me, he was gay. And like me, he was fascinated with castration. He performed them on younger men like myself.

My cock sprang to attention when he described how he removed the testicles of the younger men. The elastrator and the black bands. The kitchen table where he bound the men before castrating them. By the time he finished describing the procedure, my semen had splashed on the keyboard of my computer. I knew that I must visit Peter. Soon.

I emailed Peter a picture of my cock and balls. “Very nice, Bob. It would be a pleasure to take your balls,” he responded. I called a travel agent and made the arrangements to visit Peter, nearly out of my mind with excitement.

It was a long flight, but when I stepped off the plane into the cool misty rain of Edinburgh, I was happier than ever in my life. For I knew that when I returned to my home, I would be transformed.

After a short taxi ride, I arrived at Peter’s home. I was struck by how handsome he was, standing just over 6 feet tall, with green eyes and brown hair. He looked much younger than his 50 years.

We chatted for awhile in his living room. I nervously told him about how I became fascinated with castration, and was determined to lose my balls to him. He watched my face closely as I spoke, and smiled.

“I want to see. Drop your pants and shorts. Now.”

I stood up. My hands went to my belt and unbuckled it. After unbuttoning the fly, I pulled my jeans down to my ankles, exposing my white briefs. A moment later, my underpants were also around my ankles, as Peter gazed at my genitals with a small smile.

He walked around me, examining my sack from every angle. “Very nice,” he murmured, cupping my balls in his hand. “These hang nice and low. Very easy to band.”

Peter closed his hand around my scrotum, and gradually squeezed my nuts. He stared into my face as he increased the pressure, waiting for my reaction, watching to see how much pain I could handle. I grunted and closed my eyes as the dull ache in my balls grew worse, but made no move to stop him. I wanted to show Peter that I was ready for whatever he planned for me.

After a long minute of ever-growing discomfort, Peter relaxed his grip, letting my balls fall free. He smiled as he saw my erection, which betrayed my excitement. “Very good, Bob. I think you’re ready. Let’s go into the kitchen.”

His forceful manner overcame all fears and doubts that lingered. After removing the rest of my clothing, I followed him into the kitchen, knowing full well that Peter was going to castrate me this very evening. My cock remained rigid as I walked behind him.

“Get up on the table. Put your head on the pillow and your butt on the edge of the table. Let your legs dangle.” I quickly obeyed every command, trying to forget that I was taking an irrevocable step. In a few minutes I would be completely unable to save my testicles. I didn’t want fear to change my mind at the last minute.

I stared up at the ceiling fan over my head as Peter went to work. He fastened leather cuffs around my wrists and ankles, and a dog collar around my neck. He pulled my arms so they dangled off the sides of the table, then attached my cuffs to leather straps that were tied to the table legs. Then he repeated the procedure with my ankle cuffs, securing my legs tightly in place. I was now restrained spread-eagled, my scrotum hanging vulnerable off the edge of the table. My hard penis throbbed with every beat of my heart.

Peter continued securing me, placing leather straps around my chest and stomach, and buckling them underneath the table. A metal chain was threaded through loops in my dog collar, then attached to the table legs. I was now completely immobile.

He smiled after checking the tautness of the restraints. “I see you’re excited,” he said, wrapping his fist around my cock and jacking it until a drop of pre-cum oozed from the tip. “And I’ll bet these are filled with semen,” he said, squeezing my nuts with his other hand. “Don’t worry, Bob. I’ll let you cum one last time. But not yet.”

Peter opened his duffel back and took out a black leather pouch. He dropped about 10 silver metal balls, slightly larger than marbles, into the pouch, then tied it shut. Then he took the leather strap at the top of the pouch, and tied it tightly around the bottom of my sack, trapping my balls. After making sure the strap was properly tied, he dropped the pouch.

A sharp pain shot through my scrotum as the heavy pouch yanked my balls downward. “Oh fuck!” I shouted, my erection wilting. I could feel my nuts being stretched as far as they could go as the pouch swung like a pendulum a few inches off the floor.

“This is a ball stretcher, Bob. It will help keep your nuts at the bottom of your sack until it’s time to band them. But you won’t have to wait long for that to happen. We’re almost ready to begin.”

Peter picked up a red ball gag. “Open your mouth wide, Bob. I’m going to gag you now.” My heart beat wildly as I complied, feeling the ball gag being pushed into my mouth. Pete tied it behind my head, leaving me mute. Now I was completely helpless.

Peter walked over to the counter where an electric blanket sat connected to the wall outlet, wrapped tightly around some small objects. “These are the bands I’m going to use on you, Bob. I always warm them up to make them softer and easier to use.”

He held up the round black rings for me to see. “I’m going to use four of them. It’s really the best number, I’ve found.”

Peter opened a drawer and pulled out a strange-looking device. It had a long black handle and with four silver prongs at the end. He opened the handle wide, forcing the prongs together. “This is the elastrator. I’m going to use this to band your balls.”

I could feel sweat pouring off my brow as I watched Peter pick up one of the black bands and begin fastening it over the prongs of the elastrator. Peter strained to put the the band into place, as it was made of the strongest material. Then he pushed the handle together, spreading the band wide apart.

Peter walked over and untied the ball stretcher, causing it to hit the floor with a clatter. He kicked the pouch out of the way and then wrapped his hand around my stretched scrotum, forcing my balls into the very bottom of my sack.

With great care, Peter pushed my compressed balls through the opening of the black band, then moved the elastrator forward until the band pressed up against the base of my cock. “Here’s goes, Bob. I’m going to band you now. Brace yourself.”

My chest heaved and my heart beat wildly as I waited for the band to attach itself to my scrotum. Suddenly, I felt the rubber ring snap shut, squeezing my sack tighter than it ever had been. My body jerked from the shock, and a dull ache began spreading through my crotch and into my groin.

“The first few minutes are the worst, believe me Bob,” he said, wiping my brow with a towel. “The band is crushing the cords, stopping the flow of blood to your balls. In a little while your sack will start to become numb. Hold on until then.”

I began moaning into my gag, my arms and legs pulling against their restraints. The pain grew slowly, much worse than the time I got kicked in the nuts playing soccer. Tears began to well up in my eyes.

What had I done? I wanted to scream for Peter to stop. I wanted to get off that table and run away, to stop the pain and save my balls. But I couldn’t. I was helpless.

Peter put another ring onto the elastrator, and a second later my scrotum was banded for the second time. I wept in pain as Peter added a third and then a fourth band, squeezing my balls tightly against the bottom of my sack.

“Open your eyes, Bob,” he said, and I could see him holding a mirror between my legs. “Look at your balls. You can see the affect the bands are already having.” Through my tears, I could see that my scrotum was becoming darker, a purplish color.

“The bands have trapped the blood in your sack, and are preventing new blood from entering. This will cause your balls to slowly die. That will take some time, but the numbness should begin soon. Trust me.”

Gradually, the dull pain began to lessen. I could see in the mirror that my sack had now turned a dark purple. “Are you beginning to notice the numbness?” he asked. “I nodded my head slightly, the dog collar restricting movement to a minimum.

Peter unbuckled his pants and removed them. Then he knelt down and unfastened the straps holding my ankles against the legs of the table. I watched as he dropped his boxers, revealing a swollen circumcised cock. He picked up a bottle of lube and coated his penis with the clear liquid.

Peter lifted my legs onto his shoulder and pressed the head of his cock against my anus. I felt his dick push its way into my ass, spreading the sphincter until the head entered my silky rectum. He closed his eyes with pleasure as he began fucking me with a steady in-and-out motion.

By now my nuts were completely numb. I began to enjoy the feeling of Peter’s cock rubbing against my sphincter. He grasped my limp dick with his left hand and dripped lube onto its head. I could feel my cock begin to harden as he jacked the shaft with the same rhythm he used to fuck me.

“Oh yeah,” he moaned, gradually picking up the speed of his thrusts. My asshole was completely slack, offering no resistance to his stiff organ. I could feel an orgasm approaching as he jerked his fist up and down over my erect cock. My excitement was tremendous because I knew it would probably be the last time I ever came.

“Fuck yeah!” shouted Peter as he shot his spunk into my ass. His cry of pleasure triggered my own orgasm, as my cock pulsed four or five times, shooting cum onto my stomach. I later learned that only a tiny amount of semen is stored in the testicles, so it was possible to cum despite the castration bands squeezing my dying balls.

“That was lovely,” he smiled, wiping his limp dick in a towel. Peter re-attached my ankle cuffs to the legs of the table. He inspected my scrotum, feeling the bands to make sure they were in place. “I think we’ll need to attach this one a little more securely,” he said, running his finger along the third band he had put on my scrotum less than half an hour ago.

Peter pulled out a needle and thread, and began stitching the band to my sack. I could barely feel the sharp prick of the needle as he looped the thread around the band, attaching it in place. Again and again the needle pierced my purple scrotum, wrapping the thread tightly around the band. “There, that will hold it nice and tight,” he said, smiling at his work.

“It will be necessary for you to remain in this position for a few more hours,” he said, placing the elastrator into the duffel bag. “Your balls are past the point of no return, but it’s too soon to take off the bands. It would cause blood to rush back into your nuts, causing terrible pain. We must wait until your nuts are completely dead.”

Peter snapped off the kitchen light. “I’ll be back before you know it. Try to relax, Bob.”

Darkness and silence enveloped me. I lay still on the table, my breathing the only sound in the room. I could no longer see my dying balls or the black bands that were slowly squeezing the life from them. All I could do was wait.

The light snapped back on, waking me from my slumber. Peter entered the kitchen, smiling and naked. “It’s time to see how you’re doing,” he said, touching my arms and legs to make sure the circulation hadn’t been cut off.

Now he examined my scrotum, squeezing the sack a few times. “It’s over, Bob. Take a look.”

Peter held up the mirror between my legs. I could see that the scrotum had turned almost black. “Your balls are completely finished. They’ve been cut off from their blood supply for five hours now. Nothing left to do but chop them off.”

I could see that Peter’s penis was rigid again, turned on by the sight of my dead balls. He unbuckled my ankles and placed them on his shoulders, and began fucking me again. Once again, my own shaft hardened.

It only took a couple of minutes before Peter shot his wad inside me, and my own cock spurted its cum. After wiping his dick off, he went to his duffel bag and retrieved a sharp safety razor. “It’s time to finish your castration, Bob,” he said.

Peter placed the point of the razor between the third and fourth bands surrounding my scrotum. With short, careful strokes, he began slicing through the dead flesh, cutting around the circumference of my ballsack. I watched as he dropped the blackened scrotum into a metal basin next to the table.

“Here they are, Bob. Take a last look before I remove them,” he said, holding a ball in each of his hands. The testicles were oval shaped and smaller than I thought they’d be. Like the scrotum, they were blackened.

Peter took a pair of shears and snipped the stalk of my left ball, severing it from my body. A moment later, its twin was also freed. He smiled as he showed me my amputated testicles, resting in the palm of his right hand. Then he dropped them in the basin that held my scrotum.

Except for a tugging sensation, I felt nothing as Peter cut away my manhood. The castration bands had destroyed all the nerves in my scrotum.

Peter worked for nearly half an hour finishing the job, sealing the wound. He held the mirror up to my crotch so I could see when he was done. I smiled as I saw the smooth skin where my ballsack once was, my small limp penis resting above the red scar.

I remained at Peter’s house for the next two weeks, healing from my castration. Peter made love to me every day, and I enjoyed the feel of his cock pounding against my prostate. I loved the feel of his dick in my mouth, and the salty taste of his semen. I was still able to enjoy erections, although it gradually took longer for my cock to get hard.

Some months have passed since my castration now, and I have returned home to California. Now that I have almost become impotent, I have begun imagining what it would be like to have a completely smooth crotch, with only a small pisshole between my legs. I know that before long, I will be visiting Peter again.