Two brothers want to obtain the family beef farm but only the first to sire children can inherit it. Castration with the eze bander will determine the brothers' fate.
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THE BROTHERS (part 1) Wayne Fraser was 32 and had the build of a typical Australian rugby player and farmer. Six foot two, 90kgs, dark hair, powerful arms and large, strong hands, he was the eldest of two sons and the natural successor for the family farm. Unlike his little brother Stuart, who was 10 years his junior and had never shown any interest in livestock or working with cattle, Wayne’s sole ambition was to build the 500 hectare beef operation into a profitable business. But natural progression can never be taken for granted. When Wayne’s parents were killed in an horrific car crash in late 1999 the will-reading sealed his fate. Everything was divided 50/50 with the exception of the farm and cattle, which would be transferred to the first Fraser son to sire offspring. Until that time Wayne was only entitled to work the land and suffered from the humiliation of having to share half of the income it generated with his younger brother. “I don’t want the damn farm. Isn’t there any way we can split it between us right now?” protested Stuart to the family solicitor as the will was being read. Wayne sneered and slammed his fist down hard on the table. “Of course you don’t want the farm. You’re as useless as tits on a bull when it comes to real work.” He glared at the solicitor. “What were they thinking when they wrote this piece of crap?” “Calm down Wayne, they just wanted the family name to continue and this was the best way they saw to make sure that happened” reassured the solicitor, eyeing Wayne nervously. Wayne had never been considered the brightest of the two Fraser boys and his uncontrollable temper was a talking point in the district. The aggression was an asset on the rugby field and, thought the solicitor, no doubt helped keeping cattle in line as well. “You boys have the Fraser history to live up to. Whatever happens you’ve both go to work together. There’s no point squabbling over what your parents were set on.” As they walked out of the office Wayne looked across at his younger brother. Although they’d seldom had much to do with each other - Stuart had spent most of his teenage years at boarding school and college and was now living in the city - Wayne had always suspected his brother was a faggot. Now he looked closely he was even more convinced - Stuart, still boy-like, had worn black leather trousers, a white latex-type shirt and recently had a line of metal rings pierced through each of his ears. A smile flashed quickly across Wayne’s face as a thought occurred to him. ‘Fine. If he’s a faggot then no problem. What threat can he possibly be to me?. He’s made his balls redundant so there ain’t no way he’ll be siring anything.’ Wayne considered the situation. All he’d have to do is screw a girl then everything would be his and Stuart would be out of his life. Forever. -------------------------------------------------------------------- Now, December 2000, things are looking grim. Wayne and his new wife Tania sit nervously in front of the doctor waiting for their results. “Ok Wayne, you know me, I’m always going to be up front with you. So here it is.” Dr Wyman looks concerned. “I’ve run all the tests I can run and everything points to one thing. Sterility. You’re shooting blanks Wayne, that’s the simplest way I can put it. It doesn’t mean you and Tania can’t have children, I mean, there’s always adoption or a number of fertility programmes you can try, but....” “Shit. Oh Christ. No kids? Is that what you’re telling me? Fuck, look at me doc I’m hung like a bull here. How can you be 100% sure?” Tania says nothing as Wayne vents his frustration, although a wave of relief sweeps over her. She knew about the will and the need for children and it had been fine with her. That was all she wanted. If the sterility had been hers she suspected Wayne would have divorced her like a shot. But now... “Fertility programmes then. What can we do?” Wayne is desperate, wondering if he’ll ever get Stuart, who is draining away half the farm profits, out of his life. “Look Wayne. There’s a chance but it will be difficult for you both. And even if you’re lucky then you’re looking at at least two years before you can expect any sort of result...” -------------------------------------------------------------------- That night Wayne takes off to the local pub to forget about the mess his life is in. He’d arranged to meet up with Murray, an old rugby buddy and the best man at his wedding. Murray had turned out to be an accountant and was now living in the city and handling the farm finances. “You’ve got no idea how screwed up my life is right now” sighs Wayne as he hands Murray a glass of Fosters beer. “The doc says I’m shooting blanks. Me. I mean it’s fucking crazy. Bad enough for any guy, but with the farm and me parents’ will the way it is - I’m gonna lose everything Muzza. It’s all going down the tubes.” “Come on Wayne. It can’t be that bad.” Murray hasn’t had a decent drink with his mate since the wedding but he knows of the financial problems on the farm and he knows Wayne’s theory about Stuart being gay. “It’s not as though you’ll be losing the farm. If neither you or Stuart are going to have children then you should both approach the trustees of your parents’ estate and see if you can buy Stuart’s share out.” “Yeah, well, there’s one little point I haven’t told you mate” Wayne looks into his beer as though drowning in it is the only solution. “The little fuckwit phoned me last week. Taking control of his own life now, he reckons. Told me he was a fag too. ‘Set the record straight‘ he said. What a joke.” “So, that‘s great. Where‘s the problem?” “The problem is that he’s decided he wants the farm so he can sell it and use the cash to go to the States. San Francisco. And you know how he’s going to get it?” Wayne downs the beer and pours himself another. “Lesbians. He’s gonna donate some of his whizz to a pair of dykes and hey presto. Daddy Stuart gets the farm. Lock, stock and barrel. Real nice. Do you think that’s the way the parents planned? I mean, shit, the little queer doesn’t deserve a cent now. He’s not even man enough to fuck a woman - has to rely on artificial insemination!” “Holy shit” groans Murray, staring closely at his friend. “What’re ya going to do about it? Do you think he’d settle for half of the money?” “Not a chance in hell. He’s never liked me, I’ve never liked him. Simple as that. What can I do anyway?” He looks up at Murray, searching for an answer. “Hire a hitman? Get a gang to bash him and leave him for dead? Come on, I can’t do that. At the end of the day we’re flesh and blood. And I’m not getting the farm like that. No way.” “Hmmmmm.” Murray thinks for a minute as he plays with his beer. “What is the world coming to when a fag can have a kid just by jacking off into some tube for a couple of dykes. Not exactly what nature had intended, is it?” At that instant an image comes into Murray’s mind and he fights hard not to smile. He hesitates as he weighs up Wayne’s likely reaction. “And it’s not as though he even needs balls for the sort of stuff he’s into, is it?” He feeds Wayne the line to see whether he’ll draw the obvious conclusion. “Nah” grins Wayne sourly. “Takes it up the ass for sure. Just like the girl he is.” “Yeah, maybe a girl. Or maybe more like a steer” Murray hints. “Come on mate, you’ve been in the city too long. Stuart ain’t no steer. Sure, if he was a steer........” For a moment the cloud of defeat clears from Wayne’s mind. “Hey, what are you suggesting Muzza? We get out the eze bander and geld the little runt, just like when you used to help me band the weakling bulls on the farm?” He laughs uneasily, not noticing the sexual excitement in Murray‘s eyes. “Have to admit it would solve a few of my problems.” “Well, it’s not a bad idea” Murray encourages his friend, pleased that Wayne had made the connection so quickly. “What say he did lose his balls. You’re in the money then. At the very least you’d be able to keep half of the farm. At best, some fertility treatment kicks in and you take the lot. It’s a win-win situation for ya.” Wayne rubs his chin and thinks for a moment before discounting the option. “Get real. That sort of thing is crazy. And it’s not as though he’s going to be knocking on my door and asking to borrow the eze so he can snap the bands on himself, is it? If we hog-tie him and force his balls into the eze he’d have us off to jail for grievous bodily harm or some kinda shit.” “Ok, ok, just think one moment” Murray’s mind is racing over the possibilities now. “He’s into leather, right? Piercings and stuff? How do you know he isn’t already playing around with ball torture himself?” He lets the idea settle in Wayne’s mind before continuing. “Tell you what, one of my clients in the city runs gay leather shops and a few special rooms. You wouldn’t believe the sort of stuff that goes on there. Guys come in and actually pay big bucks to have their balls tied up.” “You’re kidding me?” Wayne had heard pub talk of what some fags got up to but this was the first time Murray had mentioned his client. “Guys asking for someone to snap a band around their balls? Hey, I’m in the wrong profession. I could get into banding fags for money. Fuck, now that would be fun!” “Imagine” continues Murray, intent on making the task sound as easy as possible. “There’s Stuart letting some guy in a leather mask tie his balls off. Hell, he’s probably paying big bucks to have it done. He’s all bound up, helpless as a bull calf in a headlock as the bander gets loaded. There wouldn’t be any problem getting a band over his sac - that’s what he’d be wanting anyway so he’d be even more docile than one of your little bulls. And then something goes wrong. The guy in the mask goes for a leak and never comes back. Or there’s an unexpected razor blade in the band that slices right through the sac. Or the banding man has a knife that slips just at the wrong time. Anything could go wrong and Stuart would just have to reconcile himself to the consequences as one of the risks he was taking. The guy in the mask remains anonymous and everyone’s satisfied.” “Yeah. Stuey the steer. Has a nice ring to it.” Wayne grunts solemnly. “But it sounds too easy. And who knows whether he’s into that shit or not?” “Ok, here’s what we could try.” Murray considers the options. The possibility of helping Wayne castrate his faggot brother would be worth taking a few risks over. He’s prepared to call in favours for this. “You give me a photo of little Stuey and I’ll check with my client to see if he’s a regular customer. If he is we’ve got a solution.” Wayne smiles and slaps his old rugby pal on the back as he considers the plan. “Don’t get me wrong. I like the idea Muzza. Castration. Could be a good thing for ’em too. I mean, if he wants to have control over his life then deballing is just what he needs. Calm him down a bit and keep him happy.” Wayne’s attention turns back to the glass of beer as he imagines Stuart as an infertile steer. He has to admit to himself the idea is a good one. And it sounds like an easy way to save the family farm. “We’re in this together then. Just like old times.” “Oh yeah” Murray replies. “I’m with you on this one all the way, mate. All the way.” Discretely Murray adjusts his position on the bar stool so Wayne won’t notice the throbbing erection pushing against his cargo pants. He remembers those castration days on the Fraser farm well. The elastrator and banding fantasies he’d had as a teenager have never left him. They linger in his mind, torturing him, teasing him to think of more and more castration scenes just so he can get off. And now Wayne has delivered the ultimate opportunity. He grins back at his mate, hiding any suggestion of the perverted fantasies that are flashing across his mind. “It is going to be an interesting few weeks.” To Be Continued... (Any comments or suggestions would be great - [email protected])