Tom and Huck go too far

Inspired by Callum’s excellent Story “The Plantation Owner’s Son” – in particular Chapter 3.

Written in the world of Tom Sawyer – 1850’s America, in a small non-descript town on the banks of the Mississippi. I’m writing from the assumption that you are already familiar with the lovable rogues that are Tom and Huck. If not, you could do far worse than reading Mark Twain’s book.

You can find the text of Callum’s most imaginative tale at the Eunuch archive – Click here

From the first moment Tom Sawyer met Huckleberry Finn, Huck had been leading him astray. Tom was already a wilful boy, with an independent streak a mile wide, and an innate dislike of rules. Living with his Aunt Polly only increased his desire to be free of the constraints of authority, and life as a normal boy. Then he met Huck; a boy who lived completely by his own rules; and things went from bad to worse. Whenever he could, Tom would play hookey from school, and meet up with Huck by the banks of the river. Whether they were on an adventure to one of the small scrubby sand bars in the river, or they were simply languishing in the shoals, smoking from their corn cob pipes, the boys dispensed with clothes completely. Thus it was that anyone who might happen past the river could often be treated to the site of two teenaged boys enjoying the Missouri sunshine in nothing but the skin the good Lord gave them. Unfortunately, it was this desire to be free from the encumbrance of wearing clothes that finally lead to the boys’ downfall…

It was a blazing hot day and Tom had skipped out of going to church; which was bad enough; but the problem really began when the town Mayor went for a constitutional stroll with his wife and their prim 20 year old daughter. Both women were paragons of virtue, so when they came across Tom and Huck laying naked on their backs in the shallows of the river, it was bound to cause offence. Tom might have gotten away with it on his own: at 13, although his pale pink genitals were on their way to maturity in terms of size, his complete lack of pubic hair gave him a youthful look, and he could have been forgiven as a naughty child. But what really caused the trouble, was Huckleberry. He was only a year older than Tom, and not much better endowed, although he had a reasonable amount of hair on his genitals. But no, what really scandalised the good Mayor and his genteel entourage was the fact that Huckleberry was shamelessly stroking a decent-sized erection, whilst Tom looked on grinning. Neither boy saw the Mayor at first, but as soon as they became aware of the Mayor’s group, both boys rose to their feet. Tom leapt up, modestly cupping his hands over his privates, but Huck stood slowly, almost arrogantly, and turned to face the party; not even bothering to try to hide the stiff five inch pole that swayed and twitched between his legs. He smiled lasciviously, then nonchalantly turned and dived into the water. He swam away a few strokes on his front, before rolling on his back and casually sculling away; erection laying against his belly for all the world to see, and a wide, impertinent grin on his face.



A meeting of the town elders was called, which Tom’s spinster aunt had to attend. The subject of unruly behaviour was discussed, and a remedy sought for Tom, Huck, and three other boys who had become increasingly troublesome. All manner of solutions were discussed including banishment, imprisonment and flogging. One person even raised the possibility of execution, although it was not seriously considered by the rest of the council. In the end, a more moderate, if less pleasant solution was proposed by Mr Johnston, who owned a farm outside town. It was a radical solution to use on boys, especially the white children of local citizens, but the man made a compelling case, and in the heat of the moment, the plan was agreed by a majority vote.



Mr Johnston was given time to prepare, and three days later the town’s men-folk were despatched in pairs to round up the boys. Huckleberry put up a hell of a fight, but in the end, he was caught and taken along with the others, out to Mr Johnston’s barn. When all five boys were gathered, they were ordered to strip. James Olsen was the first to guess what was about to happen. He was not really a ruffian like the other boys, nor was he brave like them. He begged,

“Please sir, don’t flog us. I don’t know what we did wrong, but whatever it was, we won’t do it again!”

A couple of the men glanced at each other, and a strange look passed between them.

“Just shut up and take your clothes off boy.”

James stopped talking, and took his clothes off along with his companions. The other boys considered it beneath them to beg for mercy, so they simply undressed, and resolved to take their beatings like men. Huckleberry’s father was a drunkard with a notoriously ill-disposition who regularly beat him violently. Tom was no stranger to the switch, and William Moor and Jacob Stevens had both seen their share of punishments too.

When they were done, the boys stood naked, with their clothes in piles on the floor beside them. Huck stood defiantly, with his legs apart and his hands on his naked hips, as if daring the men to continue. The men were not impressed. For all that Huck acted like the brave man, one glance at his shrivelled penis proved that he was as nervous as his companions, even if he worked harder to hide it.

“Lay face down on the floor,” Mr Johnston ordered.

It was not what the boys expected but they obeyed. The men moved in and attached straps to the boy’s wrists. Their arms were pulled towards the interior of the barn, and tied off on rings on the floor. The men then attached leather straps to each boy’s ankles. These were in turn connected to a metal bar that spread the boy’s legs apart. The bars were lifted a few feet from the floor and each bar was hung by a loop at its mid-point to a hook protruding from the wall. This meant that each boy was now laying flat on his face, legs apart, with their lower halves lifted into the air. The boys were beginning to get really worried - this was unusual, after all, why did their legs need to be spread apart for a flogging?

Tom thought that it was an awfully elaborate way to ensure clear access to his bare bottom and he was beginning to think that they were all in for the flogging of their lives. If truth be told, like his companions, he was really becoming scared about their impending punishment. He’d never caused such offence that all of the town’s men-folk needed to be involved in the punishment before.

The Mayor addressed the boys,

“Boys, it pains me to do this, but the good people of St Petersburg are just about sick of your shenanigans. If you’re not playing hookey, you’re stealing, and if you’re not stealing you’re breaking windows, or leading the other children astray. Now this last outrage was just one step too far.”

He turned to Huckleberry.

“When a man can’t even take a walk by the river with two ladies for fear that he’ll come across naked boys abusing themselves and disporting their aroused members for all to see, then it’s time to take very serious action. Boys, the elders of this town had a meeting to discuss what to do with you. Some people favoured banishing you, and you might consider yourselves lucky, for if you’d been men, there’s even a chance that you might have been strung up by the noose.”

Jacob said,

“Oh no. Please.”

“Now you’re not listening boy,” the Mayor continued, “I said IF you’d been men, but you’re not; far from it; you’re still boys. Little boys who like to act like men, and who cause a lot of heartache for the good people of this town. So we’re not going to kill you, or banish you, or even throw you in jail. Instead, we’re going to deal with what we think is the cause of your problems.”

The Mayor reached over and picked up a bucket, and tipped its contents out onto the wooden floor. There were a collection of soft bloody objects, each the size of a large grapefruit.

“Boys do you know what these are?”

The boys remained quiet, although farm boys William and Jacob both had a good idea what they were looking at.

“They’re hog balls boys. When boars reach a certain age, they get so excited and full of vigour that we either have to cut ‘em or let ‘em breed. Otherwise, they’ll start fighting, and causing each other harm, and creating all kinds of mayhem.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Mr Johnston chipped in.

“Well boys, you’ve become like those boars. You’re right on the verge of manhood, and your balls are so full of juice that’s it’s making you crazy, and you’re running around the town causing endless mischief, and making life hell for the rest of us. The thing is; that wouldn’t be so bad if there was just one of you – hell, we all been through puberty, and I think I’d be a liar if I said that even one of the men here hadn’t flogged his John Thomas more than a bit during his teenaged years…”

There were multiple murmurs of agreement and a few wistful chuckles.

“But boys, you are out of control! I mean, we can’t just wait whilst nature takes its course with you. I don’t think this town can take another half a dozen years of you running around causing who-knows-what mischief. So I’m awfully sorry boys, I truly am, but we’re going to fix you right now, and hopefully you won’t be inclined to cause no more trouble after that.”

The older boys had started to understand what the Mayor was talking about, but Tom and James were slow off the mark and puzzlement furrowed their brows.

Mr Johnston saw the looks. He was taking a real pleasure from these events and he said,

“You don’t get it do you? Well boys, if you look down there, you can count six big hog balls – one, two, three, four, five, six! That’s two balls from each boar. What the good Mayor is saying, is that in a while, there’s gonna be ten more itty bitty balls on the floor beside ‘em, and they ain’t gonna be from no hogs neither!”

Johnston enjoyed telling the boys what was to come. He liked the fact that they knew they were going to be castrated soon.

“Awww damn!” Huckleberry retorted brashly. “You all gone plumb crazy. You ain’t taking my balls! Hell, I’d sooner be banished forever ‘fore I let you take them away from me. Let me outta here an’ I’ll be gone and you’ll never see me again.”

He started to struggle, and Johnston walked up behind him. The man gripped both of Huck’s balls in his fist and said,

“Well the thing is Huckleberry, that ain’t an option, ‘cause we know afore too long, you’d be back, sniffin’ around town and causing all kinds of mischief again: it’s in your blood boy! And in any case, the town feels that you boys need to be punished for the trouble you already caused.”

As he said the word ‘punished’ he gave Huck’s balls a powerful squeeze and Huck grunted in pain and tensed against his bonds. His foreskin covered penis shrivelled still further – now there was not even two inches of flesh dangling from his groin.

Jacob tried to reason with the Mayor.

“Mr Mayor, sir, please, I’m begging you, don’t do this. I swear before God that I’ll never cause no more trouble again. I’ll be a good boy I promise. I’ll do whatever you want honest.”

The Mayor walked over to the boy and crouched down by his head. He tousled the boy’s hair, and with genuine regret he said,

“You know what Jacob? I do believe that you truly mean it. But the thing is this; you’ve just rubbed too many folks up the wrong way, and people needs to know that you’re going to be punished. Not only that, and I know in your heart that you probably mean to change, but it’s your sap, it’s just rising all the time; making you do things that you wouldn’t normally. So son, I’m really sorry, but your balls have just got to go.”

James was crying softly, already defeated, and William and Tom were both staring intently at the pile of pig balls on the floor a few feet in front of their noses. They were breathing heavily. Tom’s usual bravado had deserted him as he lay there, balls in air, waiting to be neutered. The boys could think of nothing to say that hadn’t already been said. In any case, their mouths were too dry to talk even if they’d had something to say. Tom just kept imagining ten more balls lying beside the ones that were there, and thinking that two of them would be his. William was wondering if it had hurt the pigs to lose their balls, and he wondered how much it would hurt him to lose his.

The Mayor turned to his companions and said,

“Gentlemen, now that the boys are secure, I don’t think we need to stay and watch. I suggest that we leave and let Mr Johnston do his work.”

He gestured towards the door and the men left, although a few of them felt very reluctant to do so – watching five unruly boys getting nutted was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that most would dearly have loved to witness. Some found the idea arousing, and the others just wanted to see the little bastards pay the highest possible price for their actions. But it would have raised suspicions to tarry, so they left, wishing they could find excuses to stay.



Mr Johnston had the boys to himself. He was going to enjoy this. That bastard Huckleberry had taunted him time and again, and now he was going to get his vengeance. The truth was; he used to like the kid – more than like. He loved the boy’s independent spirit, and when he saw the boy skinny-dipping in the river, he’d often stopped and watched as a mixture of emotions; not all of them honourable; passed through his head. Then one day Huck had seen him watching, and from then on, the boy had delighted in taunting him, especially when he was accompanied. Worse still, Tom, his little puppy-dog friend, was going to grow up to be just like his hero.

He was going to make the boy pay dearly. As for the other boys, well he had no particular feeling either way, but this was a unique opportunity so he planned to savour it.

He walked up to Huck,

“So I like to suck boys do I?” he said, repeating one of the multitude of insults Huck had thrown at him. “Well son, you’re sure going to pay for that.”

He walked behind Huck and delivered a sharp punch down to the boy’s scrotum. Huck grunted and tensed, sucking his pain down to deny the man the satisfaction. Johnston repeated his punch, and still Huck resisted. Johnston picked up a wooden butter paddle. He took Huck’s penis and moved it out of the way, then he took a hard swing at the boy’s dangling balls. The flat piece of wood hit both balls with a dull thudding sound and Huck yelped, his youthful bravado finally broken. He gasped and started panting like a dog. Johnston smiled.

“I’ll leave you here to think about things awhile. I’d hate to put you out of your misery too soon.”

He walked over to Tom.

“And you, you little bastard. You ain’t much better.”

He crouched between the boy’s legs and delivered a rapid succession of straight punches, each of which landed squarely in the boy’s pink nuts. Tom squealed and writhed, unable to see his own groin because of the way he was hanging, and unable to anticipate the next blow. Johnston stood to leave, but then he had an idea and turned back.

“You won’t be using these ever again, so you won’t mind if I put ‘em away for you.”

He took one of Tom’s balls in his fingers, and pushed it up into his groin with his index finger, crushing it up into the child’s inguinal canal. Just like any normal boy, it was the place the testicle had descended from just before Tom was born, but most boys never got to experience his balls being pushed back up there – it was unbearable! Tom felt the flesh in his groin tearing as the testicle ripped through a long-sealed channel. But the worst pain was the crushing feeling in his ball. The man took Tom’s second ball and pushed it up into the boy’s groin on the other side. Tom tensed his stomach against the pain, which was so bad it took his breath away. His tension only served to squeeze his balls more.

Johnston was obviously pleased with his idea, because he returned to Huck and repeated his actions. Huck’s balls were slightly bigger than Tom’s, so Johnston had to push harder to force an opening in the boy’s groin. As a result, Huck’s already battered balls were crushed excruciatingly, and the left one ruptured. Johnston felt it go. He chuckled and said,

“Ouch. I felt that give boy. I imagine that must hurt somethin’ fierce!”

Huckleberry felt a fire explode on the left side of his groin, but he was already beyond normal speech. Instead, he was reduced to short, hoarse, gasping breaths. He didn’t answer the taunt, but as the testicle caved in, a trickle of urine flowed from his penis.

Johnston left him and walked over to the corner of the barn. He was in no rush. He wanted those two brats to suffer as long as possible, and he wasn’t in any great haste to put most of the others out of their suspense either. He picked up a pair of sheep-shearing cutters; they looked like giant, spring-loaded scissors. Using a metal hook, he dragged a burning brazier across the floor to the place where the five boys were suspended in a row. Because this was a working barn, where animals were treated, and tools built, there was no straw, so the brazier presented no real fire risk so long as he was careful.

He put the shears down where the boys could see them – he wanted them know exactly what he was going to use to take their stones. Then he picked up the bucket and walked outside. When he returned, the bucket was full of water and he was carrying a poker.

He put the poker in the smouldering brazier, and then walked behind James carrying the shears. James was the son of a Norwegian immigrant, and at 12, he was the youngest of the boys. Like Tom, he was hairless, but he had small, low hanging balls, and a tiny penis. Johnston took the boy’s testicles in his hand, and James screamed before there was any pain. The boy gibbered and begged and offered to do anything if his balls could just be spared. Johnston pulled the boy’s scrotum taut and positioned the cutters close to the base.

“Here it comes,” he taunted.

James screamed. With a squeeze of the handles, Johnston snipped the scrotum and its contents from the boy’s body. The razor-sharp shears passed through the skin almost without resistance, leaving a clean cut.

“Oh, there they go boy!”

James’ scream turned into a brief, high-pitched yelp as he felt the blades smoothly cutting through his flesh, then he fell instantly to shocked silence, realising that it was too late for begging now.

Johnston walked back in front of the boys and dropped the cutters to the floor. He lifted Olsen’s severed scrotum with his left hand so that they could all see it.
Holding the soft pale sack by the bottom, he turned it upside down, and gave it a little shake. Two balls plopped out into his right hand, with an inch of thin cord attached to each one. He lifted them by the cords and wiggled them around.

“I don’t know what all your fussin’s about boy. You sure ain’t gonna miss those itty bitty things!”

He tossed them up and down in his palm.

“Still, I guess now there ain’t gonna be no more Olsens in St Petersburg after you, eh?”

James didn’t understand the gibe about him being the last Olsen. He hadn’t learned about sex yet, but when his father discovered how he’d been punished, he sobbed with grief for the family his son would never sire.

Humiliating the boys was a big part of the pleasure for Johnston. He put the tiny balls on the floor side by side next to the much larger hog balls. It was like putting two peas beside an apple.

Tom and Huck were still in too much agony to react, but Jacob and William stared at their friend’s tiny balls lying there in the dust. They looked so small and insignificant. Each of the boys had a clear image in his mind of his own balls lying alongside them. Olsen was also transfixed by the sight of his own nuts on the floor in front of him. His bag was certainly stinging, but it was so completely surreal to see his own balls sitting there, that his mind had trouble accepting it. His eyes were wide and he was breathing heavily, but there were no more tears.

Johnston said jauntily,

“That’s two. Eight more to go. I hope the rest of you have got a bit more, or my hound ain’t gonna get but a mouthful out of the lot of you!”

William looked up sharply. Johnston’s words were carefully chosen, and they created the intended effect, hitting the boy like a slap in the face. It was terrible enough that he was going to lose his balls, but the thought that they were going to be eaten by Mr Johnston’s hound, like dog food, as if they were of no more import than piglet balls really shocked him. His balls meant so much to him; he couldn’t bear the thought that they would be disposed of with the same casual contempt as the castrated balls of any other farmyard animal.

Johnston carefully placed James’ empty scrotum on the floor apart from the severed testicles. It was flat and resembled a small money pouch. He considered tanning it and turning it into a money pouch like the Injuns did with buffalo scrotums, but he decided it would be too small.

Then he picked up a pair of long nosed pliers. He pulled the poker from the fire – it was glowing red, so he doused it in the bucket to cool it down. If the poker was too hot it would cause deep damage, and then he’d have to answer to the town elders.

He walked behind the boy again. The ends of his testicle cords were visible within the open wound. Johnston gripped one in the pliers and pulled it as far from the boy’s body as he could. Then he pressed the hot poker against the cord close to boy’s body. The cord sizzled as the poker charred it. When it was burned through, the remainder of the cord snapped back up inside James’ body like a rubber band, leaving Johnston holding the other couple of inches in his pliers. He dropped the useless thread of flesh indifferently and repeated the procedure on the other side. Then using the pliers, he gripped the edges of the boy’s open scrotum, gathering the bloody flesh into a puckered rosebud of raw skin. Again he applied the hot poker, this time cauterising the flesh and crudely resealing the boy’s scrotum. The wound would heal into an ugly knot of flesh, but Johnston was not concerned with the boy’s welfare beyond the fact that he recovered. Nor did he care about the cosmetics of his work. In fact, he took less care resealing the boy than he would if it was one of his boars.


He put the poker into the brazier and moved behind Jacob with the shears. Jacob was the oldest of the boys at 16. He had a decent sized penis, and balls the size of turtle eggs. Johnston gripped the boy’s testicles through his capacious scrotum, and he felt momentary jealousy at the fact that the boy was substantially better endowed than he was. Then he smiled to himself – ‘Not for much longer!’ he thought.

If truth be told, he was afraid that if he dallied, this already-powerfully-built boy might one day bear a grudge against him for taking pleasure at the castration, and come and seek his revenge.

Jacob could feel the man hefting his balls in his hand. It was a strange feeling. No one ever touched him there. The boy could feel his balls being pulled tight in his scrotum; then he felt the blades of the shears against him. He steeled himself against the pain, and without any ceremony or delay, Johnston lopped the boy’s weighty balls from his body. Jacob felt the tension in his scrotum give way to a sharp slicing pain, and he heard the sound of the shear blades closing past each other. He feared the worst but he was afraid to look. The pain had only been in the skin of his bag; maybe he hadn’t lost everything. He watched as Johnston walked to the front.

The man dropped the boy’s two large balls beside James’ far smaller ones, and they thudded as they hit the floor. Jacob watched the balls land, then lowered his vision, with tears in his eyes. Now he would never become a man!

Johnston feigned apology,

“Boy, son, I sure am sorry to have to do that to a boy as well endowed as you. I bet you sure are gonna miss them.”

Jacob’s balls were four or five times larger than those of the younger boy. The boy was wracked with sobs that came from his very soul.

Johnston dropped the scrotum beside the other one – it was as hairy as a monkeys, and seemed expansive enough to cover a saddle pommel!

He returned to Jacob and wordlessly sealed his cords and closed his scrotum, smiling out of sight as he did so. The boy’s flaccid penis was still a good six inches long, but it would never be firing anything more than blanks in the future!


Although he had no reason to fear him, Johnston was equally prompt and businesslike in his castration of William. The boy was already hyperventilating as Johnston moved behind him. The kid’s scrotum was so tight with fear that Johnston had to work his fingers in behind the boy’s balls to get a grip. Then he pulled firmly for a few minutes whilst the scrotum relaxed enough for him to get the shears around it without cutting the boy’s penis off too.

Against all reason, William was desperately hoping; praying that the delay meant that his balls would be spared. Yet there in front of him were James and Jacob’s balls, reminding him of the futility of hope. He felt Mr Johnston sliding the cutter blades around the base of his scrotum and he could feel the metal already starting to slice into his skin. He arched his body, desperate to see his groin, but he couldn’t manage. He could feel his balls being pulled hard, and the blades of the shears starting to close. He tensed his stomach and whined through gritted teeth, as he tried to somehow avoid what was happening, as though tensing his body would pull his balls free, or make him impossible to castrate. He found himself holding his breath as the pulling became extremely painful, squeezing his soft eggs into the bottom of his sack. Then the tugging on his balls abruptly ceased, and he knew that all was lost. He released all of his held air in one spluttered gasp.

There was no particular reason for Johnston to be kind to William, but he’d taken a shine to the boy. He was a disruptive youth certainly; causing trouble with one prank after another. But he was also quiet; almost shy, and whenever Johnston had spoken to him, he was always civil, speaking in a soft voice and calling him ‘Sir”, looking at him with his big brown doe eyes. Johnston patted the boy’s bare rump a few times, and in an uncharacteristic moment of compassion he said,

“Soon be over now son. Now they’re off, that’s the worst bit done.”

The man’s ludicrous words of reassurance had the opposite effect on William. He knew from the sudden disappearance of pain in his balls that they must be gone, but Johnston’s words slammed it home to him that his bag and its contents were now in the man’s fist, rather than attached to his own body. He had a clear image in his mind of his soft bag resting in the palm of Johnston’s hand. William was overwhelmed by the magnitude of his loss. Only this morning he’d tugged himself off, and he would never have believed that by the evening, his balls would be lopped from him with no deeper consideration than he gave to weeds in the woods as he whacked their tops off with a stick.

His face screwed up in misery, and then he abruptly threw up.

Johnston carefully placed 14 year old’s balls beside the other four. They were larger than James’, but still far smaller than Jacob’s. He held up the boy’s scrotum to the light. It had a thin covering of short spiky hairs, and the skin was gossamer thin. The man stretched it tight and he could see the light through it. He could also make out a tracery of red veins within its layers. He placed it on top of the skin pile he had accumulated.

William went silent and Johnston turned and looked towards the boy and saw that he was unconscious. He walked over and lifted the kid’s head, tilting it upwards and balancing it on its chin to make sure that he wouldn’t choke in his own vomit.


Johnston moved behind Tom. A tent immediately grew in the front of the man’s trousers. He was eagerly anticipating what he was going to do to Tom and Huck, and it aroused him enormously. In fact, his penis was as hard as it had been in years. If he could have gotten away with it, he would enthusiastically have had congress with each of them, and if he had, he would have hammered those smooth bottoms hard!

Tom’s balls were still wedged up in his groin, visible as nothing more than a pair of small lumps at the start of the crease where the top of his thigh met his body. The boy’s pink scrotum was tightly wrinkled and almost flat. Johnston reached into his pocket and removed a sharp pocket knife. He opened the blade, and took the boy’s scrotum between his finger and thumb. Pulling the skin away from the boy’s body so that he wouldn’t cut into anything beneath, he stuck the tip of the knife into the clammy flesh at the base of the boy’s tight penis. He drew the knife along Tom’s scrotum, cutting along the seam. There was surprisingly little blood, and when the boy’s bag had been bisected, Johnston turned the two sides inside out. He could see the raw, meaty flesh of the boy’s penis, but apart from that, the inside of the scrotum was almost featureless.

Johnston reached up and pressed against Tom’s groin, pressing on the skin, just above the lump that indicated his right ball. He massaged the boy’s ball back into his scrotum, from where it immediately dangled out on its cord, exposed and dark coloured from its earlier bruising. Johnston took the testicle between the fingers and thumbs of both hands and crushed it slowly, until it was nothing but a mushy lump. The only thing holding its shape was the strong, pliable capsule that surrounded it.

Tom screamed and struggled frantically against his bonds, obliviously tearing the flesh of his wrists and ankles in his efforts to be free.

Outside, the men were smoking and talking, but when they heard Tom’s shrill, gurgling screaming, they started to feel guilty and had trouble looking in each other’s faces. All of a sudden, they were starting to feel a lot like bullies rather than protectors of the town. Tom wailed on and on, and the men kicked at the dust beneath their feet as they heard the extent of his tortured agony.

Johnston worked Tom’s left testicle out, and took it in his left fist. Then he used the handle end of the pocket knife to crush the testicle from its end into his fist. Tom passed beyond the ability to react. He was going into shock from the pain, and his skin was turning white and clammy. He shivered and shook uncontrollably and he stopped wailing.

Johnston left him alone to suffer and walked over to Huck.

The boy had realised that Johnston found him in some way sexually attractive when he’d seen him swimming, and the brat had remorselessly done his best to humiliate him. Now Johnston was at last going to get even.

He crouched between the boy’s legs.

“Call me a pecker sucker would you? I’ll suck yours, but you ain’t gonna like it. Nope, you ain’t gonna like it one little bit.”

With that he gripped the boy’s empty, hairy scrotum in his teeth and slowly tore it from the boy’s body. Then he worked the boy’s balls back into the place where the scrotum used to be. The left ball was dark purple, and it was clear to Johnston’s experienced eyes that it had already started to die. He took it in his teeth, gripping it between his molars, and bit down slowly, squashing it completely. Then he let it drop from his mouth, and pulled it off, not bothering to use the shears. Then he took the right ball in his mouth and bit it slowly until his teeth met. Huck squirmed and gyrated, trying in some way to shield his groin against the agony that consumed him. But try as he might, he could do nothing to get away or diminish the pain.

Johnston could feel the inner texture of the ball as he crushed it – it was like biting a pear. The flesh was firm but it crushed easily. He opened his mouth, repositioned the testicle between his teeth to find another firm bit, and repeated the action time and again, until he could feel nothing solid left. Then he spat the chewed ball into his hand and examined it. It was mangled and damaged looking. He gripped it firmly, and slowly pulled it upwards away from Huck’s groin. The cord connecting it to the boy’s body stretched and stretched, until it could take no more, then when over a foot of cord was exposed, it snapped quite suddenly, leaving four inches attached to what was left of the testicle. The reminder snapped back into the boy’s body and disappeared up into the place it had originated from.

Huckleberry reacted much as Tom had, with screams and desperate struggles to be free. When his second ball was torn from him, he tensed against the pain, then slumped, brutalised and exhausted.

Johnston took the poker from the fire. It was glowing red. He pressed the red end into the exposed base of the boy’s penis and held it there. The other boys would all be allowed to keep their peckers, but Johnston wanted to deny Huck even that pleasure. The base of the boy’s shrunken penis blistered and cooked as Johnston held the poker there for over a minute. Johnston drew the remaining skin tightly over the burn and cauterised it. It would never be enough to repair the damage, but it would hide his injuries from the other men when they returned. He dropped the mangled remains of Huck’s genitals over with the others.

He returned to Tom and snipped the boy’s damaged balls from him, then he neatly cut the split scrotum away too. He added them to the collection of balls on the floor. Tom was almost catatonic, but with his balls gone, he only had to deal with the considerably lesser pain of his wounded scrotum. Johnston sealed him as he had the other boys.



Johnston took out a flask of whiskey from a hip flask and swigged it deeply, before dribbling a small sterilising amount across the scrotums of each boy except Huck. Huck wasn’t worth wasting the booze on, especially as his pecker was never going to work again anyway. If the boy’s John Thomas rotted and fell off all together Johnston didn’t suppose anyone would shed any tears, and for his own part, he hoped it would. It would serve the brat right for trying to humiliate him.

He finished the rest of the flask slowly, by which time all five of the boys had regained some semblance of awareness. Huck was groaning, writhing and twisting as he tried to deal with the burns to his penis. The other four simply hung limply, sobbing woefully. Although their scrotums were sore, the pain was bearable, but the loss of their balls was something that they would take years to come to terms with, and that was the real misery that made them sob now.

True to Johnston’s promise, there were now ten small testicles lined up in pairs beside the much larger pig balls. The boys stared at them pitifully. They looked so small and vulnerable like that, just laying there on the floor.

Johnston ambled over to the barn door and opened it to allow the men back in. They entered and the first thing each of them did, was look to the hog balls to see if the pile had been added to.

Although they’d all agreed the plan, when each man saw the row of little balls, they felt an overwhelming wave of regret. It was one thing to reach the conclusion that the boy’s balls had been the cause of their wildness; even to condemn them to castration; but now, looking at the little pile – seeing how small each boy’s balls looked laying on the floor like that - the men realised that troublesome though they were, these were still nothing more than little boys. Unruly boys: certainly. Infuriating boys: undeniably. Boys playing at being men: perhaps. But boys, nevertheless. Unconsciously, each man wondered whom each pair belonged to. The smallest and largest seemed obvious, but what about the others?

The Mayor noticed with distaste that two of the medium sized pairs were particularly misshapen and almost formless. Whereas the others were shiny oval pink objects, these looked like dark purple bags filled with fluid. Shapeless and sagging against the floor. He intuitively realised that Johnston had gone far beyond the call of duty when removing them. The man had obviously taken it upon himself to inflict additional pain during their removal. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that they almost certainly belonged to Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer. It pained the Major to see the source of their vibrant boyhoods reduced to such pitiful dollops of flesh. He recalled the long agonised howls, and it sent a shiver down his spine now that he could see the cause. He thought of Johnston in here torturing the boys and it disgusted him.

Knowing how much each boy would bitterly miss his balls, the men felt far less certain about the rightfulness of their decision. A few, overcome by remorse, turned and left the barn immediately. Others remained, but stood in silence with their heads bowed respectfully – this was not the time for gloating or sermons. They’d robbed the boys; their boys; boys whom they’d seen grow up from infants; of their greatest possessions, to say nothing of their future children, and suddenly it felt like they’d charged the boys far, far too much for their childish crimes.

The Mayor walked up to the pile and turned to Johnston and said,

“It’s done then,” he said solemnly.

He tapped at James’ tiny balls with the toe of his shoe.

“Somehow they don’t look so troublesome just lying there on the floor like that.”

“No they don’t,” Johnston said.

He looked at the boys. They were watching him desolately.

“But don’t be fooled,” he continued, “as long as the boys had these, they were going to keep causing trouble, and it was going to get worse and worse. You did the right thing Mister Mayor.”

As he said it, he placed the toe of his boot onto one of the largest balls. He brought his weight down and the boys could see the ball spreading beneath the boot. There was an audible pop, and bloody offal squirted out from beneath his shoe.

“Now, they can never lead the boys astray again.”

Jacob let out a sob. It was almost like he was being kicked in the balls again, and he realised that he was never going have them back again.

Johnston twisted his toe casually, grinding the testicle into the boards. When he lifted his foot, there was a gory mess of splattered flesh on the floor.

Johnston crouched down and scooped the other nine balls into his hand. He whistled twice and a mongrel dog came running in from outside. Holding his palm flat so that the boys could see clearly, Johnston said,

“Here boy, couple of titbits for you. Eat up; these boys don’t need ‘em anymore!”

It was symbolic, and was done for the boys’ benefit.

The dog stuck its nose into the man’s palm, and took an experimental bite. One of William’s balls disappeared into its mouth. It chewed and swallowed. It clearly enjoyed the taste, for it came back for more, and in a couple of bites, it had eaten all of the remaining balls.

It was the final insult to the boys to see their balls disposed of so cheaply, and it was enough to break even the tiniest flames of defiance or hope than any of them may have held on to.

The watching men turned away, angry at the spiteful game Johnston was clearly playing. But he was a big powerful man, and none of them felt brave enough to stand against him.

The Mayor was shocked at Johnston’s viciousness, understanding that the man’s insidious action was a way for him to torture the boys one last time. He ordered the boys released and returned to their parents. Huck was taken home with Tom and cared for by Tom’s aunt.

After everyone had left, Johnston reached down and lifted the bucket. Underneath it were five flat scrotums – one was small pink and wrinkled, one was pale and smooth, two had a light covering of hair, and the last was large and very hairy. He took them into his house and started carefully preparing them.

From that day on, whenever he remembered Huck’s taunts, he just put on his soft new gloves and a smile of satisfaction crossed his face.

As for the town, well, the boys were completely subdued after that – far more than subdued; they were like whipped dogs, with sadness in their eyes, and all the joy gone from them. Although they never told anyone what had happened to them, word got out and parents would caution their sons, “You better behave or you’ll lose your balls”. It was many decades before any new tearaways emerged to take their place…

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