He was beautiful, standing in line at Burger King waiting to order, and as soon as I saw him I knew that I just had to castrate him.  He was about fourteen years old and was probably a freshman at the nearby high school.  At five-four and maybe a hundred and ten pounds he was a little on the small side.  Unlike the garish yellow of some of his dyed companions, his hair was naturally blonde, and it seemed to deepen his expressive blue eyes.  He had long, lovely eyelashes, long graceful fingers, and large feet that were made to look even larger by the oversize shoes that kids his age seem to favor.  If he were allowed to mature he would evolve into a teenage heartthrob in a few more years, but the piercings that he so proudly sported in his eyebrow, lips, ears, and nose completely marred his beauty and necessitated the removal of his balls.

            He wasn’t the only kid there to declare his individuality by mutilating himself; the place was full of high school kids on their lunch break and many were even more hideous than he was.  It was just that he was the most beautiful, and also the smallest.  Some of the older juniors and seniors would have been a handful to handle, and also he seemed to be somewhat of a loner and except for a couple of teenyboppers his age who kept eyeing him and sighing, no one seemed to be paying him much attention.  That meant that he would be my next victim.

            I know that many people of low moral character read stories like this one, and I’m not about to assist them in their perversions by revealing my secrets for abducting boys:  suffice it to say that it is ridiculously easy.  Unlike girls, who have been brought up fearing rape and abduction, boys have a spirit of adventure that practically lures them into my van where they soon find themselves bound and gagged and wondering what the hell just happened.

            Fifteen minutes later he had been transferred from my van to a secluded spot in the woods several miles out of town.  He was now completely naked and his trim adolescent body was tied spread-eagle on the warm springtime ground between four small trees.  I like boys in general, and this one was beautiful.  His arms and legs were long and lithe and were adorned with only light and nearly invisible fuzz.  The bush sprouting from his armpits was slightly darker and still rather sparse, as were the curls on his crotch.  His balls were in perfect proportion to his compact build, that is to say slightly on the small side, but they sagged luxuriously low between his outstretched things.  His prink, pink and flaccid, wasn’t much larger than my index finger. 

            Although he had no way of knowing what I had in mind for him he was obviously concerned about his situation and possibly even fearful of his life.  He was also a few minutes late for his first afternoon class.  He had finally stopped struggling long enough to grasp the gravity of his situation.  The gag I had placed in his mouth to silence him precluded intelligible speech, but I was pretty sure I could hear his questions.

            “What?”  He seemed to mumble first.

            “I’m going to nut you,” I answered tersely.  Although he was blindfolded, his sensitive adolescent ears might pick up subtle nuances in speech that might be used to identify a mouthy kidnapper.

            “Why me?”  He asked, not yet comprehending the answer to his first question.  Why indeed?  There was no way that I could adequately explain it all to the kid.  It was certainly nothing personal; he hadn’t offended me in any way, hadn’t insulted me, hadn’t thrown rocks at my dog nor vandalized my property, in fact, I didn’t even know the kid.  It was simply because of the way he had desecrated his body by piercing it full of holes and filling those holes with gaudy adornments, and thereby spoiling his natural beauty.  I wasn’t going to castrate him out of spite, nor was I attempting to punish him as an individual.  The situation was that someone like him had to be made an example of, and he was just the handiest one I could find.

            “I don’t like piercing,” I answered simply.  He would get the rest of the story through the news media eventually, so I didn’t elaborate.

            I checked my watch and quickly went to work.  I reached between his legs and gently took his scrotum into my hand, then rolled each of his testicles around between my fingers to gauge their size.  He recoiled at my touch even though I wasn’t hurting him-yet-and tried to roll away from me.   His balls were still small enough to band, so I fit a small green rubber band over the prongs of the elastrator tool. Although he was still blindfolded and completely unaware of what I was about to do, he continued to mumble protests through his gag.   I had bought the tool and several hundred of the little green cheerios at a farm bankruptcy sale several years ago in the Midwest, and they are completely untraceable.  This kid is lucky that his balls are as small as they are.  Much larger and I’d be forced to use a different, more painful method.

            I squeezed the handles to enlarge the band, and gently, so as not to cause him undue pain, worked both of his balls down through the open loop. The boy’s struggles increased as I released the handles, and then increased even more as I rolled the little band off of the four prongs.  He settled down after a few minutes, allowing me to continue with the procedure.

            Older, coarser, boys or ones who are overweight, less attractive, or who have somehow offended me are less fortunate at this point.  Their last orgasm is induced by a simple hand job, probably not even as satisfying as one of their own, and their last productive seed is allowed to fall wasted on the forest floor.  Younger, less hairy, and probably virginal boys like this one are given much better treatment, and I bent over and took his slender cock into my mouth.  It tasted fresh and clean, with only a slight trace of male musk, indicating that he’d showered very recently.  Even though banded and in some degree of pain his cock quickly responded and expanded to its full five inch length, and thickened to where it comfortably filled my mouth.  I worked my tongue and lips over his shaft until the skin on his cock, restricted by the band around his balls, seemed tight enough to burst, and in less than a minute he stiffened, arched his back, and filled my mouth with his sweet young seed. 

            This last orgasm, rather induced orally or by hand, is important.  The band around his balls prevents unnecessary blood loss and might easily be displaced if he were to get an erection during or immediately after his castration.  It is common for young kids like this to get boners when their balls are stimulated in any way, and by milking him first I prevent this from happening again for a few hours.  Working quickly now, while he was still somewhat comatose from his first and possibly last blowjob, I gently grasped his captive balls, tugged them gently, and sliced them from his body in one quick motion.  Had he been too big to band I would have needed to tighten a latex tubing tourniquet around his scrotum, and then slice his bag open to remove his testicles one at a time, thereby leaving some of the scrotal tissue to ensure that the tourniquet stayed in place.  This seems to be a much more painful procedure than severing the whole bag with one quick slice.

            I stood up and threw his scrotum as far as I could into the woods, made a few marks on him in several places with a special ultraviolet pen, and then covered him with a blanket from my van before driving away.  I would probably repeat this process in two days, and possibly again two days after that, and even again if needed to achieve my goal, but right now my real work began.  Once back on the highway I used his cell phone to call 911 and then parked nearby until I saw the ambulance turn off on the rough road into the woods.  That part is important to me; I wanted the kid alive and otherwise healthy, and to make a complete recovery, less his nuts, of course.  Next I drove to my motel room and fired up my word processor. 

            My first letter was to the local police telling them details that only the perpetrator of this most heinous crime would know, such as the location and design of the marks that could only be seen under black light.  My letter also made my intentions clear, and also included letters that he should be forward to the principal of the high school, the manager of the mall in which the Burger King was located, and also to the franchisee of the restaurant itself demanding that no male student display any piecings of any kind.

            My experience has shown that one castration usually isn’t enough, but two or three will nearly always get the job done.  I had to do six in one town before the principal and mall manager finally got the message, but it was well worth the effort and even now, five years later, the kids there all look respectable, an even men with conservative little ear rings put away their jewelry for a while. A few too many tattoos are starting to show up now, so maybe I’ll have to schedule a return visit.