The Castration Club

A sailor travels the world and finds a club which specialises in 
castration and more

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THE CASTRATION CLUB

Having  crossed the  Atlantic we called  into Maiquetia  to unload  
and restock, before  going  through the  Panama  Canal. As  an 
assistant  to  the navigating officer I was granted two days leave. 
I delved into the pages of my Spartacus in search of a bar that 
might suit my needs and set off to explore.
All  the relevant  bars were  in Caracas  which  was about  30 
miles  away  so I wandered into a shady looking  bar near the port. 
I was  chatting to an old chap propped up against the bar, saying 
that I had just arrived from England and that it was  my first 
trip  westwards. He told me  that there were many  things to be 
seen in Venezuela,  in particular something that you  couldn't see 
anywhere else in  the world. He  handed me a  card. On  the card 
was an  address of a  club in Caracas called The Castrated Slave, 
underneath was written "Live entertainment : Come and see  our boys 
being  stoned or clean  shaven". I  looked up to  ask him, whether 
this meant what I thought it meant but he had left.
I had very little knowledge about this  sort of thing hut I knew 
that in medical terms Stoned meant that the person had lost their 
testicles and Clean Shaven was minus everything,  My interest 
however had  been caught. I wandered  back to the ship and got 
changed  for a night out on  the tiles. By 7 p.m. I was  heading 
for Caracas centre in a battered old  taxi. It was nearly dark and  
I couldn't quite distinguish the route he took but  I trusted him. 
I showed the card to the taxi driver to see  if he knew where it  
was. He grinned at me  and said. "Very Good, you  enjoy.'' He 
obviously knew where it was and that  it was amusing to him. The 
intrigue was killing me.
We wove our way round the streets in the centre and   finally down 
some tortuous back alleyways in a pretty  seedy part of town  until 
we stopped outside  an old building with a  painted board above  
the door bearing  the words  " C S CLUB Private". I wondered if I 
would be able to find my way out of this place if need be but I was 
more interested in finding out what went on inside. I paid the taxi 
driver  and he said once again, "You enjoy"  and drove off  leaving 
me in this  dark deserted street. I went to  the door and rang  the 
bell. Someone looked  at me through  a peephole and let me into an 
entrance area. I showed him the card that I had been given he 
smiled and said in  quite good English "You know, I assume, what 
sort of club we have here sir?" I replied that I had a good idea. 
He smiled and said that I should  just sit back and enjoy the  
evening's entertainment. There was a show about to start.
The entrance fee was very high indeed but he said that people came 
from all over the world to see  the show here. I paid my £30, was 
given a receipt and was led into a large dark, candlelit room with 
lots  of tables and chairs, sofas and even hammocks. There must 
have already been about 70 or 8O people there, drinking and sitting 
about. All  men but of a  variety ages. Some were couples,  mainly 
an older man  with a pretty  youth, probably rent. There  were a 
lot  of single men sitting in dark corners presumably waiting for 
the entertainment to start on the stage which was enshrouded in a 
black curtain.
Suddenly there was a  drum roll and the room  became deathly quiet. 
The curtain opened but the  stage was  so dark  you couldn't  see 
what  was going  on. Then gradually the lights came  on to reveal a 
man in a  dinner jacket and a boy with an iron band around his neck 
and a chain which the man was holding. The  boy was about thirteen 
blonde, quite slight but devastatingly attractive dressed in jeans 
and a T-shirt. He looked like a normal western boy except that he 
looked terrified.
The man in the Dinner Jacket announced that we were to welcome 
Christopher who had come  from Berlin  earlier in  the week.  He 
was twelve  years old.  Every one started applauding and murmuring 
to one another with obvious approval. The man then said to him in 
German to take all his clothes off. The boy looked nervously about 
him as if  he wasn't going to  do it until  the man said  to him 
that he would be killed on the spot if he didn't obey.

The boy started to take his T-shirt off and eventually freed it 
from around the chain and was  standing naked  to  the waist  down. 
He  had a  beautiful boyish adolescent figure. He then started 
fumbling with his Jean's, finally got them off and was standing 
there  in his white boxer  shorts. He looked at the  man in the 
Dinner Jacket who tugged the chain to remind him of the  threat. 
Christope dragged his shorts down to his ankles and stepped out of 
them  He put his hands over his genitals to cover them up the man 
deftly flicked the  end of the chain over the boy's chest with a 
resounding crack. The boy winced with pain and put his hands on his 
head  as instructed. He was standing there naked apart from the 
iron  band around  his neck in  the bright  lights. The  audience 
once again applauded. The boy was pale skinned but  not unhealthy, 
with a firm stomach  and legs.  He was obviously quite a sportsman. 
He had obviously just reached puberty as there was the faintest  of 
shadows of soft  blond hair Just above  his penis. otherwise his 
body was totally hairless.

The man then led the boy off  the stage and into the audience. He 
paused at each table  for about 30 seconds whilst the  men there 
could feel  the boy I noticed that they all  took hod of  the boy's 
penis and  testicles and stroked  them or cupped them in their 
hands smiling. He  finally was led over to my table where I was 
able to look  him in the eye. He was beautiful  all over and had a 
wonderful expression. Like the others so far I stroked his penis 
with one hand and cupped his warm testicles with the other and 
wondered if  the card would be true
in it's prediction. The boy was led off to the next table.

When the visiting was finished  they went back up onto the  stage 
where the man produced a container and told the boy to take a  
piece of paper from inside and to read just  the number. I wondered 
if the boy was in  some raffle of sorts. The number was 62. 
Everyone looked at pieces  of paper they had in their hands and I 
realised  that it was the receipt of entry. I delved  into my 
pocket but one man was already  on his way up  onto the stage. My  
number was 87.  The man from the audience was a young looking  
Italian with black hair and a fierce looking face. He must have 
been about 30 and was quite striking in a black, well cut suit.

He had obviously seen one of the shows before because he 
immediately got down on his knees  and started caressing the  boy's 
penis. He stroked  his inner thighs and inserted a finger up his 
rectum. Little by little the boy became aroused and the Italian 
started masturbating him. The boy  didn't quite know what to do  
but just let it  all happen. The Italian started to  suck his penis 
and  to lick his balls. Just as the boy  was about to come the 
Italian  took his cock out of  his mouth and the boy splashed jets 
of  hot creamy spunk all over his face and hair. The audience 
roared and the Italian  kissed the young Christophe licking his 
lips and wiping his face with a large red silk handkerchief.
The man in the Dinner jacket then removed the chain from the iron 
band but kept a firm hand on the boy. Two other men from behind the 
scenes took hold of the boy by his arms and led him over to an 
empty table at the front of the room. They made him bend over this 
and held him down whilst the man in the Dinner Jacket produced a 
vicious looking riding crop. He then walked over to a man in the 
audience and handed it to him. The man got up and stood over the 
boy. He then brought down three hefty blows on the boy's buttocks. 
He gave the crop to a friend who repeated the performance. The crop 
made it's way around the audience and Chrispothe suffered blows to 
his back, legs and behind. He couldn't move as he was restrained by 
the tow men. One man gave me the crop and it was my turn. I had 
never done anything like this before but I duly administered my 
share, one to his back, one to his legs and one to his arse. His 
skin was badly marked and blood was beginning to show on his little 
boy's buttocks, but by this time the adrenaline was flowing. 
Everyone had their turn, and once finished, the bleeding boy was 
led back onto the stage.

A large wheel with the numbers 1 and 2  on it  was produced and the 
boy was told to spin it, his future depended on it. He spun and a 
large cheer came up as it landed on a 1. He was attached, spread-
eagled to a large board. Large screens came up around the room that 
had a telephoto picture of the boy's genital region. The man in the 
dinner jacket brought out of his pocket a sharp knife and plunged 
it into Christophe's groin, who let out a piercing cry. He cut 
downwards and came up holding a bloody pair of testicles that had, 
five minutes ago, splashed sperm all over the Italian's face. On 
the screen there was a picture of the gory hole in the boy's 
scrotum.

The club had lived up to it's reputation, I had seen my first live 
castration. The lights dimmed and the Maitre d'hotel came p to me 
with a plate of food and a photograph. On the plate were two 
testicles which had been skinned, breaded, and fried in olive oil. 
The photograph was of the boy who had donated my meal. The custom 
of the club was that each new visitor should taste the produce of 
an evenings entertainment. I was about to eat eh manhood of an 
English boy called Adrian Lightly, a 12 year old blonde haired boy 
with a snub nose and a beautifully angelic face, castrated the 
previous night. Although I had never partaken in cannibalism, they 
were delicious. Cristophe's balls were designated to be served up 
to the next newcomer the following night. I got into conversation 
with a young man who explained the whole system to me. The club 
was, of course, illegal, but the Chief of Police of Caracas had 
bizarre tastes to say the least and was a regular visitor. The boys 
are kidnapped in different countries and brought to Venezuela to be 
castrated in front of an audience that flock from all over the 
world to see it. If the boy spins a 1 on the wheel he looses his 
balls and if it is a 2 then his penis and balls are both cut off. A 
bit like Russian roulette he explained except the boys always loose 
in one way or other. The young boys who are with the men are often 
previous 'victims' who are paid to keep the men company and to 
sleep with them in the rooms provided by the club.  He said that if 
I wanted one I only had to ask and I would be shown the catalogue. 
In the catalogue all of the boys were marked either 1 or 2 
depending how their luck had been on the night.

Being a Saturday night I was lucky as there were going to be two 
shows. The next one being in an hour. I had time to choose my boy 
from the catalogue in the mean time. I chose another English boy 
called James Harding aged 13  who had a 2 by his name and  had been 
emasculated earlier that year. He had a beautiful softy skin and 
long legs. He had the most sumptuous lips that could suck a cock 
with a velvet touch that I had never experienced previously. He had 
obviously been made a eunuch before puberty since his voice had not 
broken. There wasn't a hair in sight and you could barely see the 
mark where his penis and testicles once hung. The club surgeons 
were obviously very good at their job, they had left a small hole 
for urinating through but otherwise there was a beautiful smooth 
expanse of skin. We were sharing hammock by the time the second 
show came on.

This boy was black, quite tall, and must have been 17 years old., 
called Chumuma. He had a huge cock and I began to hope that he 
would spin a number 2. It was certainly nice to hold with large 
pendulous balls. The set-up was the same. A Japanese man earned the 
right to partake of the boy's last orgasm and we all whipped the 
poor brute to ribbons. He did spin a number 2 and, once strapped to 
the board, it all passed quickly. The 'executioner' took a large 
pair of shears would be the best way to describe it, and with one 
movement sliced through the boy's penis and scrotum. They were 
severed from his body and fell on to the floor. They were picked up 
and held up for all to admire, still attached together and the 
lights went down to rapturous applause. I asked James if it had 
been like that for him, but he said that his prick and balls had 
been cut off separately with a small knife as he had been younger 
and his  cock and balls were smaller.

Before long we were in a bedroom and I was running my hands all 
over his body. He could only take it up the arse and give blow 
jobs, given his condition but he was a master at this. He was an 
absolute angel and had apparently decide to stay with the 
establishment as he was looked after so well. His loyalty to his 
kidnappers surprised me but I didn't mind, I was in seventh heaven.

I spent all my leave in the building and was very sad to return to 
the ship, vowing I would come back. It has been five years now 
since my visit, and I still intend to go back and find out if the 
club is still there. As the taxi driver said, I did enjoy!