By justoneguy

He was completely stunned—completely confused—completely terrified. He lived in a modern world, a world of cars, Big Macs, summer blockbusters. He was a young man in a world of modern attitudes and modern sensibilities. Nothing in his life experience had prepared him for this moment, a moment he could never have even contemplated an hour ago, but that was now fast approaching and unstoppable—the moment when his young manhood was ended.

The young man was before me, as nude as the day he was born, tied secure to the rail behind him. We were in a large warehouse on the outskirts of town. This was a large city, not as large as New York or London, but not a back woods village or unincorporated county either. The warehouse was empty and dingy from years of neglect. It was owned my some company or other, which had no knowledge of what was going on at that moment. But that company was owned by another company, and that company by another, and so on up the food chain of the modern world until it reached the hands of a single group of men, the Council—which runs the world.

I am a junior member of this council. I know enough about it to know that it exists, but not enough to have evidence that it exists. I have no proof of anything, any contact, any correspondence, any hard facts. If I ever attempted to go public with the existence of the Council, I would have no proof that it existed at all. I would in fact appear a lunatic.

But I am not a lunatic. I am on the cusp of being involved at a high level with the Council. My father was a junior member, and his father before him. It takes several generations to reach even the low level of membership I enjoy today. My participation in the ritual tonight will at last cement my ascendancy to what you might call middle management. Trust me, it is a much bigger deal and a bigger honor than it sounds.

I know that I am on my way now, because I have been entrusted with one of the secrets of the Council and its power. It is not the only secret mind you. I am sure it is one of many, possibly hundreds, of secrets and sources that maintain the power and influence of the Council in world affairs. Those who perform the rituals themselves are often thought of as middle management, because they know enough about the organization to know at least one secret and to implement the instructions as given. But if they are caught or questioned by any part of what you might call visible society—the cops, FBI, Securities and Exchange Commission—they don’t know enough about the Council to provide proof. By contrast, senior management no longer has to perform such down and dirty duties as fulfilling the rituals, and they have no fear of getting caught for anything. So they know much more about the Council and run it personally from the top. It takes many, many generations to move from middle management to senior level, so I have no hope of reaching it in my lifetime. But I am glad that my actions today put my own offspring on that path for the future.

And today, that duty involves fulfilling the most solemn and important ritual of the Council—the harvesting. Every 20 or 30 years, depending on the quality of the previous harvest, the council must perform a harvest ritual to the god Heshu. You my laugh at this statement, since you are no doubt of the same modern mind as the young man I spoke of above. But let me assure you, Heshu exists, and by his power the Council is sustained in its might and majesty. Heshu is by no means the only god that the Council derives its power to cloak its activities and remain the unseen power that controls the visible world. There are many others to be sure, but Heshu is the most important.

I told the lad about the details of Heshu and the purpose of the harvest as I prepared him for the ritual. I will relate what I told him to you now, in the same words (more or less) that I used.

“You see, my boy, Heshu is a powerful god indeed. But his power is not supreme. Long ago, in the before times when the gods ruled the visible earth as well as the unseen earth, and strolled the lands we humans now claim as our own, Heshu was brought low. His brother, the great god Golvain was jealous of his might and strength, and of his wife, the goddess Uvia. Golvain waited for the right moment to strike, and when Heshu was lying upon the ground, exhausted from his act of sexual intercourse with Uvia, Golvain struck. He wrestled Heshu to the ground, holding him fast against the hard earth. Heshu’s strength began to recover, and the anger of being assaulted began to boil Heshu’s blood, which had been settled and satisfied by his recent copulation. Golvain knew that his time was short, and that soon his brother Heshu, in his wraith, would overpower him and regain the mastery. He acted quickly, and taking the great knife that he had forged for centuries for this very act, cut the bulbous pulsating gonads from his brother Heshu.

“The mighty god screamed a terrifying scream in that moment, and Golvain was permanently made deaf from the terrible power of the god’s cry of anger and pain. But, even as Heshu screamed in his agony, the power of his masculinity issued from his mouth with each fearful cry, until at last all of his masculine strength and anger had left his body—and he whimpered in impotent agony. Golvain, though deafened by the power and majesty of Heshu’s manhood made sound, now had the mastery. His brother was now as a shriveled, withered tree, without leaves, its mighty bark gray and knotted. Heshu could no longer make fight, and his generative organs lay spilled on the ground.

“Heshu watched in impotent horror as Golvain took to be his wife Uvia, who was unwilling but lacked the power to resist. Uvia screamed and cried as Golvain took her and made her his, but in his deafness he did not realize that her cries were of horror and revulsion rather than passion. For Golvain in his vanity believed that Uvia loved strength above all, and therefore loved him more than his emasculated brother. But Uvia did not abandon Heshu in her heart, and she nursed the wound under his withered body in secret from her new husband.

“Around that time, the first groups of men entered the land from the East. And Heshu befriended them and taught them many things, for his knowledge of the world was great even in his withered impotence. And the men were not afraid of him as they were the other gods because he seemed so small and powerless, yet mighty in wisdom. Yet, they suffered much from their friendship with Heshu, for when Golvain discovered that his brother was not wholly friendless even though emasculated, he grew very angry. But Heshu hid the men who had befriended him and protected them as best he could with cleverness and stealth since he had not the power to protect them by force.

Yet the day came when Heshu knew that Golvain would find him and his friends, and that there was nothing he could do to protect them from the overmastering wraith that would soon come upon them. It was then that he revealed to the men for the first time the full truth of his impotence, that it was not his original state, but a result of the cruel and treacherous assault by his brother. Then the men fully understood their own fate, and knew that Golvain would do the same to them—or worse—because of their friendship with Heshu. But they said to Heshu: ‘Is there nothing, oh mighty one in spirit, that we can do so that you may be mighty in body once more?’

“But Heshu frowned and said: ‘Nay my friends. For I have thought long on this matter, and know in my heart that only the precious fruit from the loins of another can replenish the masculinity that was cut from my body. And, knowing how withered and empty the lose has made me, I would not demand it of any other, even of mortal man.’

“But the men pressed Heshu saying: ‘But of great one, will we not be overcome and unmanned by Golvain in this very hour, if no one as great as you once were stands tall to protect us? And once we are gone, all hope for your own recovery will be vain. Where is the justice and the rightness in this? Nay, in our own bodies lies the power to make you whole, and though we be small and our strength less than the gods in their might, our manhood is hardy.’

“At this Heshu was convinced, knowing full well that Golvain could not be over come by the hands of men, and that all would be doomed unless he had the might once again to face his foe. And so the men of that time choose 1000 young men from their ranks and with swift knife removed the manhood from between their legs. Now these young men were willing in spirit, but not in body—and many endured their emasculation with horrible pain and torment, forced at the point of their father’s and brother’s sword to endure emasculation for the good of all mankind. And once the 1000 sacs were harvested, Heshu accepted them, and grafted them to his withered body, and as he stood, the men saw the 1000 sacs of their sons hanging between the god’s mighty legs. And his legs were now mighty indeed, for as Heshu stood his manhood was renewed, and his withered body expanded and grew to its former might, and he grew erect in both body and in phallus. And Golvain saw him emerge in glory from his place of hiding, and all anger left him being replaced with overmatching fear. For the size and might of the 1000 bags of human balls that hung under the great Heshu was greater than even the mighty two gonads that had powered the god in the days before his treacherous attack. And Golvain fled, but Uvia revealed him in his hiding. And Heshu came on Golvain as he cowered and plotted his escape, for the god Golvain was still deaf from the might of Heshu’s scream, and he did not hear his mighty brother’s approach. Then Heshu had the mastery of Golvain, and sodomized him in the presence of Uvia, but did not emasculate him, knowing what a horrible crime the act was. But instead, he gave Golvain over to the men, and forced his cowed brother to serve the young men once mighty manhoods had collectively overpowered him. And Golvain served them indeed, despite his own anger and hate for them, because he knew that Heshu could overpower him again at any time.

“But, in later years, if came to pass that the scrotums and testicles of the 1000 lads began to wither and die, and Heshu’s mighty masculinity began to leave his body once more. And Heshu and Uvia and the men knew that Golvain would again have the mastery if nothing were done. So the men again sacrificed 1000 young manhoods from among them to Heshu, to renew his powers and keep him forever masculine and powerful. And to this day Heshu guards men from Golvain and insures men’s safety from the anger and wraith of the lesser god.”

Thus I ended my tale of Heshu to the lad, as I have ended it now to you. At various places around the world, 1000 young men total were hearing the same story as I related it. For it was harvest time now, and Heshu needed to be renewed once more. You probably think I am a lunatic now, just as the lad did. But I am not. If Heshu loses his power, the Council and mankind itself will fall—and everything we have built will crash to the ground. The Council knows this, even if the people of the modern world no longer believe in such ideas. But it is real, and that was why I was there with the young man. Heshu needs masculine strength—the masculine strength of 1000 lads.

I looked at the male tied before me. His eyes are wide with fear and wonderment. The story I have just told him was ridiculous of course, the ravings of a lunatic, but now he knew I was insane and could not be reasoned with. I read this in his eyes, and the fear was overwhelming. He was nude and tied to a bar I had set up in the warehouse. His arms and legs were bound to this bar, and the lad was forced into a standing position, with his arms pulled back behind him, forcing his upper body to lean backwards over the bar and his soft dangling manhood to jut out.

I knew a lot about this young man. He was not chosen at random. The Council never chooses the males to be harvested at random. The more potent the harvest, the less often it has to be preformed. The last harvest was particularly disappointing, being that it was only 22 years ago. A good harvest can sometimes last as long as 55 years, but on average they last about 30. They say it was longer in olden days, but that the potency of human manhood has waned as time went on. Each young man to be harvested is studied and spells preformed my senior managers to determine his manhood and potency. This is as much a mystical question as a physical one. The spirit of a man’s masculinity is not just the sum of his sex organs, but many factors impossible to spell out completely. Some include the number of orgasms he would have had in his life if he retained his potency, the volume of seed he will produce in his lifetime, the lifetime of skills and abilities to pleasure women that he would acquire, the number of male children he would have had, etc. I received instructions to harvest the manhood of this young lad, along with a detail description of his life and habits. This information made my job easier in terms of finding him and getting him to the warehouse undetected and unknowing, but in a way it made the job of harvesting his manhood much harder. I imagine that the fathers and brothers of those first 1000 young men who unwillingly sacrificed their sacs to Heshu must have felt a similar conflict.

I checked my watch. 1:00 am. It was time to begin. I walked to the lad. He was only 18 years old, the youngest a male is illegible for the harvest. His name was Joshua Tavers, and he truly was a handsome young man. His hair was brown with just the slightest reddish tinge, and he wore it somewhat long and curly on top, shaved short around his neck. The effect gave him the look of a skater, and it was clear that he cared a lot about his appearance. His face was just filling out with the masculine look of an adult male. The last bits of baby fat were now gone from his body. His cheeks still had a few brown freckles, but most of his boyhood freckles had long since vanished during his rush of puberty. I knew a lot about Joshua. He was a kid who had gotten into a little bit of trouble—trouble with grades, trouble with pot, trouble with fights. But nothing was too sever, and the kid had not yet permanently damaged his future prospects in life. He had recently had his first success making love to a woman, thanks to one of his best friend’s slutty girlfriends. His friend had decided that it was time for his friend Josh to get laid, and his girlfriend had practically volunteered for the job. Since that first experience with a woman, he had gotten a girlfriend of his own and made love to her several times. He didn’t really lover her, but wasn’t treating her cruelly either. He was just fulfilling what his manhood drove him to achieve—pumping seed into a woman’s pussy.

But this kid Joshua had recently had a conversion of sorts. His family was always very religious, and after a recent arrest for drugs and fighting, Joshua had decided that he needed to turn his life around. He had committed himself to Christ in the mainstream Protestant tradition. He had broken up with his girlfriend, knowing in his heart he was only using her for sex and had to future in a loving relationship with her. He had stopped using pot and experimenting with other drugs. He had just put in a request to join the army, to hopefully compensate for his poor grades when it came time to apply for college. He had now matured in mind—and in body.

I looked at the young man’s body now. His face was handsome, as I have said. He obviously valued the style he was projecting, that of an active athletic young man. With his back arched over the rail, I could clearly see all the muscles of his abs; his tight slim stomach was pulled tight, his chest rose and feel with each breath. Of course, my main interest (unfortunately for this young man) was with his genitals themselves. I now evaluated his manhood as it dangled between his legs.

To be honest, I was expecting more. After all, the young man in front of me was supposed to have one of the most potent masculinity on the planet, but Joshua Tavers’ penis was decidedly not impressive. He had a large thick bush of brownish red pubic hair that stretched up in a line to his navel—his love trail, as the younger guys call it. His penis stuck out from that large bush, a circumcised little pink head with a short little pasty white shaft. It didn’t really hang so much as stick out. I said to myself in Joshua’s defense that the fear of being tied and naked in front of a complete stranger probably had shriveled his male sausage to its smallest state. But still, I would have thought one whose masculinity was potent enough to full the manhood of a god would have had a more impressive penis. (Of course, physical attributes are only part of the story of male potency, as I stated above.) But the boy’s testicles did seem to be impressively large. His sac was slightly darker than the rest of his skin tone, and long thin straggly hairs sparsely covered his hanging bag of male flesh. I could see the outline of two large oval gonads within the wrinkled hanging bag. Perhaps Joshua’s penis was not very impressive, but his testicles were definitely larger than average.

His eyes watched everything I did. They were wide with fear, his breathing quick and near panic. He was gagged at the moment, and he gave muffled cries every few minutes, as if I could understand his pleas. He had heard the story of Heshu, and had a pretty good idea of what I intended, but in the back of his mind perhaps he figured it was a joke or he could talk me out of my plan. I was about to dash that hope.

I opened the suitcase that sat next to me on the floor. I began to remove the contents and place them carefully on the dusty ground. From my bag, I retrieved the following items: the knife of Heshuium, the sleeves of Havona, and a glass bowl about the size of the average breakfast bowl. The young man didn’t know what to make of the bowl and the sleeve, but the purpose of the knife was obvious.

I placed the bowl in front of Joshua between is tied legs. I rested the knife on top of the bowl, and began to prepare the sleeves of Havona. The sleeve felt like a tub of rubber, sealed on one end, and clear. But it had properties unknown to the kind of masturbation sleeves they sell on the Internet or in adult stores. “This is a sleeve of Havona,” I told the ad. “It has very special properties. Heshu understands the sacrifice that you are making for him. After all, he was himself once emasculated. Therefore, he decreed long ago that those who make the supreme sacrifice of their manhood for his sake (and for the sake of all mankind), a special gift should be awarded them. That gift is the sleeve of Havona. From it, you will feel be able to feel what would have been the most powerful orgasm of your lives in this instant. Not just the feeling of orgasm, but the flavor of the moment that it would have taken place in, and every sensation in mind and body that you would have experienced if you had maintained your manhood up until that time.”

This was absolutely true. The sleeves of Havona are hallowed for this very purpose. Senior members of the Council applied powerful magicks to them. It is rumored that once the Council sought to improve the design of the sleeve by making the male being harvested feel the full power of all the orgasms he would have had in his life (if he had retained his manhood) in that instant. But this proved was a disaster. About a third of the males simply died of the shock of such a powerful sensation, and the harvest was practically ruined. It is rumored that this is the reason the last harvest was so weak. So the traditional sleeves would be used this harvest. The senior members of the Council for centuries have tried to produce a sleeve that would allow a harvested male to feel an orgasm later in life, after his manhood is harvested from his body. But these attempts have always failed. The harvest does not just remove the physical manhood of the male, but his spiritual manhood as well. But I should explain that to you now, just as I explained it to the lad in front of me.

“And this is the knife of Heshuium.” I held the knife up for him to see. It was a small blade, curved like a pin knife-sized scimitar. And it had a wide hook on the tip. “This is a very special knife, hallowed above all other cutting instruments. You see this hook here at the end. What I will do is rest the neck of your scrotum against this hook. And when the time comes, I will pull the knife through your flesh, severing your sac and the cords that bind your testicles to your body in a single stroke. This is painful, I can assure you. Without the pain, the harvesting is not true, and Heshu will not be able to accept your treasure. But the slice will be quick, and therefore the pain will be a shock that will subside to a dull burning within a few hours. The magicks of the knife will seal the wound where your manhood once hung, so there will be not fear of bleeding or of infection. But I must explain to you, the knife takes more than your physical testicles. The spirit of your manhood will be stolen from you, never to be recovered. No injection of hormones or modern medical cure will allow you to retain your muscle mass or your masculine hair. No little purple pill with restore your phallus to potency. Your mind will remember your lost manhood and always yearn for your departed potency and power. But you will never again desire a woman or her pussy with the burning lust that you have known up to this point in your life. You may have a burning desire for the desire of a woman, but this will merely be an echo and a hallow yearning for a manhood you know to be forever gone.

“Joshua, it is now time.” With that, I stepped in front of the lad, the knife in one hand and the sleeve in the other, the bowl setting on the ground between his tied legs. I reached up with the knife and cut his gag free from his mouth. I will not tell in detail of the screams and yells that erupted from his mouth. Such a description would not be fitting for a recounting of a harvest. I stood and endured this screaming for help, the insults hurled at my own person, because I understood why the young man was so desperate to be heard. What male would not scream if his manhood was threatened, with no hope of saving it? After several minutes of screaming for help, the lad’s voice began to give way and rasp. It seemed to sink in to him then that no one could hear and that his cries were in vain. He looked at me, his brow damp with sweat, his chest heaving from panicked breaths. He began to beg.

“Please, mister. I don’t know what your problem is or what you’re doing. But my parents will pay anything or do anything if you just let me go. This is crazy man. Don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me.”

I saw tears in his eyes then, a pleading that didn’t really become his manhood. But, as I said, who would act any differently under the circumstances, especially at 18 years old. I reached a finger into the sleeve and rubbed some of the lubricant inside on my index finger.

“I’ll do anything, just don’t mess with my stuff. I’ll kill you if you mess with me man. I will find you and kill you!”

I began to rub the pink peanut of his shriveled dick with my index finger, lubing with the clear cream that coated the inside of the sleeve. His organ felt firm, and I pressed my finger under his thick pubic bush to lube the white shaft hidden under his sex hair. The cream did its work, and Joshua was semi-erect within seconds, despite his pleading, threats, and fears.

“Don’t touch my dick man,” he said, his voice raspy from his struggles.

But within a minute, his organ was fully erect and pulsating, as if prepared by the hand of a female lover. His organ was a respectful 5.5” long and 5” around, on the small side of average, but still thick enough to bring a woman to orgasm with time and practice. Joshua’s head was somewhat short and arrow shaped, but flared powerfully out from his short thick male stalk, and it was not longer pale pink, but a deep angry purple. He no longer pleaded, just breathed audibly. I slid the sleeve of Havona over his throbbing member.

“Oh god, huuuh huuuuh huuuh,” he groaned as the slick lube of the sleeve surrounded his throbbing manhood. I pressed the thin sleeve over his member, and his hips thrust forward involuntarily to meet it. The sleeve was clear, and as I pumped it over Joshua’s erect man pole, I watched as his organ throbbed and pulsed with the friction. This skin of Joshua’s circumcised penis was tight as a drum over his steel hard rod, and I could see the small brown scar when his male organ was cut when he was an infant through the clear sleeve. I thought for a moment that this would be what his organ would look like, from the inside, when he humped it into a woman. What a strange thought that was, but then again, the cream from the sleeve of Havona was coating my hand, which was starting to tingle a little as I stroked the sleeve over his hard male prong. I looked up and saw his eyes glazed over. At the same time, my own hand began to tingle even more as the lube cream and the sleeve began to take effect.

I became aware of the experience Joshua was having—like an echo of his own thought and experience. The sleeve was taking him to another place, a place in a future that would now never happen. He was older, in his early twenties. It was his wedding night, and he was there with his bride. She was a virgin, a good Christian girl who had saved herself for the man she loved. He had not been with a woman in 3 years, since the last time his own self-restraint lapsed when an ex-girlfriend came to visit. But he loved this woman so completely, so perfectly, that he was glad it had been so long since he last tasted a woman.

My own eyes closed as the echo of Joshua’s experience washed over me. I could only imagine what the full experience must feel like, to feel the cream and the sleeve personally on your manhood and experience at that moment the most perfect sexual experience of your life. I dimly sensed Joshua lowering himself onto his bride as she tentatively touched his erect manhood. She guided him to her sex, and he gently entered her, careful to let her body adjust to the girth of his straining organ. I saw Joshua’s dime sized nipples erect as I sensed him feeling his wife’s naked breasts rubbing again his masculine chest as he humped on top of her, arms entangled, heads side by side.

“Oh baby, oh I love you,” Joshua breathly said in a deep exhale. “You feel so good.”

Joshua was now humping his hips in time with my thrusting of the sleeve. He was literally fucking my hand even as his own body experienced the true physical and emotional pleasure of his wedding night—what would have been the best fuck of his life. His plump testicles rose to his body as the soft flesh of his male sac tightened and wrinkled. His large ovals drew up, one on each side of his thick straining organ. His thick bush of brown pubic hair was damp with sweat, and the coarse curls were matted to his slim body. His body was sweating, his mouth grunting with pleasure on every third thrust. His eyes half closed, his lip kissing an unseen mouth.

As the tingling of my own hand increased, I began to feel the vision more potently, but still no where near as potent as Joshua himself was feeling it. Rather, it was like I was now seeing the vision through an open window, whereas before the window has been closed. I now sensed a little of what the lad’s bride would have felt. At least, it seemed to be those sensations—not being a woman myself; it was hard to tell. I could sense her feeling of love and fulfillment. At the same time, her body felt full and stretched—completed by the presents of a rigid male organ inside her. She felt the weight of her husband and lover on top of her, greedy and needy for the pleasure her body was providing him. I sensed the presents of his organ inside of her, like a great pressure in her body, pushing inside her with abandon, its hefty girth stretching the hole of her womanhood more than it had ever been stretched. I could tell, even from this brief touching of the bride’s mind, what a masterful lover Joshua would have been one day. His small-side of average organ not withstanding, he would have loved his wife, done anything to give her body as much pleasure as her pussy provided his. He would have been a sensitive lover, making sure as much as he could that she was fulfilled in every sex act they performed. He would become so skilled and proficient with his 5.5”x5” organ, she would consider him a Hercules. But now, it would never be.

The motion of Joshua’s body increased, and I pumped the sleeve faster and faster over his straining member. His face was a mask of pain, but I knew that it was really the strain of the amazing pleasure that was enveloping his body that caused his face to tighten and sweat. “Huuuuh, arrrggghh, huuuuuh, arrrrggghhh, ooohhh babbyyy, hhhyyyuuuuuhhhhhhhh.” Joshua arched his back sharply and thrust out his organ into the sleeve. A split second before he started to spurt, I knew that this 18 year old stud was in the midst of the most powerful orgasm he was ever to feel. His body was motionless as his organ shot rope after rope of thick white seed into the transparent sleeve. He instinctively allowed the smooth motion of my hand over the sleeve to milk to virile manhood from his body. I watched as the purple arrow head of his of his organ pulsated and throbbed as each squirt of sperm erupted from his prong. His entire male body was now dedicated to only one function—squirting out as much seed as it could into his panting and orgasming bride. And the flared mushroom helmet of his penis was the focal point of the incredible waves of pleasure that accompanied each eruption of milky white fluid. And, after the first three or four spurts, his male helmet was completely swimming in the thick load that it was spraying into the tub—just as it would have been inside his bride’s pussy. After his initial grunt of pleasure, he held his breath, and clinched his eyes closed as tight as he could. Then: “yyyyrrraaaaaaaahhuuhhuuuuuuuh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh.” His face relaxed into a picture of fulfilled exhaustion; his hips ground gently into the sleeve; his hairless sweaty chest heaved with each deep breath. Justin Tavers had just experienced the 10 seconds every male lives for—the ultimate pleasure of sexual orgasm.

The entire experience had lasted less than 10 minutes—probably about the same as most guys on their wedding night. But now it was over, and the lad started to come out of the amazingly real fantasy that had enveloped his mind. The large pool of white sperm rested at the sealed end of the sleeve—the last seed of this young man’s loins. I have to say that his load was impressive, filling the entire end of the sleeve.

I allowed his softening organ to pop free of the sleeve with a “slurp.” When his sausage popped free, the flared head racked some of his seed out of the sleeve, and it dripped between his tied legs onto the dirty floor of the warehouse.

His eyes were still closed, his face drenched with sweat. The brown tufts of hair under his tied arms dripped sweat drops onto the floor of the warehouse. I gently kneaded his plump male fruits from their tight position on either side of his deflating phallus. He didn’t seem to notice. It took only a few minutes for his balls to drop down in their sack to the more natural position. I reached for the knife and hooked it around the neck of his large dangling male fruit.

“Not so rough, baby,” he laughed to himself with a smile.

And I realized he was still partly in the vision and fantasy the sleeve had provided to him of his own lost future as a man. “Joshua, prepare yourself,” I said. He needed to be lucid and aware of what was happening for the harvest to be true.

The lad’s eyes wearily opened, as if aroused from a deep sleep. His face was still sweaty from the pleasurable ordeal of his best orgasm. But when he saw the blade hooked around his most precious family jewels, his mind shook completely free of the sleeve’s fantasy vision. “What the…. Get away from me, man. Don’t, don’t, stop.” His voice was higher pitched than when he had groaned deeply in pleasure a moment ago, but the complete affects of fear and panic had not yet overcome the physical and mental exhaustion of his orgasm.

I reached my left hand and gently cupped his dangling male fruit in my hand, to steady it. His bag was soft to the touch and sweaty from his orgasm. The crown of brown hairs that ringed the neck of his scrotum (around the sides and right under his softening penis) was matted to the soft warm flesh of his male bag. The hairs and the darker skin tone of his scrotum gave his manhood a mature look. This was truly a young man newly come into his full maturity and manhood. His shrinking penis still dribbled with the load of virile seed it had pumped only moments ago. His bag of hanging fruit was large in my hand—and seemed to be even larger given the somewhat diminutive size of his phallus. I could feel the twin orbs of his manhood inside his loose bag like two hard, firm marbles held in a soft velvet pouch. Everything was ready. All I had to do was wait until the precise moment…

Joshua began to struggle then, feebly at first, but with more vigor every moment that passed. “Please, man, please man, don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me down there. I don’t know what your deal is. Let me go and we will figure it out together.” I adjusted me grip on hid dangling testicles, which were difficult to hold steady as he struggled. “Uurggghhhhhhh!” He cried as a particularly violent lurch caused me to squeeze his sensitive manhood harder than I intended. But he didn’t stop struggling. He twisted his strong masculine frame this way and that, but the bonds held tight. The beads of sweat that had formed on his smooth muscled skin now ran down his sleek body in streaks and fell onto the warehouse floor as little droplets. He strained the muscles of his neck as he struggled, making the tendons stand out; the veins on his arms were prominent as he pulled against his bonds with all his male might. But all resistance was in vain. The moment had come.

“The moment had come,” I said.

“Let go of my fuckin balls or I’ll fuckin kill you, you crazy bastard!” he cried. I ignored him and gripped his vulnerable organs a little tighter. “Uuurrrghhhhh, noooooo, noo, pleeeazzzeee, not my balls, oh god, not my nuts… oh god, no, you can’t do this, no, no, no, pleeeaaassseeeee.

And at the stroke of 1:15 a.m., I jerked my right hand—and the knife it held—in a single sudden slice forward. Joshua Tavers’ large bag of dangling male fruit came free from his body as easily as a pear plucked from a tree. “Aaaaauuuuuuuggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh, huuuuuuuuuuhhhh, Auuuuuuugggghhhhhhhh gggoooooohhhhhdddddd!” the gelded lad screamed out, the muscles of his chest and stomach rippling as he heaved. I can only imagine what he felt in that moment, as the cords and sack of him manhood were ripped from underneath his body. The pain must have shot from his groin up into his very soul, an unimaginable that signaled the end of his eighteen years as a human male. For the rest of his life, he would be a neutered nothing.

I pulled it free with my left hand, and held it up to inspect. The sac was totally sealed at the neck, as was the wound under his shriveled little penis, no nestled among the forest of brown sex hair as if trying to hide from sight. I held the bag of balls up for Joshua to see. His tired swimming eyes seemed to focus on it, but it is hard to tell if he was truly aware of anything at that moment except for the searing emptiness that was radiating up from his emasculated groin. “Heshu thanks you for your sacrifice, young one. This organs which have been harvested from you will serve him well as one 1000th of his holy manhood,” I said in a practiced cadence. The boy’s head just hung dropped to his chest and hung limply then, the bonds holding his tortured body up and preventing him from collapsing at once.

I knew that he was no longer conscious, and I gently used the knife of Heshuium to cut his bonds free. Then I laid him down on the ground, his nude back and butt resting on the dusty floor of the warehouse. His face was sweaty, his hair matted to his forehead. But his closed eyes were serene. He looked like a strong male lover, rolled over off of his mate after pumping her with his seed, and drifted gently to a satisfied sleep. Perhaps this was the final work of the sleeve’s magick. Perhaps this is how he would have looked on his wedding night, sleeping peacefully next to his sleeping, satisfied, (and no longer virginal) wife. I arranged his hands over his chest and straightened his legs. Already I could see a change in his being. Perhaps the sleeve’s magick was still affecting me as well, because it seemed to me that his body shrank, not physically, but spiritually. I saw a brief vision of his muscles wasting, the curly course hairs under his arms and on his groin thinning and following out, his impotent penis shrinking and shriveling to a tiny useless numb sticking from his bald crotch. He seemed to my eyes to be in that moment a weak and harmless eunuch, devoid of sexual desire and potency, less than a woman, less than a little boy—a sexless nothing. But swiftly the vision passed and I beheld again the form on the ground as it then was—a strong 18-year-old body, now emasculated in mind and body, just starting its decent from strong sexy stud to gelded steer.

I dropped the harvested manhood in the bowl and placed it in the suitcase. This morning I would deliver it to the drop-off point. And tomorrow, the sorceries of the senior members of the Council would send it—along with the 999 other loose and severed sacks of young gelded males—into the ethereal plan, to dangle from the body of a god for 30 years.

THE END

Any comments or suggestions are very welcome.

Email me at [email protected], or message my Yahoo IM account: jjdov26