Byzantium 6: Part 2- Like Bellowing Bull Calves

A continuation of the story of four youth being gelded by a 
castrator for hire. Part Three will follow the adventures of one of 
them.

By the author of the Byzantium stories, SS Research Unit, Gelding 
the Boy Herd and Cut Boy.

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As I moved behind the Slav, I knew that he would be brought by a man 
who would use him for a bedmate. Sometimes you can tell. It was just 
the shape of the clean lines of his rear, the long, slim legs, that 
back and the toss of blond hair on his nape. He too was almost 
humping the bar desperately in his effort to escape me. I watched 
the clenching of his pale buttocks for a moment from the side. I 
could also see his prick length, stiff along his stomach, its 
pointed head thrusting forward towards the hard wood of the bar. 
Standing behind him I reached around and rubbed his prick for a 
moment. It fitted nicely into my hand and as he struggled it moved 
back and forth there. 

It was a simple matter to grab his rounded ball-sac and as I did so 
the he shot his load. I could see the convulsion of his muscles in 
his rear as he spat out the last sperm he'd ever spurt. He was easy 
to cut too, in spite of all his movement. The knife slid into his 
soft sac easily and I cut round his ball as easy as one would cut 
into a plum.

He slumped into a faint after I cut the first ball and the second 
was easier still between his now relaxed thighs. Then he too was 
emptied of his manhood.

As I looked towards the Italian slave, I met his eye. He was turning 
his head to see me. His eyes were wide but there was an element of 
hatred for me in them. The gag bit tight into his mouth. He too was 
humping away at the bar but his motions were sturdy and hard. I 
checked the stakes to which his ankles were tied but they were 
holding tight. His stiff prick too was just visible as I approached, 
jutting back and forth beneath his belly with the movement he could 
muster. It seemed to be a heavier length and not just a boyish pole. 

As I finally stood behind him, his rear was open. His well-muscled 
buttocks were a soft pale white. Between them his asshole surrounded 
by a clutch of new dark hair was exposed to the air. I followed that 
trickle of hair down between his legs to where his balls hung. His 
thighs too were just beginning to be streaked with hair. As I stood 
over him his motion increased and I could hear his gagged breath 
ragged and stressed..

I moved one hand to his belly and grasped that prick. He was thick 
and he wormed within my grasp. I could feel the power of his thrust 
there and knew then, somehow, how he would have entered the girl to 
whom he had been put. I tightened my still-wet fist and could feel 
his prick-head slip through it. His eyes squeezed tight above his 
gag. 

I pulled away my hand. This seemed to be a signal to him to renew 
his struggle and he tugged and twisted at the ropes which spread out 
his legs and stretched forward his arms. The two ends of the thong 
that tied his balls swayed back and forward between his legs.

'Come on, be a man,' I said with a tone of contempt. 'Are you just 
going to wriggle there like a little boy? Take your fate like a 
man.'

For a moment, he continued to try and evade the knife, but then he 
stiffened his legs and became still. I could see him biting down on 
the gag with all his force with his eyes screwed shut. His rear was 
pushed out towards me. His thighs were taut as he held that 
position.

'I'll be quick,' I said and reached down and took his heavy nuts in 
my left hand, pulling them out towards me so the length of his prick 
faced down to the cracked clay. The sun went behind a cloud again 
and the whole courtyard took on that drear air of neglect and 
abandonment again. His thighs strained with the tension. 

I pulled up the knife and paused for a moment. Sometimes it was a 
pity to geld them. I had no say in the matter though and was merely 
doing my job. I point the point of the knife onto his sac just above 
his right ball, paused there then pushed it in. The tip of the knife 
easily entered and then his hold of his limbs broke and he squirmed 
and shuddered as I cut downwards, all his actions merging with the 
fact that he then spurted, the big thick drops of white semen 
scattering on the dust. 

His ball when I squeezed it through the skin was mature, not like 
the others. I cut through the cord and it dropped to the ground to 
roll there for a moment amidst the spots of semen. Then it was the 
other ball. Often, at this moment, having taken one from them, I 
think that their manhood could still be saved, if I only stopped 
there. But no-one was going to order me to do so and I would gain no 
thanks from my employer by doing it.

I positioned his balls again. He was tossing his head to and fro and 
I could hear the muffled sound of his crying out through his gag. I 
positioned the knife again and reluctantly slit the other side of 
his sac. He hitched himself and heaved against the second stroke  
but it did not change anything. His last ball was soon hanging 
outside his sac and I finally severed it.

It was if he knew that it was done because he slumped down, his head 
fallen forward and his legs bowing with his weight. I patted him on 
the buttocks, between which the empty sac now hung.

'That was good,' I said, 'You did well.'

The slaves were untied from their bonds and supported over to the 
pallets where my own slaves washed and bandaged them. 

It was three weeks later that I saw the Italian slave again. I like 
to see how much slaves I have gelded fetch in the market. He was 
standing there naked in a group of youths his own age. He was the 
only eunuch. While the balls of the other youths were round beneath 
their pricks, his own sac was obviously empty. You could sense his 
shame as he stood there in the hot sunlight before the gaze of 
prospective buyers. He saw me then and I saw his face tighten and he 
turned away from me with a faint resurgence of pride. 

He was examined by several men. He would be taken to the back and 
made to spread his legs so they could check he was truly cut. Then 
they would check his body and those with an interest in him would 
probe his ass to feel its tightness. When he was auctioned, he 
fetched nearly 500 silver pieces, probably four times as much as he 
would have sold for if he still had his balls. I knew his purchaser 
faintly.

'He one of yours?' his buyer asked me after I had greeted him.

'Yes,' I said, 'I did him a few weeks ago'

He nodded. 'He's well cut. '

His new owner operated one of the best of the city's male brothels.

'He'll be good,' he said, 'once he has learned to take it. Gelded 
they're no problem. I'll have him out earning for me in a few days.'

Unaware of the conversation, the Italian slave stood there naked in 
the sunlight, his smooth chest sweating, his well-shaped buttocks 
pale against his darker tan, his thick prick dangling there, his sac 
already high up and empty, his life forever changed.