A Slaves Induction

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A Slave's Induction

Ch 15 - Movie day

The Boss could have put a gun to his head once the garage door was shut, but he loved playing with his prey much like a cat with a mouse. His acquisition of me was a similar illustration of his "player" mentality. He had the wherewithal to do these things, and he was pleased to entertain himself, by his use of human chess pieces, if you will. He fucked the mind as well as the body, and would not have been happy having one, without the other.

He liked his prey to walk voluntarily into the trap & right up to the trip wire before it was sprung so-to-speak. So the idea was, to help the actor relax, when he was brought in, and I was rehearsed toward that end - put him at ease in a "green room setting, before going on set," was the idea. As he entered, I was to shake his hand warmly and welcome him in. The Boss wanted me to be completely casual, friendly, offer him a drink and to exchange small talk. I was even to sit on the furniture with him, something I had never done in the Boss' house.

Bill brought him in from the garage. He was a handsome, muscled, thirty-five, with a scruffy short beard, and short hair. The introduction was purposefully one sided, only his name was used, not mine. He didn't want the victim to have as much as one name, so later he could be made to feel even more stupid for walking into the trap, "This is John," Bill said, as he and I shook hands, "He's here for the $1000 walk on part. Bill reached into his pocket and brought out some fresh hundred-dollar bills as he was speaking, to get John focused on the money, and distract him. He fanned out five bills and held on to them, and as John watched the money, Bill spoke about what he called the standard wavers, to be signed. He loved this part, and to a man, had never had anyone bother to read past the first paragraph of the contract, which was designed to discourage further reading than that into the two page document. The wording buried in those two pages, spelled out specifically, any atrocities they would be exposed to as likely scenarios. They always included, relinquishing of human rights, (including the right to life,) being used, and trained as slaves, being pierced and marked, as deemed appropriate by their owners, unconditional service to their Owners and Masters, as bought and sold property, being tortured and contained according to their Master's whim, and being castrated by testicle removal, or fully nullified, by removal of all genitalia.

"It's just stuff they make us have u sign John, so we don't get into trouble hiring minors and the like. So -" he said, presumptively pointing to the initial line bottom of the first page, "If you'll just initial here -" He held his finger by the line as John picked up the pen and scribbled his initials, " -and sign here -" Bill flipped to the second page and held his finger at the signature line while actually obscuring the page of print by how he held the money. H continued his distracting words, "We can give you your money and get rolling. "Go ahead," he said, "and stick these in your pocket for safe keeping." John - all too happily - reached for the money and stuffed it in his pants. "We'll take care of the balance when you're done here. John couldn't possibly have understood what he would go through before he was done here. "And one other thing," Bill said casually. "I'll need your drivers license, as proof of age and identity. Sorry for all the official shit but -"

"Sure," John said, as he pulled out his wallet, and fished out his i.d. for Bill. "No problem." Bill's finger was still holding the place for John's signature. John picked up the pen again, and signed both his manhood, and his life, for that matter, away, without so much as a cursory reading of the document. Of course it might not have held up in court, but it would go a long way toward him blaming himself for his plight, which was the only effect Bill cared about.

Bill picked up the papers and put the license with the signed document as he spoke. "I'll just go copy this stuff." Then without a break long enough for a response, "So, before I leave you boys, show us what you have there. You said you had big cock and balls. We need that. That's what sells. You'll need to be naked in the opening shot, so just go ahead and undress now. Your stuff will be safe here. We'll give you a towel, and you can go down to the set shortly while I take this stuff to the office.

As John stripped off his shirt and T-shirt and laid them on the sofa, Bill's cock stiffened in his pants at the thought of his love of the game. He liked sucking his victims in so deep, without them ever having a shred of knowledge as to who he was, or what was happening to them. So far John was filling the bill. He knew neither Bill's nor my name, didn't know what was in the contract he'd signed, and the only money he had received was in his pocket, from where it would be retrieved later. Bill was the penultimate confidence man, and a pro at it.

The Master would choose and stalk his victim. They would be approached anonymously, and in confidence, about making an underground movie that paid $500 up front, and $500 more after only an hour or so of "acting." If they agreed, he would have them tailed and investigated by his well-paid private dick, for any and all personal information. Only when he was sure they were likely candidates for being snatched, did he continue pursuance of the contact. A week or so later, at the appointed time and at a clandestine place of his choosing, they would be picked up in a stolen car with stolen plates - just in case they were seen getting into the vehicle - and were brought here. They never knew Bill's identity, or where he lived, or anything about where they were going.

John continued his private striptease, unaware he was already Bills property, and Bill watched, unable to resist just a moment of condescension -- commencement of the object's dehumanization, "I'd forgotten what a pretty thing you are."

"Thanks," John said, accepting what he interpreted a compliment.

As he unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants. Bill followed with a query, "Ever done this before?"

"Once," John responded, as he bent down and unlaced his work boots and removed them, "I jerked off on cam for a guy one time." His Sox got stuffed into his boots, as hidden cameras rolled. He'd been "on cam," as he'd put it, since the moment he'd gotten into the stolen car. He unzipped his Levi's and lowered them down his hairy legs to the floor, exposing the promise of good things to come, in over stuffed white Jockey's. Then with a cocky assuredness, he put thumbs in the waistband of his briefs and lowered them exposing himself in all his masculine glory, "Will this work for ya?" he asked, pausing for a moment before they too got pushed down his hairy legs and removed.

"Yep." Bill said. They'll work just fine," referring without John's understanding, to just the large low hanging nuts. He asked John to make himself half hard, and hold his cock up to display the balls, which he did readily. "Well, you said they were large. You didn't lie. Shoot big loads do they?" Bill asked. He got an affirmative answer before a second question, one more prophetic than John could ever have known, "Wanna shoot one more with them, but for us?" He couldn't in his wildest, have imagined that, "one more," and only one more, would be "it," for these beauties.

"Sure. I can do that," he answered quickly.

"Well, I'll leave you two," Bill said, "So you can get organized before you go down to the set." He put his hand on the doorknob, and finished as he opened the door. "The whole thing may only take an hour, nothing to it. And you'll have a hot bitch suckin' and ridin' you man. It'll be the easiest money you ever made," he assured the soon-to-be gelding, and left the room.

I got my "costar" a drink, as hidden cameras rolled, and we sat on the couch, which felt strange to me, after months of no furniture. He asked if he could smoke a cigarette. I gave him a light and got him an ashtray. I liked the feeling of being dressed, and him naked before me. I was thinking to myself, how strangely good I was feeling about the whole thing, actually.

I was to put him at ease and shoot the shit for a bit, as Bill wanted a sense of my gaining his confidence, to be part of the story line, before the supposed start of the filming. We talked briefly about his short stint in the army and his discharge, his new hybrid car. He was a construction worker, so we talked about his job. I introduced the topic of bisexuality. He said, while he'd had a couple of experiences with men sucking him, that the women were what he really liked. He said he loved watching his cock going in and out of cunts, and shooting his loads inside them. I told him he was going to really enjoy his sexy lady costar.

Then I told him we really should talk about the movie and get going. My words here, were pretty much scripted by the Boss to include exactly what he wanted in the dialog -- or at least my part of it, "Ok," I said, "So, as you know, this is a light S and M, sex explicit video. At the opening scene, you will already be tied down to a table. Don't worry it wont be tight, just tight enough for the camera. I'll be the one tying you down, so I'll check with you when I'm tying you, if it's too tight. It only has to look good," I told him, "But it can't be real loose, or it will be a give away. It has to be as convincing as possible, but it has to meet regulations, so for instance, if you're tied, she can only tease you. Legally, for sex, you would need

to be untied." I spent enough time on the bondage aspect to get him relaxed about it. "So this pretty young lady comes to save you and set you free, but she teases you first. She'll get you hard, if you aren't already, and she'll play with your cock and balls. She'll get a little rough with them. You ok with a little pain?" I asked, expressing feigned concern for his being comfortable. "It has to look good."

He said he was pretty tough. "Show me," I said, "Give me an idea what your balls can take so I can coach her. Pretend the cameras are rolling." They were of course, unknown to him, "Grab your balls in one hand, and rough them up with the other, you know, slap them around and such." He took his balls in his hand and I interrupted him. I reached for them myself, moving his own hand out of the way, "No. Hold them like this." I wrapped my hand around his scrotum and forced them in the bottom of the sack. They WERE big. He was delightfully uneasy, but didn't presume to object with the source of that $500 already in his pocket, and more to come.

"Go ahead," I said presumptuously, "I'll hold them. You work them over. Give `em all you can, so I can see how tough you are." He slapped them around a little. "That it?" I asked, not letting go of them. He looked at me and at his balls in my hand. He took a deep breath, and held it, and pounded on them with a considerable showing. "Ok, that's better," I said, satisfied he had given it a better effort. I believed Bill was going to love seeing this. I let go of the still warm, still attached, formidable-by-any- man's-standards, nuts, and couldn't keep from fast forwarding in my mind.

"So," I sat back and continued, "She'll get you all riled up before she unties you and rides your dick. From there you two will just fuck and the camera will be there to catch the action. It's real easy. Sound good? Are you ready Mr. Movie Star?" I asked him. And then to keep it light, "You know, this is how some of the big names got their start." As I opened the door to head for the basement, Nick was there with a camera on his shoulder. He said the Boss wanted him to follow us down, and get some prep footage - just to be sure the camera was working good. Truth was, the Boss didn't want even the walk to the cellar to be missed on camera. So I said it was fine, and Nick tagged along sometimes preceding the naked man, and sometimes following, getting shots from every angle of the hot, naked, soon-to-be movie star -- even close ups of his big balls bouncing side to side as he walked.

We entered the Movie Room, where another camera greeted us and pulled back. The Boss was to one side in a tall directors chair, relaxing, and sipping on a beer. John looked around, "Where's the bitch, man?" he asked. I told him not to worry, that everything was under control and she'd be along. Nick's camera was rolling, and the other roving camera, was manned by someone I hadn't seen before. Then, there were a couple of ceiling mounted, stationary cameras. I had not seen the set. There was a table that looked essentially like a black padded St Andrews cross about 30 inches off the floor. Except, it had a padded headrest area too.

The Boss decided he wanted his hands on the pretty victim I had just brought into his lair, so-to-speak. He was used to "hands on," in these situations, and wanted just a little of it to start out, so he would change things up a little to get it.

"Ok boys, a little change for the opening," he said. In stead of opening with u tied down John, I want you brought, looking drunk, and drugged, into frame, and thrown onto the table, and tied down on camera." He got up from his chair and walked toward the lighted area. "Let me show you guys what I mean," he said, presuming to lead John out of the lights by his cock and balls. He got behind the unaware actor, and took a moment to feel his nicely muscled body and to make a side comment to his actor, "You're perfect for this part," he said, as he massaged and felt the attractive naked form with complete familiarity. "Ready to be the victim," he asked. As John responded in the affirmative, Bill put his big hairy muscled arm around John's neck, and drug him into the lights, and up to the table, literally kicking and resisting the attack. Bill relished at choking the naked man in the crux of his big hairy arm till he complained, "Man that's a little too rough maybe." At that, he essentially lifted John off his feet, and slammed him down on the table as cameras rolled from all the right angles to protect Bill's identity.

Bill held John to the table by his neck and told me to get him tied down. John pulled at Bill's hands, fighting to breathe and struggling to speak. Bill looked into his eyes, and threatened, "If you want to breathe, cooperate! Spread your arms and legs." Immediately, John complied, as I buckled ankle and wrist restraints, securing his limbs. "Very good," Bill said to John, patting him firmly, almost affectionately, on the face, and walking back to his chair. He had satisfied his need to connect physically with his new, naked, still unaware property and star, before it became mindful of its plight.

I applied additional security to his elbows, and knees, diminishing their movement, and he spoke out. "Hey man. Take it easy. You said light." As he complained, I ignored him. I worked a body belt under him and around his waist, cinching it up pretty tight as well, and secured it by its big loops to the sides of the cross/ table. Now his torso could not move very much either. "This is too much," John complained. "I didn't bargain for all this. You said it wouldn't be rough. I can't do this. You have to let me go. I'll give you your money back, and I'll just go."

I said I'd get his money in just a minute - that I just wanted to check on his hands and feet. I went to the hand I had secured first, and tightened the binding. I moved to the second one getting a little louder complaint, "What are ya doing man? Untie me. Everything's too tight. You said it only had to look good." As I went to the foot of the table, and did one foot, he was speaking louder, "Naaa man. You said loose. It's all too tight! I've changed my mind! I'll give you your money back. I wanna go! NOW!" he demanded, pulling and wiggling violently at all his "too tight," bonds.

"Ok, Ok," I said. "Relax, Relax. First things first." Bill threw John's clothes into the lighted area, boots and all, with a thud. I walked over to where they landed and picked up his pants. I brought them back to the table, "Which pocket is the money in," I asked, holding them up in front of him. He told me, and I reached in, and pulled out the crisp hundreds he had just stowed away as his "first installment" for the movie.

I held it up in front of the detainee. "So you want to give this back?" I held it out so Bill's hand could be seen coming into frame to take it, "Here Sir," I said. "This is yours. John doesn't feel right about keeping the money. Besides, the contract makes no mention of payment - Right John?" I asked. And before he could answer, I did it for him, "Oh. Right. You didn't read the contract..."

I looked back at the chump on the table and admonished him. "You seem in a strange position to be making demands."

Immediately he changed his tune, "I'm sorry man. I didn't mean that to sound like it did. I'm just really not ready for this. It's a little too much and too real. You have the money, just please untie me so I can go?"

"What would we do here?" I asked. "We're all set to film. Everything's ready, camera's lights, you on the table -" Sweating and starting to panic, the star began to plead, "Please man. I could go and find you another actor and bring someone back right away. I don't want to hold you up. This just isn't for me." I told him it wasn't easy to find someone willing to be tied up, that he was the fourth one who had been approached, that the others all didn't want to risk it. "They were all afraid once we had them tied down, we might take advantage of them. Can you imagine?" I asked him.

John's look was of terror and worry as he heard me speak and he pleaded, "No man. Please let me go. Please man?" He promised, of course, not to say anything to any one. He pulled and tugged futilely at his bonds as he pleaded, "Please! Please! Please man, no! Please let me go man!" He adjusted his terminology more to suit the circumstances. "Sir? Mister?" He waited for me to acknowledge him, as I walked into the darkness in silence. I retrieved a rolling stainless tray-table full of things, to be used for the production, and rolled it into the lights, as he watched it being pushed into his view.

He stared at the collection of ominous and threatening looking things approaching, and began a string of pleas, questions, and objections, strung together in no particular order. They were interspersed with outright hollers at the top of his lungs, to try and get someone's attention, someone who might help him. He yelled, and while he yelled, alternately looked at the implements and then turned away from them, not wanting to see them, hoping somehow, not looking at them, would make them disappear.

It was my time in the plot, to undress, and as I began, John closed his eyes to which he was scolded and warned. When I finished exposing my well-honed, hard-worked body to the cameras, I licked my fingers, ran them up through my bubble cheeks across my asshole, and put them to John's nose. As he turned away, I warned him again, "Do that, and I'll make you eat the next thing that comes out of my ass." I spit again on my fingers. This time I stuck one IN my asshole, and moved it sensuously around for the camera. I pulled it out, and put it again to John's face, but this time I inserted it in his left nostril. I pulled it out, and stuck it in his mouth, and used his spit to lube it up -- back in my ass, and then into his right nostril. I worked up a lunger, and spit it right onto his nose, and used my slime, to fuck each nostril, while he sniffed my spit and inhaled air smelling of my butt.

Humiliating nose fucking exercise finished, I got between John's outstretched legs. I gathered his low hangars in the bottom of their sack with one hand, and wrapped the gathered scrotal skin with a long strip of thin soft suede leather. I repeatedly wound the long, inch and a half wide strip around the sack, till it was used up, leaving enough to tie the ends together. The effect was a ball stretcher just as long and as tight as was necessary, to keep the sizeable nuts imprisoned in the bottom of their sack, away from the warmth of his body. And while soft, the wrapping would have been practically strong enough, to lift the weight of his midsection by his balls if I so chose.

"These are great," I said. I held his firm, round, nuts in my hands, a thumb poised against each one. "As I remember, they're pretty tuff too." I pressed into them, lightly at first, wanting to ascertain the answer to that question first hand. I slowly increased the pressure, till there were no more words coming from John's mouth, just loud noises.

"Not bad," I hollered . "Fairly tuff." I released the pressure, and John's noise came down to a manageable decibel level, before words returned, with a repertoire having to do with, what had he done to me. When I assured him he had done nothing, his idle curiosity changed to, why I was doing this to him.

"Too many questions," I said, as I reached over to the tray and picked up a small ball gag. It was just large enough to keep speech at pointless garble, without filling his mouth and prohibiting air. As he saw it coming, he spoke quickly. He managed to get out, "P-l-e-a-s-e. I'm sorry Sir," just before I shoved it into his mouth, worked the strap behind his neck, and buckled it into place. I told him that was the first acceptable thing he'd said. Judging by the 4 same vowel sounds being garbled, he seemed to be repeating it.

Some of what I did and said, were the Boss's requirements that I had been well rehearsed for. The rest was up to me, and how I adlibbed and performed, would be graded by the Boss. The next bit was required. I held his balls in one hand lightly playing with them. He'd stopped hollering, and was trying extra hard to say something clearly enough to be understood. But no amount, of exaggerated enunciation, was going to make that possible. As I was reaching for the tray I stopped and felt his beautiful hairy leg. As I fondled it I spoke in an overly serious tone and caressed his balls in my other hand.

"If I were to let you go, would you promise not to shoot any more of the juice from these balls into another cunt, like you said you love to do?" And I added for effect, "Not even one?" I squeezed gently as noises that were obviously words, began to spew forth from around his lingual obstruction, and his head nodded up and down - up and down. Reluctantly, I pealed my hand from the hot hairy leg, reached over to the tray, and picked up two 3 ML syringes. They were like the ones stuck in me twice a week, for the last four months. I picked up an unlabeled injection vile of clear liquid.

Right before his eyes, I removed one of the needle shields with my teeth, and there were new noises. I stuck the needle through the rubber cap of the vile and drew fluid out of the bottle till the syringe was full. I capped it, laid it down and did the same with the other hypo before returning the bottle to the tray.

His mouth was going a mile a minute. I told him how glad I was that I had gagged him, so as not to have to hear, "all those words." He calmed down, only after I threatened him with the removal of his cock, if he didn't shut up. Then I held one needle up, and gave him the story the Boss wanted him to hear.

As rehearsed, I told him I didn't believe his promise not to use the balls, and I was going to make sure he couldn't. The fluid was only saline, and would do nothing to his balls but make them ache, mostly from 3 milliliters of salty volume. But he would be made to believe, that it was something that would kill them in the sack - that they would be rendered sterile right away, and it would take a month or so for them to whither, and shrivel up. His options were, either the injections, or having them cut out. It was going to be up to him to decide.

I told him he would have 30 seconds without the gag, to politely ask for which ever he wanted, and that if he didn't choose, I would choose for him. I went for the strap on the gag and as I unbuckled it, I put the question to him, "So. Which will it be?" I pulled the ball out of his mouth wet with his slobber, and he began to plead. "Please Mister? Please Sir? Please don't..." I cut him off, reminding him there was precious little time, and he was using it up.

"Tell me NOW!" I yelled, and brought the gag just above his mouth as if I was putting it back. Startled into announcing his choice, he spoke the words quickly, "Inject them!" he hollered. Impatiently, I told him to rephrase and do it politely. I said I wanted to be sure he understood what he was asking for. He did so with utter defeat in his voice, "Please Sir, destroy my balls with the needles."

The gag was pushed immediately back into position, even as he was speaking the last word, distorting the end of it. I took the nuts in my left hand and held them up in his view. I removed the needle shield with my teeth and brought the needle down toward the nut. He started to get noisy, and I asked if he'd like to keep his dick. He went silent, and watched me insert the needle into the tender nut, and push it down through his testicle till it would go no further. He winced and closed his eyes.

"You better keep those eyes open!" I threatened. I left the first hypodermic sticking straight up out of the right testicle and went for the left one. I took the shield off the second hypo with my teeth, and put the needle to the nut. As I pushed slowly into the big ball, I looked at him, not at what I was doing. I realized watching the look on his face - I was hard as a rock, as I pushed till it would go no further, him believing his nuts were in the process of being destroyed.

I held the balls up with the syringes both buried to the hilt and sticking out of his manhood and played with him a little further, "Ok, we'll start with the right one, I said. "Are you ready?" Afraid not to indicate he was, he shook his head up and down. I pushed the plunger, slowly emptying a third of the volume into the nut. He writhed, but kept eyes on the action and stayed mostly quiet. I told him we wanted to be sure to, "Get the whole thing," is the way I phrased it. So I withdrew the needle, and reinserted it in a fresh location.

"Now the left one," I said. "I'll let you tell me when you're ready." You could see he was almost unable to process the suggestion to initiate the destruction of what he was believing was his only surviving nut. I decided to let him take his time. In about thirty seconds, and preceded by a break in his emotions, as tears streaked down his cheeks, he shook his head up and down one time.

He watched me plunge a third of the contents of what he saw as the cylinder of death, deep into his manhood, and relocate the syringe. Three separate times, in three different locations, in each nut, I repeated what he believed to be the death-knell for his manhood.

I walked around by the tray and put the needles down before going near John's head. I wiped the sweat off his brow and offered him some water, which he gladly accepted. I leaned on my elbow, and played in his sweaty chest hair. I ran my fingers through his open armpits, and wiped the sweat under my nose, "You smell good," I said. I couldn't be sure, but I think he thanked me for the compliment. As I played with his sweat, I presumed complete familiarization with his naked form. I was tender in my words and tone, to try to make him feel good, because I was about to drop the boom so-to-speak.

"Listen," I said. "I was just fucking with you with the needles." He looked puzzled and almost hopeful. I walked to the tray and moved things around, as if rearranging things for rearranging sake, just a "busy exercise," playing with the objects. "That was only sterile water I injected into your balls." I kept playing on the tray and let him grapple for a while with the good news, and reach for hope. "It was funny seeing you ask to have your balls destroyed in the sack." I'm sure he couldn't have found anything less humorous, than what he'd just been through.

"There may be ways to destroy them in the sack," I finally continued, "but I don't know of them. Just letting them shrivel would be easier for sure. No," I said with a sigh, "the only way I know of, to make sure you don't use them, is to remove them." You could see his hope diminishing, but it was not dashed completely, until the last two words, "remove them." I let him tug at his inescapable bonds, and make all the noise he wanted. I went to his head and wiped the sweat from it, and then got between his outstretched legs. I turned around and leaned my backside against his crotch and played with his leg hair with my right hand and rubbed my denuded bush area with my left, looking at my rock hard-on, wishing I could stroke it.

As I looked over at Bill, he gave me "a thumbs up," on how I was doing, and motioned that I could go ahead and play with myself. I thanked him with exuberance, and leaned there against John, doing what I had been missing for months. It felt so amazingly good. The sense of power I had over this man was intoxicating me. I closed my eyes, and drifted almost into a sate of trance, as I felt my victim struggling and listened to his sounds.

The scenario Bill had required with the needles meant John would, in essence, have to go through his loss twice. It was a brilliant plan, and I was completely turned on to it. Something was connecting within me, and what I had been dreading, was now becoming something I WANTED to do. Before, I couldn't imagine really cutting someone open to remove his manhood. Now in my mind, I was seeing myself going through the motions, and jerking off to the vision -- feeling those practice sessions on the chicken skin about to become real.

I looked over to see the Boss whispering something to Nick with a very pleased look on his face. Before, I had been identifying somewhat with the victim, even harboring a wish that I didn't have to do this. That sense of identification was going away, and being replaced by a feeling of satisfaction, and even completion of my purpose, that the Master was being pleasured by what I was doing.

I played with myself almost to orgasm several times, listening to the cries of the soon-to-be gelding. Beyond "almost reaching orgasm," though, was not a part of the enjoyment I was being permitted. Even getting close, though, was like a little bit of heaven, after so long not being allowed to touch myself. My cock had always been my favorite toy, even as a young child, and rarely did a day in my life pass, that I didn't jerk off.

I turned around and faced my noisy friend. I grabbed a hold of his balls - and like before - dug my thumbs into them hard. He yelped and then paused in response to my release of the pressure. "Ok," I said. "That's enough. I let you get it out of your system." I dug in again unmercifully, and shouted over his screams. "From now on, I want you quiet unless I'm hurting you! LIKE NOW!" I yelled, "GOT IT?" I dug in - he hollered - I released and he shook his head quickly up and down, and all I heard was belabored and breathless panting, and then another sheepish nod of the head accompanied with a wide eyed look of terror in his eyes with a couple of garbled syllables, probably, "Yes Sir."

What I had done to balls in my most grandiose fantasies of ball torture, I was discovering, could not compare with the reality of what I was experiencing here and now. The reality of control I had over this man, was to an extreme I'd never even considered. It was absolute, and it was as compelling, and as alluring, as anything I could have imagined. While he and I were both pawns in my Master's game, and world - and while I was sure my victim would have chosen to be anywhere but here, I on the other hand, was feeling like there was no place I'd rather be, and nothing I'd rather be doing.

My charge laid there completely at my Master's mercy, with me as His enforcer. Truth be known, we were both at the Master's mercy, just in different rolls. I was glad I wasn't on that table, but in point of fact, all that would have to take place for me to be there, for and my victim to be wielding the knife to MY balls, would be the Boss's decision to make it so. This was his realm, his world, where he reigned supreme. I had no more choice about taking the manhood in front of me, than my victim had, about giving it up. It was my job to please and satisfy the Boss, in the roll he'd chosen for me to play.

For training purposes, I'd been shown a number of castration videos repeatedly. Some were medical procedures with sterile rooms, doctors, gowns, and the whole nine yards. Some were primitive "cutting" scenes, with crude utensils, and anything but sterile looking surroundings. One wondered how long after the operation a hefty infection would have set in, or if maybe the victim was disposable, and it mattered not. I had practiced cutting on chicken skin, but this would be the first time I would actually cut into the flesh of a man. Though it didn't have the look of an operating theater, the light was appropriately bright, and things were in fact fairly sterile. The Boss was looking for a clean job, with little or no after effects. Antibiotics would be administered as well, to stave off the possibility of infection. From what had been discussed about John in my company, a clean procedure would be necessary. He was to be sold to someone wanting a straight gelding.

I reached for latex gloves and pulled one, then a second, from a box full of them. Frantically, John pulled at his bonds. He watched, with those terror filled eyes, as I gloved up directly in his line of sight, and addressed the matter of being careful, "We don't want any infection if we can avoid it," I said, snapping the first glove into final position. This first putting-on of the gloves was designed to force panic. It was working. It would have the added effect of eliciting complicity in the victim to have his balls tortured, in order to put off the cutting for a while. I was to play to his hope of a change of mind, or a miraculous rescue from his awful, newly acquired fate.

The Boss said I could remove the gag. Noise and words, he said, were ok, and up to me now. I pulled the gag out, and told John he could say what ever came to mind. Loud, angry words began filling the air. He cursed everyone in the room, Bill, in his tall directors chair, Nick, naked except for a jock strap, manning one camera, the other man I did not know, shooting with another, and me. John called us every name in the book, telling us we could not do this to him, hollering with every threat he could conjure, crying and screaming "NO," and just out and out yelling. He might as well have been completely silent for the effect it would have on his fate. Both cameras were rolling, one much of the time on me, and often seeming to be right in my face. I remembered vividly, turning down the Master's offer to do this movie, when he told me he wanted full-face shots, so the men watching could see and identify with me. I tried to imagine what it would be like, seeing myself on screen, torturing and castrating a man. Perhaps it would never be shown to me.

John's threats and pleas were all thrown in together. I was pretty sure he didn't even know what he was saying, just putting everything out there, hoping to strike a chord, get just a glimmer of pity from someone in the room who might champion his cause of being allowed to keep his nuts, or cause a twinge of fear, at the legal ramifications of what was being proposed.

I picked up a small clean white towel off of a stack of them. I maneuvered between Fred's outstretched arms, and put my head down near his. As the camera zoomed in, I was sure Bill would like the double face shot. Calmly, in the middle of his ranting and raving, I wiped his forehead as I spoke, "You're working up a real sweat there with all that tugging and hollering." I smeared the towel through his left armpit and wiped the sweat under his nose, "Smells good too," I said. I gave the towel a good charging in both pits, and then wiped it under my own nose. It DID smell good, and I was completely turned on to what I was doing. My cock, straining at full mast much of the time, was proof of that. Soon, the unrecognized ravings began even to include being sorry for what he was saying, and to please forgive him.

The application of gloves to activate panic in John had been prescribed. After that, it was up to me to be creative, and I was warned that it had better be good. I wanted to hurt this man's balls, and I wanted him to beg me to do it. I picked the scalpel up off the table, and examined it, as I tempted him. It wasn't much of a choice. It would only defer the inevitable, but at least, it would give him more time. I felt certain he would jump at the offer, "If I told you there was a way to postpone my use of the knife for a while, would you be interested to hear about it?" I asked him. The noise stopped, and a two-word answer issued forth as he looked up at me towering over him. "Yes Sir."

"I want to play with your balls -- have some fun with them - do things to hurt them. But at least they'd still be yours for a while," I said. "Think about it," and I added with emphasis, "Quietly, when I tell you to speak, you can say whether you want me to hurt your balls, or remove them. If you decide you want to keep them a while longer and have me play with them, make them my toys, I want you to very respectfully beg me for that."

Begging me to hurt him, is definitely what I wanted to hear, but even if he asked to have them removed, they were going to be played with. It was simply a good mind fuck, letting him believe he could affect things, by a decision he made. I left him alone to "think," and the Boss snapped his fingers. That was a sound I recognized well, from my time here. He motioned for me to come to him. I walked over and knelt before him with hands behind as expected.

"Stand," he said, "and look at me." I looked at him as commanded, from slightly above him. That had never happened before. His eyes had a paralyzing effect on me from the first time I looked into them at the bar. Seeing his hairy muscled form from this angle, was just as good as any of the others, and gave me a feeling of privilege. "I like what you're doing." He said, as he grabbed onto my hard cock, and began to play with it. I couldn't believe it. That never happened either. He had never touched me there except to hurt me. I was reminded about belonging to a man that could not be second-guessed. "I knew you were right for this. I knew you would not disappoint me," he said, as he continued playing.

I don't think another man's touch ever felt as good, and certainly, there was not another man I'd ever known, with as beautiful a look, or more appeal, than the one, now my Master.

"Boss, Master, Sir," I said, in a state of trance, looking down at his superior beauty, and feeling his sensuous stroke. "I'm so glad to be pleasing you Sir, and not disappointing you. Thank you for giving me the chance."

"I have to piss," he said. I waited for him to release his so pleasurable grip on me, and went to my knees. What used to be so objectionable as to make me gag, had become one of my greatest privileges, and enjoyments in life. I hooked up to his cock head as trained, and he pissed me full of his waste right through his hard-on. When I was sure he was through, and had milked every last precious drop from his shaft, I kissed his feet while speaking my words of thanks.

Expressing thanks for everything, in the beginning felt unnatural. Now, after months of it - not thanking the Master or Nick, for every attention, use, or abuse, would not have felt right. He shooed me away with the foot I was kissing. "Ok," he said, "Back to it."

Full of the Master's piss, and feeling privileged, and lucky on a number of levels, I got up and walked over to my victim. "Speak," was my one word order.

"Please Sir," he begged. "Please don't take my balls. I..."

"Not one of your choices," I said. As he continued with his unacceptable plea, I picked up the scalpel, "Looks like I'll need to decide for you."

"No! No!" he yelled. "I'm sorry Sir! Please Sir! Play with my balls. Make them your toys!" I moved the shiny scalpel and watched his face to make sure the glint of the steel reflected in his eye and said nothing. He recognized the need to fill the silence by continuing, and did so with panic in his voice.

"I'm so sorry Sir!" he said. "Please hurt my balls! I beg you Sir, to have fun with them." He'd actually used the phrase, "have fun with." I was kind of impressed. And I was getting what I wanted - hearing him beg me to hurt him - to use his balls as my toys. I pulled the gloves off, one and then the other hand, tucked them into one mass and threw them off set.

"As long as I want?" I added.

"Yes Sir! As long as you want, Sir!"

I asked him if he'd like something to help him relax. He didn't know how to answer, so I helped him, "Just a pill," I held it up. It was a large dry white tablet. "I think it would be good," I said. Although it was softly, and cautiously spoken, he gave me a, "Yes Sir." I resumed my position between his outstretched arms and held the pill over his mouth. "This is very dry," I said. "You are definitely going to need something to wash it down." With the other hand, I reached over to the tray and picked up a clear glass and as I brought it near his face I asked him what he usually drank to relax. He said it was Vodka.

Well, no Vodka now," I said, "Not good to mix this pill with alcohol." The pill was a sugar pill and would have no effect on his relaxation other than a possible placebo effect, and could have been mixed with anything. The Boss didn't really want him augmented or relaxed. This was just my way to introduce the cocktail of the Master's bodily fluids into the mix.

"A very important man, the man over there who is making you a star, with just you in mind, has saved up his semen from numerous ejaculations." John looked at the glass to see more than two inches worth of the slime being spoken about. An undeniable look of disgust came over his face as he listened to me talk about its collection. "If he fucked an ass, his load would be shit out. If he came from a blowjob, it was spit out. He added just enough of his piss to nicely thin it a little."

I tapped the back of his head, "Why don't you raise your head," I pointed to his benefactor, "You can thank him for making you a star in his movie and for the very special cocktail he's arranged for you." John saw the Master leaning comfortably back in his directors chair. He had his huge cock in his hand. He put fingers to his lips for saliva and continually stroked it, as John gave his angst laden, required speech. "Thank you Sir, for making me a star in your movie, and for the drink Sir."

He started to relax his neck muscles and lay his head back. I slapped his face and pushed his head back up with my hand and held it there as I prompted him. "Look at the man, and do it again!" I said impatiently. "He's not going to believe such a spiritless statement. Make it more wordy, and more heart felt, and be more specific about his cocktail. You're very lucky to be getting his body fluids. There are men who would kill for that privilege." I removed my hand from his upraised head, and listened to his fearful, now respect filled, soliloquy. "Sir, I want to thank you very much Sir, for bringing me here to star in your movie, Sir. I'm sorry to offend you Sir. And thank you also Sir for the cocktail of your cum and piss. Sir, I am honored, and hope that the fact I have never tasted either one, will please you Sir. It's a great privilege some would kill for, and I am grateful Sir." And then a final, "Thank You Sir."

He was spreading it thick, and the Boss, was obviously, loving every syllable, as he sat there stroking himself. The Sir's were flying out of John's mouth, and he was sweating again in his nervousness. He laid his head back, and looked up at me with the beguiling look of worry on his face, "Was that better Sir?"

"Much better!" I said, "Ok. Let's get that dry mouth lubricated a little for this pill," I pushed down on his chin, he opened up, and I poured some of the slimy liquid in. He shuddered and looked like he was going to wretch. I closed, and held his mouth shut and scolded him, "Swallow!" I yelled, "Flush that slime down your toilet throat! And if you puke, I'll make you eat every bit of it!" The sound of THAT news, gave him the will to compose himself, and he swallowed. "Open," I said. He opened again and I dropped the big white pill into the back of his throat, followed with enough of his cocktail to get it down. While he shuddered, I thwacked his cheek with my finger and told him to open the spittoon. I snorted up a lunger, and spit it into the back of his open throat.

He watched me move about, setting up for my first play session with his balls - my toys. I attached a pulley to a hook up in the ceiling, over his chest. I located a bunch of small barbell weights, brought them over near the table, and put them on the floor. I took some strong nylon rope and put it through the pulley over head. I put a strong S type hook in the chamois binding of his nut sack with its unnatural looking tightly confined contents. Those big nuts, usually rolling and churning within their sack, to stay at just the right temperature, were unable to churn or warm themselves, or anything else, except stand there, separated from their current owner, stretched out, cold, shiny, and vulnerable.

I tied one end of the rope to the S hook on his nuts and pulled on the other end to test for height. He watched me as I made a large secure loop in the rope about three feet above his body and hung a ten-pound weight from it. "Just to hold it in place for me," I said. The weight discs, all had a strong piece of wire wrapped around, and through the center hole, and bent into a hook, allowing as many as I wanted, to be hung from the rope loop.

From what I'd already done to him, I knew he had relatively tuff nuts. Total lack of reaction to the ten-pound weight was verification. "Ok," I said, satisfied things were ready. He starred at the weight hanging right over him. "Relatively safe," I said. "The hooks are strong and the rope's tested at eight hundred pounds. I don't think we'll need all that, but let's go for a record at least."

I put a bottle to his worried looking face and gave him some water to drink. He looked surprised at my act of mercy. "Don't worry," I said. "I'll keep you going." This man was about to find out, that being "kept going," would not really be the kind of assuring benefit that it sounded. I picked up a five-pound weight and held it up so he could see it. "I don't want you making any more noise or giving me any more reaction than is really necessary." I said, as I added the weight to the rope loop, and there was minimal reaction.

"Good boy, No more than is absolutely necessary," I reiterated. "Look at those nuts holding the weights from falling on you." I had put the S hook on the backside of his sack so the nuts would stretch in the direction of his view, and he'd be able to see them straining in their taught sack. "Isn't that a beautiful sight?" He wouldn't think so. His agreeable answer, would be only what he believed was the necessary one. But it WAS beautiful. The sack was stretched so tight, that even through some scrotum hair, the nuts were shining. I took a small personal clipper, and removed all the hair, as they began to take on the look of a polished red apple. The balls were big, and made a formidable appearance as a counter weight to the steel being added on the other end of the rope. He was starting to get more vocal. Just the passing of time would worsen the effect of the weights even if I weren't increasing the poundage.

I added five pounds and he began to holler, then ten more and the volume increased, "HELP! NO! PLEASE! NO! STOP! HELP ME! I got down in his face. "Ok," I told him, "Here's the rule about words. The ones you cannot use are ones like, no', and help', and stop'. The ones I want to hear are, Thank you Sir,' I'm sorry,' please,' oh my god,' things like that. And..." I said. "If I don't hear twice as many Thank you Sirs' as anything else, I'll take it as a personal insult." I walked back around to the weights and picked up a five."

Now what are the words we don't use?" I asked as if he were a kindergarten pupil. "I wanna be sure you understand, so tell me what words are off limits." I added the steel disc letting it's full weight come slowly to bear, as he screamed, "NO!" I asked him what else, and the next word came as loudly, "STOP!" I asked him for the other example I'd given him. His brain was not up for recall of critical data, only for feeling pain, so I coached him. "It has to do with someone coming to your rescue." And he gave, "HELP!" at the same decibel level.

"Look at your balls," I ordered. "They look like they're gonna pop right through that skin and let all this weight come crashing down on you. Bet you wouldn't have guessed they could handle the strain of holding back all this back, would you." His vantage point afforded him a view of the whole thing, all the weights hanging over him, and just beyond them, his pain wracked balls being pulled toward the ceiling, supporting all the weight. I held up a five and told him to watch his balls, as I added it to the growing collection of clanging steel.

"You owe me a lot of thank you Sir's," I scolded. "So that's all I wanna hear for a while." He screamed out the first one and I pulled down on the rope stretching his balls, easing the tension gradually more and more. As I pulled enough to let the balls go slack, his words reeked with sincerity, "Oh my god. I'm sorry Sir. Thank you Sir," all toned way down.

I held the weight, which was getting to be considerable, and feigned a complaint about it. "Fuck. There's a lot of weight here. I wouldn't want to have to hold it for very long." As his soft-spoken, sincere "Thank You Sir's," were repeated over and over, I decided on a game. I told him I would help him out for a while by taking the weight off and giving him breaks like this, if he would very politely ask for it back, when I told him my arm was tired. He readily agreed. I gave him about a thirty-second break and then made my complaint, "Ok," I said, "Its getting heavy. My arm is tired."

I know he would have given anything not to feel the pain again, but there was only one thing, which was going to eliminate that, for him. Slowly and politely, he did as he had so-called, agreed to, "Please Sir, could I have the weight back because your arm is tired?" When I told him he could, the first thing he did was add, "Thank you Sir." He was definitely learning. As I slowly let the weight return to him, his expressions got louder and louder. When I took my hand off the rope, there were lots of top-of-the- lungs alternate "Please Sirs," and "Thank You Sirs."

It had to have been terrible, and my cock was responding to just how terrible. As I looked around the room, so were everyone else's, the Master's, being stroked and fully enjoyed, Nick's, untouched, pushed out in his jock, as he deftly wielded his camera, and the unidentified camera man's was obvious in his pants. I made John watch, as I hung a new five-pounder in the cluster. I pulled down on the rope again to lessen the weight on John's balls reducing their duty of having to hold all the weight. Immediately his screaming stopped and he hollered breathlessly, "Thaaank youuu soooo much sirrrr- " and then again.

"It's ok. I told you I would help you out. I'll let you catch your breath a little."

And again, his same exact expression - and again.

"But it's heavy," I said, "and I don't want to hold it too long." He was breathing heavy, but a degree of normal would come. I waited for it, and as it started to arrive, I gave him the bad news, "My arm's really getting tired." He thanked me for the break and dutifully asked for the weight back, to which I let him have it, and added ten more pounds. While he begged and hollered his pleas for mercy, I took a dozen of the 3 cc syringes with long, thick, large gage needles attached, and filled them one by one, all with thick oily yellow testosterone, right in front of his face, so he could see what I was doing. I told him I thought we should increase the size of his nuts, to be sure they would continue to hold the weight, and not be pulled through their wrapping -- that I didn't want the heavy weights falling on him.

I stuck the first needle protector in my mouth - bit down on it, and pulled it free of its protective sheath, exposing the silvery thick instrument. I put it to one of the shiny tight balls, picked a spot and pushed it slowly in, the full inch and a half or so to the hilt, and picked up another syringe. I unsheathed the second needle like the first, and picked a spot on the other shiny stretched out nut, and drove it in the same way. Ten more times I removed the sterile needle protectors and ten more times I drove the needles into the pain wracked nuts until they resembled something akin to your grandmothers sewing pin cushion.

His hollering had not stopped nor was there reason for it to, until I told him if he stopped hollering, I would give him another break. He mustered up the where-with-all, and cut off the incessant sound. I grabbed on to the rope and slackened the terrible pull on his balls, and as I did, I reached for one of the syringes with my other hand, and began pushing on the plunger. I emptied the hypo's contents into the testicle, and left it in place -- then one in the other nut. Very slowly, in alternating balls, I emptied each syringe as my victim watched in wide-eyed disbelief, crying out, and whimpering in renewed agony.

They did increase in size. It was undeniable, and with 36 cc's of oil added to their volume, they were not going to slip through their wrapping. They wouldn't have any way, but it was a good ruse for the needles and the effect for the movie. I was actually thinking about those who would be watching this performance -- about who would see, and how to make it good, so they would enjoy it.

The Boss called me over and whispered in my ear, "Tell him he can say anything he wants now, you're going to take a short break and you'll be back. One camera moved in close on his face as I returned with the Boss's instructions. I told him his word restrictions were lifted and that I'd be back in a while, that I was going to take a break and I walked out of the lights on the set. For a moment he hollered without words, but soon he began to spout his agonized guts. It started with, "Please Man..." but then it turned into cursing me full on, and questioning what, and why.

He looked at his balls carrying all the weight with all the needles sticking out of them and screamed at the top of his lungs, "LOOK AT MY BALLS!!! NO MORE!!! LOOK WHAT YOU'RE DOING TO THEM!!!" He ordered the camera out of his face. He ordered the weights to be removed repeatedly. He switched from angry to sorry to half angry, and half crying in defeat, as he tried to appeal to my sense of association, and how would I feel, if he did this to me. The unyielding pain had him on an emotional rollercoaster, ranging from anger, to apology, to pleas, back and forth, up and down, and the cameras caught it all. He settled after ten minutes or so, into unending cries of, "Please, no more!! Please, no more!! Please, no more!!"

The Boss sent me back into the lights of the set with instructions. There was to be no more conversation with the victim, and I was told what to do next. Plate by plate I took my time removing the weights, each one making the tension a little more bearable for our star, until finally there was no more. His ranting and raving slowed to a steady stream of "thank yous," and apologies for all the things he'd said in his fits of rage. Of course, he didn't mean them, he said. As he watched his balls hanging there looking like pin cushions, I began the task of removing the needles.

Giving him hope, the first two, I pulled slowly out all the way, and set on the table, to an, "Oh my god, thank you Sir." But then one at a time, I slowly pulled on and played with them. I pulled one half way out, then pushed it back in, one all the way out, and relocated, and reinserted it part way. Each one I removed, produced an ooze from the hole it left -- pink mixture of bloody testosterone. Some ran freely, and some barely dripped. Over the course of fifteen minutes I played with the needles before they had all been finally removed and set aside.

The cross/ table, was designed to be raised up to a perpendicular position. As I raised the table up, John's weight transferred to his feet on the blocks that were under them. I went to the side of the room and drug a heavy 36 inch long 12 X12 piece of timber into the lights. I placed it between John's wide spread legs, lifted his genitals, pushed it back under them, and then rested his cock and balls on the top of the block. John watched quietly. From a drawer at the side of the room I got a 20-ounce hammer, and some nails - brought them back and added them to the contents of the steel tray next to the cross.

The worrisome words from John's mouth were immediate and polite and quiet. "Please Sir. Please Mister. I'm sorry Sir for what I said earlier."

"Keep talking," Bill said to John from his seat, as he called me over to him. In the background, John's promises to do better, his apologies, his excuses for anger from the terrible pain, his pleas for mercy and forgiveness, and more, kept ensuing. Bill told me to keep up the good work -- not to let him down. He handed me a hypo full of hard-on drug and told me to work it in to my treatment of John. He also handed me some antibiotics he wanted John to take. He said John was being sold to a man wanting a straight gelding and didn't want infection, so it would be good to get him started on them. He told me where there were empty jars and soda bottles, and that I could have John piss, and I had permission to go as well if I wanted.

There were lots of supplies in those cabinets that lined the walls of the new guest room. They were filled with all manner of sex and torture equipment., and Bill said Nick would get anything I might need. The Boss was nothing, if not equipped for any eventuality. I asked for piercing equipment and catheters and was given just what I needed.

Returning to the business at hand, I blindfolded my victim so he couldn't see. With the distraction of the pain from my squeezing his balls, he couldn't even feel the super fine needle penetrating the base of his cock, or the small but effective volume of the watery drug being injected.

I accused him of being a masochistic fag, and enjoying what I was doing to him. He denied it of course. He wasn't. We all knew that. "To prove it," I said, "I promise, I won't nail your balls to this timber, if you can keep from getting a hard-on while I suck your cock. But I think I want you to watch me," I said, pulling off the blindfold, "So we'll let your cock speak for you. If you stay soft while I am sucking you, I will not nail your balls to the block. Deal?" Readily he agreed, believing he would never, under the circumstances, become hard, no matter how long I sucked on him.

I started sucking, and the drug began working. John watched in disbelief, and horror, as his traitorous member began coming to life in my mouth, knowing what it meant. "See. I told you," I said, pulling it out for a moment, and putting it back in for some more action. It got harder and harder, till it was at full undeniable mast, and standing straight out in front of him, as I pulled free of it.

I asked Nick for, and got, the vibrator that was often used in me - stuck it roughly up John's ass and secured it. The unfamiliar action on his prostate would be extra devastation for resistance. I said, that if he couldn't make his dick go down in the next fifteen minutes or so, I would have to nail his balls to the block. He pleaded with me, and said how sorry he was for the terrible things he'd called me, and how he'd spoken in anger. I told him I didn't want to hear it any more, that I was going to let his dick do the talking for him for a while. I held up the ball gag to the Boss and got his approval to use it. He gave me a thumbs up, and I and stuck it back in John's mouth and buckled it to his head.

I asked John if he would like to piss, and he nodded that he would. I said I was going to take care of that for him. I picked up a catheter in a sterile pack, showed it to him and asked if he knew what it was. He shook his head, "no," so I explained. His eyes widened as he tried to speak. As I took the catheter from the packaging I went down on his rock hard-on for a few strokes. I lubed up the tube thoroughly right in front of him and took his cock in my hand. He watched me insert the tip into his piss hole, and he whined as I began to feed it steadily into him. When the piss started to flow and I knew I was in his bladder, I stopped it with the tube clamp. I pushed another inch or so and blew up the retention balloon with one of the 3 cc syringes. I stroked him a little more making him believe I was keeping him hard, and teased him about liking what I was doing to him, knowing full well he was hating every moment of it, and that he would kill me if he were free and could get away.

I attached the end of the catheter to some clear tubing, put the end of it in an empty jar and told John to watch as I opened the flow to his bladder. In somewhat disbelief he felt his bladder emptying and saw the jar filling. I stopped and started the flow several times for him to feel, and then shut it off while he was still going full force, to declare my control, even over his elimination.

I said I knew how hard he had been working, and that it was not a trick question, and would he like to take a little break. He shook his head up and down and spoke something that might have been, "Yes sir." I needed to get that "last load" out of John's balls for the Boss, and I had an idea how to do it.

"Ok then," I said. "Here's what we're going to do." I told him, I was going to blindfold him, just to isolate him from me, and from the room, and the cameras. "No cameras for a while," is what I said. No cameras, was the farthest thing from the truth, however. I applied the blindfold and kept talking, "No pain, just pleasure," I said, as I applied some lube to his cock, slowly stroked it, and gently pressed in on the vibrator working his prostate. "There," I said, "Doesn't that feel good?"

He nodded his head up and down and began to let go, muttering something that most likely had to do with thanks. I planted a new thought. I whispered to Nick to go open and close the door as if letting someone in. He walked over and did as I asked. I waited a moment and spoke again. "Ok John, the bitch is here. She's going to take over for me." I pretended aloud, to instruct her to do what I had been doing. "John..." I said, "She's here to save your ass. She wants to know you are thankful for her being here. If you cum for her, she'll know you are not a masochistic fag here to be tortured, and that it's her, you REALLY came here for.

He began to mutter things, and work with the slow and steady rhythm. I added lube to keep it moist, and stroked his drug induced rock hard cock. He didn't stop talking, albeit quietly, almost as if to himself. I was hoping he really believed. I couldn't know what he was saying, but it did seem like he was talking to the bitch. I wanted him to cum for two reasons, first, it would hurt like no load he'd ever shot, what with the catheter blocking the exit, but more importantly, I wanted to impress the Boss, that I'd coaxed that last voluntary load he wanted, out of his balls.

It took five minutes or so, before it became evident he would not be disappointing me. Breathing became heavier and I slowed the pace just a bit, to drag it out even longer. I made sure all was quiet, so as not to disturb what ever he had playing in his mind. I had the feeling he truly thought he was proving he was not a fag, to the bitch he believed was manipulating him. In cases where belief is desperately needed, it is easier than usual to inspire, and takes less to create, than normal. And this boy, needed desperately to believe, he was about to be rescued out of my terrible hands. But, it was my own terrible hands, which were just about to accomplish my sadistic goal.

I picked up the pace and immediately he responded. I had mixed feelings about stopping, leaving him all worked up with blue balls, and ripping the blindfold off, or continuing through a torturous orgasm. I decided on the later. I stroked even faster and drove his prostrate teaser in and out with more deliberation. The race was all but over, and the checkered flag mine. I kept pumping, and he started spasming and jerking as he began to moan. I stroked, and his cock jerked as the moan turned into a holler. He was cuming, hard, and with no place for it to go, it was hurting. Only a minute dribble of the slime, would pressure its way painfully out around the tube that was filling his urethra as proof positive of a fait accompli.

I asked for, and received, more of the inject-able drug. Without him aware, I stuck the super fine needle into his cock and emptied it of its devastatingly effective contents. I removed his blindfold. He blinked in the bright lights, "Watch!" I said. He looked down as I emptied the remainder of his urine from his bladder, into the glass. I deflated the balloon holding the tube in him, and pulled it slowly just free of the bladder. Straining at my order to be quiet, and almost feeling like he was still cuming, his ejaculate pushed the tube outward, a little of it pushing through the tube, and joining his piss in the jar.

He was ringing with sweat in the heat of the lights, and his lean, muscled, lightly haired, construction worker body, glistened beautifully in the lights. I took out my cock and added my piss to his in the jar, while I spoke, "I'm going to give you some antibiotics. Don't want you getting an infection. You can use what's in the jar here to wash them down," I told him.

I removed his gag, warning him not to speak or make any noise while he took the medicine as I put some of the dry pills into his open mouth. I held the jar up for him to drink, tipped it back, and he drank the salty combination of our fluids. He sputtered and I slowed a bit, but kept it there and continued. I told him if he got any on me he was going to be one sorry fuck. By the hardest, he kept going, and I kept feeding, till the whole jar full was consumed. He shuddered and gagged but kept it down.

I held his rock hard-on, stroking it a little, and playing with the catheter. I fucked his urethra -- in six inches, and out -- in twelve inches (almost to the bladder) and out -- in and out. He drove his head back into the headrest, closed his eyes, and grit his teeth, trying not to make noise. I was feeling generous, so I allowed the belabored grunting he was doing. Through his gritted teeth, he would take in a gasp of air, hold it, and then grunt when exhaling. It was actually kinda cute.

I found myself wishing I had a scope with a camera, so I could put it up inside and see the inflammation I was causing. This boy was going to feel like he was taking a piss 24/7 for some time, and when he did piss, it was going to burn like a motherfucker. With the vibrator torturing his prostate, and the blocked sperm leaking out the tube, I gave the victim an unending and more painful feeling from what would have been an ejaculation than he ever could have imagined. This his last orgasm was far more about pain than pleasure. When I thought I'd caused enough damage, I pulled the catheter free and turned off the vibrator. The remainder of his final load dripped from the tip of his steel hard cock. His head dropped to his chest with continuous groans as he inhaled deeply to catch his breath.

I stroked his hopelessly hard cock, and spoke words he did not want to hear, "You're still hard. I guess that means we have some business we should tend to. "While you don't have the ball in your mouth, you wanna talk about things first? I gave you a nice break, but a deal's a deal, and you and I have a deal, right? Tell me about it."

"Please Mister. I didn't think I would get hard. Please?"

I cut him off, "Never mind. Tell me what you understand about our deal."

"You said You wouldn't nail my balls to the block if I didn't get hard Sir."

I waited for more, and then prompted, "And?"

"I got hard Sir."

I waited again, and was becoming irritated, "AND?" I said loudly. Then without indulging him a moment further, I issued my impatient instructions. "Don't make me have to drag it out of you, Scumbag! I told you to tell me what you understand about our deal! So start at the beginning and tell me all about it!" I shouted, "You were in the Army. Pretend I am your C.O. and tell me."

After begging my apology, he explained very clearly like I wanted to hear it. "Well Sir, you made a deal with me. You gagged me and said my cock would speak for me. If it got hard, you would nail my balls to this board. If I could keep myself soft you promised you would not do it. You put a vibrator in me to massage my prostate and sucked me till I got hard Sir. My cock is still hard. I'm trying, and I want it to go down, but it wont go down. You said that a deal's a deal.

The Boss wanted John to feel culpable and responsible for his fate, for becoming the victim strapped to this table. He wanted him to feel stupid, demoralized, embarrassed and humiliated. I had to make sure he admitted he didn't even know the Boss's name, the one who offered him the job, and had him delivered here, where he had no idea he was going, and that he had signed both his manhood, and his person, away, in the contract he didn't even read. And since I had him on a roll, I decided now would be the time.

I told him we could put off the nut nailing for a little while if he'd like to continue talking. He begged to please be allowed to continue talking. "Ok," I said, "I'm still your C.O. I wanna know what's going on, and, if I have to ask you too many questions, because you are not explaining things clearly enough, I will be very upset. Now start at the beginning and brief me."

He began immediately with, "Yes Sir," and addressed me that way throughout his soliloquy. He said the man "over there," asked him to be in his S and M movie. The man said it would be really easy, and would pay $500 up front, and $500 after an hour or so. He was told that in the opening of the movie, he was going to be tied up, and rescued by this hot bitch, who would ride, and suck his cock, and then save him, "The man," he continued, "asked if I wanted to make a fast thousand, and I agreed, so he told me where to go today, and someone picked me up, and brought me here." He spoke of meeting me upstairs. He said he undressed up there to prove he had a big cock and balls, and that he gave his ID, and signed a contract, before being brought down here naked. He said that he offered the money back, and asked to be let go.

"You keep talking about "the man," over there. What's his name?" I asked. "What's my name?"

"I don't know, Sir."

"You expect me to believe you didn't even ask the name of the man who offered to put you in an S and M movie and tie you up. Are you that stupid? And what of the things you asked for - to be castrated and for the man to find you a master who wanted a castrated slave -- and all the other abuse you requested?

" I didn't do that Sir," he objected.

"The man who brought you here, who's name you don't even know, said you signed the contract outlining all these things and more. What about that?"

"He said it was just standard, so I didn't read it Sir."

"Did he say you couldn't read it?"

"No Sir."

"Yeah," I said, "In the contract you admit to being a masochistic fag, who wants all these things to happen to you and more. That's pretty obvious by looking at your hard cock here in my hand. I'll make you another deal. " I switched the vibrator back on and continued. "Lets have you read it to everyone. If you can make your dick go down while you are reading it, the man who's name you don't even know, will let you go. Deal? Take it or leave it," I said. The contract was handed to me from out of the darkness and I flipped to the second page, and held it up so he could see. "You remember signing here?" Only a moment was needed for him to recognize and admit his signature.

"Yes Sir."

I flipped to the front and made him read aloud from the beginning, while I played with his traitorous hard cock. The first paragraphs were terminally boring legalese bullshit, some words he couldn't even pronounce properly, obviously with that effective design to discourage full reading. And then came the devastating meat of the document in one concise, all-inclusive, life-altering paragraph. As he began it, I made him slow down and make sure to enunciate clearly. The Boss was stroking himself, eyes closed, in seventh heaven, as he listened to the recitation from his victim's own lips.

I held the document in his face, as he continued. Not believing what he was seeing as he read aloud, the words affirming his sealed-fate, filled the air.

"I am an extreme masochist fag. As such, I present myself to become the slave and property of the man who holds this contract, which I sign freely, willingly, and of my own volition. I have come here to be heavily abused and agree to any torture of my owner's choosing. I relinquish all rights, human and otherwise. I realize I can, and will be, bought and sold, used and trained, as a slave, and will abide unquestionably by the requirements of my owner who ever that may be. I invite extreme and unnatural abuse including the use of my mouth and digestive system for processing of human waste, and additionally, accept the insertion of cum, snot, spit, and blood in any orifice. My rectum and anal passages may be used for the insertion of anything of my owners choosing including, but not limited to, fists, toys, plugs, vibrators, and unmanageably large dildos." He slowed to a stop and cleared his throat nervously. "Please Sir?" he said. "I - "

"READ!!!" I exploded in his face. "I'll pull this away from you when I've heard enough!"

He cleared his throat, and went on with difficulty. I gave him a sip of water for which he thanked me, and found his place, and continued by the hardest, "I expect, and invite changes, and possible damage, to my person from my abuse, including permanent alterations, piercing, brands, tattoos and the like. I agree to mutilation of my body including, but not limited to, castration, either in part, or complete nullification. Before castration, I accept the use of my genitals for any manner of sadistic play for my owner's entertainment and pleasure. I declare the signing of this document as my last act of self-determination and accept whatever fate befalls as a result of my voluntary choice to do so. This considered action on my part, is final, and irreversible, and cannot, or will not, be contested in any court of law or private action."

I pulled the contract away and handed it out of the light, as I spoke, "I'd say that about covers it. Wouldn't you?" I asked him. His answer was almost whispered, with a bowed head. I took the gag and held it up as I pushed up on his chin and hollered, "ANSWER ME SHITHEAD!!"

"YES SIR!!" came back with almost equal volume. I shoved the gag back into his mouth, and buckled it to his head, watching him wrestle with the reality of what he had just read to all of us, to everyone's delight. His stupidity had been painfully confirmed, and his humiliation, much to the Boss's self-satisfaction, was complete.

No telling what he was saying, but the indistinguishable utterances didn't stop. I said I was ready to nail his balls to the block, but that I wanted to get his hard cock out of the way, so I wouldn't hit it with the hammer by mistake.

"Since you agreed to being pierced in the contract," I said, "This is what I'm going to do." I reached over to the tray table and picked up the large gage hollow piercing needle, and showed it to him while I explained, "I'm going to pierce the head of your dick, so I can use the hole to tie your cock up out of the way." I showed him how I was going to drive the needle, from underneath so it would come out the middle of the top of his dick head. He screamed and bucked -- or at least tried to buck, to try to stop me, as I spoke just loud enough, to be clearly heard, over the muffled noises coming from his plugged mouth.

"Be still now," I said. "You don't want me to have to do this more than once. It won't take long, and then I can get down to our deal with your balls." I pushed the huge gage very sharp hollowed steel device into the tender underside and drove it steadily through the super sensitive gleans tissue, until it could be seen distorting the place of exit on the top, in the middle of his beautiful hard dick head. "Here we go," I shouted over his muffled shrieks, "Just about there." The tip penetrated and exited dead center of the top of the head, as he shook the table violently.

"I'm going to give you about twenty seconds to stop that," I shouted. "Or I'll change my mind and just cut it off to get it out of my way!!" He yelled, and muttered words, and shook, till I began to count, "Ten -- Nine -- Eight -- Seven -" Breathless, he stopped the violent shaking, and muttered loudly, till I got to, "One." He sighed repeatedly as I continued my remedy. I left the hollow needle in place and threaded it with some course heavy string and tied the still hard cock to his belly tight around his waist. I motioned to Nick and asked him for some Lydocane, which I got from him right away. I was beginning to believe there may be nothing, not available here in this room.

I addressed my moaning, dick-pierced victim, and showed him the needle. "Not a sound," I said, "If you want me to stop the pain in your dick. Ok?" He shook his head up and down and stifled himself completely, as I continued, "When I nail your balls to the block, I want you feeling your balls, not your dick. So I'm going to deaden the head of your dick." I stuck the needle into the tender flesh and pumped a little numbing agent in, pulled it out and relocated it and did the same thing, just a little in several positions around the piercing. "Now I want you to grunt when you don't feel the pain any more. Ok?"

He nodded in agreement, and began his descent from the pain of the torturous excuse of a remedy, which would be used to keep his dick out of the way. I tied some of the same string I used to secure his dick around his waist, to his balls, and pulled them out away from his body as far across the block as they would go. I put a nail in the block and secured the string to the nail. The huge -- unusually low hanging - specimens of manhood were well stretched, and pulled half way across the block.

I sipped on some water, as I looked him in the eyes. "How we doing?" I asked, "You seem pretty relaxed." He shrugged his shoulders and spoke something or other. "Don't make me wait any longer than necessary," I said, with a warning in my voice. I turned off his vibrator and reached for one of the boxes of nails and put the hammer on the block next to his balls. "How bout it?" I said. He grunted. It was more of a groan I'd say, but I got the message.

"Good," I Said. He began the whining sounds of an attempt to communicate, so I humored him. "You're probably apologizing for being such a screw up, and for the things you have done to thwart my fun. Am I right?" I asked. He thought for a very brief moment before accepting my misinterpretation of his noises, by nodding in agreement. "Let me hear you say, I'm sorry Sir, around that gag,"

He spoke the four syllables and I had him do it louder, and again, even louder. "Ok," I warned him, "Those are the only permissible words, till I say otherwise. Do you understand?" He nodded that he did, and I further clarified, "You can say them loudly, you can even holler them, but no other words. If I hook you up to a lie detector later and find out you said anything else, you will loose your dick." I told him, hollering was permitted, but not in anger, no violent shaking like before, although I doubted he'd be inclined to do that with his balls nailed to the block - and no other words permitted, and did he get it. I got the appropriate nod.

I picked up the hammer and realized the Boss was near. He had warned the two roving cameras not to get his image in their frames, and he was watching from close by. I put a long shiny ten-penny common nail to one of the trussed up, stretched out testicles, and pushed it into the flesh a little, as I raised the hammer into the air. The four syllables were streaming from John's mouth in fast repetition, almost prayer like, as I looked up and realized his eyes were shut. "Look at me," I yelled. As he did so, I took careful aim and brought the twenty-ounce hammer down on the nail head, driving it through, the big, glossy, but oh-so-tender nut, and just slightly into the block. The testicle dimpled inward around the shiny nail, as the air filled with John's cries. I let go of the nail, as one does, to get fingers out of the way, and brought the hammer down again, setting the nail further into the block, and further distorting the big bloated ball.

"LET ME HEAR THE WORDS!!" I yelled over the noise. The words were not distinguishable but the vowel sounds were correct and elongated, the first one a whole breath long, the second two took a breath, and then the last, a breath of its own.

I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-Innnggggg O-O-O-O-O-O-E-E-E-E-E U-U-U-U-U-U-U-U

I let him holler for a bit, and then told him to lower the volume, that it was hurting my ears. He panted, and whimpered, and moaned, and as I took another nail in my hand, I warned him to watch. I placed it in the middle of the other nut and pressed it like the first one till the sharp point made a deep hurtful dimple, and took aim again. As I raised the hammer into the air, John started to scream. I put the hammer down on the block, and slapped him in the face. He flinched as if I would do it again, but I looked into his eyes. He spoke the syllables softly, "I-I-I- O-O-O-E-E-E- U-U-U." I threatened, that if he ever hollered in my face, without a reason, I'd make sure he didn't need a gag not to be able to speak. I'd cut out his tongue.

I picked up the hammer and raised it into the air to relative silence, and brought it down on its target. Like the first one, it pierced the nut, and went a short way into the block. And like the first one, it too got a second blow to set it deeper. Now, hollering never had a better reason, nor could the Boss's enjoyment of it have been greater. Knowing I was pleasing him, made me feel a sense of satisfaction, pride, maybe even purpose, in the face of having had my freedom revoked, my life turned upside down, and my uncertain fate, decided now by this man to whom I belonged as slave.

While John hollered, I took his balls in my fingers and pulled them upward on the nails till the dimples were gone, and the balls looked round and plump again, except there was about an inch of nail protruding out the top of each one. From close next to me, the Boss reached in and felt them, and poked at them. He wiggled at the nails, to find lack of any movement from their firm implantation in the wood and issued what seemed a grunt of satisfaction. Then it was confirmed by a congratulatory act he had never exchanged with me. I had seen him do it to Nick. He rubbed his fingers in his armpit. I could smell the strong nirvana-like aroma as he charged up his fingers. He put them under my nose and rubbed them on my upper lip while I inhaled - and then he swatted me on my ass/ on HIS ass. Nothing could possibly have meant more to me at that moment. It was the quintessential act of approval - like I remembered my football coach giving me - that made me want to give 200% of myself for his purposes, and plan.

The Boss told me to unwrap the nuts, so I untied the soft chamois leather strapping and unwound it from around the stretched scrotal skin. I removed the nail and untied the twine that had been stretching the nuts across the block. Even with the inch or so of nail sticking up out of each nut, there was little blood to speak of. It was a surreal sight. The hard cock, being tied with string threaded right through the top of the once attractive dick head, to his well muscled mid section, and the nuts, being stretched as far away as possible - only the nails through each one, holding them in place.

There was no difference between me, and the one whose balls I just nailed to the block. I hadn't been tricked into going for a fast buck, or signing a bogus contract, but the Master had brought me here just as easily as the one I was torturing for him, probably more so, through the use of my own particular weaknesses.

The operation was a success. Having worked with my hands in my former career, doing detail finish carpentry contracting, made me a natural for doing something else with attention to detail, something surgical. I remembered once doing a project for a doctor, who had told me I could have been a surgeon from watching me work. The practice sessions I had, cutting and suturing chicken skin, and watching a dozen or more procedures on DVD, paid off big time. The Boss was completely pleased with my performance, and as a reward, I got to see both the raw footage and the finished product. It has sold well, and he is planning to use me again.

It was easier than I thought it would be. I put a slit in each side of the scrotum and popped the balls through the openings. The hardest part was eviscerating the nuts from the connective tissue surrounding and holding them. It was a delicate procedure to accomplish, without cutting into the clean looking testicles, but when done, it allowed the big nuts to hang down freely by their chords about six inches or so, an important part of what the Boss wanted to see -- the raw living manhood hanging outside their protective warm nurturing sack. Not in the edited product of course, but in the Boss's own private footage, at one point he kneels down in front of the victim. He takes each nut, one at a time, in his mouth, and warms and chews lightly on it. Then with effort, due to their large size, he forces both in at once.

In the finished version, the Boss's big hairy forearms and hands are shown playing with the nuts for a while before I stitch up and tie off the vesicle tubes close to John's body to close camera capture. The Boss decided on a general ending for the movie and then additional video sales for those who want to see what happens to the balls. The Boss holds the nuts in his hands as the camera comes in close to each vesicle chord, one at a time, in the crux of a pair of surgical scissors. Each is slowly sliced through, with the sharp scissor action, and put by the Boss's beautiful hairy hand into a surgical stainless tray.

I tie the two chords tightly together with thick black thread by their ends, and attach them to a thong around John's neck. The camera captures the raw balls - bloodless whiteish orbs - resting next to each other in the hairy cleft between peck muscles, on the chest of their owner. The camera watches closely, as I suture closed the openings in the scrotum and any blood is wiped clean. For a finale the camera pulls back from the empty sutured closed sack to show John's full body, then slowly zooms back in to a close up, of the anguish on his face and the balls hanging around his neck, then closer and closer to just the balls, before lingering there - slowly fading to black - the balls nestled in chest hair the last thing on the screen.

A titillating title screen comes up inferring more adventures with t.o.M. as the nut destroyer if enough interest is conveyed. And there was an invitation for further footage being made available regarding the fate of the just removed balls - and it's over. THE END (actually it's only the beginning of t.o.M.s new life as Bill's object and toy)

The author MACK invites you - if you enjoyed "A slave's Induction" - to request his postscript to the story.

Comments welcome: mackxwayne@hotmail.com MY web site - the man behind the words - http://www.MACKsf.com curious about images that serve to inspire the scenarios - let ME know...