At The Table

"Stand up!" said my Godfather. "Stand up, remove your clothing then come to me, assume the brace and wait".  I did all that and waited. The servants in his dining room, one against each wall, closed their eyes not knowing what their boss would do to the striking lad he had raised. My Godfather took another bite of braised Kudu, chewed it slowly, swallowed and picked up his napkin. Turning to me he tied it around the top of my nut sack pulling it painfully tight then looped the remaining cloth over my now erect cock and tied it off at the base. 

He ate a few more bites, had a sip of the Nederburg and then slapped my cock and balls hard, once each way, another sip and another slap. Tears shot from my eyes and I tried to avoid bending over in pain.
"Do you know why I did that?"
"Sir, I bred without permission."
"And whom did you breed?"
"Bash, Sir" 

"Do you want to keep these?" He used the point of a steak knife to indicate my cock and balls. "Well, do you? I could have them now." He grabbed my balls in his hand and squeezed until I thought I would faint or vomit. "Well. Answer".
I croaked out that yes, I would very much like to keep them....if he would allow it.

I was shoved back until I fell on the floor. "Of course you want to keep them, I want you to keep them, you're too valuable as breeding stock and think of the dowry I'll get for you." It was not greed in his eyes but pleasure at seeing what he'd created and could manipulate so easily. He knew I had no place to go, an orphan abandoned on the quayside brought to him as a doctor. Now an almost grown man but his. No law save that which he made forced me to stay.

"Cut the knots...." and threw me his pocket knife. "Get dressed, sit down and continue eating." I was too afraid to even acknowledge him, simply did as I was told.

His mood changed, the servants opened their eyes the scent from the garden pervaded the room.
"Tell me, was Bash a good fuck?"
It was not a question I wished to answer for the truth was that....he wasn't but telling the Doctor could and probably would have a consequence for Bash. I couldn't be silent but tried to evade the truth, at least some of it.

"Sir, he is younger than I and....his skills are still at the stage of...."
"In other words, he wasn't as good as you would have liked. Is that what you mean?"
"Sir, Bash is my friend, today was of no import, we were practicing for the match and found ourselves....."
"Yes, no doubt. Who found whom? He found you I'll wager", and laughed as I could see him try and envision the two of us. He knew my body so well, so completely that all that remained to sketch in was Bash and only a few details that he'd forgotten; Bash was his patient as well.

"How's his cock? His father keeping him shaved, nuts too?".
"Good, a slight upturn that makes it easier for him to enter and there will be veins soon." I could comment on this without fear to anyone. "He wasn't shaved today but it had only been a few days since he has been. His Dad has his nuts in a stretcher and it's hard to shave around that."

"A stretcher you say? Hmm. I must call Piet and warn him that there are stretchers and then there are stretchers that can do harm, accidentally reduce the blood flow. Lucky you never needed that, you hang well."
I was grateful myself. Bash's stretcher needed a sort of hex wrench to remove and, he said, on occasion, when it was fastened on, the skin was badly pinched and bruised. I told the Doctor that.

"Yes? You have seen a mark or something that could have been caused by what you describe?"
I nodded to avoid opening my mouth and having salad fall from it.
"Who puts this on him? Piet? or one of the servants, the one, you know..."
And I did know. This man was being used to "open" Bash, to teach him how to accept a large cock. His father, I understood, couldn't have stretched a mouse hole and told the Doctor that.
The Doctor roared with laughter. "I'd forgot that. He once asked if being circumcised would make him bigger and I told him if he were circumcised again, they'd have to take skin from his crotch..." I laughed because it was funny and this was part our bond, the sneering at what he called beneath our consideration.  I wondered why he included me, someone's bastard, turned out on the road....that wouldn't seem to meet any sort of criteria he might have.

We finished and went outside for Brandy, coffee and cigarettes. The gardens were magnificent, they were written up in papers as far as London and Sydney. He prized his gardens and, on occasion, had me strip and took photographs of me in the flowers. Taking pictures of me dressed or undressed was a hobby of his. In the lounge there was an enlarged photo of the two of us, naked, when I was a babe. There also existed another one, similar save that I was clearly no baby. He'd let the hair on my chest and below that grow for the occasion. He had a double reason: One, that clearly showed I was a man and Two, he enjoyed shaving me. 

"I'm going to the Karoo in a fortnight, want to come? It will be a couple of days, perhaps five, I'm running a clinic and doing the castrations. You could help." No male child who was raised by anyone with some sort of learnable skill could avoid whatever it was they were taught. Bash was almost a finish carpenter and he hated it.

"Die Klein Karoo?" and was instantly silent knowing he preferred we only use the old language on certain occasions and dinner in front of servants was not one of them. Apart from giving me a sharp look, he said nothing.

"I can work on my tan, look for Sand Boas......of course assist you as you may need me." He reached over and placed his hand on my forearm, looked at me and smiled.
"I believe it's time to go up. The sunset is best seen from the bed chambers."
As we went up the staircase I tried to relax the muscles in my ass.

Oddly, tourism had done for the Karoo what nature could never had done. Some of the fancier travel magazines began to refer to it as a Garden of Eden in the middle of a desert. (If they wanted a desert, they needed to go North toward Windhoek and see the Skeleton Keys. That was a desert and over centuries had killed thousands of men. One day I would be taken there for the Tidal Test.....or I thought I would be and, from what I'd been told, it was not something to anticipate.)
Over the thrum of the barely muffled Range Rover he said, "Got a big order, you're going to have to pump out ten Mls over a couple of days."

That was a lot. It was also why I was kept around. Doing some routine tests before sendingme off to the service, he'd found that my semen was the Olympic Gold Medal of sperm. Even slightly adulterated it was still potent. As a doctor he'd written to fertility clinics wherever it seemed likely they'd pay the most money and presented them with a phial of my cum for their examination. One place said someone had almost gone blind trying to count all the wrigglers as they urgently tried to get out and spread joy to the infertile males. No idea what he got for my "production" but as a few recipient clinics came back the price went up. Apparently I could impregnate a steel door.

Going to the Karoo was a real holiday for me as there was no schedule for me to be milked and, if I felt like it, I could spread my seed upon the ground, just like Onan. That, by the way, was the name of the company he ran with me as the only employee: Natalona, fertilizer. Generally he didn't need me, servants or other employees of the clinic could hold down those unfamiliar with Western Medicine and, of course, the ones the Courts had handed over for castration did not take well. I once asked The Doctor why he didn't just do a simple Vasectomy but his answer was that it was the order of the court. In some cases, really heinous ones, I was all for it but in others that struck me as low level shit, it seemed extreme. 

'
The high street while it had been there for over a century had been revamped to show those from other places what the "good old days" had been like. Some one some place had an imagination on overdrive as I'd seen pictures of the place taken in the 20's and what I saw now was almost the Disney version. Bright, shining buildings, overwhelmed with the sort of tourist junk that it's known they will buy. In one shop I heard a tourist say to the clerk, "Accepto Americano Expresso" to which the clerk replied that she did not speak that language. 

I wasn't interested in the town and, as I wasn't permitted the car, caught a ride with the mail wagon going out to Doctor's hideaway. Very simple, cement floors, bug proof furniture, gas for heating and cooking, cold running water from a well and....a swimming pool. Not a large one and, on occasion, I had to either share it or wait until some bush animal had their fun and went away. My tan was a constant concern in that while I tanned very easily and very deeply, photographs of me needed to look as if I  came from somewhere in the Irish/German/Scottish/Norwegian area and not the Mediterranean. Secretly I admire the Portuguese fisherman, their swarthy good looks, their bright white teeth, deep black hair, the freedom of the seas. I'd read everything on Prince Henry the Navigator and thought the age of discovery would have been an interesting time to live. 

The Doctor came in, splattered with blood as was typical.. This was the bush and he was doing bush surgery; Not the tidy, sterile sort where a nurse handed him a spreader or a clamp and wiped his brow when he sweat. He was wearing scrubs but I wondered if they could be cleaned; Out here, with no servants, I did the laundry, the cooking, the cleaning, whatever had to be done. Fortunately it was a small house, almost a yurt just in Africa. We slept in hammocks covered with mosquito netting and kept side arms against whatever might decide to drop by. I knew he would shoot but so would I. The cool breeze that came in the evening over the sand from the cold South Atlantic made sleeping in the nude uncomfortable. 

He was tired and mentally exhausted. His way to assuage that was to beat me and how he did it depended on the depth of his mood. Just outside there was a plank which you wouldn't notice as usually it held potted plant in the metal circles that came out from the wall. It was my job to remove the plants, turn the circles, some of them and then wait for him. 

He was inside drinking heavily, building himself up for the release he knew was coming, that he desired. 

I was roughly forced into the irons, my neck and balls double locked. There was no warm up, his first crash of biltong and soft marula wood was exactly as strong as the last. There was no finish, just his releasing me knowing that I could take care of my wounds. What he did to himself was worse but he'd expunged his demon and now it was time to recapture it. The one long cut from his sternum until it ended at the tip of his enormous cock. 

That was when he wanted me, wanted me to lick the blood, use the salt in my saliva then put my body over a sty and push his
bloody and bleeding cock into me. The burbling of his cum was pink varying to almost red. I was too beaten too exhausted to resist. At some point he'd pull us both into the pool and splashed the chemically treated water on both of us. There were no words, just the exhaustion and pain that pervaded both of us. 

None of this interfered with my sperm production, indeed, though I'm loath to admit it, it was a turn on of the basest sort. I wanted the pain as it caused my balls to grow, my prick to become so hard and long it quite nearly tore the foreskin, that which was left, to almost split. In my hammock that night I dripped blood, we both did and, I knew, we both exulted in what we'd done. The next day with the tenderness which he could display, he went over my body and wept at what he had done. I lay there, unmoved and unmoving. Pain was a part of my life, I knew that, so his tears and unspoken gestures of contrition meant.....nothing.

Two days later we were back in town; I was in bed, some of the deeper wounds not yet healed and, what was more important, there was the contract to be filed. For the days we'd been home, my hands had been chained to the side of the bed so I could not even, modestly, play with myself. I was fed by the servants who also put creams on my fading scars and did all for me they could do; They were my own set of opposable thumbs.

I heard come down the tiled hallway. One roller had something wrong and so it made a slight "click" on each rotation; Didn't matter, I knew what it was, who was bringing it and why it was there. Time for me to fulfill, as much as I could, his contract. He darkened the room, ran his hands over my balls, bit my nipples and then applied the tube which contained the inner metal spike. This had a broad hole in it and was at the end of a splayed head so nothing could escape. 

There was a muted sound of a lever being moved, a sound started up and, as he leaned over me, "I'll leave you now, I think you'll do better if you're along with your friend."

It was disgusting, this was no friend, this was a machine which was there to collect the millions and billions of potential people I had in me. Softly, slowing at first, the tube would expand and contract approximating masturbation. The machine didn't know it but this had been done to me so often I didn't even notice, not for some little while. When I did notice was after a half hour or so when the urgency built into the machine gradually increased the pace and I could feel the desire, the deep seated man urge to get my cock hard, prepared to fuck. My balls were drawing up, I pulled against the chains and then the sense of impending release. 

By now, after an hour or so, I was in full agony, writhing on the bed, trying to reach my tormentor but all it did was make a whining noise, the sort one hears as the engines on a plane scale up for take off. 

I was too well trained to just blow in one gob but rather to let my valuable fluid slide from me into the metal flange opening. Somewhere it was being calculated as to amount as well as gauging whether further stimulation would release more significant amounts. If it decided yes, then the process of upscaling my arousal would continue, if not it would slowly back down giving me the chance to find my senses. 

The Doctor came in, reached into the machine, took out something that held a sample of me and smiled. "The desert has done you good, 5.1 mls. Enough for this order." He unplugged the machine, unlocked me and had one of the servants wash me with cool cloths followed by an alcohol rub. Just being allowed to go the bathroom with out and escort, someone holding my cock while I pissed, pleasures few know. 

Later, at the table, he's in a hearty mood having to do, no doubt, with the sale he's just made. I'm quiet, attentive to my food and avoiding doing anything that might turn him to mean and desirous of.....whatever he desired.
"One of your best productions yet, amazing, even by medical samples. Someone would be very lucky to have you fuck them, your resistance to climax, the expansion of your penis, few men could claim that and, if they did, make good on their claim. 

We ate on, finished, went on to the terrace for our Brandy, coffee and cigarettes. It was the pattern I knew so well. How long until he judged the sun in such a position to make it necessary to go upstairs and use me in whatever manner came to him. He was jocular, perhaps it would be something I might enjoy. Who knew?

I could almost feel sperm being formed, preparing, as if it knew, to be flushed, quickly frozen in liquid nitrogen and shipped off to wherever. My cum was better traveled than I was. 

Another night at the table, I am nude and he is staring at my crotch. Too early and swiftly he throws down his napkin and demands we go upstairs. He has a rush order, just came in. I leave the table, my food hardly eaten, to go off and be eaten myself. 

At the table there is food and I am part of it.