Maikeli

Sinterklaas (Santa Klaus), the Origin Story

Sinterklaas Special Table of Contents

My earliest memories are of my mother and me living together. We were not allowed to live in our village proper, but in a little shack just out of sight of the village. I was the oldest that I knew of. I remember when a delegation led by the village priest came to my mother and took a baby away. My mother cried afterwards. That's the first story I remember about life at my home. Now the second:

– 1 –

I didn't have a father, but I had lots of uncles. They came from the village to visit mother many evenings, and they brought gifts. I don't know how we could have lived without their help. Except for a small garden, we had no land of our own to work. On the many nights when my uncles came to visit, I would sleep near the fire instead of under the covers with my mother. I didn't mind because they would bring us bread or dried meat, sometimes some especially for me. Uncle Charles the baker was one of my first special friends.

Mom had an afternoon visitor in the cabin already when Uncle Charles came around that day. I was weeding in the garden when he noticed our door closed. He looked disappointed when I confirmed for him that mom was inside with another uncle. I asked if I could have some of the bread he always brought anyway. I was nine or ten years old at the time, and like most of the children in the village, I seldom wore clothes in the summer, especially when around my home. I remember him studying my body closely for a moment, and then he pulled a couple ill-shapen loaves of bread out of his sack. Uncle Charles offered both loaves to me if I would do a little job for him. I eagerly agreed. He led me down to the creek bed, just out of sight of our cabin. "This should be private enough," he announced.

"Is this a secret?" I asked.

Uncle Charles looked around again, "Yes, well, I don't want everyone to know I have this problem." I still remember giggling when he lifted his robe and I saw his inflated, wagging penis protruding out from a thick tangle of black hair. It was the first I ever saw an erect, mature male organ.

"It's so big! Is it always like that? How do you hide it?" I jabbered.

The man laughed, "Your mother usually makes it soft again for me," he explained, "But maybe you can do it for me this time?"

"Sure!" I told him, "Mine is stiff when I wake up in the morning, but I just pee and it goes down."

He laughed again, "Mine needs a little more help sometimes. I need to get some sap out of it."

"Sap? Like pee?"

"No, it isn't like pee. It's more like cream."

"How do you get it out?"

"First, just suck on it like a piglet sucks on a sow's teat."

I frowned, "My mother does that for you?" I asked him, "I don't know how. She never showed me."

Uncle Charles smiled, "I'll show you!" he assured me, "but don't tell your mother, you helped me with this, alright? She might get jealous." He sat on the ground and pulled me onto his lap. "Let's see if we can get yours a little stiff first," I sat spellbound as he tickled and manipulated my small penis, which in no time stiffened up for him. "There we go." he encouraged me, "What it lacks in size it makes up for in eagerness!" he stood me up, crouched down in front of me, and took my small erection into his large, warm mouth. He gave it several extravagant strokes with the tip of his wet tongue, as I giggled and cooed. He hardly began when he pulled away, and lifted his robe again. I smiled at him, happy to have an uncle give me such attention, and felt important because he shared his secret problem. "Cover your teeth with your lips," he instructed me, "Take a big breath and suck in as much as you can, then move your tongue around it."

I did as he instructed, but unsatisfied, he put his hand at the base of my skull and forced me to take in more – so much that the tip approached the back of my throat and I gagged. "Deep breaths. Use your tongue like I did!" he repeated. He leaned back against a tree trunk and relaxed. "You'll be as good as your ma soon!" he complemented me.

I pulled my head off his organ, "When will the cream come?" I asked, curious.

"Keep working, boy. It will take a while." He pushed my head back onto his now wet, penis. It tasted a bit salty, but I liked the smell there, so close to the kinky hair that spread out wide from his man organs. I sucked and bobbed my head patiently until my jaw muscles became tired and sore. I lifted my head off his penis and told him so.

"It's alright, boy. That's just the first part. I don't think you'll be able to finish this way. Now we need to do something else." He looked deep into my eyes. "Now the next part is going to be harder. This is where you'll earn that bread. Since it is your first time, it's going to hurt, but I'll be as gentle as I can. Do you think you are big enough to do it for me?"

My mother also used that "big enough" trick to get me to do things I didn't want to do, but so far this milking thing wasn't difficult at all. It was an exciting introduction to adult secrets!

"I can do it!" I volunteered eagerly.

He instructed me to bend over and grab hold of a small tree nearby. Standing behind me, he used his thumbs to spread the cheeks of my behind. I giggled, surprised and embarrassed, when he pushed a finger into my anus and wiggled it around. In almost no time my little penis stiffened eagerly once more. "My weenie is stiff again!" I told him. He laughed in response. He pulled his finger out and pushed what I knew to be the tip of his penis up against my hole.

"I don't think that will fit." I informed him seriously.

"We'll get it in there," he responded, "We'll do a little at a time, alright?"

"I'll try." While one of his hands held my hip, the other reached around and batted my erection, and he began playing with it like before. I liked that, and told him so. With a bit of pressure and a wiggle, he worked the head of his penis into me. It felt strange – even a bit alarming – but hardly hurt at all. "Just relax and push back, like trying to poop it out," he counseled me while pulling my foreskin back and off the head of my penis, something I never dared do myself, but which I found amazingly soothing, even while it made me anxious for more.

"Does it hurt yet, boy?"

"No, it's alright," I responded tentatively.

He pushed it in quite a bit more, stretching my hole farther open than it ever was before, while he continued to work on my penis, now pulling my foreskin forward and manipulating the tip mercilessly. I flinched and wiggled as the shaft of his penis began to stretch my hole beyond its capacity.

"Did that hurt?"

"No," I lied.

He pushed it in even more, and I responded with an irritated grunt.

"Now?"

"Ohhh… Just a little," I had to admit, "Did your sap come out yet?"

"No, boy! We're not to that part yet. I'm just getting you ready. Is this your first time doing this?" he asked.

"I didn't even know men had sap! Is this what the critters are doing when they mount each other?"

He laughed, "Something like it. How old are you?"

"I'll be nine years old sometime this summer," I announced proudly.

"Well, it's 'bout time someone broke you in then," he announced before and especially long and painful thrust.

I began to fear I may have gotten myself into more than I expected. He pushed again, and with the pain that came with opening up my anus, came another, new feeling deeper inside me. He touched something I didn't know was there. The feeling gave me a nervous shiver, and my little penis twitched against his fingers. "That hurt, but felt funny, too." I told him, but he ignored me and slowly, relentlessly pushed his penis into me.

"Keep pushing me out!" He insisted. He slowly began pulling it out, only to push it back in again.

"Isn't your sap out yet?" I began to complain.

"What? No. Not yet," he used that tone adults use when they are growing impatient.

I waited patiently as he held my hips in his large hands and pushed ever-so-slowly in and out several more times. My anus burned and itched as he pushed and pulled through it again and again. I felt I was being tricked, and began to sob, but he only shushed me. Otherwise we both fell silent as he rocked himself slowly in and out of me as I hugged the tree trunk. Finally he sighed deeply and stopped. He gently removed his organ.

"Did you get it all out?

"Yes, yes, I got it all out." He patted my behind.

"Where is it now?"

"In you, mostly."

"I looked at him skeptically, so he squeezed a small gob of white goo out of the tip of his penis, "don't worry though, it will come out of you." He gave me a big, satisfied grin. "You were pretty good at that," he told me while gesturing to the two loaves of bread. He went to the creek and rinsed himself off quickly before tucking his penis away, then gestured for me to join him. "Some of the cream is coming out of you already," he laughed. And sure enough, when I poked a finger around my backside I felt some of his slimy sap on my fingers. I waded in and washed myself. Uncle Charles inspected my hole for me after I had finished, and then sent me back to our shack with a hardy slap to my behind. I proudly gave my loaves to my mother when I got back. She didn't ask me why Uncle Charles gave them to me.

– 2 –

Uncle Charlie and I became friends. He came to visit mom several more times that summer, and each time I saw him coming down the path, a little of my own sap stiffened up my penis, and I ran to give him a big hug. I always asked if I could do anything to help him. But he must have preferred my mom's technique, as he would laugh, tweak my little hard-on if no one was looking, and send me on my way with a slap to my naked behind.

Uncle Charlie the baker was one of the wealthier artisans in our village, and early spring, he brought me to his barn to clean the manure out of his animal shed. I was certainly ten by then, practically eleven, when one day another man came into the barn with Uncle Charlie. Uncle Charlie let me watch with him while the man carefully tied a colt down and then cut into its body between its hind legs.

"What's he doing to the colt?" I asked Uncle Charlie.

"He's gelding him, cutting out the colt's nuts."

I was allowed to wear an old shirt when visiting the village. Even so, when Uncle Charlie told me what they were doing, I immediately took protective hold of my own small genitals. He laughed hardily. "They hardly ever do it to boys," he teased, "Only to animals."

"Why? It must hurt." I commented while watching the man remove the oblong giblets from the colt.

"It keeps them from getting too wild. Geldings are easier to train and control."

I nodded sagely.

The gelder glanced at me and laughed, "Who is this scamp?"

"This is Gertie's boy. I hire him to clean out the stalls."

"Oh?" The man responded light-heartedly, then addressed me: "Does your Uncle Charlie visit often?"

Uncle Charlie blushed a bit at the question.

"Yes, I guess so. He brings us bread. He visits with me sometimes too."

Uncle Charlie stared at me.

"You?" the man laughed and looked me over carefully. I too suddenly blushed in unison with Uncle Charlie, realizing I might be risking our secret.

So, with Uncle Charlie's little chores, I began to venture more and more into the village, and began to run into other boys too. Several of my other uncles would deliberately avoid me when I was in the village, some of the boys would say mean things about my mother and me. But there were lots and lots of kids around. I made friends with some of them, often the small gang of boys three and four years older than I was would call me over to them and ask me all kinds of silly questions. I was honored that older boys would pay attention to me. They invited me to meet them to go gathering berries. It wasn't long when we all ended up at a secluded bend of the river, where the boys decided to go skinny-dipping. They freely exposed their older, budding genitals, so much bigger than mine, sometimes sporting fuzzy little crowns of various size and texture.

"Come on and join us Pippin!" they called, deliberately ignoring my distracted stares. I giggled and pulled off my old tunic, and my tiny penis stood at attention for them. Now it was their turn to look at me, and look they did.

"That's a tiny one," one of the boys blurted out.

"He's just a little boy," Thomas, the leader, responded.

"Even for a little boy, that's pretty small!" the other boy, Jules, added in support of the first.

Thomas shrugged in response, "So? It's cute!" he concluded. "Hey, Pippin, what do you think of this one?" He waved his growing organ for me to inspect.

I shrugged in response, "It's nice I guess," I concluded, "But it's getting sap in it."

"Sap?" he asked in a slightly offended, slightly concerned voice.

I nodded, "Uh huh, it's getting big and straight. That means it's getting sap in it, and it needs to come out."

He laughed nervously, and the other boys laughed at his cue.

"I know how to get it down again?" I explained, thinking I might be able to teach my new friends a thing or two.

The boy laughed again, "Does that little thing of yours get sap?" he asked?

"Sure, I responded, it's full now!" I explained.

Thomas moved closer, took my penis between his thumb and middle finger, and flicked at the tip with his index finger.

"Hey!" I protested.

Now all their penises were wagging before them. I was torn between enjoying the display of virility and the attention I was getting, and embarrassed by the reason for it.

"So how do you get your 'sap' out?" Thomas asked me.

I shrugged, "Mine just goes away by itself, and it doesn't show."

"Yeah, I guess you're lucky!" Thomas nodded, "But what about us? What should we do?" Without a word one of the other boys, named Gerrit, reached out and flicked at my small penis just like Thomas did, and giggled slightly, then he squeezed my foreskin sliding it along the head of my penis. It felt nice.

"Huh?" I tried to focus back on what Thomas was saying. "Yeah, I know a way to get it down."

One of the boys snickered, but Thomas shushed them, "His mother's a witch, he maybe knows something magic!"

"She's not a witch!" I protested, but I immediately began to ponder the possibility that my mother was doing something magic during her private meetings with all my different uncles.

"Alright, so what do you do?"

I shook my head wisely. "You can start by sucking on it a while, but that's only the first part."

"The first part? Well, Pip, can help me out with the first part then?"

The other boys grinned, "Yeah, help us all out Pippin! We'll give you all the berries."

"All of them?" I asked. I had helped Uncle Charlie in the past, but I never with someone else watching. The thought of doing so both worried and excited me, but I had no idea why. "Alright, I'll show you." I volunteered, getting on my knees in front of Thomas, "I've done this before." I opened my mouth and took Thomas's erection into my mouth, sucking vigorously, drawing the sap to the tip with my lips and tongue. Thomas wrapped his hands around the back of my head. Just as Uncle Charlie taught me, I continued working a few minutes, until I saw Thomas's sack snuggled up against his body, just like Uncle Charlie's. Then I pulled my head away from him. He resisted. "Hey, you have to finish now!" he protested angrily.

"Now comes the second part, silly!" I informed him, "the real way to get it all out is to put it into someone's behind and rub it in there."

"No Pip, just suck on it!" But I pulled away from his grasp. "Let me show you!" I snapped back. I turned around and bent over against the riverbank. "Now you gotta put it in a behind!" I explained to him, offering my own.

"Yeah, go ahead!" the third boy, Jules, encouraged him. Thomas shrugged – he didn't seem to know the first thing about this – and took hold of my hips and awkwardly worked his penis into my crack, and finally into my waiting hole. His probing stretched my tender anus, and I grunted slightly at the expected discomfort, but it was nothing compared to the pain that came when Uncle Charlie did it. I pushed out at the invading probe just as Uncle Charlie taught me to, waiting patiently for the rubbing on that special spot deep inside me to begin.

"Don't it hurt, Pip?" Jules asked.

"Just a little, but it's alright, Uncle Charlie taught me how to do it," Immediately I regretted saying his name, remembering he wanted to keep his problem a secret. "It can even feel kind of nice, if you hit the right spot."

"It's hot in there!" Thomas concluded while pushing deeper, "Did I hit the spot yet?"

"A little more," I advised him, but Thomas pushed a lot more. I shuddered and I felt my penis twitch as he bumped the spot hard. "Oh, you got it! That's hard enough."

"Let me try!" Gerrit complained.

"When I'm finished!" Thomas let go of my hip momentarily to fend off the other boy. I spread my ankles to lower my butt and make Thomas's probe rub more across my nice spot rather than bump right into it.

"Do you do this a lot, Pip?" one of the boys asked, but I didn't answer. Thomas was digging his fingers into my hips, and speeding up his thrusts, I knew the sap would be coming out any moment.

"I can't wait!" Gerrit announced, climbing awkwardly along the riverbank, "Get started on me!" He slid down right in front of me. His erection wagged against my nose, with a slippery wet drop exposed on the tip. Wisps of curly hair sprouted out around the base of his stiff, wagging penis.

"I'm busy!" I protested, "Anyway, your sap is starting to come out already."

"Oh come on, Pip give me the first part anyway! My sap needs to come out now!" Gerrit slapped his stiff dick against my cheek. His penis was so close to my face, I could count the dozen or so hairs sprouting out of each side. I felt I was losing control of the situation. I gave a little grunt and tried to look back as Thomas hit my sensitive spot just right. I felt the head of my penis struggling against the foreskin. I needed a free hand to comfort it, but was already holding myself up against the river bank with one hand, and fending off Gerrit with the other. "I won't give you my berries, then," Gerrit threatened, so finally I let him have his way and opened my mouth reluctantly for his excited organ, and began to eagerly soothe my own frustrated little boyhood, beginning to understand the strange longing the older boys and men suffered through when they needed their sap out.

I often went to the creek with Thomas, Jules, and Gerrit, who brought along other boys from the village. They would help me with my chores in exchange for me helping get their sap out. And they same would happen with Uncle Charlie, he would ask me to come do chores in his bakery or farm, but he would often have a friend with him when I arrived. We'd make a show of doing the chores for a while, but then we'd slip into the back of his barn where I would help him and his friends.

– 3 –

It was early summer when all the trouble started. The priest and some soldiers came to take my mother away, claiming she was a witch. I didn't know what happened to her after that. It was only many years later when I came back to the village in my old age that I learned they burned her at the stake.

I was locked all alone in the dank, rotten-smelling crypt of the parish church for I don't know how long. The priest would come by now and again with some gruel and bread, and tell me to pray to Saint Nicholas for help. I didn't understand why he wouldn't just let me out instead.

But I did pray, and the next day the door was opened and Uncle Charlie introduced me to a chubby, bearded itinerate merchant, and a handful of coins were exchanged,

"Are you Saint Nicholas?" I asked the old man, who only chuckled and told me he wasn't. But I knew that Saint Nicholas did his good deeds in secret, so I wasn't so sure. Uncle Charlie said his good-byes, patted my head, and I was handed over.

Saint Nicholas insisted on being called Jakob, and the people he met called him Jakob the Jew. He was a nice man, however. He found an old pair of sandals for me to wear as we took to the road. Already he had three young boys and one girl in his charge. We wandered from village to village for many days, finally ending up on at the Meuse River. There Jakob took away all our clothes and loaded us all on a large river boat.

The rough, playful sailors were of many different hues and dialects, and would switch between French, Provencal, Dutch and German. They wore almost nothing, and had lean, muscular bodies. The boat was mostly open with just a couple small partitions in the back, near the large rudder. Jakob and the captain kissed cheeks, and then I was presented to him, and Jakob explained with a wink I was very obedient and would be a good cabin boy for the skipper. The skipper agreed, and I and was put to work cleaning a large pile of fish. I sat naked there working for hours as the busy crew unloaded barrels and sacks, and loaded passengers, and soon the bottom of the boat was crowded with people talking, singing hymns, and arguing for space under a series of makeshift cloth awnings. The sun was hanging low when the ship suddenly swayed, and I climbed up to the side to see what happened, only to discover we had left the docks entirely! I suddenly began to cry as the town shrank away. Then the captain gave me a bucket of water and told me to clean up. As I was finishing, I found a huge man grinning down at me. "The Skipper's supper," he announced and thrust at me a good-sized, boiled fish, and quarter loaf of fresh bread arrayed on a clay dish. I scampered to the back of the boat and knocked on the rough, little door. "What is it now?" I heard a voice from the other side. A crewman walked up and lit a clay lamp hanging on the wall there, then gave my behind a soft pinch, and I almost dropped the plate. He smiled down at me and I grinned up at him. I opened the door to find the captain resting on a simple bed. The room was so small it seemed next to impossible for even me to fit inside with him. He explained to me how to light his candle off the one from the lamp outside, unfold his crude table, set his food there, and draw some water from a large skin for his bronze cup. I sat naked on the floor as he broke the fish up with his hand, scooped portions into his mouth, spitting bones back onto his plate.

"Come up here," he ordered briskly. I got up from the floor and squeezed in with him on the bed. He nudged the plate towards me. The head and the bottom third of the fish were left untouched, along with a small crust of the bread, and I quickly ate up the leftovers. "Alright, put the plate outside the door, and fold up the table." I did as told. He looked me up and down, and I felt my penis stirring to life. When he paused at my crotch I covered-up. The captain snorted.

"Well, let's see then," he suggested. I let my hands fall to my sides. My penis popped up stiffly, pointing up at the at the tiny room's ceiling. The captain smiled and beckoned me to his side. The candle flickered as I snuggled up next to him on the bed. He pulled me close and let his hand slide down to caress the side of my behind before he blew out the candle. "Untie my trousers and pull them off," he instructed. I slid off the bed and complied.

"Do you know what to do next?"

"Yes, sir," I replied. I found the penis between the hairy thighs and carefully slid my mouth over it, tasting the cheesy grease under his loose, rubbery foreskin. I felt hairs on my chin and reached in to caress a substantial pair of warm, hairy ovals. The captain leaned back and began stroking my head. I worked my tongue and lips around the long, hot organ. He gently urged my head deeper and deeper into his hot, damp thighs. He squirmed around in the tiny space until he got legs onto my shoulders and pressed his hairy thighs against my ears as I hugged his lower back. I got a whiff of his behind. I giggled as I struggled against the narrow walls to climb up onto his lap as he did what he could manage to shift around and lean back a bit. With one leg folded at his side, and the other stretched out with my ankle up on his shoulder, I got his damp erection in the vicinity of my hole, as he laughed and took a firm hold of my hips to do the rest. I held myself up with one hand on his knee as I reached between my legs with the other to hold his flaying rod steady and guide it into my behind.

"You're an eager one!" the Captain complemented me.

– 4 –

In the morning the captain filled his chamber pot and then sent me outside to empty it. At first I started to look for something to wear, but he looked at me impatiently so I just left without it. Then I remembered that Jakob had taken my shirt with him, and I no longer owned any clothing. At least most of folks were still sleeping. I saw one or two other boys, one as naked and erect as I was, either going to the side to pee or just departing. It was exciting to be naked in front of others, especially men. I dumped the captain's urine over the side and began to empty my own bladder when a large crewman came right up beside me, lifted up his cloak to expose a big, stiff penis and pendulous, furry balls. He began to piss right next to me. I responded with an embarrassed giggle.

"Aren't you the pretty one?!" the man quipped, "the Captain's new boy?'

"Yes sir."

"Not a bit of hair there, I see." Indeed there wasn't, and I wondered briefly about why men had so much more hair than me.

"Would you like to touch mine?"

"Your what?" I asked guiltily," diverting my gaze from his large hairy organs.

"I don't mind," he encouraged me. I glanced up at him mutely, but my throbbing erection spoke for me.

"Go ahead!" he actually grabbed my hand and put it on the warm, crinkly hair. I stroked the soft, black hair for a moment, then took a brazen hold of the real prize, feeling the blood pulsing through it, and the urine flowing along the bottom as he squeezed out his final squirts. I looked around to see if anyone was watching, but no one was paying much attention to us. "Would you like to kiss it?" I pulled my lips into my mouth hoping to restrain a grin. The thought of kissing it intrigued me, especially because I could tell he wanted me to do so, and risk of others seeing me seemed mitigated by his collusion. He gave it a final wag, gently removed my hand, and let his cloak fall down over his furry treasures. I missed them from the moment they became hidden.

"Come into the galley with me," he commanded. All the galley consisted of was an open space next to the captain's small cabin, with a small fireplace and crewmen sleeping, set off from the rest of the open deck by a ragged old sail hung over a sagging rope, He placed his warm hand on my neck and guided me to where the sail met the captain's cabin, pushed the edge of the sail aside and shoved me in. It was open to the sky except a small overhang to protect the fireplace. Three or four men in various states of undress were getting ready to begin their shift. Just my standing there naked among all those men thrilled me.

"What you got there, Silas?" One of the men asked my new friend in a humored tone.

"An eager beaver, I do believe. What do you think?" Silas flicked his calloused hand over my still stiff erection. I immediately covered it with my hand. Being naked in front of all them increased my excitement to the point where I couldn't help but to discretely tug on my straining foreskin once or twice to relieve the tension.

"Well now boy, Silas is the first mate here," the man lectured, "And a new cabin boy like you needs to pay close attention to the orders of the first mate."

"Yes, Sir."

Silas leaned against the cabin wall and lifted his cloak again. And the moment he did so I eagerly took the opportunity to further examine his manly organs.

"It still wants a little kiss. Ready now?" he asked.

I looked around to see the other crewmen flashing encouraging smiles. I gave the top of the shaft a quick kiss and smiled up at the mate. "Not there, on the end!" he shook the organ in front of my face for a moment, then pulled his foreskin back, exposing a shiny, wet head. I bent towards it again and kissed the damp, pink tip. "How much do you think you can get into your mouth, boy?" I shrugged and looked around. It was going much farther much faster than I expected. How did I discover this magical place where men were so willing to give me access to their private parts? "Well do you think you can get this much in?" He indicated about a length about the size of his fist. "We have a hot pot of stew over there and I'll give you a bowl if you can keep that much in your warm mouth for a while.

"How long?"

"Well, that depends."

"If you move your tongue around the end a good bit, not so long." One of the other crewmen interjected. I knew what he meant.

"I am hungry," I made sure to announce as excuse, and shrugged in an attempt to show it wasn't that important to me, and began tasting and exploring the warm head and folds of skin with my lips and tongue. One of the crew went outside, and when he pushed the old sail aside the wind caught it and for a moment I could see the rest of the deck from the corner of my eye, and one boy looking right at me. Then the sail fell back into place.

"That's a good boy." The mate said in a soothing voice as he patted and stroked my head. I realized I was tugging my tight foreskin back a far as it would go, even as I stroked the man's large head with my tongue. He sighed and was silent for a long moment, then pushed my head away. "Good, I have another job for you." He dragged an empty wicker chicken cage in front of me and told me to bend over and hang on to its sides. "Hand on tight!" he warned me.

"Why?" I asked.

As I did so he slipped a wet finger up my behind. "Did the captain already put a little juice up here, boy?"

I nodded, and heard some of the men snicker.

"Well then, you'll be ready for this." And as he said it I felt what I knew to be his erection go up into me, and I gripped the bars of the cage tightly and gave out a little cry. I tried to protest, but I admit I was a little curious as to how it would feel. The rough calloused hands took hold of my hips and he pushed in again, his ample manhood easily finding my sensitive spot in there, and when he did I could only partially hold in a little, surprised squeal.

"Now that's a good boy. Are you liking this?" he asked, but one hand had already left my back and examined my aching hard-on to find his answer. The crewman that had left a moment ago returned, and froze in amusement when he lifted the sail, and behind him I could now see four curious boys craning their heads to get a look. I wanted to cover my erection but the bars of the cage were in the way. "Oh, making it a little tight for me, hey?" The mate teased as I tensed-up at the thought of the other boys seeing me in this position. The pleasure and excitement at showing myself naked to the men seemed nothing like the excitement of having the men watch as the mate's big warm organ stretched out my anus and stroked my little spot, but it was mixed with worry that we had gone too far, and I would be bullied and teased by the other boys later.

"They're watching." I complained and gestured out to the deck. But the mate didn't reply except for the increased force of his rhythm and then several slower, deliberate thrusts. I realized the grinning crewman was now deliberately hesitating so the boys outside could observe. The mate pulled out of me and I stood up. Finally he let the sail drop. My chest and tummy had red stripes across it where I was pressed against the bars of the old cage. Then the largest sailor of them all, the cook, a fat man with wild, curly hair and skin and swarthy skin came over to me with a bowl of fish stew. He had a large, broad chest and bulging stomach, and his simple loincloth showed a bulge: it had to be some kind of club or large knife sheath. Then I realized it had to be a hard penis – larger than any I ever imagined – and I stopped eating and stared. I realized if I wanted to see that penis I would have to serve it somehow, but I so wanted to see it, wondering how it might look, how big it could grow. He smiled down at me with big, white teeth.

"How do you like that?" he asked as I drank down the thin stew.

"It's so big!"

"The soup is big!?" he mocked my answer. My anus itched and when I scratched it. I discovered a sticky fluid leaking out. He let his shaft slip out from the narrow cloth that restrained it. Even darker than his swarthy skin, the tip was missing while the head came out from a mangled ring of flesh.

"What happened to it?" I dared to ask.

"Abe's circumcised. That's a Jewish tool you're looking at." The mate informed me while taking my soup bowl.

"You should accept Jesus as your savior." I kindly informed him. The crew laughed, all accept the cook. I knew I was in trouble and took off for the edge of the sail. But pushing the sail out of the way slowed me down just enough for the big cook to catch me by the arm, to the laughs of the rest. In front of the gang of boys now gathered just outside, he just gave a loud slap to my behind and let me go.

– 5 –

Red-faced and ignoring the disapproving boys, I went back to retrieve the captain's camber pot. The crew finished their breakfast and went to work, and then the night crew began pestering me to come back into the galley as well. I refused, worried about what the heathen Jewish cook would do. Finally the captain ordered me to go help the cook clean up. I had no choice. I peeked past the old sail to see the cook among the lounging night crew. I went near him and told him I was there to help. He told me to bring two buckets of river water, and when I returned I was set to scrubbing the bowls and spoons with an old brush, rinsing them in the second pail, and then leaving them to dry in the sun. Before long I felt something poke me in the back of the neck, and I turned around only to put my face right into the cook's dirty loincloth, and its stiff, springy contents.

"Whoa there child! There is no need to hurry. Let's take a little break. Come sit here next to me." He didn't seem angry anymore. He sat cross-leg against the side of the creaking ship, and beckoned me to sit next to him. "Did you ever feel a big, Hebrew tool like this one?" And without hesitation he took hold of my wrist and set my hand against his loincloth.

I was barely able to reach around it, where mine was about the size of one of my fingers. "Go ahead," he whispered, realizing my wishes, and I slipped my hand under the cloth and felt the hot, throbbing thing, including its naked head and some of the rough ridges left over from his circumcision. "Would you like to have that up there where the mate put his?" he whispered.

"It's too big!" I responded.

"I don't know… Did you like the mate's tool up there?"

I shrugged. "Well, not with all those boys peeking. Some of them can be mean."

His hand ran slowly down my back and worked under my bottom. First one, then two fingers began probing around.

"Come sit on my knee," and almost effortlessly he pulled me up on his knee. "The crewmen were watching too. That didn't bother you?"

I shrugged again. "The boys will tease me later. Maybe they'll tell the priest. Did you know one of your passengers is a priest? But I don't mind men watching, that's even kind of fun."

"Fun now?" The cook smiled, "You're one of the crew now. The priest has no say over you."

"Really?" I asked.

"That boy'd make a good capon." Another man suggested, as others grinned and nodded in approval.

"What's a capon?" I asked.

The cook laughed. "Well, it's a boy who…" he considered his answer carefully, "… who is dedicated to serving men."

"Like a cabin boy?" I smiled.

"Yes indeed. You'd pretty much be doing what you are doing now, but all your life."

I considered how hard life was back in Overijssel. "I might like that," I admitted.

"Well, when we get to Verdun, tell the folks there you want to be a capon," The mate advised me very seriously, while the other men nodded.

The cook then dragged a large section of sail over our laps, and dropped a large needle and cord on top of it. I relaxed and gave the cook freedom to probe even farther and immediately his finger went in deep enough to stroke my sensitive spot, his other hand on my thigh to keep me in place, a single dark finger teased and nudged and flicked at my straining penis. His internal strokes irritated and pleased me at the same time, and that confused look was reflected on my face when the priest barged into the cabin. Not that priest from the village in Overijssel, but some other, grumpy cleric, another passenger on the boat.

I quickly brushed Abe's hand away from my penis, and covered my excited genitals with my own. But Abe brazenly kept the other busy inside my anus even while he explained to the priest that it was not his responsibility to feed the passengers or their spiritual advisor; that hard bread and salt fish had been brought aboard for that very purpose. The priest kept looking at me, with my confused, embarrassed face. "Boy, you would do well to keep company with your holy Christian brethren on the main deck."

"But I'm the cabin boy, FaTHER!" I involuntarily squeaked out the last syllable as the cook's finger conducted an especially vigorous and unexpected wiggle. How could the priest not know what was going on inside me?! My face was red. The night crew was now all paying attention, and seemed to be in on the joke, as they were studying me much more intently than the cook or the priest, even though those two were doing all the talking. The priest took another long look at me. My eyes were watering from the cook's strokes, but the priest must have taken that for remorse as he spoke in a comforting voice "I'll pray for you, my son."

"Thank YouOUU, Father." I again squeaked as the cook began pressing a second finger into me. After the priest retreated outside, the crewmen came around closer to investigate further.

"What's that devil doing to you, boy?" one grinning man asked.

"He's playing with my – my inside." I protested trying to get up.

"So this is the peg boy our captain picked up?" another asked.

"Surely," the cook replied, "and the mate has already had his way with him, quite the show, too. The boy even says it's fun to have others watching."

"Fine looking boy," commented a man with a scar on his neck, "he'll make a good little capon."

"But he says I'm too big for his chubby bottom. What do you say?" The cook finally gave me a full, unfettered look as he pulled his loincloth to the side and out flopped something almost as thick as my clenched fist, with a naked head surrounded by the ugly scar.

"That's the devil's own yard-arm," the man with the neck scar teased. "Only a true capon would be able to take that one up his bum. Now here's a saintly Christian organ that I bet is much more your size. I'll give you a copper penny if you give this one a try!" Suddenly the cook decided for me, as he pulled his fingers out of my itching hole, took both my knees and quickly brought them up against my sides. He adeptly positioned himself so that my spine was up against his naked organ as my already aching little erection danced around above my tight ball sack, its wet head half exposed.

"What if the priest comes back?" I protested.

"If he has a copper penny, he can take a turn!" one of the men quipped. And the man with the scarred cheek and the saintly Christian organ leaned down and jerked the old sail aside. His stiff penis flopped around like a short club, knocking against my chin. "Bring his knees back." And the cook complied, drawing my ankles up next to my ears! I could feel the cook's hot tool throbbing against my back. As soon as the cook adjusted me up, the Christian sailor fell to his knees and leaned into me, pushing his Christian organ into my already loose, itchy anus effortlessly. Suddenly I was sandwiched between the two hairy, musky men, one holding my ankles, the other taking hold of my wrists, penning them back, and fucking me. He cocked his head and looked at me inquisitively, which seemed strange. But his stiff, saintly probe did just as I hoped it would do: keeping that anxious, disturbing, exciting feeling building up, as I bit my lower lip. He was too quickly finished, and dutifully left a copper penny in my hand. The next in line seemed not much older than me, he had a smooth, hairless face and chest, but crotch hair and genitals similar to the men. The others in the crew cheered him on, suggesting it would be his first time. But he was so eager and excited he needed no encouragement. Ploughing right in, he didn't even seem to notice my face, and kept looking to the cook and the others for approval. He only occasionally reached my sensitive spot, it was the only time in the process that my own penis started to sag. This lad too was soon finished, and the next crewman demanded a change in positions, the cook complied by pushing me off his lap then turning me around and onto my knees before him. He then cupped my neck in his big hand and pulled my head towards his waiting crotch, his huge, swarthy, hairy organ smearing a clear sticky fluid across my cheek and lips. I tried to give it a kiss, but behind me came the other sailor, one who wasn't content to fuck, he expected me to do the work for him and thrust my ass back and forth over his waiting hard-on. I never expected that, and complied only reluctantly. I wanted to tell the man behind me it would be better if he just did the pushing himself.

"Grab at it when you push back," he ordered, "that's what a good boy would do." Still fascinated with and distracted by the scarred example of manliness so near my face, I couldn't keep the other man happy, going for only one or two cycles before I pulled out too far and his penis flopped free. This didn't please him at all. "A novice!" he complained. He pulled away, and I assumed he'd given up, and I decided to give the big penis in front of me some more licking. But the sailor behind me quickly returned. I couldn't quite see what he was up to, but I felt his rough hand tug rudely on my snug, little balls, and then felt him wrap something around them – that cord Abe discarded with the sail.

I slid my mouth off the big tool and looked down under my arm. "What are you doing?" I asked worriedly.

"Teaching a cheeky cabin boy some manners!" He responded to the guffaws of the assembled crew.

"He gonna ride you like a pony!" the cook advised me pleasantly. "Show you how to do it right."

He slowly pulled the cord tight – to my protests. I held my anus closed with all my might as his penis attempted re-entry. But one good jerk of the cords changed my mind about that strategy, as my balls were painfully pulled out from their snug little niche between my legs and my sack stretched far beyond comfort. I had to lift myself up off my knees and balance on my toes and palms to push my ass onto the waiting organ to relieve the intense and painful pressure. Only when I felt my ass tight against his fur did he finally relinquish his pull on the reigns entirely. I immediately slipped back down to my knees, but before I could free myself from his erection he gave the cord a jerk and I had to come up again.

"Oh, my balls!" I cried. As much as I wished to be able to intimately experience that exotic organ in front of me, the man with my balls monopolized all my attention. Suddenly this wasn't fun at all, but work! And so I took a deep breath, and began vigorously undulating my body against the waiting penis: rocking my clenched ass onto his shaft until I was up against his fur, then relaxing and pulling it away, with my little erection being pulled straight down as he jerked on the cord and my scrotum, or flipping back up against my smooth belly as the cord was either jerked back or released from my helpless peanut. Once I got the rhythm he loosed his hold and I could work his organ against my nice spot with each pass.

"That's the way," the man encouraged me. But soon none of this pleased the cook, or else it pleased him too much, for he ordered the man behind me to hurry up so he could take his turn. I slowed down in my rocking a little to listen to their argument, but when the man began impatiently jerking back my sore balls once again, I immediately went back to concentrating on the task at hand. The other crewmen just laughed at my plight.

"If you keep interrupting, he'll never finish!" The man behind me argued. "Work it boy!" a spectator cheered.

"Yes, Sir." I mumbled, with the tip of the cook's large organ still brushing up against my lips and face. The sun was above the side now and with all that work I was beginning to sweat.

"Take it easy," the cook ordered, "or we'll have a capon before we know it."

"Be doin' us all a favor," the man behind me snapped back, to the snickers of the other men.

The man behind me let loose of my throbbing nuts and put both hands tightly on my hips, cooperating with my motions, so I knew he should soon be finished. Then I felt a new slipperiness inside me, his hands relaxed their grip entirely and knowing he was finished, I slowed to a stop.

"Get goin' boy!" He commanded with an unexpectedly sharp jerk to the cord.

"Ow! You're finished!" I protested.

"Seconds aren't allowed in my galley!" I heard the cook snap. "It's my turn." He ordered me to turn around. When I turned I discovered not only were most all the night crew watching me getting fucked like this, but half a dozen of the boys from the bow, and a couple of the girls, were also eager spectators; they had slipped into the crew quarters or were overlooking the scene from the roof of the captain's little room.

"Who let them in?" I complained. I looked down to see that the 'reins' were hanging between my legs, and a half knot was tight around the base, forcing my red balls to bulge away from my body. I struggled to get the cord off, but the cook restrained me. The nosey passengers all continued grinning and didn't make a move to leave, nor did any of the crew shoo them away.

"Bend over, you little tease," the cook now ordered, "or we'll twist those worthless little orbs right off and make you a capon now."

"What's a capon?" I finally asked the cook.

"A capon's a gelded chicken," the cook answered.

I continued to give him a confused look.

The cook smiled, "A eunuch!" he finally conceded. "Eunuchs are boys with their little nuts cut off."

I remembered the time when Uncle Charlie gelded the colt, but with the cook's big hands pushing me I had little choice but to return to my hands and knees, but this time instead of staring at the cook's belly and genitals, I had to view the excited crewmen and my gawking, young fellow passengers.

"Mr. Abe, Sir, I don't want those girls to see this…" but it was already too late. Taking no never mind of them, he took firm hold of my hips and gave a good thrust. Even as I relaxed and opened up, the infidel's huge, mutilated organ spread my hole apart. "… Ohhhh!" The crewmen watching renewed their smiles, except for the young lad who had me earlier. He just stared intently along with the other crusader boys.

"Go to work now, sonny" he ordered, "or do we need to use that cord again?" he gave the ends a tug just sufficient to tighten up the half knot.

"It's too big," I insisted, sweat now rolling down my face and sides. But the old cook was smart, or maybe just had the right equipment, because he could easily reach and stroke my special spot with his wide, lumbering shaft, weakening my resistance. I began biting my lip again and involuntarily grimacing despite the crowd while the cook received my short, quick bumps against my sweet spot. I lowered my head so I could concentrate on moving my body and get that fat thing up against my special place. Even as it splayed and burned my hole open, having the whole, soft head against my aching spot became more and more important. I felt no responsibility to clench at the fat thing. But I did want a little longer, slower contact with each stroke, and I soon discovered the double pleasure of having first the head, and then the exposed ridge of that big dick shoved across it. Sweat or tears were getting in my eyes and I lifted my head up and shook my hair briefly. I could see them all still watching, and with that humiliation I also felt a strange feeling of release and freedom in being the center of attention, of having everyone notice me like never before, while not being responsible for those consequences. I shook the hair out of my eyes again and took a quick look up at the two girls watching from above the captain's cabin. Almost as naked as I was, they giggled and covered their mouths when I looked at them. My penis hardened even further, and continued flailing about under me as I rocked my body as fast as I could; onto and off of that big, dark tool. Breathing through my mouth, knees raw from the rough deck planking, holding on to two ribs along the bottom of the boat while my toes pushed against the keel, I could make six or even seven rounds with the big cook before having to reposition my whole body and begin the process again. But that didn't satisfy him for long. He demanded even more motion for his shaft.

"You are lucky we know how to train little scamps like you," the cook said. He gave up on the string and reached around my thigh and into my crotch, taking a direct hold of my nuts. Using only that tender hold he taught me to do it just like he wanted, quickly and repeatedly, and even though that meant less contact with my special spot. I concentrated, leaning forward until only the tip was inside me, then thrusting back until the tip nudged its wave of pleasure into me, and still farther until I felt his damp curly hair and rough loincloth against my bottom, then falling forward again, letting the bulging shaft run over my spot on its way out.

Hanging my head, I could see my penis flip-flopping in response to the hammy fist that was around my little nuts, and below that, between his dark thighs, the cook's own man-balls jiggling slightly with my lunges into me. I so wanted to soothe my little stiffy, but needed both hands just to keep in rhythm and balance. At the behest of their friends, another couple boys joined the gang looking down from above the captain's roof. They were so close I could hear them all talking:

"I would never let an infidel touch me, much less do that!"

"This is like his third or fourth time. He let's anyone do it."

"Did you see how big it is?"

"When I came in he was sucking on it even while that other man was fucking him the same way."

"That's part of a cabin boy's job, lads. Would you like work too?" One of the crew advised.

"No Sir!" I heard a young, shrill voice respond from out of my field of view.

"He just needs a little training," I heard the sailor who just finished reassure them, "that is what the string is for."

"He's getting a penny per man, and some lessons too. See the coins?" said another of the crew.

"That's right!" The young crewman spoke, "And you can see his hard little dick. We know he doesn't mind."

"I wish I had a penny, I'd take a turn!" I heard the high, unbroken voice chime in excitedly, and several men laughing in response. The thought of having such a young boy riding me like the men was disturbing.

"Nah, not for a week or so, not after big Abe loosened his hole up like that," the man with the scar teased.

Even as they were joking I felt the cook tense up, I bent my head down and could see his furry balls snug against the base of his dick and soon I felt another new slipperiness inside me. He suddenly became uninterested in his hold on my balls, but I continued my duty until the deflating shaft could no longer satisfy my special spot. The cook rocked back, pulling his dick completely out of me with a slight slurping noise, and I got up off my hands and immediately got the cord off my purple, throbbing balls. I was finally free to give the head of my own pert, eager penis the strokes it so desperately desired.

My penis temporarily satiated, I covered my organs with my right hand and scratched my aching behind with my left, only to discover the whole area wet and gooey. The cook picked up the cord, tied it into a big loop, and hung it around my neck.

"There are still dishes to wash!" he exclaimed as he turned me towards the buckets and gave my sweaty behind a firm, loud slap. "You keep that cord handy!" Everybody laughed – even the young spectators – as I temporarily abandoned my small erection to rub my stinging behind. Wiping tears from my eyes, I summoned up all my remaining dignity to walk over to the buckets and begin washing the bowls again while all the spectators slowly went about their business.

With the show over, the passengers went back toward the bow of the ship, and the night watch settled down for their rest.

As I continued to wash the dishes, the cook looked down at me and admitted, "You alright kid? Maybe things got a bit out of hand there."

I sniffled and wiped my nose.

"You are all mean people," I said accusingly.

He pushed a big dirty toe at the several bronze pennies left at my side. "You ever been so rich before?" he asked.

I just shrugged.

"You really did do a good job. Best cabin boy we've had."

"Really?"

"Sometimes boatmen get a little rough, you know."

"I don't want to be the cabin boy anymore."

"Oh, don't say that. I promise something like that won't happen again on my watch." He patted my head, "One at a time from now on. And we will shoo your little friends away when they try to watch."

"I guess that's alright, if you promise."

The cook suddenly looked at me and laughed. "You surely would make a fine capon," he told me.

"Why? I don't want anyone cutting my nuts off!"

"You could pretty much do nothing but please men all day for the rest of your life. It's a lot better than being a galley or field slave, let me tell you." I knew a little bit about what both were, and didn't want to be either. "But it would hurt: cutting them off?" I cuddled my small scrotum.

The cook laughed, "I imagine so, boy. I imagine so. But a few days of pain for a life of leisure? Wouldn't it'd be worth it."

But I concluded he was just teasing me. It was a weird, disturbing, enticing fantasy, but Uncle Charlie had assured me they almost never do that to boys.

– 6 –

With Abe – or possibly Saint Nicholas in disguise – now looking out for me better, I quickly settled into my job as the cabin boy. I spent the evening taking care of the captain, and looked after the crew's special needs in the morning and the evening when they were going off or onto their work shifts. At other times I was to wash decks or clothes or dishes, or go fishing. The other passengers pretty much left me alone. It was maybe the third or fourth day out when at sunrise the captain and I were awakened by shouts that the cathedral spires of Verdun were spotted. We approached a worn dock, bristling with colorful banners on top and a dozen or so boats of various sizes, the larger ones bristling with long lines of oars.

"There's a man behind each one of those oars," the mate told us, "a slave or criminal who will pull that oar until he drops, then pfff, over the side." He emphasized their final fate with the jerk of his thumb.

The captain ordered me to clean up his quarters, and set up the floor for tea, then take a quick bath, as we might have a guest. He stood atop his cabin directing the crew. As we approached the dock, a man in fancy dress approached, along with a couple guards, and jumped across to our modest craft. Each guard had a large curved sword. We all watched as the men embraced and kissed each other's cheeks on the roof of the captain's shed. After my bath the mate gave me some ridiculous matching ribbons to wear around my head and waist, with nothing else at all. "Don't speak unless they speak to you, and don't look in their eyes, just look down," the mate instructed me hurriedly. The two men surveyed all the young passengers milling about on the deck. Then they climbed down from the platform and entered the captain's quarters, while the guards stood at it entrance. The cook gave me a fancy tray with tea to bring into the cabin. The guards examined me carefully as I approached, and between their wary eyes and my nakedness my little erection couldn't help but betray my excitement. They let me into the cabin, where the bed was folded away, and the two men were sitting on the narrow rug I had just unrolled, examining parchments. Between them was a leather pouch fat with coins. Our guest examined me carefully as I set the tray down, went to my knees, and poured out two bowls of tea.

"Here's one of Jakob's. I picked this one out to be a cabin boy for the trip."

The other man examined me carefully, nodded, but said nothing.

"Jakob said to bring this boy to your attention." My captain told the man.

The other man responded, smiling.

"Boy, tell the mate and our passengers are getting off."

I left them with their tea, coins, and papers, and told the mate and the priest the captain's orders. The message went out and everyone began gathering their things and shifting to the other ship. The crew was especially sad to see me go. I started to cry as some slapped or pinched my behind, others grabbed at my flaccid penis. The cook was especially sad, and had all my copper pennies tied up in a small cloth for me. He asked if I wouldn't change my mind and stay on as cabin boy, and jokingly suggested he might be able to hide me in one of his food lockers.

As soon as we all were across, men on shore separated the older, hairy boys and men from the rest of us. They sent them off down one of the streets, while those that remained ordered all the remaining boys and girls to strip off what few clothes some of us did have. They shooed us all into the muddy water along the river bank, explaining it was time all of them to have a good bath. When we all got to the shore more armed men bundled up our clothes and possessions and ordered us to line up under the trees. We waited around for several hours complaining, asking where we were and why we were being treated this way. Men came along and separated us into smaller groups – apparently based upon age, but no one asked us our ages, instead they seemed to use the appearance of our bodies to guide them. I was directed to the oldest group of boys that still had no hair between their legs, I was a little embarrassed to see that even though I was one of the bigger boys in the that cohort, I had a shorter, thinner penis. The older boys and men – including the bossy priest – where now nowhere to be seen. Finally my little group was called to march into the town. We were all confused, and leaderless. Verdun seemed much more well-to-do and exotic than any of the towns we passed on the way. The smell of spices and cooking meat were especially enticing. We saw a black man, and children playing naked in the warm, sunny streets. People came out to gawk at us. We were shuffled into a shed and the door locked from the outside, and sat there all day and night.

***

We were rousted by armed men before first light. They tied our hands behind our backs and led our little gang to a market square in the center of town. Boys and girls were tied naked two to posts, fences, and walls all around the square, with our meager possessions piled in the center. Some were praying out loud, other defiantly cursing. And men and boys of the town were everywhere, examining each of us in turn, poking and prodding from our mouths to our feet and everywhere in between. A half-dozen times men turned me around and ordered me to bend over, then laughed and invited their friends to take a look. Local boys came around too; jabbering in their French and giggling at my small penis, brazenly examining the tip, or making jokes about our slave status. Finally a local man and a strong, handsome boy, apparently his son, and came over to me. They asked in very bad Dutch how old I was, and I proudly lied to them "fourteen, I think." They asked if I knew a merchant named Jakob, and when I nodded, they too asked me to bend over. They examined my hole for a moment, but were satisfied instead of amused.

"This must be the one," they assured each other and turned away.

"Am I going to be a capon?" I asked them.

"What?"

"A capon. The cook said I'd make a good capon, and it would be easier than working in the fields."

"Capon? Is that French? We don't know what capon is?" the man asked.

"Abe said 'unick,' a boy who work is to please men." I answered matter-of-factly.

The man laughed, "I guess that's pretty much correct!" he surmised, glancing at my stiff, little organ, "We'll see what we can do, since you are a friend of my cousin." He waved and moved on.

As more strange men examined my body I became more and more afraid that Jakob's relatives were not impressed and I would never see them again. They were the only people I had any connection to in this strange town. I was panicked and crying by the time most of the men gathered into a large clump and slowly made their way around the square. When they got closer I could tell they were auctioning off the new arrivals: we were all being sold as slaves. Part of me couldn't help but cry, but another part was strangely excited by the prospect of being a slave to a strange man, or even that Jewish boy whose father was Jakob's cousin. I wondered if I would ever have any clothes again, if he would make me work, or maybe like my body and want me to please him like I pleased the cook and the crew. For a moment I dared to imagine they would hold me down and geld me like the colt was gelded so long ago. The arousing possibilities seemed endless. So even in my uncertainty and confusion my little penis stiffened, and with my hands tied behind my back, I had no way to hide it. Soon the men were beginning to gather around me, and I was happy to see Jakob's relatives again! They were my only connection to anything familiar, and I desperately wanted to go with them, instead of some of the other strangers looking me over luridly.

"Please Jakob's cousins! I want to go with you?" I called over.

"Do you now?" the boy responded.

A cart was rolled up and I was let loose from the wall and lifted on top of the cart, so everyone could get a good look at me. A chill of excitement and embarrassment came over me as I saw all those foreign men and boys looking up at me. The bidding began, but I didn't know my French numbers well enough to understand the auctioneer's fast talking, but the Jew and his handsome son was certainly participating.

When the auction seemed over, the boy tied next to me was coaxed up onto the cart while I was prodded down. I held my breath to see who approach the moneychanger at the end of the cart. It was my handsome boy and his father! He counted out 8 silver coins and took me with him to their shop, which was only a short walk from the market. The father seemed distant and cool to me, but his son was more interested. He paid for me from his own purse, and while his father and the auctioneer chatted, the boy rested a free hand on my bare behind and occasionally squeezed and patted me. "What should I name you?" he mused out loud. He was a bit more than my height, and he had a little dusting of hair above his lip, and for a brief moment I was able to glance up his sleeve and see a thin tuft of black hair under his arm. His face reminded me of the Jakob's. He saw one of his friends in the crowd and shouted out a name: "David!" Another Jewish boy came over to us, about the same size and age as my new master.

"Did you buy one Joseph?!" he asked eagerly, looking my naked body over.

So my master's name was Joseph.

"Yes, my cousin recommended this one, and he's even willing to be a eunuch so he can please the men!" He answered, patting my behind. I nodded in agreement.

"Does he mean it?"

"Oh, yes!" I explained nodding, "that's the word."

David laughed, "Does he know what that means?"

"Well, according to the message he isn't much interested in women anyway!" Joseph quipped, flicking his fingers across my now tired, shrunken penis.

So Jakob was his uncle. I was warming to these two boys, their arms and legs seemed strong and fit, and their voices were adult and confident. I began to wonder what they might look like naked, and my penis slowly stretched to erection. His father ended his conversation with the auctioneer and we all started out to my new home. On the way Joseph went off the road for a moment and picked a flower.

"I'm going to call him Bloempje!" he announced.

"I think that a girl's name?" I explained in my broken French.

"It's a pretty name for you," He responded.

I didn't like the name, but I was a little in awe of the power he had to choose a new name for me, and to buy me and make me his slave. Just the three of them with their clothes and me naked between them, in the busy town street, it all gave me a strange feeling similar to when the sailors took turns with me while the other boys watched from the sidelines. The very helplessness released me from responsibility for my naughtier fantasies, and gave me permission to imagine all the sexy things that might happen without guilt.

– 7 –

My new young master and his father cut hair and did minor surgery in a plain dusty courtyard divided off from the street by a low mud-brick wall and a broad, double gate. A boy closer to my age, called Haantje put me right to work next to him. Haantje was kept naked as I was, as slave boys our age didn't wear clothes. But while my public nakedness burdened me with a conflicted, guilty pleasure, he seemed to relish it. I could see he had the same eager penis that I had, only half again larger, but he showed no concern about drawing attention to it. When a customer teased him about it he brazenly wagged it in response and grinned. But he was nice to me, showing and telling me patiently how to take care of the fire, fetch water, sweep up the hair clippings, where the privy was and the public well. At the end of the day he gave me a corner in his little shanty room to put my things, and showed me a loose stone in the floor where I could hide my treasures. And Joseph even retrieved and replaced the six copper pennies the men on the shore took away.

The days soon fell into a routine. I did my chores for my masters during the day, once Haantje and I slipped into the privy and I sucked on his stiffy until he tired of it, or became afraid the master would catch us shirking our work. But while I was sucking on his tanned, hairless little tool, I daydreamed of pleasing Joseph's big hairy member (I imagined it to be big), or David's lighter red-crowned one, and the wild experiences on the ship fed new fantasies: of doing so while others watched, and even pondering the possibility of my eventual castration and what it might entail, reviewing Mohammed's brief description of it over and over in my mind.

I looked forward to the days when we hiked out to the garden plot. While there Joseph would remove his shirt and I could examine his strong chest and shoulders while we watered and hoed. The worst part of my day was when the wood-sellers came around. Two naked, dirty urchin boys not quite my age, carrying bundles of firewood on their backs, who teased me about my smaller dick. I didn't like their crude jokes or dirty bodies, but I was forever curious about the scraggly patches of pubic hair and the plump genitals dangling in front of them. How did that happen when they seemed so much younger than me? The very first day I met them they pretended to be friends and got me to suck one of their penises behind the privy, until the master found us and gave my behind a good slap while those boys laughed.

Occasionally we would see the Master's wife or daughter, but Haantje and I were forbidden to enter the house if they were there. Nevertheless, Haantje couldn't stop talking about the daughter: when she took her bath, how she would look without clothes, etc. etc. He would babble on about it, surprised and even irritated that I didn't share his obsession. Or he might talk about some girl he saw in the street, even if she was so veiled and covered that he couldn't see anything but a brief flash of her toes. I noticed too that his balls sagged down in their sack more and more, and a few crinkled hairs sprouting out from the sides of his growing penis, and the light spurts of clear fluid he occasionally spewed out after our evenings of passionless, sloppy experiments in stroking and sucking.

But while he babbled on about girls, I thought about Master Joseph, and – remembering how I got the attention of the first mate – I decided I would try something similar: figure out when Joseph went to the outhouse in the morning, and arrange to show up at the same time. The compound wasn't that large, so learning his habits wasn't too difficult. But because the masters didn't allow me clothing for everyday work around the courtyard and barbershop, my little betrayer was way ahead of me, and as even as I approached the outhouse for my 'accidental' encounter, the erection dancing gaily in front of me told another story. Nevertheless I bounded into the dark privy and – hoping to get a little better view, I plopped myself down on the hole next to him, only to find my penis pointing rigidly up toward the ceiling. Before I could think to cover it shyly, I saw what I had waited so anxiously for: a fat, long, circumcised penis – half sagging, half erect – was now well within my reach. I stared for a long moment, expecting an invitation to do more than just look. But I got a very different response, young master took one look at me looking at his penis, and one look at my little stiffy poking out from between my legs, and began intermittently peeing onto my lap, chasing me out of the room.

– 8 –

It was a special day for me, but at first I had no idea it would be. I was busy with all my little chores, moving the water bucket from customer to customer, stoking the small fire, fanning the customer of the moment, cleaning up the clippings or blood. The master's son and two of his friends were hanging around, and after the young master consulted with the old master he ordered Haantje and I to bring the table out so that one end pointed into the morning sun. A smaller table was brought next to it and placed upon it was the young master's knife in its small wooden case, a clay bowl, some bandages and a plaster. I was instructed to get a flat iron hot in the fire. Apparently someone was coming in for surgery.

Haantje had some inside knowledge and ran around especially excited: his tan erection waggling back and forth enticingly as he scampered around. One of the young master's friends disappeared but soon came back with a few more boys from the street, including those rude wood-selling urchins. It seemed like everyone was looking at me more than usual, which caused my penis to swell. While normally I could hide it much of the time with a free hand, this morning all the different tasks – and the master's terse mood – were keeping me more busy and exposed than usual. And the usual gang of customers that hung around under the shade of the wall was being joined by more and more local men and boys, even a few women came around. They were anticipating something, and thus so was I.

I was given leather strips to run through rings placed low in each leg of the larger table. The table I've seen used in the past to hold down customers as the Master preformed some minor surgery, so I suspected some kind of operation was in the works, but when I asked Haantje what was about to happen, he wouldn't respond.

The master inspected the preparations, then sternly called out "Bloempje, come here."

I quickly did as I was told.

"Up on the table." The Master's son commanded, but I stared at them both, confused until they repeated their order.

My legs were pushed over opposite corners of the table, and the young master's friends set to work tying my ankles to the table legs. The men and boys milling around the wall came into the sun and closer to the table for a better view. Young master pushed upon the center of my chest until I was lying flat on my back, and then his friends tied my wrists down tight against the table with the remaining straps. The masters were standing at the foot of the table, between my spread knees, but I could hardly see them as the bright late-morning sun was just above their heads. Everyone was crowded around the table, and my penis pointing rigidly at my chin: my inability to cover it and the curious eyes all around it excited me, and my penis betrayed my excitement. My body had their attention. Haantje was standing beside me, and his too was straining erect.

While examining it I thought maybe I was going to be circumcised as Haantje was, and that if he survived it, it couldn't be too bad. But in the back of my mind I realized it might be the moment when I would have to confront the reality behind all the fantasies conjured up and offers I proffered to be a eunuch. I wasn't so sure I wanted to actually go through with that, but I decided they wouldn't do such a thing. Uncle Charlie said it hardly ever happened. I didn't know the word they used for circumcision, so I asked anyone that would listen what they were going to do.

"You'll see soon enough," replied David, Joseph's friend who appeared out of nowhere. One of the wood-selling urchins brashly reached out and roughly pulled my foreskin down, exposing the head it protected. They both giggled even while the Master shooed them back. Master and his son were discussing things quietly, but then they both turned to me.

"Open your mouth wide," instructed the young master.

Were they going to pull one of my teeth?! But the moment I did so someone behind me – that David most likely – shoved a musty rag across my mouth and held it down with both hands on either side of my head. Then the master's son took both my stiff penis and tight balls into his left hand, he kneaded the skin of my penis down to its base, and at the same time squeezed my tender balls out to the very end of my sack while I objected as best I could. I watched as bits of my pink, corrugated sack and small erection squeezed their way out here and there from between those warm, rough fingers. No one had grabbed my nuts like that since the cook and his friends that day on the boat. I shook my head back and forth vigorously. No one said anything about cutting off my penis too! I hadn't agreed to or expected that at all! They didn't even do that to the colt!

I heard Haantje catch his breath at the same moment as the young master's right hand rose above my belly, wielding his favorite blade. I finally protested loudly into the rag and tried to pull my hands away from the corners of the table, to no avail. I looked around for help, but everyone was motionless – even entranced; their eyes quickly snapping from my desperate expression to the young master's left fist clamped tight around my captive little organs. The dark hand with the knife came to rest on my pale lower belly, right where my penis emerged. His knife-hand blocked my view, but I could feel the cold, thin edge at the base of my vulnerable, now fast deflating penis, as my mind forgot about the numerous eyes examining my nakedness, and spun out of control considering my young master's intentions. I tried jerking my feet out of their constraints to no avail. I looked up to see the young master's eyes meeting mine for the shortest of moments, then he turned his complete attention to my crotch and began relentlessly dragging the razor edge back and forth into my helpless flesh.

It began with a terrible itch, and then screaming waves of pain swept out from my little genitals. Both his sweating hands were suddenly lifted from my body, the young master and I were watching the small fountain of blood squirting up at regular intervals from my crotch, while the gathered crowd gasped. The two little firewood-peddlers who had worked their way back to the front were holding their own crotches even while begging the young master to show them the contents of his left fist. Their eyes widened with mine as the young master briefly displayed pale, blood-streaked boy parts. What was just moments ago my happy little erection now a deflated, blood-streaked little acorn, dwarfed by the plump balls still shifting in their sack. Haantje held out his hand and young master passed them to him. He proudly displayed the trophies to the assembled onlookers in his open hand, turning to his left and right, while his own small, taught erection wagged over his snug ball sack not even an arm's length away from my bleeding wound. And while I was observing Haantje's actions with my boyhood, the old master had pulled the hot iron out of the fire and handed it to his son. The boy immediately rested it against my spouting wound, and my head spun…

***

… I woke up back in our little room, Haantje and the master's wife watching over me. They were placing a plaster on my crotch, and I faded again.

– 9 –

It must have been at least a day later when, the woman removed my plaster for me, and watched me while I examined myself. The smooth, white skin of my lower belly ended abruptly at a straight ridge where the young master's knife first found purchase. Stiff scabs swirled around a small, grey straw where my pee now came out. The black scabs continued down between my legs to another straight, but angled, ridge where the knife came away, and below that remained two wrinkly folds of skin, the minimal remains of my sack the knife hadn't bothered with. They had me resting on my side, so I wouldn't pee on myself. I heard the master outside accuse me of laziness, and ordering Haantje to fetch me to the outhouse.

"What happened?" I asked him.

"Master gelded you. You're a eunuch now."

"But my wienie?"

"Yeah, a gelding: like they do to horses, and such, you know?"

"I didn't know they'd cut off my wienie too."

"Oh sure. That's the Verdun way. That was the young master's first time gelding a boy. Until now I was worried they were going to do it to me." Haantje giggled nervously. "You're a real eunuch now."

"It still hurts like it's still there. Why did they do that?"

"I bet it does! Not many barbers will do dicks. They get septic and die too often. So you're lucky they brought you to Verdun: you'll sure fetch a pretty price. And Master says he's going to show you off for a while to get more customers."

"More customers?"

"Yeah, they want to show off the fancy kinds of surgery even young master can do, like yours."

"Why did they cut off my wienie? I wanted that."

Haantje shrugged, "It's just the style here in Verdun, I guess they think it looks better. Now they want to get some more slave boys for it."

I thought about watching another boy being gelded, and my scars stirred and screamed out in pain, I began to pee again. Haantje stepped back from the splattering. It hurt even more when I tried to stop it."

Haantje giggled as he watched the yellow/pink water arc out of the center of my scar and onto the dusty courtyard. I began to choke up and cry.

"Don't cry, Bloempje. It should get better eventually. They almost all do."

Over the next couple weeks I did slowly relearn how to hold my water for longer and longer periods. And the scabs slowly receded, exposing lumpy, stiff, new skin. Young master came to inspect me every few days, and even before the last of the scabs fell away, he and the old master deemed me ready to go back to work.

I begged an old, ragged shirt off of Haantje, and began working again one hot morning almost a whole month after they castrated me. But Haantje assured me that they did want any real work out of me yet, just to show me off.

"What did I tell you?" young master said to his customers as I passed the water gourd around to the customers. "He's almost completely healed. What do you say now?"

"That's the same boy?"

"Of course! He just lost some weight. Don't be shy Bloempje. Show them how well you have healed."

"Master?" My stomach twitched strangely with the thought of showing my new self to his customers. I recognized a couple old idlers that were there looking down at me the day young master castrated me. I bit my lower lip and hesitated, then tried to sooth the discomfort the very idea of showing these men my new crotch. The young master was beside me urging me to pull up my shirt. I felt my face turn hot, and turned to the old master in silent appeal. He wasn't even looking at me, and I resigned to what was about to happen. But the moment I decided to do so a tingle of anticipation let loose in my body. I felt the warm flow on my thighs and legs, and looked down to see a growing dark spot on the tattered shirt. I was pissing. The young master was angry for a moment, but then burst out laughing, as did the men around the water pipe.

"He's shy!" one announced.

Young master shook his head. "What's the problem Bloempje? You didn't need clothes before." He began tugging my shirt up for me.

I knew that my new crotch would be in full view of the customers, and even any random person that might pass by on the street. I gave an embarrassed, red-faced giggle as the shirt came over my head and I was fully naked. My hands were trembling and I licked my lips nervously, then I dared to look at the men looking down there at me, and I could see they were eager and pleased to see what I had become for them. And then they'd look up to my face, wanting to see my reaction to being displayed as a eunuch now. I quickly looked back down again, but I spread my feet a bit so they could see even better. "We are the best surgeons west of Constantinople," the young master bragged. He tossed my shirt back to me, and I quickly slipped it over my head again. He slapped my behind and sent me back to work around the courtyard.

I tried to cover myself as much as possible, but after a few weeks I gave up entirely, and after a few more weeks, I learned how to hold my pee again, and the pain faded away. Slowly things went back to the way they were, except I was their eunuch now. I didn't feel much different: I was still a slave and even if the customers or traveling merchants appeared surprised and even a bit uncomfortable when they first saw me naked in the courtyard, most of the men treated me just like before. It was the boys closer to my age that would giggle and try to tease me about it, especially those arrogant firewood urchins. And my masters' plan was working. Every day a couple more boys arrived to be castrated, cut "Verdun style" just like me, and they would be put in our room and treated by the family for the first week or so before being sent back to their masters.

Within a week of my resuming work a slave dealer brought five new Flemish boys who had just arrived. I felt newly important as both the dealer and the master needed me to interpret orders for them between my stoking the fire and preparing small plasters with the secret ingredient (it was mostly honey). Now I knew what was being planned, as whenever boys were to be castrated, master told me to wear one of Haantje's longer tunics, so as not to upset them prematurely. A small crowd of idlers had followed along with the train of naked crusader boys, who were all tied together in a little train. Haantje was excited, and was again running around with erection wagging. I cleaned the high table with the straps: the same table they used for me. Young master and his friends were hanging around chatting, and the two nosy firewood boys brought several grubby friends too. From a distance I saw them point at me, their friend's eyes shifted between watching me work and the urchin pair's final, sweeping gesture made to conclude the story of my gelding. I could see some adjusting their loincloths, or shirts, but I decided to ignore them, and watch the slave boys instead.

They realized they were the center of attention, but I knew master wouldn't want me to tell them what was about to happen. The dealer chose them well: they were all handsome, better fed than most, with smooth faces and blond or red hair. Big boys, though all but one was still without a hair between their legs. That one had just a dozen dark hairs, and larger, darker penis with low-slung balls, and this immediately caught the master's attention. He went over and rolled the boy's nuts around with his large hand. Master and the dealer discussed the situation for a moment and then master beckoned me over and told me to have the big boy to get on the table. He was obviously the leader, and I could almost tell he was a bully, and maybe already taken some pleasures from younger boys. He tried to appeared unconcern, but asked me what the "Jews" had planned.

"They are going to geld you. Verdun style."

"Huh?"

"You have to lie on this table." The young master's friends were again there, eager to tie down his arms and legs. Haantje carefully separated bandages and cleaned the young master's knife. It was the same cold, razor-sharp edge that rested against the base of my penis, and then slid so easily into it. The boy – who's name was Hans – was still trying to act dignified, unaware of what was about to happen. Master explained to his son that a barber must learn to work fast, in order minimize the worst of the pain and bleeding for his customers. The firewood boys and their friends were getting underfoot and the dealer shooed them away, calling them 'dirty Jews' and threatening they would be next. Young master worked quickly indeed. I saw him hide the knife in his right hand while handling the boy's balls with his left. The boy watched carefully as Joseph's fingers manipulated the pale flesh, swiping out to bring the swollen penis into his grip. Young master then slipped his knife hand onto the boy's belly, and in one swift motion dragged the knife across and into the waiting flesh. Wide-eyed and gaping at the spectacle, the boy jerked on his restraints for a moment, before his eyes rolled back into his head. He kind of barked but didn't begin screaming. I knew he was trying to be as brave as possible for the audience, especially his comrades waiting their turn. The bloody giblets went into a bowl on the small table. Then the hot iron rod placed carefully against the bleeding stump and gap beneath, which raised a sickening smell. Master cast aside the precious organs, the once proud, wagging penis now looked like a bloody turtle that pulled his head into its hairy shell. Haantje untied him, and I helped him off the table. He must have been hurting terribly, but his vanity was terribly strong as well, he wiped away tears and tried to examine his wound. I don't think he even realized yet what a gelding was, or that he just became one forever. The naked firewood boys were grinning and erect, and the boy barely realizing something important and embarrassing had just happened to him.

"Master says not to touch the wound, or you'll begin bleeding. He'll look at it later. I'll show you where you can rest." I relayed to him. I knew mother and sister were waiting in my room to apply the "secret" plaster and bandages. He looked up at me with a confused, injured expression and his lower lip began trembling. He wasn't moving out of the way fast enough so the master gave him a good slap on the rear. The next boy got a good, clear look at what just happened and pissed onto the dusty ground. By the time Haantje and I returned from putting Hans on a mat in my room, the next boy was castrated, and ready for us to escort to the recovery room, so that time I hurried him up and ran back as fast as I could to see the next gelding. He was the red-haired, freckled boy. Already two sets of pink, immature genitals were resting in the clay bowl. He could not control his erection, and I understood immediately how having a bunch of men and boys watching your emasculation can stir a boy up inside. The young master was slowing down, having difficulty getting the knife in the right place with the smaller sack much closer to the body. He told me to hold the erection up away from the boy's belly. I could see the young master concentrating, even poking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth; and the confused, terrified look on the boy's face. Then suddenly his eyes widened and his face contorted while I felt the penis twitch, but it was already losing its power, and sort of half stood up, and then collapsed and went completely limp in my hand as the blood gushed away. I looked back to see that the boy fainted. Haantje and I had to drag him all the way to the back room.

"Watch those balls." Haantje warned me. "Master promised them to us and we can get a silver penny for each pair from the apothecary."

"How do you know?"

Haantje shrugged, "That's what I got for yours anyway."

When we got back to the room the second boy asked what they was happening.

"Making eunuchs."

"Eunuchs?"

"Geldings"

"Yeah, haven't you seen them do it to horses?" he didn't answer but only looked down at his bandages.

"We have to get back!" Haantje urged.

The dealer and old master talked for a moment, then the big master called me over and immediately ordered me to lift my shirt up. I hesitated for only a moment, so he did it for me. Master waved his hand in a way that made clear I was to hold up my shirt again, so I complied. The dealer carefully looked me over, along with everybody else.

"What do you think?" asked the old master.

"He would do."

"My son cut this one for me! It's not a problem for our shop."

The dealer nodded to me, "I think the Moors will be pleased with this one." The old master took over with the fourth boy, already tied and waiting. He was another blond cutie, with a curved erection arching upward towards his head, and a modest pair of balls. Old master took them and the erection into his left hand, and as soon as he did so took the organs off with one smooth stroke of his knife. They went into the bowl, young master took the knife and handed his father the hot iron. The boy stared wide-eyed and shocked, his chest heaving, but his head suddenly rolled to one side. He fainted and big master started working in the ivory plug. That must have been about the same time I fainted, I concluded.

I realized that a few of the boys caught me absent-mindedly soothing my own scars in sympathy. The firewood boys were grinning: "Don't you wish you still had something to stroke at a time like this?" one whispered into my ear. "Shut up, you Jews!" I snapped back at them, but I let my hand fall away from my itching crotch. Haantje and I moved the fourth boy into our room, and came back just in time to move the last boy as well. The first three would go back to the master at the end of the day if all went well, but the five new eunuchs would share our room for most of the week. Haantje and I would have to keep an eye on them, but for now Mother and sister were treating them, and Haantje and I were free to find the apothecary.

***

"What's an 'Moor'?" I asked as we trotted along the dusty street to the main market.

"Nubians," he answered, "Black skins."

We maneuvered through the crowd of mostly men, ending up in a little mud-brick stall on a side street, where a naked little girl was sweeping dust out onto the street, and a small man behind the counter working with a mortar and pestle. The moment he saw Haantje he bellowed "You again?!" But Haantje didn't seem the least surprised by this.

"I got ten more today!" he announced.

"Ten?" the man became curious, and looked over at me.

"Yup, fresh from the knife. They're still bleeding!"

"Boy's or critter's?"

"All from boys," Haantje responded, "I know you don't want them from critters. I want a silver a pair."

The slave girl stopped sweeping and came to look into the bowl.

"You got any proof?" The man asked.

Haantje pulled a pale, bloody knob of a shriveled penis out of the bowl. "That's no swine's dick," he confidently told the pharmacist. The little girl's eyes widened. "all the nuts are good." Haantje set the entire bowl onto the countertop.

The pharmacist counted them carefully, using a quill to push them about in the bowl. "Well, I'll give you three for the lot."

"Three?! You stingy, son of a dog! You can't come up with even a penny for each boy?" Haantje suddenly grabbed my shirt and lifted it up for the man to see my own pillaged crotch. "Look! Look at that!" I pushed my tunic down again. The little girl gaped at my wrinkled, pink scars. I blushed and turned away from her.

"You can't give one silver penny for such a sacrifice? This isn't worth one silver penny to you?!" Haantje asked the shopkeeper.

"I still got some of what you sold to me earlier!" Then he turned to me and pointed down at Haantje's crotch: "But… I'll give you five silver pennies for his in a bowl!"

"Never!" Haantje snapped back with a grin. They both smiled.

"What do you do with the dicks?" Haantje asked.

"I just use them to convince customers I have the real item."

"Do you still have the first one I brought you?"

The man shrugged, then bent down below the counter and brought up a small cider box.

"I think I remember now. Wasn't it pretty small?" the man mentioned with a little snicker.

"Yeah, that's the one," he thrust a thumb at me. "A really small dick," Haantje added, "that one was Bloempje's here! I only bring you the good stuff." He showed us the contents of his box, several shriveled, grey cones crowned with wrinkled, pouty tips, one somewhat smaller and drier than the others. Haantje pointed it out, "I think that's his, even," he told the man, "You know my master gelds the slaves here. I don't bring you pig nuts and pass them off as boy's."

"Alright then," the man conceded. "How about four for the lot?" The boy was still peeking at my crotch as he swept the same corner of the stall again and again.

Haantje shrugged and slid the bowl to closer to the pharmacist. The man counted out into Haantje's cupped hands. Then dumped the bloody giblets into his box and tossed the bowl to me. "Remember to tell your master:" he shouted to me as we left, "Five silver for this whoreson's dick and balls in a bowl!"

– 10 –

My scars continue to heal over while my place in the household was slowly defined. According to Haantje, I was allowed into the house to help the women only because I was lucky enough to be a eunuch. Of course he wasn't allowed anywhere near the women's rooms.

Every day I was given more and more housework, allowing Master's daughter to do more of her craftwork, like weaving a fine cord out of horsetail hair, and other stuff to help her get a good husband. I already knew the faces of the mother and daughter, because they took care of my wound after I was gelded. I started to know them as people when I began working regularly in the house. As they became more comfortable around me, I became more and more unnoticed in their side of the house. The master's daughter started calling me her 'little sister' and soon became especially brazen and teasing with me, too often asking to inspect my scars to make sure I was healing properly. She would also pretend not to care or notice when I saw her in various states of undress. Several months after they cut me when I first saw her half-developed breasts, she watched my face too intensely to pretend it was accidental.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" she asked.

"Sure, I guess," I responded cautiously. I imagined girls could be Jews too, and she was just as dark as her brother, but I was more interested in her being a girl.

"You guess?!" she pouted.

"I don't know much about girls."

"You were a boy once, can't you remember?" She used both hands to cup her pert bosoms. "Wouldn't you like to touch them?"

I nodded carefully, "but wouldn't master be upset?"

She took my right hand and brought it to her left breast. I watched my pale fingers against her dark, bumpy rings around her nipples, then the stiff, springy nipple itself, which reminded me of my penis. I put that memory out of my mind, and thought about how jealous Haantje would be when I told him about this.

"What are you thinking?"

"Just… they feel nice: soft and warm." The root of my penis swelled deep under my scars, creating a surprising little surge of pain. I pulled my hand away and went back to my chores.

Haantje was changing, even before his first hairs appeared. Each night I was happy to help Haantje experiment with new ways to please him. Even as his first few dark, twisted hairs gave him reassurance that he would not experience the Master's knife, he became much more aggressive and intense about our sex. When I told him Sarah let me touch her breasts that day, he insisted on me telling him every detail even while he fucked me aggressively.

But it was when David came around later in the week that things really started to change for me. While David had me bent over the outhouse bench, he asked what I was thinking about, and to make him jealous I told him the truth, about when Sarah let me fondle her breasts. He immediately stopped, and didn't want to start up again. He kept asking me more and more about it. I tried to entice him back into stroking my sensitive spot deep in my hole by clutching at his penis with my anus, and pushing my behind up against him playfully. After a long moment he started again, but very slowly, he leaned over my back and began stroking my shoulders and even kissed my neck a couple times. David had suddenly stopped simply fucking and started making love to me, a new experience I liked that very much. I promised him I would try to see her breasts again if she let me, and maybe even more.

After that David and Joseph arranged a series of excuses to have me go visit David's house once or twice a week. I knew Joseph didn't care if David wanted to fuck me, but he would be angry if he knew I was also giving David accounts of my intimate visits with his little sister while doing so. The various little deceptions excited me. To keep David interested I realized I either had to get or make up increasingly intimate reports about Sarah. She seemed to be in on it, and accommodated me her honorary 'little sister'.

The next day she asked me to rub coconut oil onto her bare back, and while I did so she also asked about the different boys that came around the barbershop. She agreed with me that the firewood boys were disgusting. She also kept insisting that I was having sex with the boys and would demand to know which one was the best. I repeatedly denied it. She knew I usually slept with Haantje, and she knew he was always 'randy' so I finally conceded that sometimes he and I 'played around a little'. She didn't seem interested in Haantje, so that satisfied her for a while. But then she somehow must have overheard I was occasionally spending nights at David's. The boys always came up with some excuse for me to go over to David's house, and I tried those excuses on her, but she would have none of it. And that was when she began calling me into her baths in the mornings: to bring her soap, or clean clothes or fetch more water, or some other thing she claimed to have forgotten. And before long she would order me up on a stool and pour water over her while she sat naked in the tub. She convinced me I had to remove my shirt so it wouldn't get it all wet, just in case the master called me out into the courtyard, because maybe – she explained – if he was in the wrong mood he wouldn't like that I was helping her in that way and would make us stop. Soon after that she invited me to slip my fingers into her hairy little triangle, and asked me if I liked what I found there. It was alright, she assured me, because I was her 'little sister' now.

"If my brother hadn't fixed you, that is where you would put it in. "

"Put what in?"

"You know, your boy stick, what they cut off. Where do those boys put in theirs, when you play with them?"

"You know…" I hesitated, wondering if I would be disclosing secrets girls weren't allowed to know… "Well sometimes I just hold it in my hand and stroke it, and sometimes, well…" I took my hand out of her crotch.

"You can keep doing that. Just tell me more about what you do with your boys."

So I complied, slipping my hand back into the moist crevice, "… sometimes, you know, I put it in my mouth…"

She giggled. "What else?"

"Haantje really likes putting it up my behind," I whispered.

"Really!?" She faked surprise. "Would David ever do that?"

"Yeah, I guess. If I let him."

"He can if he wants, if Joseph says so."

"I know."

"How does it feel?"

"Nice, when he does it right."

She giggled again. "Does he have a big one?"

"Who? You've seen Haantje's. His is about average.

"No, silly. David's!"

I shrugged. "It's not as big as your brother's. His is… wow!" I showed her by estimating his length on my arm. She squealed. "But David's is almost as big," I assured her.

"Would you like to try putting your mouth down there?" She asked, glancing down at my hand.

"I…" but we heard the front door slam, so I quickly withdrew my hand, grabbed my shirt and pulled it over my head, while she grabbed a towel and covered herself. "Bloempje?" the young master shouted and I went to see what he wanted. David had arrived a short time ago, and he decided he would like to take a 'nap' in Haantje's and my bed, and would I go and see if he needed anything. Sarah's knowing grin made clear she understood what that meant.

David began bringing me little presents: copper coins, a length of colored ribbon, and this time a sugar cane. I lay down next to him on our bed and began to tell him the story of what just happened. He listened as if under a spell as I described the moist slit and the small protrusion near the top: I would make her catch her breath when I touched it. He couldn't help but stroke his stiff, throbbing penis. Finally he let it go, rolled me over and attacked with it, silently thrusting it into my hole as his hot breath pulsed against my neck.

"I wish you were a real girl," he sighed.

***

David was having me sleep overnight with him, apparently to his father's approval. David's family were cloth merchants, and lived right by the docks. He and Joseph agreed I needed to keep fit so they arranged for me to make regular jogs down to the sea and back, where I helped bring bolts of wool and linen between the dock and David's house.

***

"What does it feel like when David puts his penis in you?" Sarah asked me out of the blue one morning.

"I don't mind, it feels nice if he hits the right spot."

"The right spot?"

"Yeah. There's a spot where they hit, and if they push against it, well it feels a little strange, but I like it."

"Inside you?"

"Uh huh."

She was lounging in her bath, and asked me to come over. "Show me where."

"I can't reach it myself."

"Oh. Let me try."

So I got on my hands and knees facing away from her, and she began gently pushing into my anus. "Is it clean?"

"I wash it special every morning."

"I'm going in!"

"I'm ready." I couldn't see, but I could feel her slender fingers pushing in.

"Where is it?"

"Deeper."

"Deeper?"

"Uh Huh… Oh! There! That's it!"

"You like this?" She began probing it.

"Yes Miss… I never had… a girl touch… me there before!" I squeaked out between her strokes as she giggled.

"Do you want more?"

"Yes please!" I squealed.

"Did you do this before?"

"Before when?"

"Before they castrated you, silly?"

"Oh. Sure. I always liked doing this, almost as much as playing with my weenie. This is my favorite thing to do now."

"Weenie? That's your name for it!?"

"Uh huh. Please keep doing that, Miss."

"A little harder?" she demonstrated to my surprise.

"Oh! No, yes… please!"

"You're grabbing at my fingers!"

"Oh, OH! Oh, oh…" my thighs and crotch surged with a pleasure that quickly abated. "That's enough, Miss."

"You are done now?" she asked, jerking her fingers out of my twitching hole.

"Yes miss," I told her, slowly standing up.

"It only takes that long?"

"Um, it was fast that time."

"So that's what the boys do for you now?" she asked, looking down at my crotch.

"I guess," I responded to her, shrugging. I heard the big master call my name somewhere else in the house, and quickly grabbed my old shirt and slipped it over my head and ran out of the girls' rooms.

There was the old master and his wife, waiting for me.

– 11 –

"Pretty him up, and give him a proper tunic," he told his wife before shuffling out again. She quickly put rouge on my lips and cheeks, brushed soot into my eye lashes, and smeared purple shadow on my eyelids, and put one of Joseph's old shirts on me. Finally she sent me out into the courtyard again. When I ran out, I was surprised to see not only the dealer, the Skipper, the first mate, and Jakob the Jew among the guests chatting with him around the fire, but also a man with the dealer, black as night. I ran over to give Jakob a hug. I was still not convinced he wasn't Saint Nicholas in disguise. The river boat must have gone and come back from Overijssel again.

"Look, there's our old cabin boy!" The mate shouted. "What's your name again, little bugger?"

I looked over at the master, "Now they call me Bloempje."

"Well, Bloempje then. Come sit here with me." The master nodded his approval and I went to sit next the mate, but he pulled me right into his lap. "Bloempje? That's quite the name! Does that mean your wish to be a capon came true?" He slid a hand up under my shirt and set it right in the midst of scars. "Oh my! Skipper, look here, he's sure fixed now!" Without a thought to my privacy he pulled my shirt up to my armpits and twisted us towards the captain and Jakob.

The skipper gave a nod, "Put a wish like that in his head, and it will come true in Verdun," he mused.

I tried to cover myself, but the captain beckoned me to stop with a gesture of his hand.

"That's a nice, smooth job." The captain complemented my master.

"Actually it's my son's work, and his first gelding, not counting animals of course.

"I see," the captain raised his eyebrows, "This boy was naturally inclined to a man's pleasure. I guess this may be the best way to keep him to task."

I didn't understand what difference it made.

Jakob was nodding his approval. "Of course he was perfect to be gelded, but I always enjoyed their little pricks, too. I found them amusing!" The mate told them. The men laughed nervously.

"Bloempje? Good name," The mate mused, "we used to train him with a tight cord around his little sack. Give it a good tug when he didn't move sprightly enough. I hope you learned all your lessons before they let you off harness!"

I just shrugged.

"We couldn't ask our customers to come to us with their new slaves without showing them what we will do to our own. Any pig-farmer can castrate a boy, but this takes a professional." The master explained proudly. I pictured dirty pig farmers castrating an embarrassed boy while the farmer's daughters looked on. The mate politely shifted both of us so the other guests – the dealer and the man I didn't know – would be able to see my crotch and not feel left out of the conversation. I looked down at my feet, afraid they would see the pleasure I was feeling at being the center of their conversation. A warm tingle came over me, thinking of how self-assured they were: able to exam my nakedness at a whim. "His own bishop arranged for me to bring him here," Jakob told the dealer.

"The crew wanted to keep this bugger around for a while, but we just couldn't raise the cash." The mate complained. "Hell, I've cut several pigs in my youth, and I should have given it a shot! Now we're flush with cash, but I doubt we could afford to buy him back." How do you get that kind of wound to heal so cleanly?"

"We make one pass with the knife, then insert a small brass nail, use a hot iron to seal any bleeders, after a couple days we add some maggots to eat away any dead flesh, but most importantly, we immediately apply our secret plaster to the wound."

"I imagine I could have gelded him easy enough, but I've no secret plasters to apply." The mate mused. Then he began tickling me. "We should have kept you! I could have gelded you right on the boat! Mohammed would have held you down, and the crew could have watched."

"It is forbidden to me by the Koran." Mohammed announced. I considered how he nice he was to me on the boat, and considered the possibility that Saint Nicholas would disguise himself as a Moslem.

"And then we'd use your little orbs for bait," the mate added.

"Sometimes you can get a silver penny for them at the apothecary," I explained. The mate nodded impressively at this fact.

When I tried to push the mate's tickling hands away from my sides, he would switch to pulling my tunic over my head. "Wouldn't you have liked me to geld you, Bloempje-boy?" I could feel his erection poking my behind through his cloak. "Huh? Huh?" He was alternating between tickling me and getting my shirt up. My face flushed but I couldn't stop giggling, even as I was struggling against him, and I couldn't help but picture myself back on the boat, Mohammed the cook holding my arms, the mate castrating me as the captain, crew, girls and boys watched, a knot of something stirred and ached under my scars. Then I decided the mate would probably castrate me like the colt I once saw being gelded: from behind while I waited patiently on my hands and knees, and the crew and passengers watched. I wondered if the mate would have cut off my penis too.

"A good curzinasus like this one is can fetch 45 to 50 now, but a 100 or more in Barcelona or Valencia. Even last year…"

"What's a curzinasus?" I whispered to the mate.

"I figure it's a capon without a dick. Made Verdun style, like you," he responded. "… especially a blond cutie with a big round ass like this one," he added, squeezing my behind, "The Moors say 'Sandali'." he advised, glancing over to the black man.

"I never heard that word either," I admitted. "Do you mean there are boys who get to keep their weenies?"

"Yes, that is quite an ass." The skipper interrupted to quip into the mate's ear.

The master interjected before anyone could answer my question, "Look at this behind." Then he turned to me, "Bloempje, show him your behind." I got up off the mate's lap, indignantly grabbed my shirt out of his hands and held the wad of thin cloth over my crotch. Then I took the step towards the slave dealer, and turned around.

"Yes, nice. He's been fed well, too. But I suspect that ass has had many an admirer. Bend over, boy… Farther now. Hold your ankles." I did as he ordered and felt his hands spread my crack. "And broken in well too, I see."

The master shrugged. "Like we said, he's naturally responsive to a man's desires."

"Hmmm."

"Sixty-five, Issac. Please."

"I certainly think fifty would be reasonable."

"That leaves us out," the mate sighed quietly, "We only collected forty-two from the crew."

I put my shirt back on and returned to the mate's lap.

"How did you castrate pigs?" I asked.

"Oh we'd hang them by their hind legs when they are little buggers, then take a bit of obsidian or glass, cut a slit in their crotch, pop out the little organs, and cut the cords leading to them. Quick as can be, you'd hardly squeal. How do they castrate little cabin boys here?"

"The master tied me down to a table top, then young master just grabbed me there and took his favorite knife – and swoosh! Then he put a hot iron against it. After that, I kind of forget. Oh, and they put a bit of something into the hole, so we can pee afterwards. Do they have to do it to boys before they let them be a capon for men?"

"The Moors think so, and that's where you're headed."

"I would do it anyways. Why do they want eunuchs at all?"

"Oh, I don't know… there's always been eunuchs, even if there are plenty of slave boys to use. I guess men like to keep the best boys that way as long as they can: rather have a soft, smooth eunuch like you than some hairy, bulging stripling. It's the natural way of the world: make the pretty boy slaves into eunuchs."

"I'm pretty?"

"Yeah, you are. Don't run across too many like you! You're a natural gelding. But cutting off that little willie too…" he shook his head.

"They don't always cut it off too?"

"No, not by a long shot. Just here in Verdun, and this is where the very best eunuchs come from."

"Why do some boys get to be a eunuch and some get to be men?"

"Just God's will, I guess. Some boys – like me – are meant to grow up to fuck. But sometimes other boys – like you – are just meant to be fucked by guys like me."

"How do they know which is which?"

The mate nodded knowingly: "I always knew I wanted to fuck, even when I was a wee boy like you, and I would die fighting before I bent over for another man. But you don't mind it at all. See?"

Jakob was listening and added his opinion, "You start fucking a boy when he's small and he'll learn to love it. Or a boy starts fucking when he's small he learns to love that. That's all there is to it. Once you learn to love getting fucked, the best thing for you is to be gelded, so you'll look younger longer and men will want to fuck you. It all works out for everyone."

The captain told Jakob: "Nope, Pippen's a eunuch because he was sold as a slave. No more, no less, but enough philosophy. They did a good job with him anyway," the captain looked to me, "Did you ever thank your masters? I suspect you'll be taking your leave of them. Those men are here to buy you and take you to Spain."

I never thought to thank the Masters. "It hurt a real lot for a long time!" I protested.

The mate jabbed Jakob gently in the ribs. "You know this little bugger never thanked your kin for the good job they did on him?"

"Really?!"

"They know how to do it in Verdun. Have you seen amputation scars as smooth?"

"Actually, I've never seen a eunuch like that before. Heard about them, but never seen one close up. Well, I probably saw some on the street in Cordova, but didn't know it at the time."

Actually, I thought the scars lumpy and irregular.

"Well, I haven't seen too many other scars either, but I suspect this is a pretty good job."

"Just what a boy like him needs, in my opinion," Jakob interjected, "If it's your job is to get fucked, you don't need the fucking tool. That's what I say anyway," he explained to me, "And when you have the tool for fucking, you shouldn't be getting fucked: it's unnatural."

"You really think so?" The mate asked.

The captain shrugged, "I agree with Jakob. He don't need one. Cutting it off is just making things the way they should be. It be just a… complication, for him and his new master."

"I guess you are right, he should be grateful," the mate concluded turning to me.

I still did not like the idea of publicly thanking them at all, especially for the 'Verdun' style. I had just learned wasn't even how most eunuchs were made. I didn't miss my balls, and wasn't even sure what they were for, and they were always getting hurt, but I missed my little penis all the time. "Well, ah, it's not that I'm ungrateful, but they never told me what a eunuch really is, you know, and I really liked my weenie."

"Hog wash! We told you what a capon is, and anyway your masters know what is best. You're too young to decide. We could all see it was best for you. Or maybe you'd rather be a galley or field slave?"

"I wouldn't like that," I admitted, having heard of the misery of both. Maybe Jakob was Saint Nicholas, and bringing me to Verdun was his way of saving me from the fields or galleys. It was all so confusing.

"So there you go. Now where's Joseph's son? Where's your son, Joseph? His Bloempje has something to say before we go.

"Son! Come out here!" the master shouted. And a moment later the young master came out from the house.

"Bloempje here has something to say to you." The mate shoved me off his lap and pulled my wadded up shirt from my hands.

I wasn't so sure I really wanted to do it, and I suspected they were deliberately trying to humble me, but didn't know what else I could do. I looked down at my hands hiding my scars: "Masters, I just wanted to thank you for… ah… taking care of me and… well… making me such a good… cursing-asus… with smooth scars." I briefly opened my hands to show them exactly what they had done, and then looked up at their faces gave them my least sincere smile.

"You're welcome, Bloempje," The big master responded, "Now for you Jakob, for pointing out Bloempje for us before the auction, my son – and I guess Bloempje too – have a gift for you.

The young man showed him a small, leather object. "It's a coin or jewelry purse, whatever you like," the young master explained. "We made it out of Bloempje's pouch. My mother filled the sack with sand to stretch it as much as possible, and kneaded it every day to keep it soft.

"That's wonderful, son!" the captain examined it carefully." He dangled it proudly by the tip. The skin was darker, but I could still recognize the segmented pouch with the ridge that ran down the center of my sack. Jakob then tucked the tab up and under his cord belt.

"Saw some of those for sale here," the mate volunteered, "but this is the first where I knew the former owner!"

The men nodded, and the dealer continued, "I found six virgins, and the five boys you gelded for me, I'd like to send an even dozen to Barcelona, but it doesn't have to be this one.

"We are ready to sell, but Issac, sixty?"

"You must understand I have to make some profit as well."

"Well, the final decision is my son's," big master explained, "He bought the boy with his own money and did the work on him."

They all turned to look at the young master.

"He's quite good in French, you know," Joseph explained to the dealer, "he seems very clever.' I believe fifty five is fair, sir."

The dealer held up a hand in surrender, shaking his head and smiling. "Fifty-five then," he conceded.

– 12 –

The very next day the Master took me to the town square, to be handed over to Issac the slave dealer. Most of the town was going to be there to send the caravan off to Nice, and then by sea on to Barcelona. I was excited to see the whole town again – I had rarely been out of the Master's courtyard, except to visit David's house. I was a little angry that Haantje reclaimed his old shirt, so I had nothing to wear. The young master ordered me to have a quick bath by the well, and I started down the dusty street clean and fresh, if naked, covering myself with my hands. Lots of younger boys – slave or free – ran around the town naked, so I didn't feel embarrassed as long as I could keep myself covered. But I got such confused feelings of shame and excitement when a man wanted to look me over, I sometimes wanted them to see that I was castrated, but not with the boys my age or younger, I didn't like that at all. My old master would stop and talk to customers and friends along the way, and when I recognized one of them as being there when I was working at his shop, or even one that was there the morning when I was gelded, I immediately got a little agitated and nervous – even excited. None of them were so rude as to demand to see again out in the street, but every now and again I would pretend to stumble a little, or have to scratch or push my hair out of my face, and I would watch for their reaction. Just the thought of pulling my hand away for that short time renewed those confused and agitated feelings I couldn't sort out, but also couldn't help but revive and explore.

Boys were everywhere. They were sitting on porches preparing food or doing other chores. Some even had time to play, and were learning French almost as fast as I was. Others I saw were traveling along in the same direction, behind their masters, and I saw one of the boys I watched being gelded a while back, and wondered if we could be friends. There were a couple other slave boys from the river boat who strutted around naked without a care in the world, and I could see now they had full, pendulous balls hanging under chubby dicks crowned with a ring of dark, coarse hair. I daydreamed I would have to stay in the same room with one of those boys, and he would see my scar and hairless belly, and ask what happened, and I would explain it to them. Or they would automatically know, because they had watched pigs or colts being gelded on their farms back at where ever they came from.

It was getting cold, and my new Master Issac the slave dealer got us all dressed up like peasant children. We were going to walk for several weeks from Verdun to Nice. He had a few people working for him, including the black man who came with him to my old master's house that evening. He was Abdul the Arabic teacher. The moment we set off, Issac and all his men spoke only Arabic to us, even while they spoke mostly French or Provencal to each other. The slave girls and men were always kept separate, and Issac always kept an eye on the girls. But us eunuch boys were allowed to stay with them. We were even told we'd get a silver coin from Issac if ever we would help him catch one of men and a slave girl together. The situations caused me hours of pondering: sometimes eunuchs were like the girls, and sometimes we were like boys. I pestered Abdul for answers. He explained that while I was still a boy, I was made an 'ineffective' boy, so it was quite alright for me to be with the girls, and even see them naked. Even if I touched them like I touched Sarah, it didn't matter. At the same time I was just an ineffective boy – and would always be such and could never become a man – it was quite alright for true, effective men like Abdul to "enjoy without any guilt the virtues Allah had blessed me with."

Abdul was quite patient with all my questions, and even switched to French to answer them carefully for me, he reminded me of Uncle Charlie. He also told me that Uncle Charlie's idea of sap that needed to come out was quite acceptable as well. He also gave me a spoonful of medicine that caused me to poop and poop all day along the road until nothing was left, and forbade me to eat. As it turned out, Abdul too had a problem with his sap, and that first night he said he would me to help him with it, and I should come to his little tent. But I was quite reluctant. I got used to having Jews fuck me. Except for their strange, mangled penises, they seemed pretty much just like other fellows once I got alone with them. But even touching a black Moor seemed quite odd and reckless to me, even though a part of me couldn't stop imagining what it might be like. Granted I wondered what his penis would be like, as one of the boys said that Moors had penises more akin to donkeys than white men's. Allowing such a thing in worried me, and I wondered what the other boys would say if they found out. But I obediently went to Abdul's tent when I was called.

He already has his shirt off when I arrived, and was immediately enthralled by his budging, muscular chest and tight, rippled stomach all exposed by his half-open robe. The flat black nipples were wider than I had imagined, and ringed with tight black curls. His strange, kinky hair, flat face, and thick lips may have been exotic and unsettling, but those arms, chest, and stomach were like a long-lost friend I hadn't even met. Before I even thought about it, I reached out and touched one of the bulging pectorals. He looked down at me, then grabbed my tunic by the shoulders and pulled it over my head and tossed it aside. With a brief flick of a finger he indicated I should remove my trousers. I kicked off my dirty boots; then quickly slipped out of my heavy woolen pants, only to wad them up and hold them in front of me, blushing and shivering in the cold.

"So shy now?"

"I… I mean…" I bit my lower lip and looked down. I flinched briefly as he put his large black hand on my shoulder.

"What's wrong with you now?" he asked.

"I… I just never been with a Moor before." I confessed. "I mean, you're so black, and not even a Christian!"

"Then you are in for a surprise!" he teased, and I imagined what the surprise would be.

I sniffed. "But I don't want a black donkey dick inside me."

"A donkey dick?! Who have you been the talking to?"

"The other boys, they said that Moors…"

"Hah!" he burst out laughing, "Well, it's true! How long do you think mine is?"

I just shrugged and continued looking down.

"Would you believe it is longer than your legs?"

I shrugged again, but glanced over at his knees and considered the possibility.

He bent over and whispered into my ear: "It is all that and even more! And even if it takes all night, I'm going to push every bit of it up into your pale ass, and in the morning, you are going to say 'Please, Abdul, will you fuck me with your big black donkey dick tonight?'"

"I… don't think so," I responded meekly.

He laughed at my timidity. "By the time we get you to Barcelona, you'll be all over this nonsense, that's what I'm here for. If ever your master decides to offer you to his donkey, you'll say 'Why yes master' and bend over for it with a smile." He sat down, lifted his leg, and pointed a long leather boot at me, expecting me to pull it off for him. "It will probably be because he wanted to reward the donkey for being more obedient than you are." I fell down to my knees, let go of my trousers, and meekly began tugging the boot off his foot, even as I glimpsed around both his knees and beneath them for any suspicious bulges. The boot came off and he presented his other foot to me. His calves were black, thick and smooth. The bottoms of his feet were pale; and cold like my hands. He pushed one in between my warm naked thighs, and the other one into one of my armpits.

"Do you know why Moors don't wear trousers?"

I shrugged.

"Because we can't fit our donkey dicks into them, that's why we wear robes," he stated matter-of-factly. I couldn't help but try to peek up into his robe. And he laughed. "You'll find out soon enough."

"It's going to hurt really bad, then," I half-whispered my reply.

Abdul just shrugged carelessly.

"How would you like to have it? On your back, or on your hands and knees?"

"I don't know." I pleaded, "Can I see it first?"

"No, that will only make it worse. You may even faint. I'm going to put the candle out."

I choked back a sob.

"Hands and knees then: donkey style, don't you think?"

I stared down at the black foot nestled warmly just beneath my field of scar tissue and nodded in resignation. He pulled his bare feet away from me then reached over and snuffed out the candle. For a moment I pondered running naked out into the cold night, but I just couldn't bring myself to do so. Hands took hold of my shoulder, twisted me around then bent me over. A stiff pillow was stuffed under my knees, lifting my butt up in the cold air. I could hear the rustle of cloth as removed his heavy robe entirely and a cool puff of wind as he dropped it near us. Then hands gently found my shoulders again, and ran slowly down my back, over my rib-cage. One reached under me and tickled my small cold, nipples and their tiny protrusions, sending a warm shiver of pleasure through my body. Then a fingernail poked and wiggled around in my sensitive navel. The other squeezed and pinched my butt and thighs playfully. Then I felt something warm, moist, and soft briefly nudge me back there, as if by accident even. I couldn't tell how big it might be, but I concluded that if it really were as long as my leg, it couldn't have touched me at the same moment that his finger tickled my belly button. I caught my breath as the fingers wandered even lower, until one slid along the top scar Joseph had left. The other hand padded my behind reassuringly. Then the fingers moved farther down, gently exploring each and every irregular crevice and lump that remained from Joseph's alterations. I wondered what it meant for me to allow those black, Moorish hands to freely explore and confirm my emasculation, but I made no protest, and patiently let him proceed, his finger lingering on each ridge and knob until they slowly slid past the last line and deep into my crotch to discover the two soft folds of empty wrinkled skin that Joseph's blade has neglected to secure, and that only I knew about, until that moment. Abdul pinched the folds softly and rolled them in his fingers, until I sighed softly.

"That's all I have left," I admitted quietly.

"You still have lot's left. Your ass, your mouth, your hands, you nipples, even your navel. Concentrate on what you have," he counseled.

"I wish I weren't a cursin-asus."

"Don't be silly. If you weren't, you wouldn't be here with me now." The mysterious probe brushed against my behind again. The hands retreated from my body for a moment, I heard the thump of a box being opened and shut, and after another moment, a slick, lubricated finger pressed against my anus, poking itself in several times as I waited patiently.

"Are you going to fuck me now?" I asked, my voice shaking in dread and anticipation.

"Do you want me to?" came the unexpected reply.

"I don't know."

"Maybe I won't then. Not until you say 'Please, Master, will you fuck me with your big black donkey dick tonight?'" Again I felt the tip nudge my thigh. It wasn't as long as my leg, but it certainly seemed longer than even the cook's big tool.

"How big is it, really?" I bargained.

"There's only one way to find out." I teased.

"Will you be careful?"

"No, I'll do it anyway I like. You're a castrated slave boy. You don't have a say."

"But it's my body."

"No, your body belongs to your master. When the Jews in Verdun were your masters, they gelded you like they would any other livestock. No one asked you, and no one said anything afterwards, because that's just the way it is."

I pondered this for a long moment. "I know, I just don't want you to hurt me. Is it big around?"

"You'll find out. Just say it."

"I never had a black Moor even touch me before. Not like this." I confessed.

"You better get used to it then. Whether a Moslem, a Jew, or a Christian, all they'll see when they look at you is a Verdun eunuch, an expensive toy maybe, but not a man – free or slave – not even a real boy, and certainly not girl or woman, just a slave's slave, made for your owner's pleasure. Are you ready to please now?"

"I guess so."

"Say it then."

"You can fuck me then, I'm ready."

"No, say exactly how I told you."

"All of it?"

"Yes."

I hesitated for a long moment. I'd been enslaved, castrated, a curzinasus even, I let a Moor's black fingers wander freely on even the most sensitive and private parts of my body. After I said that, I knew I would have given up what little pride I had left. I would be a complete slave forever. But it was the only path I had left to any kind of pleasure.

"Please Abdul, fuck me with your black donkey dick. I don't care how big it is. Oh, Please."

His response was to open my ass cheeks with his thumbs. Without hesitation I felt the warm, soft knob of a penis up against it, and as soon as he was sure of his mark, he pushed the fat head in, took a firm grip of my hips, and pressed it home. I gasped, expecting the worst. It immediately filled up my behind and pressed hard against my special spot. I thought maybe the worst was over, but he was only beginning. He banged it up against some barrier inside me well beyond my spot, took a fresh hold of my hips and repeatedly pressed against it. I moaned and grunted as softly as I could, fell to my elbows so I could reposition my insides for him, and also clench my fists in pain. Tears ran down my cheeks, but I dared not complain.

"Open up in there," he encouraged me, "Just relax."

"I'm… trying," I pleaded between deep breaths and stabs of pain.

"We'll get there."

His deep probing went on relentlessly, and then something gave way and the penis freely plunged in.

"There. There we go. Good boy," Abdul announced, "Now that's where I want it." He gently rocked and thrust deep inside me, oblivious to my grunts, whimpering and spasms. "There's lots of room now, let's see how far I can go. He stopped his undulating, took another fresh grip on my hips, and just leaned into me as I grabbed the edge of the rug and pushed back with all I could muster. I didn't realize I was moaning so loudly as Abdul laughed and ordered me to quiet down. I thought I had no pride left when I finally invited him to fuck me, but when his big, black penis breached that last barrier I didn't even know existed or could open, he made clear what that concession would mean. I couldn't hold back sobs as finally, without my expecting it or even realizing it at first, I felt the scratching on my butt of his fine stiff pubic hair.

"Alright, Bloempje, I have it all in, every black bit. How do you feel?"

"It hurts. Oh Saint Nicholas! Help me it hurts!"

He leaned down over me, his shifting penis causing me stabs of pain. He kissed my neck and ear, and explained, "This is the best part of my job, and that took a lot of effort. So I'm going to leave it in there for a while. Alright?"

"If you… say so," I barely choked out.

"I say so."

So he began a long, slow series of lazy thrusts deep in my body, all the time keeping his tool far beyond the last barrier, causing my whole tummy to cramp, spasm, and occasionally stab with pain. Then he began giving it a little more effort, and the cramps and pains increased. He kept increasing his pace, and my discomfort, until finally we were both sweating and undulating in unison as I moaned and grunted. He gripped my hip with one hand and my shoulder with the other, and plowed on blissfully, unconcerned with my grunts and gasps. I considered that this would never end, or rather that I was going to die right here in this grubby tent with a Moor's penis deep in my belly.

And then he stopped. The tent became quiet as I felt a hot sigh on my back, the pains inside me slowly began to subside. My arms were shaking from trying to hold us both up, and I just let them collapse with him on top of me. He took a moment to drag his long robe over us both. I could feel his penis was retreating as a strange new sensation surprised me. While penis sulked back through and the deep barrier it breached was finally able to close itself in peace. He felt it too, and wiggled briefly above me and sighed again. He began stroking my hair and softly kissing my cheek.

"That's the way I like it," he whispered into my ear. "Was it as big as you expected?"

"I… I never even imagined it could be like that," I conceded. "It was too big. I thought I was going to die."

"Oh, you weren't going to die, but I was close to heaven!" he teased.

"May I see it now?" I asked.

"No, maybe in the morning. We'll do it again, but this time on your back I think. Then you'll see."

"Not again?!" I gasped before I caught myself, "I mean, please do it to me again in the morning, but on my back next time."

"I think I will," he responded with nibble on my ear. He rolled us both onto our sides, and I sighed as he slid his hand along my lower belly, past my scars, then found the loose, little wad of wrinkly scrotum deep between my legs and began gently tugging and poking at.

"Does this hurt?" he asked.

"No, it feels nice."

"I think I'll put a little gold stud or ring in here."

"Real gold?! Will it hurt?"

I felt Abdul shrug his shoulders behind me. His penis, now soft and docile, still occupied my rectum. He stopped manipulating me between my legs, and his breathing became slow and steady. As he slept I worried over how I would go through that whole process again in the morning, thinking over and over again how I might make it easier or less painful, but never considering any plan to escape or avoid it. I accepted entirely that my body was his to do with as he wished. I imagined how his penis would look, black it would be, I conceded that, and long, smooth and slick like a black stallion's. He would have to let me see it in the morning, if I were going to lie on my back and face him when he did it again. He pushed my butt off his penis and rolled away from me as he slept. I thought about the mate's explanation to me during my last night in Verdun. He would choke Abdul in his sleep, or find a knife and stab him! But I couldn't even contemplate such a role for myself. I snuggled up against Abdul again for warmth, and tugged his robe over my body.

– 13 –

I opened my eyes to find the tent walls glowing faintly, a round, black behind discernible just above me. I flinched back, then realized it was Abdul's naked body just above me, peeing out the door. I snuggled deeper under the robe, and looked up once again only to see him turn around. There it was: blacker even than his skin, but recognizably human, circumcised, swaying back and forth between his legs. It wasn't as long as my leg, but about as long as my forearm, and reached half way to his knees. A fat, round vein snaked about two thirds of the way down, before trailing off to one side. The paler head small and pointed compared to the dark shaft. He caught me gawking at it wide-eyed.

"Oh, looks like you are ready."

"Ready? Is it time to get up?"

"No, time again for this!" he reached down and wagged the ominous snake at my face.

"It's morning already?" I asked, confused.

"Just barely. We have to be on the road in an hour, so get on your back."

"I… oh… that… I have to pee." My head finally cleared enough to ascertain reality. He took hold of his robe and pulled it away from my naked body.

"Scoot then. Outside," he ordered, emphasizing the magnitude of the situation with by nudging me towards the flap with a bare foot.

"But I'm naked! I whispered back, looking around for something to put over me. But he would have none of it, and I was shoved out the tent. The morning was cold and still, with the sun ready to peek over the hills. I glanced about. The night guard was already looking at me from his perch near the fire. I covered my crotch, when behind out tent, and squatted-down with my knees wide to let my water gush out from between my legs, then quickly scampered back out of the chill air and back into the little tent. I watched amazed as Abdul scooped three fingers of white lard out of a small clay pot, and smeared it all around the lower half of his now growing erection, giving it the look of polished obsidian. Straight and swollen, it was too heavy to stand straight out from his body, but I could see he was ready.

"Put that rug under your ass," he commanded, pointing to the same dingy roll-up prayer rug I had my knees on the night before. I positioned myself on the rug and leaned back for him. "That's right. Legs up now. Knees to your chest." He looked down between my thighs and nodded. He took up another glob of lard, fell down to his knees, and flung it into my waiting hole. He leaned in to slip his hands under both my knees and pushed my legs even farther back, and I watched his greasy, stiff erection flop down carelessly against my scars almost reaching my navel.

"You like watching it, don't you," he said grinning down at me.

"I just never seen one like it before," I explained, "It's so black, and big. Does every Moor have one like that?"

"Yes," he said as he lifted his hips away from mine now, pressing down near my armpits, leaving my ankles just above my head, and drawing back his thick penis like an archer would draw on his bow.

"Guide it in with a hand," he ordered and I strained to reach around my thigh and actually touch and hold the monster tool, directing it up and along my crack until I felt it bobbing against my anus.

"It's there," I choked out, now able to anticipate the wild, painful, it had in store for me. My anus offered up absolutely no resistance, cooperating fully with the invader. He bumped up against my nice spot in passing, and I let out a little whimper of pleasure. He plowed past that and seemingly satisfied with his progress, moved his eyes there up to mine. He smiled coyly as I caught my breath when it lunged itself against the final door. Booth my pale hands were digging into the upper halves of his black muscular buttocks as they flexed and nudged his penis on towards his goal. The pain and cramping began again, and I knew it showed on my face, but it only seemed to encourage him. I looked down to see that there was so much shaft still out side of me I could wrap my entire hand around it, and I did, trying desperately to nudge and position it somewhere, anywhere less discomforting without success, so I just held and squeezed it, the illusion of controlling it giving me some small comfort. It nudged and prodded even harder as I squeaked and grunted. The space suddenly brightened. I craned my neck to see the night guard from the fire staring down at me.

"What's the matter?" Abdul asked impatiently.

"Sorry, ah, Issac wants you to pack up now.

Abdul sighed and stopped for a long moment. "Alright send a couple of the children in here to clear it out."

"Right now?" the guard asked.

"Right now!?" I repeated pleadingly.

"Yes, but not any of the eunuchs, they'll get their turn. Who else can you find?"

The guard chuckled, "We have a couple village boys collecting firewood in exchange for breakfast. I'll send them in."

"Good, do that," Abdul ordered dismissively. The flap fell and Abdul looked down at me and pressed on again, sucking in and biting gently on his lower lip as he probed.

"Oh…" was the only word I could articulate as he began again.

"Relax now, you're fighting me. I can feel it."

"I…" gasped out as I nervously tried to glance back again to the tent flap.

"Don't worry about that," he counseled. "Relax now. Open the doorway to bliss, or I'll have to force my way through again." And to emphasize his point pushed hard.

"I… can't help it."

Abdul shifted his body slightly and pushed again, and I felt new pangs and cramps as it found its way. Abdul sucked in a long breath, and pushed again. I sucked in a quick breath and grunted out loud as the penis forced itself slowly forward.

The flap flew open again and I twisted my head back to see two dirty peasant boys, both about thirteen, staring down at us, mouths open. The guard pushed them further in.

"Just grab those boxes and load them onto the donkey cart," the guard instructed.

"I feel that, Bloempje! Now that I'm in, you can make yourself just as tight as you like. The boys ignored the guard and continued to stare. Abdul grinned, "Country boys know all about sex and love." He looked up at them "Don't you?"

They just blinked at him in response. Abdul ignored them and carried on with his rhythmic thrusting of his penis against my screaming, tight inner opening as I gasped and fidgeted.

"Is that a boy or a girl?" One asked in a high, unbroken voice.

"A eunuch," the guard responded, "grab that chest over there, com'on now. That's what happens to disobedient peasant boys."

"What's a unik?" he asked.

"A gelded boy," the guard responded impatiently.

"Oh," the boy responded tersely, still staring.

"Is he hurting him?" the other boy asked, his voice squeaking, and breaking.

"Nah, he's just excited is all." Abdul explained, "Don't your Ma and Pa make a rukus like this in bed now and then? That's what we are up to.

"Oh," the first boy responded again. Apparently satisfied, he picked up one of Abdul's chests and left the tent. The older boy slowly followed along, still staring. I tried hard not to whimper, cry, or grunt out loud. Now that Abdul had worked his way in, he began the same process of increasingly aggressive thrusts. By the time they came back, Abdul was actively undulating his hips above my splayed ass, and I couldn't help but gasp, squeak and whimper in unison, whether the boys were walking past or not, all I could care about at that moment was the penis jerking and pulling impossibly deep inside my cramping, twisted tummy. I barely registered one boy's thigh brushing against my naked foot as he maneuvered his load out of the flap. The next one set a dirty, bare foot down so close to my head it caught some of my hair. But Abdul just pounded on, blissfully unconcerned, staring down at me. Finally he gave several hard, conclusive thrusts, and heaved a sigh.

Abdul looked around to find nothing left in the tent but our discarded clothing and the two young peasants. He sighed again. "You want to see then?" he asked them. And without waiting for an answer, he got off me and rocked back onto his knees. I felt the cold morning air rush in between us as his still stiff penis jerked past the barrier deep within me. I grunted and then sighed in relief as it made its partial retreat, and unfolded my stiff, numb legs away from my chest broad. But before I realized what was happening, Abdul's strong, black hands spread my pale inner thighs wide, displaying my empty, mangled crotch, as well as the glossy, black shaft still at least half-embedded between my white ass-cheeks. The boys starred down wide-eyed, their faces expressing first confusion, then trepidation. Their faces cluing me in, I quickly covered myself up with a hand. The boys then looked at my face, expressing some mix of sympathy and disgust. "So, that's what a eunuch is," Abdul announced casually. He then leaned back farther, deliberately, proudly dragging out more and more of his long black penis. The boys and I watched spellbound. I still remained mesmerized by the length of the merciless black organ.

"That's big!" one of the boys whispered to the other.

"Did you do that to him?" the other boy asked Abdul, nodding to my crotch.

"No, I bought him like that. But I had four or five other boys done when I was in Verdun. I'll sell them to rich Moors in Barcelona.

"Why do they do that?" the boy continued.

Abdul shrugged, "Same as with any chattel: make them more docile and keep them from mounting and breeding." Finally the dark, sculpted, circumcised head emerged, and the entire penis sagged and flopped down from my body. My anus collapsed feebly and I sighed again.

"What's docile?" the boy asked.

"Docile?" Abdul paused, "Gentle, obedient. You know the difference between a steer and a bull?"

"Uh-huh," both boys answered, nodding.

"Same thing," Abdul assured them, "Do you know how they make steers and geldings?" he asked.

"Sure. We cut their balls."

"Same with him," Abdul explained.

"What were you doing with him?" the first boy asked in his high voice.

Abdul laughed, "Did you ever see a bull mount a steer, or a Stallion mount a gelding?"

Both boys nodded enthusiastically, suddenly fully enlightened.

"Would you like to try it? Abdul offered as he took his long shirt off the floor and pulled it over his head.

The first boy shook his head warily, but the second grinned. "I sure would," he replied almost pleadingly. Caught completely by surprise, I looked up at Abdul dumbstruck. I didn't even know the names of these dirty beggar boys.

Abdul politely shifted himself out of the way. "Go ahead! Right here," he instructed. "Lift those legs up for him again, Bloempje!"

The boy watching snorted and repeated, "Bloempje?!"

"He's my little Dutch colt," Abdul explained as the boy who volunteered fell eagerly to his knees. I reluctantly folded my knees up above my chest again. The boy before me hiked up his muddy, rough tunic, exposing a happy, wagging penis. Its head was just slipping out from behind the foreskin; and a pair of plump, snug balls jiggled about merrily underneath. The genitals were surprisingly mature, even if completely hairless. He reminded me of Haantje. I glanced up at his eager face before continuing to stare at the enticing penis. It was nothing compared to Abdul's walloping black shaft, but I always found any penis enchanting, wanting to touch it and know it better. The boy took clumsy hold of it and guided it down to my slack, acquiescent hole.

"Stick it in right there, he won't mind," Abdul urged him on. The boy tentatively slipped the tip into my pliant anus. Abdul began pulling his outer robe over his shoulders, "Is this your first time?" he asked.

The boy nodded even as he stared down between my thighs. I still had my hand modestly over my scars.

"Just push it in there. It's like breaking a colt, first you need to let him know who's the boss."

The boy nodded at Abdul's advice, then shoved my knees farther back and apart to lean forward and press his modest penis right into my behind. I flinched and gulped as he jammed the tip in far enough to stimulate my special spot again.

"See that?" Abdul asked, "give him some more of that."

The boy poked again, studying my face as he did so. He hit my spot again and I couldn't help but squirm and nudge myself against him complicity. The boy looked up to Abdul for approval.

"You're the bull! He's the steer," Abdul advised, "Show him you're the bull!"

The boy nodded and pushed again, and I couldn't help but twitch a little in response, then he exploded in a frenzy of awkward fucking. I forgot about hiding my scars and used both my hands to keep him nudging up against my sweet spot, moving my hands quickly from his arm to my leg to his side and his behind. And each and every nudge, bump, and caress intensifying my desire for the next. I paid less and less attention to Abdul and the boys, and concentrated more and more on That next nudge of pleasure until suddenly the intense longing and anticipation morphed into an exploding release of pleasure flooding out in waves from exactly that point where his penis met my node of pleasures. I began breathing through my mouth, cooing with delight, my toes curling and my legs lurching out with his every thrust. Abdul said something, but I wasn't paying attention. The boy too was sweating and lurching, eyes staring off in the distance. His thrusts slowed and then stopped altogether. His body flopped down on top of my own. I slid my hand under his rough shirt and felt his thin, hot ass, hips, and ribs. I kissed his stringy, twitching bicep, and neck. His dick slipped out of my ass on its own accord, and he pulled himself off of me. I got one final peek at the now placid, satiated penis as he stood up and adjusted his tunic about his shoulders. His eyes roamed over my scars now, and I felt no desire to hide them from him. At that moment I just wanted to give him anything he wanted.

Abdul mussed up his hair, "Good job! Did you like it?"

The boy nodded solemnly.

"The rest of your life you can tell the story of your first time with a pretty gelding boy destined to be the catamite of a Moorish prince," Abdul emphasized the word 'gelding' with a flick of his wrist towards my crotch as he was tugging on his boots.

"Is he expensive?" the boy asked, following Abdul's gesture. Someone outside was pulling out the tent stakes. They all hurried out as I picked up my clothes. I got one foot in my trousers before the tent began to collapse around me, and I hopped outside and only then was able to tug them up and over my behind.

"In Barcelona, he'll be worth five or six fine white stallions," Abdul bragged.

"And you have five or six?!" the younger boy gasped, amazed.

"But Barcelona is still far away," Abdul reminded them. The boys nodded sagely, as I pulled my tunic over my head, and climbed into my shoes. Our caravan began meandering south, and I waved sadly to the boys as they watched us go.

I kept close to Abdul that whole day on the road. I asked him all about Barcelona, and Cordova, where he grew up. I spent a moment telling him about my village, Uncle Charlie, and how they locked me in the church crypt, the trip to Verdun and my time with Joseph and his family. He let me hold his hand as we walked along. I expected nothing less than to again give up my entire body to him in the evening, but it seemed a reasonable price to pay for his affection and protection. I accepted as inevitable that he might again want to share me with some other strange boy or man on a whim. His power, his exotic, black body, that hyper-masculine penis I knew was snoozing there just under his robes all mitigated the transitory pains of violating the barriers to my deepest crevices.

I volunteered to help him set up his tent again that evening, and as we went inside to place the central pole, I whispered to him "On my back tonight? Or donkey style?"

He looked down at me and smiled, "Oh, I'll have the red-head, tonight. He's got his medicine yesterday, and hasn't eaten all day."

"Hans?! We aren't staying together tonight? I asked, confounded.

"Nope, I going to break Hans in tonight," he said as he made final adjustments to the tent, "Don't worry Bloempje. I'll get back to you sometime before we get to Barcelona." He mussed up my hair just like he did to the boy who fucked me the night before.

"I thought we would be together every night!" I pleaded.

Abdul just laughed, "I want you to be the waterboy today. Get the skins and make sure no one is thirsty. Now go tell Hans I want to see him. You'll sleep in the big tent tonight."

"I'll go sleep with someone else then!" I threatened.

"Alright you do that," he answered with a grin.

I stomped out of his tent, feeling betrayed and used. I told Hans that Abdul wanted him in his tent tonight. The boy I had watched proudly climb onto Joseph's table now looked at me with budging, tearful eyes.

"What did he do to you in there?" he asked when I passed the message to him. I didn't know how to reply.

I sulked around the caravan with my waterskins all the next day, resisting the urge to walk near Abdul. Hans was called to Abdul's tent that night as well. I had decided glumly that Abdul liked him much more than me.

The second night we camped next to another group of travelers. A couple stripling boys helped us repair a cart and Abdul invited them to join him and Hans in his tent evening. I promised myself that if Abdul ever invited me back in, I would work extra hard to do whatever he asked without any reluctance or complaint. The next morning I was surprised to see Hans pop out of Abdul's tent without trousers! The old tunic he wore wasn't long enough to cover up his behind or scars, but he seemed not to care. He told me cheerfully that he was going to be the waterboy, and trotted around the caravan all day like that, unconcerned about hiding his castration. He didn't even care when we passed other travelers or through a village. Most of them were used to seeing naked or partially naked boys going about their chores, but once in a while one would notice that Hans wasn't a regular boy at all. When they stared Hans just ignored him. Abdul had really turned the boy around. And Hans was always pandering to Abdul, who would grin at him, muss his hair, or give him a playful slap on his bare behind. I remembered the day when Joseph gelded him and how much pride it must have taken for him not to scream or cry. It must have been harder for him to understand that it was as natural and acceptable for us to please a man as it is for a gelding to be mounted by a stallion.

Finally we arrived at the port of Nice. Our whole group occupied a modest walled compound there. Issac bought a couple boys on the way. I didn't get to know them very well, because they were always kept separate from us and the girls. Once we arrived Issac tied them to a cart in the middle of the courtyard, then castrated and circumcised them himself. If our chores were done we could watch. But he took only their balls; not the Verdun style. They were walking around a bit the next day, and were doing light chores after a week. By this time it wasn't too noteworthy an event. It seemed as natural for Issac to castrate a couple slave boys he just acquired as for a farmer to castrate a couple calves. It was just another part of his business.

Abdul hardly ever there, he hung around the docks hoping to book us all passage to Barcelona. Abdul told me that Issac and he were equal partners, but Issac pretended to be the boss in Christian lands, and he pretended to be the boss when they arrived in Spain.

– 14 –

The ship passage to Barcelona was pretty short and boring. Immediately after we got off the boat, we were sent naked into the water, then lined up boy-girl-boy-girl and marched toward the Sultan's palace with no undue haste. Not allowed any clothing, we all covered ourselves with our hands as best we could the entire way. Issac and Abdul wanted to show us off.

The great city of Barcelona had more exotic smells and buildings than even the Verdun. The whole Arab world seemed more rich, exciting, and developed than anywhere I traveled in Christendom. And people stopped to see the pale Christian slave children. The girl ahead of me – Rachel I believe – strode forward with a certain dignity, covering herself when she could but occasionally reaching out to keep her balance on the irregular pavement, I watched her smooth back and behind for some time, and occasionally got a quick glance at the acorn like breasts, or when she slipped or bent over even got a glance between her legs and at the small tuft of dark blonde hair hiding some secrets I would never fully understand. In front of her was one of the boys Issac has castrated, named Thad, whose new circumcision left a scar more than halfway down his penis; much farther down the shaft than any of the local boys I had seen.

Finally we arrived at the gateway to the magnificent palace where we were again doused with buckets of water in preparation for a scrubbing away of the dust from the road. A dozen male and female servants were there, mostly standing around examining us. Then our hands were tied behind our backs with over-sized, red velvet ropes. The man that tied my hands behind my back pointed out to his friends my scars which I could no longer cover with my hands.

We waited for some hours in the narrow shade provided by a high wall, squeezed together tightly. I turned my crotch as far as I could into the wall in order to frustrate the curious onlookers. At the same time I could study the downy white hair on Rachel's shoulders and running down her back, and on her slim arms. I intentionally moved a little closer so that her fingers, also tied behind her, would brush against my scars, and I felt some deep stirring within me, but she turned around, looked down where her hands had brushed, gave me a look of disgust, then swung her head back so quickly that her long blonde hair struck my face. The girl behind me – named Anne – giggled. A few moments later I felt damp fur tickling my hands, and looked under my shoulder to see her dark triangle of hair tantalizingly close to my fingers. She gave me a naughty grin, and I took the opportunity to explore a bit more until the overseer shouted at us and snapped his whip in the air. I suspected he wouldn't mark us with welts just before our presentation to the Sultan, but still the crack made us both jump!

Abdul came around to explain our part in the ceremony. We were to walk into the throne room one at a time, the signal would be a tap on our shoulder. We would briskly follow the red carpet to the center of the room, then turn and follow the carpet toward the Sultan and his entourage. At the end of that carpet we were to get on our knees and bow so far as to have our nose touching the tile floor. (No easy feat with our hands tied behind our backs!) When we heard the commands we were to stand, to turn, to stop, and once dismissed, we were each to follow the red carpet away from the Sultan, and then over to the wall opposite the door with which we entered. There we were to stand as directed by the servant waiting for us there. He made sure we all bowed, stood, turned stopped and walked away properly by rehearsing us briefly. I could see everyone more clearly now as we stood facing Abdul, the budding breasts of the girls, and stiff little erections of the two eunuch-boys who – with their hands tied behind their backs – were not able to hide either their little knot of empty sacks, or the arousal that came with all the people examining them. Finally were told never to look at the Sultan or any of his guests, but instead keep our eyes on the ground before us.

We went into a waiting room with Abdul and Issac, who were invited in first by a big, black man with a high voice. Longwinded, formal introductions were made. Finally the shoulder of the first girl was tapped, and she marched into the room, turned, and then moved out of our sight. We all moved half a step forward. We heard the commands again: "Stand…" "Turn…" "Stop…" "Turn…" "Dismissed," but now from a gentle, faceless voice from inside, and with the commands, murmurs of approval.

Next Thad was tapped. When he turned to confirm the order from the black man I could see his pert penis dancing about, so newly circumcised that its pale head and white inner skin that stretched halfway down the shaft obviously didn't match the tanned skin at the base. Again I felt sorry for him seeing how tight the newly exposed skin appeared, and how far back they had made the cut, so much more than the free Moslem boys I'd seen. He noticed me and glanced down at my crotch, with a bit of a haughty, sympathetic look, but I assured myself that I wasn't jealous and my totally empty crotch didn't look as ridiculous as his mutilate dick. Thad marched into the hall, turned, and moved out of view, and Rachel was next. I was close enough not only to hear the commands directed at Thad, but after his dismissal to see him stride back into our view through the doorway – as erect as when he entered – and then turn away from us and march further into the darkened room and take a place at the distant wall. And already Rachel was hurrying into the room to the approval of the assembled, leaving me standing at the entryway next to the black man. Now I could see Rachel's entire choreography: her graceful descent to one, then the other knee, her smooth kissing of the floor with her blonde hair cascading around her face. Told to stand, she lifted her torso back and shook her hair out of her face, then lifted herself up from her knees in one swift motion. The Sultan asked her for her name, but she stood mute, not knowing Arabic. Then Abdul's voice translated to French and she responded in little more than a whisper. There was some short conversation of the occurrence of the name Rachel in the Bible.

My stomach began to flutter and some remnant of my penis pressed painfully against my scars as I knew it would be my turn soon. The thought of the presentation excited and agitated me like never before. All the strange, powerful men there would be examining my nakedness, my total emasculation. Even Thad at least had a little penis distract from their scrotal scars. I flushed and became uncomfortable as I knew I would be showing an even greater submission to the will of my masters, and I was even biting my lip at the thought of it. It was a nervous excitement I felt only rarely, like when my Joseph brought me out, freshly healed, to serve the same customers that had watched as he first slid his knife into my small, pale organs, or when Abdul invited the peasant boys to see my scars.

And then Rachel was ordered to turn, and then dismissed, and so the tap on the shoulder took me a little off guard. I stood frozen for a moment until the black man pushed my behind forward with a gentle slap. I half stumbled into the room, not having free arms to help keep my balance, and heard some giggles from the crowd. But the moment I turned onto the carpet towards the Sultan and his guests, a stunned silence came over the audience. No polite hum of approval for the quality of the gift, which had occurred for Thad and Rachel. When I reached the end of carpet, I didn't immediately bow, but instead stood there like an idiot and looked up at Abdul and assembled guests instead of at the floor, anxious about what they thought of me. And there sat the mighty Sultan, on a grand throne, glittering with gold and silk, and with a short, stocky, naked black boy – maybe half a head shorter than me but with his boyhood fully intact – slowly waving a fan not far from his head. Around the Sultan stood Abdul and several well-dressed advisors or guests, and watching behind them other servants and spectators.

They were studying my legs until Abdul whispered confidently "a white sandali, the first of three we brought from Verdun" and suddenly grunts of approval and comprehension were released as Abdul discretely gestured downward and I came to my senses and awkwardly dropped to my knees and bowed prostrate to the cold, marble floor.

"Very good," I heard from the princely figure in the center, "Allah has made it clear in this boy his feelings on the Nazarene invasions."

"Indeed he has!" Abdul responded.

"And no Moslem did this?"

"No my lord," responded Abdul. "It was Jews in Verdun. And the boy was sold to them by Christians, as were they all."

"What barbarians they are," the Sultan mused, and the crowd murmured in agreement.

"Stand," he ordered me. "We must find a special place for this one," He said, turning to the master of ceremonies, "so he can remind us of Allah's might for all his days. Find out his name."

"I'm Bloempje, Sir." I announced while getting up again.

"He is the first of three," the Mayor explained proudly.

"And you speak Arabic?" the Sultan asked me directly.

"Yes, Sir. Some." I said to my naked feet, afraid to look at the man.

"Turn around then."

I turned and while they examined me from the rear, I could see Hans and Rachel watching, along with several clothed servants.

The great sultan murmured to the fan boy, who nodded, and waved me over to him. He removed the velvet rope binding my wrists and handed his fan to me, gesturing for me to emulate his work. I was actually to fan the sultan myself! All the eyes in the room were upon me as I stood so near to the Prince that I could smell his perfume. I stood unashamed and vindicated at the very center of the entire grand affair. Beside me was the Sultan himself, behind him his entourage. As I looked at the different men who were there with the Sultan, some would wink at me, others would smile and nod in approval. Still others would give a little smirk or even frown sadly. Across from us stood Abdul who looked at me with a mix of pride and worry. I imagined the other boys were jealous.

Suddenly that girl who just a few minutes ago let me touch her soft triangle of hair was now presented to the Sultan. She marched up, hips swaying slightly, budding breasts jiggling enticingly. Just as I had done, she collapsed to her knees and bowed prostrate before us. The Sultan asked and I learned with him that her name was Joan. The men behind the Sultan again murmured polite approval. The sultan nodded in approval and Hans was brought in. Abdul apparently saved the best for last: as the next two eunuchs were also sandali, as promised. They too were applauded by the assembled guests. But they were allowed to scamper off into line with the others, while I gently fanned my powerful, new master. At that moment it was all worth it, my enslavement, castration, public humiliations, all seemed unimportant compared to being the Sultan's new fan boy. I was so proud I didn't care who saw I my emasculation.

The exotic men surrounding me were also exciting, their curious eyes roving lazily over my body as I gently fanned their leader. I felt excited and even a little sassy when the new men saw me naked – I liked their attention. And I knew these men here liked that I was gelded. I realized I was castrated for these men, or if not for exactly these men, some other strong, influential men just like them. But however much it excited me to be naked in front of the, I didn't like the former boys and girls seeing me. Making some boys into eunuchs was something Abdul these Moslem people understood, but not the people back where we came from. Ever since that day when young master Joseph brought me out to the customers to display his handiwork, I kept having confused feelings when I showed my scars to strangers. In awe at the power such men had over me, a chill would sweep over my body just thinking of their swaying, large, hairy genitals. And I liked the attention my emasculated status brought me. I suspected they knew I liked their attention as well. These Moslems maybe didn't know Jesus, but they knew to make plain which boys are meant to fuck and which are meant to be fucked.

– 15 –

Each of us was given a job at the palace, and I was immediately given the job of being the personal servant to the Sultan's old mother. She had her own black eunuch and special rooms in the Sultan's harem. It was such a boring job, especially as no men were allowed in the harem – on pain of death – and I was very seldom allowed to leave it. It wasn't a day before a boy approached me while we were both fetching water at the well. Sasha was a couple years older than me, and a couple hands taller, a red haired eunuch from someplace far to the north. He was amazed that I worked within the harem, and didn't believe I was 'nigger cut' as he first described it.

"What's 'nigger cut'? I asked.

"White eunuchs usually just lose their balls, but nigger eunuchs lose it all."

"Sometimes they make white sandali too," I explained, "That's how they do it in Verdun."

"I never heard of one," he retorted.

"But I'm one!" I told him.

We entered his dormitory and he showed me his curtained little lower bunk up against a wall. He invited me to share the space for our afternoon nap. He went in first and I slipped in next to him. We had to lay on our sides to fit, and he held me close and asked if I would like to sleep with him that night after work. He slowly slid his hand down to the top of my little pants.

"So, you are really a sandali?" he whispered into my ear.

I nodded gently, which he took as permission to move his hand under my pants, the warm fingers gently explored every lumpy notch and ridge as I waited silently.

He whispered his final ruling into my ear, "Nigger cut."

"Don't say it that way," I complained.

"I kind of like it," he whispered back, "when did they do it?"

"Late last Spring. When did they do you?"

"A long time ago, I was maybe nine."

"Let me feel you!" I demanded and moved my arm behind my back as he wiggled his own trousers down off his hips. His hand guided mine to a disappointingly reedy, yet taut, little erection. Slipping past that, I found a flabby bundle of fuzzy skin beneath.

"They pulled them out and left the bag," he whispered, anticipating my question.

"Who?"

"Just the dealer, I guess. Who gelded you?"

"My first owner, they were barbers and knew how."

"Why'd they ni… cut you like that?"

I shrugged, "I don't know. They just do it that way in Verdun. Partly to show off they could, I think." Satisfied, I pulled my hand out of his crotch. He tugged his trousers up a bit and we went to sleep.

I woke up to the talk and shuffling around of Sasha's dormitory-mates, all white eunuchs of various ages. I tumbled out of bed with Sasha right behind me, and he kissed my cheek before I trotted off to see if anyone in the harem was looking for me.

It was late at night before we finally got everyone in bed and I was able to meet Sasha again. A single oil lamp hanging from the center of the dormitory provided all the light in the room as I found my way back to Sasha's little bunk. He invited me in and we immediately wiggled out of our clothing with a series of bumps and giggles. But I was only half finished when Sasha presented his pale little circumcised penis to my face. I was again amazed that such a big boy would have such a small organ. I slid my mouth over it, and then began rolling the silky flap of fuzzy skin under it between my thumb and forefinger. But I quickly bored of the thin penis and the empty sack, and I began to recall the other, more substantial organs I had in my mouth: Uncle Charlie's, The Captain's and mate's and Abdul's of course, as well as Haantje's. Then I imagined it was the Sultan I was pleasuring, or Abdul again: men whose apparent lack of interest in me made me desire them all the more. I realized the penis in my mouth was sagging and pliable. Sasha had fallen asleep.

Sasha and all the eunuchs in his dormitory were all able to read and write Arabic, and were all apprentices working for the Sultan's administrators. Sasha fetched water and emptied the night soil for his dormitory only once every couple weeks, but it was my job to do it for the Dowager Sultana every morning, so I had to get up before him most mornings, and I went to bed later, only after the Sultan's mother did so. But the old lady often took long afternoon naps and unless it was very hot I wouldn't have to fan her and I could leave the harem and do other things in the palace. If she woke up then the head black eunuch would take care of her. But I didn't have to go to classes or do the other jobs Sasha had, like copy scrolls or take dictation. He said as a harem eunuch, the only thing I had to study was politics. Nevertheless, I always slept with Sasha in his little bunk. It felt very nice to cuddle up with someone, even if his little penis couldn't begin to reach my nice spot, and Sasha had hardly any interest in trying.

Late mornings "Mother" often shared tea with some of the other substantial ladies in the city, and she insisted I come out and fan her after I served the tea. I knew when one of her guests would be visiting, I would be told to wear my 'special' uniform on such occasions: a white cap, a short little white leather vest, matching white slippers, along with a white feather fan, and finally a very tight, gossamer, loincloth. I knew I looked ridiculous. I'd rather just be naked. Wearing a fancy outfit that only pretended to cover me down there was meant to intentionally show off my special status as a sandali. Once the tea was served, I would begin fanning mother from just behind and to her right side. Then my lady would wait, hoping her latest guest would notice me. She would then glance over, pretend she was shocked, and tell me "What are you wearing, child? We have guests. Get some proper trousers on this instant!" as if I would dress like that on my own accord. I would bow to her and go just outside the door where I had a tiny pair of white briefs waiting – and as I left she would always say the same thing to her guest: "that's my new sandali. A gift from my son. It's very rare you know, to remove a white boy's virile member. The barbarians know how in only a couple places" And her guests would almost always say in response something like "Oh, I didn't notice, dear," but I knew they had noticed. I would quickly slip on the little white panties – which didn't even have a real back to them, and scamper back into the room again and begin shooing away the flies and fanning my lady.

The boredom of serving my lady was alleviated somewhat by nearby presence of the many young girls in the harem, including Rachel and Joan. One day I was walking past while they gossiped in French about their time with the Sultan. I listened breathless while they described to each other the Prince's dark, hairy body and chubby, circumcised penis, I slipped a hand under my work tunic to soothe my suddenly anxious scars as they compared their own passions and discomforts in losing their virginity, taking turns describing the experience of the noble penis pushing against and bursting through the inadequate resistance of their hymens as the Sultan kissed their open mouths and fondled their tender breasts. They giggled nervously as they told each other about the taste and smell of the Sultan's member, and I imagined myself servicing him as well.

When the Sultan wanted something from his mother, he would often send his little black fan boy – named Loopy – to our outer door. The door had a small window so one could see who rang the bell. The Sultan's mother kind of ruled the Harem, and had a special, separate entrance to her rooms. But really the chief black eunuch was in charge. Once, during the heat of the afternoon when everyone typically was about to take a nap, the bell rang and the chief eunuch told me to go see who was there. I was of course never to let a man or boy into the harem, nor would they normally try, so when I saw the Sultan's black fan boy's face, I went out to talk to him in the entryway. There was a grated window high above us, where potentially a guard – or even the Sultan himself – could secretly observe who was going in and out of the harem without being seen themselves. But since the Sultan's mother was way past her prime, they paid little attention to surveilling her area.

My lady had just finished receiving one of her guests, so I at least had my entire little outfit on. Loopy was as naked as usual for a slave boys his age. I immediately peeked down and gaped at the soft, more than boyish penis and dangling balls. He saw my reaction and smiled, growing an erection. I could count just a few dark pubic hairs over a thin, black, circumcised penis, stiffening over a pair of ripe balls hanging loose and low. I knew that it wouldn't be long before he would be expected to wear clothes, and the Sultan would probably assign him to other duties. I hadn't even seen a penis in a couple months, let alone a hard one, beyond Sasha's rueful thing. Even though Loopy was clean and the Sultan's servant, he reminded me of those little firewood boys who were so amused by my castration back in Verdun. He noticed I kept glancing down at his organ, and he grinned. I didn't normally like the idea of letting this kind of boy fuck me, but it was just so long since I'd even seen a real, hard, dick…

"The Sultan wants his mother to know that the silk cloth she asked for has arrived."

"I'll tell her. Thank you." I responded politely. He was already fully erect, the impertinent organ angling up just enough to point right at the front of my little pants.

"So, what's it like working in there?" he asked.

I shrugged in response, "Boring."

"Do you ever see the ladies… naked?" he whispered.

"Oh, sure. There's a big bath and fountain in there, and I often see them bathing or dressing." As much as I wanted to, I couldn't stop peeking down at that dark, rascally twitching organ, so much more vigorous than Sasha's.

The penis was now repeatedly twitching up, beckoning me, "I wish I could see that just once." I suddenly realized that while Loopy looked nine or ten at first glance, he was closer to my age or a bit younger, and just very short for his age.

"It's nothing, really. I got used to it."

"Yeah, but you aren't really a boy," he explained glancing down at my crotch, "Real boys never get used to seeing girls naked. Never."

"I am too a boy."

"I saw you when you first came, remember? You're nigger cut!"

"I… still…" I was shocked and humiliated that even a black boy could use that phrase to describe me, and was surprised when I began to choke up.

He laughed and glanced down at my pants again, "Oh, I didn't mean anything by that. What's your name again?"

"Bloempje," I told him, wiping my nose.

"You think we can do something now?"

"Like what?" I asked.

"You know," He thrust his hips out several times in quick succession, "Take those panties off, why don't you?"

"Right here?" I didn't like the idea of him calling them 'panties' either. He reached out and began pulling down the front of my briefs, "You still don't have any hair? I got hair!"

"No, eun… boys like me won't get hair there, not like men's hair, anyway."

"Oh," He shrugged, unconcerned. "Well, com'on out for a bit," then he glanced up at the grating and whispered, "I really need a fuck!" he pulled down on my pants enough for him to begin to see my scars, "getting tired of my own hand, you know?"

I didn't stop him. "We don't have a lot of time before they'll start asking for us." I didn't know if I liked being ordered about by this boy who was smaller than me, and just as much a slave. But I was a bit afraid to disobey him, as he was a real boy and the Sultan's page. I didn't want trouble, and he did have a nice looking penis so I ventured out. He pulled us behind a large pillar.

"Off, off!" he gestured at my little pants, so I maneuvered them down my legs and over my slippers. He examined me again and licked his lips. "Ok, turn around, quick." I turned around for him. He spread my cheeks with his warm hands, "You're too tall. Squat down some."

I bent my knees half way, but I couldn't maintain my balance as he pushed his erection against my ass.

"Hold still!" he complained.

"I can't while trying to stand like this. You're just too short!"

Loopy looked around a moment then grabbed a small box that was in the corner of the room and stood on it. The marble was cold and smooth as he pressed me up against it. Black fingers gripped my pale shoulders as he pushed his entire body against mine, pinning me against the pillar as his hot, eager penis nudged up into my crack. He pushed it into my anus and started feverishly thrusting in and out as fast as he could.

"That's better," he announced quietly.

"Put it in, deeper," I complained.

"I know what I'm doing," he replied as he kept pumping, "Make it tighter, I'm almost finished."

I tried to squeeze the probe wiggling in my behind. I could feel his breath on the back of my neck as he panted in the afternoon heat. He worked silently for a short while, then suddenly stopped, and stepped off the box. I didn't even know he had climaxed. I let go of the pillar.

"Gimme your panties," he commanded, and before I realized it, he had pulled my little white pants out of my hand and was using them to clean up his softening penis, leaving brown streaks on them. I indignantly took them back and inspected them.

"Ok, I gotta go. Be ready again tomorrow afternoon," he took a final, awkward glance at my scars, scratched under his now snug testicles briefly and scampered out as I wiggled back into my now dirty little pants, adjusted my vest and hat, and went back to deliver my message. I didn't much like the black boy, but I was so bored and lonely, I was already looking forward to his return. I wondered what Sasha would say if he found out I was just fucked by a 'nigger.'

The old eunuch looked at me strangely when I volunteered to answer the door the next afternoon. Not being very creative or experienced, Loopy was already standing on the box when I opened the door. He ordered my pants off and me up against the pillar just like the day before. The boy had just began his work with the old eunuch opened the door. Loopy scampered out the other exit into the courtyard like lightening. The old eunuch laughed at my embarrassment, and shooed me back into the harem as I struggled to get my little pants back up over my behind.

– 16 –

He didn't mention the incident after that, but the next day, he had me put away all my clothes except the thin gossamer loincloth that barely covered my scars. When the bell again rang at nap time, my face immediately turned red. "Go answer it," he told me confidently, refusing to let me put anything else on. When I opened the little window, it wasn't Loopy, but a taller black stripling: one of the younger cooks.

"Come out here!" The cook commanded. He smelled of onions and red pepper.

I went out, closing the door behind me. The man put a hand behind my neck and guided me out through the courtyard and into the kitchen as I tried to keep a hand in front of my loincloth. There were three additional black, muscular cooks lounging there when we arrived. They all took a moment to look me over.

"We don't have too much time," one of them informed the others, he had a scar across his cheek.

The man slouched in a simple chair tugged his robes up over his waist. I couldn't help but stare at the long, fat erection swaying menacingly out from between his hairy hips. As he spread his legs, large black balls slumped down in their long, hairy sack between thick, ebony thighs. I licked my dry lips.

"Come here boy!" the cook gesturing down to his penis, "we don't have all day." I trotted up to him and immediately obeyed as he ordered me down on my knees before him with an impatient wave. He immediately cupped the back of my neck and brought my mouth to the waiting head bobbing above the soft, mature belly, and I gratefully opened my mouth and welcomed in. The men continued chatting.

"Eager one," I heard one say.

"Old Tulip said he'd be."

"Knows his place, for a white boy," the one I was sucking said before laughing.

"He should be. They nigger-cut him."

"Nigger-cut?" I heard one of them ask from a distance.

"They'd never let him in the harem if he weren't.

"But they don't cut white boys like that," said the one across the kitchen.

"Old Tulip says there are some Christian towns that know how to cut them like this, but they are very expensive."

"Well, take a look then," responded the voice above my head.

I felt a tug on the knot of my loincloth, then another, and suddenly it was loose and off my body. Slippered feet kicked my knees farther apart. "What have we got here." A rough hand forced its way between my thighs, "Yeah," he finally reported, "he's nigger-cut alright."

It occurred to me that even the black boys denigrated 'niggers', nigger eunuchs especially. Sometimes I didn't understand these people at all.

The man in front of me tightened his grip on my neck as I continued stroking along the bottom hot black shaft with my tongue. I felt hands take firm hold of my hips and I knew what was coming next, letting out a bit of a squeal as the pushed easily through my anus, the wait since my last real fucking finally over.

"He likes that," the man in front of me announced, and began patting my head. I responded by focusing my tonguing on the crown of his chubby helmet. The others remained quiet for a long moment as the penis behind me continued eagerly thrusting. I steadied myself by hugging the hips of the man in front of me. I heard metal banging. The other two had gone back to work.

"Get the fire going and start some water," the voice above my head ordered. "Good to see a white sandali once in a while," he added.

"Maybe that's why old Tulip lent him to us. Figured we'd get a kick out of it," the man behind me speculated.

The man in front of me didn't respond however. Instead he held my head tightly and I felt my mouth become slick with his goo. After another long moment he pushed my head off his penis. I looked up at his content face as my body wobbled back and forth in concert with the man still fucking me. He milked out a bit of semen from his sagging penis and rubbed the tip across my nose. I was still heavily distracted with keeping my anus open and receptive for the cook still eagerly nudging up against the firm organ deep within me eager for any stimulation.

"Who's next?" the man above me announced. I heard a pot slam down and sandals slapping against the stone floor.

"Which end?" the man asked.

"I want to fuck him, boss." I looked up to see the young man who brought me over looking down at me grinning.

"Never fucked a white boy, I bet."

"No, boss," he responded, licking his lips just as the grip on my hips tightened, and the man behind me pushed even harder, the new vigor with which my special spot was being stimulated surprised and distracted me, while the man behind began quietly grunting. He suddenly paused, to my open disappointment. I caught my breath and brushed the semen off my nose, the tension built up by the man's probing waiting to be released. The man behind me dragged his softening penis out of my behind and released my hips. I looked behind me, curious as to what had just released the seed in me, but he was already arranging his thin robe over his genitals. He had a thin scar on his cheek.

"Is this the first time a nigger fucked you?" the scarred cook asked.

I took a breath, "No, sir… but… I don't mind." I told him, still on hands and knees.

"Want some more, huh?"

I nodded.

He glanced down to my backside and grinned, "Who cut you like that?"

"Um… a barber, in Verdun," I told him, still catching my breath.

"A black man?" he asked,

"No. Joseph, A boy. About as old as you, I guess," I told him.

"But black like us?"

"No, he was a Jew I think."

The man in front of me mussed my hair, "Stand up, boy. Show us what a white sandali looks like."

I slowly stood up for them, but I couldn't resist covering my crotch with a hand, even though I knew that was what they most wanted to see, "It's not much different than other boys like me," I prepared them before letting my hand drop to my side. I shivered a bit as they all looked down at my scars, still anxious to release the erotic tension the scarred man had raised in me. I licked my lips nervously as they looked me over.

""When did they do that to you, boy?" the man whose penis I just sucked asked,

"I guess about six months ago. I didn't even know what was going on, until they did it to me."

"And a Jew boy did it?" the cook with the scar asked, seeming to approve.

"One of the first Jews I ever knew. He was my first owner," I explained before briefly scratching my aching hole, finding it warm and slimy.

"Nigger-cut by a Jew, huh? You might be the most unlucky white kid in the world!" he advised me.

"No, sir."

"Leave him alone now," the boss man told him, "He can't help that."

"It's alright. I don't mind. It really hurt when they did it, but now it's better." I looked over the next man in line – the young guy who fetched me to the kitchen. He lifted up his robe and I was immediately captivated by the heavy, swaying erection pointing at me, crowned by a neat trapezoid of thick, black hair. Plump balls snug below it, his thighs dark and smooth. He reminded me of Joseph.

"You like that?" he asked me.

I nodded, and then to emphasize the point I rocked my hips side to side.

"You don't mind getting fucked by black men?" the cook with the scar asked.

"Once you've been castrated by a Jew, I imagine getting fucked by a Moor wouldn't really make much difference," the head cook interjected.

"Yeah, I guess," the man with the scar agreed.

I shrugged, "The white eunuchs will tease me, and my friend Sasha might be angry, too. It's just… it's been so long since…"

"They don't have to know, then." The head cook assured me.

"Not too many dicks or balls where you work," the boy who brought me said with a smile.

"Sasha has… well, it's not much…" I admitted, looking down at the substantial black organs of the boy who brought me was showing off, "… and not at all like that one!" I conceded.

"Come take a good look," he invited me, and took a step to him, and fell down to my knees. The penis stared back at me: fat, stiff, circumcised; twitching heavily above twin ovals slung low in a hairy black sack. I reached up and gently felt the weight of them, licking my dry lips. It took Sasha's example and now these chubby ovals to convince me of how important these balls are, how they were the hidden source and foundation of the masculine strength and power that so enthralled me.

I gently kissed and licked the plump orbs in my hand. Salty and musky, they rolled and slid elusively from my tongue, as if they were alive.

"Gentle now," the boy warned me.

"They're big!" I told him. I looked up at him through the black penis twitching against my nose.

"You like that?!" he asked, grinning.

"Yeah!"

"Alirght. Enough now. I didn't bring you here for that."

I leaned back a bit and nodded obediently. The first two men went to a large work-table in the center of the room to chop vegetables. I stood up I took the opportunity to grasp the boy's hard, ample bicep, smiling up at him. He grinned down at me. I let him push me up against the large table and bend me over the side, while the cooks began chopping up carrots. The cooks grinned down at me as I grabbed hold of the sides just before he pushed his fervid manhood in. I grunted a bit as the entry opened my raw anus, then gasped as the tip found my impatient knob of pleasure. I watched the vegetable chopping, glancing up at the cooks watching me ungulate on their table. I pushed back against the stiff penis as it surged through my stretched anus on its way towards my special spot, relaxed and let loose a quick sigh as his eager penis nudged up across my waiting prostrate, giving me just a brief moment to relax as the shaft backed out to begin the process again. To satisfy that longing made it all worth it: being stripped and fucked by these black cooks, letting them see that I had been castrated sandali style, being watched by the others while they took turns, it all seemed trivial compared to that wonderful, humiliating nudging going on inside me at that moment. Thinking about it all just intensified the craving.

"Can't you do it harder?" I blurted out, dissatisfied with the depth of the cook's thrust, and was immediately rewarded. "Yes! Do it Hard!" I demanded. And as the young man dug his nails into my hips and pounded against my ass, the tension building steadily as I began to squirm and rub my lumpy scars against the table.

"That's the way, Zarif!" the boss cutting the carrots encouraged the boy behind me. I pressed my eyes closed and bit into my lower lip to keep from crying out as the boy kept banging the head of his penis hard just where I wanted it, sending repeating crescendos of pleasure through my body. Every nudge and poke resonated between my stretched, itching anus and the now over-stimulated chestnut inside me. Finally it was happening again, after a month of waiting. I gasped as the pleasure exploded through my thighs, tickling me from my toes to my nipples, Zarif began grunting behind me, and hearing him I couldn't hold back any longer, and squealed out in tempo in my own higher pitch. Zarif's fingers were still digging into my hips, but I didn't care. Nor did I care that the others had stopped their work to watch. All that mattered was Zarif's next nudge and bump, the next merciless tug on my open sphincter. My toes curled as the pleasure finally exploded out from the tip of Zarif's penis against my prostrate, I closed my eyes and let out a long sigh of satisfaction. Then, the flood receded, and my squeal of pleasure morphed into grunts of discomfort as a now silent Zarif sporadically shoved his penis in and out. Then it slid out entirely with a slurping sound, and he released my hips. Zarif still tried the occasional half-hearted thrust, audibly panting.

"He's gonna have your baby after that fucking, Zarif!" the boss teased. I turned around to see the boy grinning proudly.

"That was my first time…" he announced.

"First time with one of the geldings?" the boss asked.

"First time ever!" the boy replied.

I heard the tower bell ring twice, signaling the end of the afternoon siesta. "I have to go back to the harem now," I began sliding off their table, letting out a little moan and gently fingering my sore, sloppy anus.

"I can't really have a baby?" I asked their boss, incredulous.

"Stranger things have happened!" the man answered. I frowned and looked down, imagining what Sasha would do if I had a black baby.

"Will the baby come out black?" I asked.

"Yup, you're gonna have our nigger baby!" the man with the scar assured me, "I was in there too you know!" he reminded me, glancing down my naked body. I wasn't at all sure they were telling the truth, but just considering the possibility caused my eyes to tear up.

"No one told me that could happen!" I complained, "It never happened before." But I knew people often didn't bother to tell me important stuff.

Their boss just shrugged. Zarif patted my naked behind, "I got to get you back to the harem, honey."

"I didn't get a turn!" the last cook protested.

"Tomorrow," the boss said dismissively, "Ask Tulip if we can get him back, Zarif."

Being careful not to aggravate my tender hole, I waddled over to my discarded loincloth, as the santorum ran down my inner thighs, "I'm already late!"

Zarif held my hand as we went through the courtyard and back to the Harem entrance, as I kept an eye out for Sasha and his friends. The moment we were out of the courtyard, and in the entryway, Zarif wrapped a hand around my neck, bent his head down, closed his eyes and pushed his tongue deep into my mouth, his hot lips pressing against mine. I wrapped my arms around him and took hold of his warm, muscular behind. I could smell onions and sweat as our tongues danced together and his erection poked at my bare belly through his rough robe.

"I so want to fuck you again right now," he whispered into my ear.

"But I don't want to get pregnant," I whispered back.

"I think they were just teasing us," he told me.

"I'm going to find out from Old Tulip then," I half-threatened him.

Zarif released me and rang the bell. We both waited until Old Tulip opened the door.

"You're late!" The old eunuch scolded us.

"Sorry, sir. The Boss wants him to come back tomorrow," Zarif told him.

The old eunuch laughed, "Did you have fun then?" he asked Zarif.

"Yeah, Sure." Zarif hesitated.

"How about you?" Tulip asked me.

"I ah… can eunuchs have babies?" I asked.

Old Tulip laughed out loud, "I guess you did have fun!"

"He's afraid he's going to have a nigger baby," Zarif told him.

"Oh? You are, Bloempje? Well, if that happens, no one will care that it's a nigger." Tulip pushed me into the harem and slapped my bottom hard, "Alirght, Zarif, but bring the money tomorrow." I heard the door close behind me.

"So, you might be pregnant?" Tulip asked me as we walked.

I shrugged, "They said Zarif did it, or maybe the one with the scar…" I admitted.

"Well, there may be trouble if you have a black baby."

"I know," I told him, "but I don't think eunuchs can have babies."

"Were you and Zarif kissing?"

"What? When?"

"I don't know."

"Maybe."

"What about Omar?"

"Omar?"

"The cook with the scar on his cheek."

"No."

"But it could be his baby too?"

I shrugged, "But us eunuchs can't have babies, right?"

"You think not?"

"I never heard of it before."

"He doesn't know it, but Omar's mother was a eunuch."

"Omar?"

"The cook with the scar."

"Really?"

"Indeed, ask him sometime. Tell him I said so."

"So I could be pregnant then?" I stopped and looked up at him.

"Stranger things have happened," he told me.

"That's just what their boss said!" I told him, my voice cracking. I looked down at my feet and thought about what Sasha would do. "What do you think the other white eunuchs will say?" I asked, not daring to hint to him that I was sleeping with Sasha.

"If you had a black baby? They'd be jealous." He said flatly.

"I don't think so. They don't like black people. They always call them niggers."

"Niggers?"

"Yeah, even the cooks said I was 'nigger-cut'. They said you sent me there to show them that."

"Oh, but then something else happened, didn't it. More than just them seeing your little scars."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Did you encourage them?"

"No sir!"

"So they raped you?" he asked seriously.

"Yes. I didn't want to have a baby, but they made me!" I confirmed.

"I better not send you back tomorrow then," he suggested.

I thought about not being allowed to see Zarif again, and even getting pregnant might be worth it. "Maybe… maybe I kind of went along… I just didn't know that that could make me pregnant."

"What could?"

"They said it after Zarif put his… his manhood… in my behind," I explained.

"And you let him?!" he asked.

I shrugged.

"And Omar too?"

I shrugged again.

"They are both fertile young bucks. Did it feel good? Really good?"

"At first it hurts, but after a while…" I shrugged.

He smiled down at me, "If I send you back tomorrow, the other two will try to get you pregnant too."

"Can't you tell them not to?"

"Not to?! That's why they want you to come back. Go take a bath. We'll talk about it some more tomorrow.

– 17 –

Once I got my Lady fed and in bed, I went over to the dormitory to Sasha's bunk. I stripped off my clothes and snuggled in next to his warm, soft body. He realized right away that I was troubled, and asked me what had happened. Sasha already knew I liked playing sex. And he wouldn't believe me if I told him I was raped by the black cooks.

"Did you ever hear of eunuchs getting pregnant?" I whispered.

"That's the stupidest thing I ever heard of. We can't make babies. We aren't really boys or girls. Just eunuchs. That's what makes us special."

"Tulip says it can happen," I countered, "not making a girl pregnant, but getting pregnant by a boy."

"He's just teasing you. Maybe he thinks you are fucking someone and wants you to stop."

We paused for a long while.

"Do you like it when a man puts his thing in you?"

"I hate it. I like fucking."

"Yes, but we don't do it much."

"I don't need to do it much. But I know you can't, honey," comforted me.

"But if you did like being fucked, I wouldn't care. It makes you feel really good inside, if you keep doing it."

He was silent for a long moment. "Where were you during the siesta?" he hissed accusingly.

"Tulip had a job for me, tomorrow too."

"What job?"

I shrugged in the darkness, "In the kitchens."

He was silent for another long moment, "You want those nigger cocks fucking you?" he whispered.

I could feel him staring at the back of my head. I rolled around to face him. I tried to kiss him but he turned his face away. I slid down and pushed my lips against his soft, flabby bud of a penis. Then I heard him sniffle before he pushed my head back. I slid back up and wrapped my arms around him.

"You should try it. It will hurt in the beginning, but if a big one gets to the right spot… oh."

"I don't want to try it."

"We could go together, I can…"

"I don't want your nigger dicks!" he spit out too loud.

"Why don't you fuck me now," I pleaded, and lied, "I like it when you fuck me."

"I don't mind you were cut like a nigger-eunuch," he whispered, "I kind of like it. It made you special. But black guys… you shouldn't act like a whore."

I understood I couldn't be pregnant, that Sasha was the one who wouldn't lie to me. But I also knew he could never make me feel the way Zarif could.

***

Zarif returned right on time the next day, and even had a small cloth pouch of coins for Tulip. But he speeded me along another path in the courtyard and into a narrow space between buildings, and into an abandoned, dusty storeroom.

"Aren't we going to the kitchens?"

"Not today."

"Why not?"

He nodded down. His soft, plump lips met mine as he clumsily opened the knots on my loincloth. I began tugging up on his robe to access the treasures underneath. He broke off his kiss long enough for me to let him know the good news: "Eunuchs can't get pregnant," I whispered into his ear.

"Yeah, I know. They were just teasing you, silly." He finally got loincloth loose and pulled it away from my body, then looked me over slowly. I covered my scars with my hands. He licked his lips, and pulled his robe over his head and spread it over the dusty floor. There it was: waving around black and crudely circumcised, fat vein wandering along the top, bead of clear fluid already formed on the tip, and the same thick tuff of black kinky hair crowing it all. I looked up smiled when he glanced over.

"Show me," he ordered, glancing down at my crotch.

"It's nothing special," I hedged before letting my hands hand at my sides. He studied me for a long moment.

"Come here now," he opened up his arms. I stepped up, put my arms around him, and kissed his plump, dark nipples. I slid down his body and pressed my tongue onto his knobby navel. He giggled, and gently pressed my head lower. The thick, kinky patch of black hair tickled my chin. I wrapped one hand around his muscular behind, while the other found and caressed his twin ovals.

"If you still had balls, you'd be a completely different person," he told me.

"No," I assured him, "I don't feel any different from before they did it really," I retorted before lowering my face down to his hefty, throbbing penis, and licking a long, salty track of fluid off the tip.

"Did you suck on dicks before then?"

"Yes, lots!" I told him before running my tongue all along the bottom of the black shaft, before sliding it down to balls waiting in my cupped hand. Zarif stroked my head gently.

"But you like my balls, huh?" he asked me, "You did that yesterday too."

"Yes," I told him, "I know they make you big and strong."

"If you had yours, you'd be big and strong too," he quipped.

"But I don't want to be."

"You don't want to be?" he asked.

"Nope. I like that you are, but…"

"But what?"

I stopped licking and looked up," But I know you like me better this way. I think all the men do. Even Sasha," I explained.

"Sasha?"

"Yeah, he's one of the white eunuchs. I sleep with him."

"You sleep with him?"

"Yes, he's my best friend."

"How old is he?"

I was becoming miffed at his interruptions. "I don't know. Fifteen or sixteen maybe."

He pondered this for a long while. "He's not nigger cut too?"

I slid my mouth off his erection, "No, but he was cut young."

Zarif nodded, seeming to understand.

I sucked in as much of Zarif's black organ as I could.

Zarif cooed, "Just do that for a while."

So I continued running up and down the long lumpy shaft, licking around the ridge of the tip, teasing the lumpy scar behind it, and tickling the bottom of it with my tongue over and over again. But I wanted more now. I sat down on my behind and spread my legs for him, leaning back on my elbows. His penis, wet and stiff, gently bobbed and weaved above me.

"You aren't embarrassed anymore?" he asked flicking his eyes between my legs.

"Not with you," I assured him. He dropped to his knees and slipped his hands under legs, and pressed them back until my lower body rose up to meet his twitching organ, the wet, black penis, swatting clumsily at my pale inner thighs. He took and even closer look at my denuded crotch, a thin line of his precum drizzled down onto my little mound of scars. He retreated slightly, let the tip dip down between my legs, and then began poking it at my hole.

"Put it in," I pleaded.

He gave a little grunt back, still concentrating on the insertion. I moaned as the head drove in, spreading my still sore anus. Several times he pushed the tip in, just past the head, only to pop it out again. I wrapped my legs around his lower back, in hopes of pushing myself farther onto it as he toyed with me.

"Push it in!" I ordered, "Com'on, push it in there!"

Zarif laughed, "You're as eager as me! Want some more then?" He slipped his arms under my legs, then pressed up and over me, leaning his whole body against them, until my hamstrings ached and my ankles jutted out beyond my head

"Yes," I told him, half giggling, half frustrated.

"You might get pregnant!" he teased, lifting his penis out of me.

"No I won't."

"It's a nigger dick," he reminded me, his head was just above mine.

"That's what I want!" I insisted.

He leaned down and kissed my nose and lips, taking hold of my shoulders with his strong, rough hands. I felt the tip of his penis poking and teasing my open, patient hole just before all at once he slammed it in savagely mashing his thighs against my ass as he pulled my shoulders, the hard dick pressing open my sphincter and colon, and punching into my sensitive prostrate all at once. I shivered and flinched as each of the pleasantly taunting little discomforts I'd so looked forward to now all exploded into a united deluge of pain. I moaned out at the violation. He dragged it up and out and did it again. But this time I was prepared enough to push out against the dick with all I had until the thing punched up against my prostrate again. Then the receding pain of the first thrust combined with the welcome relief that came from pushing back against the second. I grabbed both of Zarif's biceps and dug in hard when the dick again banged my sensitive spot. Again it came and again I pushed and cried and held on. Holding me in place by shoulders, his arms pressing my knees to my chest and my feet kicking high against air, I tried to use my arms against the dirty stone floor but could find no handle any more useful than holding Zarif himself, so quickly grabbed his thick arms again as he thrust a fourth time. He was looking down at me, breathing through his mouth, and I staring back up at him, not knowing if he could tell or care if I was surprised, in rapture, or in agony. And I wasn't sure myself. Again he drove it home, and I was able to force my anus to relax and accept it completely, and my prostrate could not adapt.

"Zarif, Oh, you're being too rough!"

"Oh, I thought you wanted it hard!"

"No, you're hurting me now,"

Zarif stopped. "The guys said I should lay you on your back, and push your ankles over your head, if you really wanted a hard fuck."

"You hit my chestnut too hard," I admitted.

"Your chestnut?"

"Yeah the special lump inside me that feels good when you nudge it, but not when you punch it hard!"

"It's alright honey, I won't do it so hard."

"Stop a while. It hurts now. You hurt it." I wiped the tears from my face.

Zarif kissed my eyes and my lips. "I'm sorry. I thought you wanted it really hard. You're my favorite little nigger-cut eunuch. I didn't want to really hurt you."

"Why do you call me that?" I asked.

"Nigger-cut? Omar calls you that, he thinks it's funny because you are a white boy castrated like a black eunuch."

"Do you think it's funny?"

Zarif shrugged, "A little. Old Tulip does too. He once said he'd like to cut the dicks off of all the white eunuchs.

"Why? Don't they like each other?"

Zarif shrugged, "The white eunuchs get to go to school, and learn things, and travel, and run the Sultan's business for him. The black eunuchs just guard his women, and usually white boys get to keep their dicks too. Nobody thinks it's fair. You remind them it doesn't have to be that way."

I nodded at the wisdom.

Zarif kissed me again, and I kissed back. "The guys will be really angry with me: I was supposed to bring you to the kitchen to share, but I wanted you all to myself. I was going fuck you the way they said, but now everything's ruined.

"It's not ruined, just don't go so fast. Deep but slow."

He pushed it in again.

"Too hard?"

"No. Keep going… There! That's my spot!"

"Rub it there?"

"Yes, bump it, bump it! Not too hard, it's still sore."

He stared down at me, with his lower lip tucked under his teeth, nudging, nudging, nudging, as I squirmed under him. He stopped talking and just stared out above my head. With my ankles bobbing over my head and my as bent up in the air, I could watch enthralled as his wide black cock made long slow strokes in and out, in and out disappearing time and again between my white inner thighs. It went so slow I could clinch it with each down stroke, until it finally nudged my sweet spot. That taunting, titillating nudge increased my craving for another.

"A little harder," I pleaded. Zarif complied and I rewarded him with a soft gasp. Sweat dropped off his chin onto my face. The ebony shaft now plunging into me became hypnotic: its rhythmic plunges emptying my mind of everything except the stretching and tugging of my anus, and the prodding on of my now hypersensitive prostrate. Zarif kept slowly increasing the speed without my asking, but I was spellbound and unable to protest beyond my increasingly audible sighs. The discomfort was emerging, but competing with it a swelling rush of pleasure, rolling out from my anus and chestnut to my pee-hole, my thighs, my nipples, curling my toes. And I wanted more! "Harder!" I pleaded. And Zarif complied, letting loose a few moans of his own as he pounded my hole with all he could muster. My pain and pleasure merged into a long moment of pure intensity before gently receding. Zarif suddenly collapsed onto me, pressing my ankles down to my ears, his penis still stuffed into my aching hole. Our heat and sweat mingled for a long moment.

"I wish I had you all to myself," he announced, "You'd be my own slave."

"I'd like that," I responded.

"I'd change your name to Sandali, so everyone would know right away."

"Alright," I giggled at his fantasy.

"I'd make you dance naked on the street for our money!"

"If that's what you wanted I'd have to because I'd be your slave," I exlained him.

"You'd have to shout 'come see a Sandali dance naked!'"

"I'd do whatever you say, you'd be my master." I repeated, exhausted.

"You like it, don't you."

"Like what?"

"Talking like this."

"Yes, it makes me tingly and excited."

"Why?!"

"It's fun to pretend."

"You like getting fucked?"

"Yes! Did you like fucking me?!"

"You're a real nut! You like it when other guys watch?"

"Sometimes. Depends who."

"The guys in the kitchen."

"Yes, that's fun sometimes."

"Why do you like it?"

"It makes me excited," I told him, shrugging.

"Did anyone watch you get castrated?"

"Yes, there were a lot of guys there then."

"Yes?! Who?"

"A whole bunch of guys. It was outside. Anyone could come in and watch."

"Wow. Did you like that?"

"Not when they did it. It felt weird, having men and boys watching. But later…"

"Later?"

"When I got better and master showed me off. It made me feel… strange. They'd look at me and say my master did a good job. Then they looked at me different."

"Different?"

"Yeah. They'd look down there, and then look at me, and I knew they liked seeing castrated boys."

"That's what me and the guys thought too when we first saw you. I'd like to watch a boy being castrated even more, especially a white boy."

"I saw a bunch of boys castrated. White boys."

"Sandali cut even?"

"Some."

"What'd you think?"

I shrugged, "I kind of felt sorry for them because I knew how much it hurts. And I like guys with hair and big dicks."

"You are a real nut! You don't feel sorry you got castrated?"

I shrugged again.

"You liked it?"

"It hurt when they did it, but now it's better."

"Even being Sandali-cut?!"

"Yes, because you like it," I tried to explain.

He bent his head down and kissed me for a long time, his softening penis still stuffed inside me.

The door flew open and filled the room with light. Omar and the boss cook stepped in. Zarif jumped up, dragging his half-flacid penis out of my hole.

"Damn you Zarif!" the boss snapped. The bell rang twice signaling the end of siesta. Zarif stood naked before the men, head down. I ran naked out of the room and into the bright sun. I ran past two white eunuchs who giggled like little girls at my nakedness. I ran right into a big, black gardener when I looked back to see Omar chasing me. Zarif's hot semen dribbled out of my hole and down my leg as I ran naked across the inner courtyard.

"I have to go back to work now!" I shouted back to him.

"I've got a job for you. You're bought and paid for, nigger-cut!" Omar snapped back. I ran through the courtyard, and got back to the Harem where Tulip was waiting.

"What happened to you?!" he glared down at me, "You're filthy! Where's your loincloth?"

I pointed back to the kitchen, tried to speak, but only broke down and cried.

"Alright, alright," patted the top of my head. "Omar came and told me you and Zarif never showed up."

"I choked back a sob before speaking, "He took me to… a storeroom, or something."

"They were waiting for you there?"

"No, it was just us," I sniffed.

"Why did he do that? You were supposed to go to the kitchen. What happened there?!" he asked looking me over.

"Nothing. I mean… nothing bad."

"What then?" he demanded.

"Zarif and I… we just… we talked and…"

Tulip waited.

"… we did stuff."

"He fucked you?"

I nodded, looking down, "He didn't do anything wrong…"

"He stole you. You were supposed to be shared."

"He's gonna buy me, and we're going to stay…"

"Buy you?! He can't even afford you for a couple hours. The cooks had to pool their money to have you for siesta."

The door opened and the dowager Sultana waddled into the room, "Where's my tea?" she demanded.

"My apologies, you Highness, it seems our Bloempje here has been involved in an… unfortunate incident."

She looked over my filthy, naked body as I covered myself and looked at my feet, "Incident?"

"Yes, Your Highness. It seems he snuck off with a kitchen slave during siesta for a… dalliance."

"Oh, heavens!" the old lady responded, "Another eunuch?"

"No ma'am, one of the Nubian kitchen-boys. Apparently they are… in love. Yesterday he even expressed concern about the possibility of a 'nigger baby'."

"Well, quite adventurous and… intense… by the look of him." She opined, before addressing me directly, "But such dalliances must not interfere with your duties, understood?"

I nodded meekly, sniffing.

She turned her attention back to Tulip. "Well, get him cleaned up, and prepare some tea for me."

"Yes, Ma'am." Tulip bowed.

"He's been an obedient servant, Tulip," she continued after a moment. "Can you arrange for him to spend one or two nights a week with his young friend? We shouldn't stand in the way of love."

"Yes, Ma'am." Tulip bowed again.

Epilogue

And so it came to be. Zarif and I could meet several times a week. As the years went by he became the head cook, and some years after that I became the Sultan's chief harem eunuch. And when Zarif died I decided to retire and try to retrace my steps and visit the village where I was born. And now I'm finally back again and you heard my story. If you want to stay here always be good, go to Church, and pray to Saint Nicholas. Maybe you'll have a happy life, maybe not. I've had unhappy moments, but all in all I've been happy with the Moors.

The End