Virile Fuel
TESTICLES
the beginnings of an addiction
` Virile Fuel `

by allen baker

It slid in so smoothly, so easily, that at first it was difficult to judge any
feeling at all. He was fascinated. Fascinated by the sight first, then the
accompanying feelings and emotions.

It had been such a long time coming that it was almost anticlimactic. Almost.
But it was definitely accompanied by climaxes on both their parts. Strong, gut
wrenching, over-the-top climaxes that set them both quivering and panting for
air. Gasping and hoping for an extension of the feelings, a prolonging of the
spasms that thrilled every fiber of their beings.

The collector knew this was the culmination of his passion. The culmination of
his plotting. The fruition of his careful planning. This was the result of
months of careful cultivation of an Internet friendship that had finally
brought about a face-to-face meeting. Well, almost face-to-face. More like
face-to-mask. The slave's face to his own mask. He remained anonymous and
untraceable. He would walk away with his prize and would never be found. He
met and mastered his self-appointed challenge. The task was complete.

And yet, he instinctively knew that was not the case. This experience was far
too intoxicating. He sensed that it would not be long before he was again
prowling the chat rooms to find another victim for his new addiction. Yes,
addiction. Only one experience and the cloying emotions of the event had
already seeped into his fiber. Just one time, and he knew he was addicted for
life. Already he could tell that it would draw him deeper into the realm of
ever more murky compulsions toward even more severe acts of gratification. He
was startled by the revelation that instead of dominating others, he was
enslaving himself to this craving.

All this he realized in the span of time it took to expel his ejaculate all
over his victim's crotch without ever having touched himself. His hands were
already occupied. His white cream splattered and mingled with his victim's.
Their mingled seed slid down the creases between the young man's legs to
mingle with the bright red-flowing liquid pouring from the gaping gouges on
either side of an empty scrotum.

The knife slide in so smoothly, so easily, that at first it was difficult to
judge any feeling from his victim at all. He was fascinated by the flow of the
blood across the gleam of the knife and onto his hands. Fascinated by the
sight first, then the accompanying feelings and emotions that suddenly hit his
victim. The young man bellowed in pain and shock. Begged for his maleness to
be left in tact. Begged in vain. For now that he had tasted the thrill of
total, intoxicating power, he was not about to back away from it. He knew that
he would depart with his two prizes and leave his prey with a life-long
remembrance of him and this day. What a heady stimulant. He knew that he had
at last found the fuel to feed his virility, to fan the flames of his loins
till the end of his days. He had become a collector.  

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