My Life by the Numbers

“The bidding is now closed.”, Kang, the MC, said into the microphone addressing the large group in front of us. Turning to look at me, says, “You know what that means, boy, into the tank you go. Look at the price quotes, boy. Your parts are worth a lot more than you are alive and whole.” It's only now at the end that I get it. For months I have wondered why are these people so inconsiderate of my feelings. I used to be a man; had friends; had a life. It's been one humiliation right after another. A lot of money has changed hands around me, but none for me. Soon I'll just be meat, and the main course for the evening's banquet. That's why they don't care. Meat doesn't have feelings.

The tank and the water are less that a foot below the platform I'm on. He sees my hesitation and says, “Go on. You don't want to make me climb the ladder and shoot you.” He pulls a tazer out of his pocket. I want to run, but there's no where to go. We're on a cruise ship in the middle of the ocean. I wouldn't get three steps off the stage anyway, so I step forward. Have you heard people say their life flashes before their eyes in a perilous moment? I thought it was nonsense, but the events of the last few months dumped out into my mind in the fraction of a second it took me to hit the water. :

After I closed the door on the the last of the mourners, I sat down at the kitchen table across from my step-father. He hated me about as much as I hated him. It seemed as good a time as any to ask, “Am I going back to re-hab?”

“Hell, No!” That last place I yanked you out of for your mother's funeral was the most expensive yet. It was my retirement savings paying for your re-hab. You nearly broke your mother's heart, and my bank account.” I wished he wouldn't shout.

My instinct was to lip off like I always did, but I was living under his roof now, and for once I held my tongue. I was quiet for a moment and said, “I'll pay you back. I don't know how, but I'll pay you back.”

He was surprised by my response, and said, “Well ok then. Would you be willing to sign an acknowledgment of what you owe me?”

It was weird that he was so transactional so soon after her funeral, but I said “ok.” He was a shrewd businessman and maybe that was just the way he rolled. I didn't know what else to say, so I went up to bed. The next morning there was a note on the table asking me to be at the lawyer's office that afternoon. It seemed too soon to be reading the will and I probably wasn't due anything anyway. As I suspected when I got to the law office my step-father wasn't there but his lawyer took me into a room and told me these were the papers I was to sign. He did suggest I read them, but the only number I could see was the dollar figure of what I owed. He had a witness come in, and I signed. All I could think about was how much money it was and couldn't imagine how long it would take me to pay it off.

When I got back to the house my step-father said there were some folks coming by the next morning and told me to be showered and ready by 9 a.m. “Sure”, I said. The next morning I was in the shower at 8:30. I had pretty much decided that joining the military was my only way out from the mountain of debt. All I could think about was how tough basic training would be. Compared to what was coming, basic training would have been a walk in the park. My step-father knocked, opened the door while I was in the shower, and says the folks he wanted me to meet are here early and can I move it along. “Sure”, I said. When I get out of the shower the towel was there, but not my clothes. I was pretty sure I brought them in, but where were they? When I stepped out into the hall, two big guys grabbed me from both sides and pushed me into the living room.

My step-father was yelling before I got into the room, “College debt! I didn't co-sign for that, and I am not responsible.”

Another guy said, in a calm voice, “That is true Mr. Smith, but your wife did co-sign. That amount will be taken out of her estate before it is settled. As you know it is vital for a functioning society that every dollar of college debt be paid in full, but don't worry. If you read the contract we will be taking over the student loan balance as well.”

“Why would you do that?”, my step-father asked incredulously.

“With the debt you are selling us, your son will go from being your indentured servant to ours. “Holey shit, I signed an indentured servitude contract? I thought it was a glorified I.O.U.” When we pay off his student loans, he can be listed as a public charge. He will move from indentured servant status to slave. We can dispose of him as we see fit.” My knees started to buckle.

This other guy was there going through my wallet. “And let's see what we have here,” he says with an appraising look. “His age is 21, almost twenty-two. Check. Oh look, he's an organ donor. How sweet. The driver's license says you are 5' 11”. Out came a tape measure. “I get 5' 11 and ¾. That means we can market him as six foot.”

“Market me? Wtf?”, I think to myself. I started to say something, but I got a stern look from the guy. With a lot of authority in his voice, he say, “This will be your first and last warning, boy. You will only speak when spoken to. Otherwise, you get the cattle prod.” Instinctively I recoiled but the two men on either side wouldn't let me move.

Blue eyes, but I would say blue-grey. Very fetching either way. Dark hair. Wavy but not kinky. Weight 195. We have some time to put some muscle on him. Some body hair but not a bear, lightly hairy really. He stepped back and gave me an appraising look. “Yes, kind of the all-American boy look, or boy next door. Not bad as is, very well proportioned, but with some work, he will look like quite a stud.”

He reached down to fondle my balls and stretch out my cock. “Get used to free men fondling your balls, boy,” he said. I saw my step-father smirk. “Six inches in the flaccid state. Even If he's a shower and not a grower that means pretty easily sevrn plus when he's hard. We'll have to take him back to the facility to get an erection and sperm eval. The testicles are not what I would describe as true low hangers, but they aren't hugging his body either. If the shower was hot he should have dropped them about as much as they are going to go. Not bad. You described him well Mr. Smith. He is what we have been looking for. I am prepared to call Mr. Li and make a recommendation.”

My step-father clapped his hands, and said, “That's great!” And as an after thought he said, “Who is this mysterious Mr. Li anyway.”

“He is one of the biggest meat brokers in the world. He imports more beef, chicken, and pork, into China than anyone else. He sometimes deals in more specialized meats, like longpig.” That was the first time I had heard the term, and wasn't really sure what it meant. “Mr. Li has a big event coming up and he wants something special for his guests.”

The man made what looked to be an international call. “Yes, Mr. Li, the step-father did not exaggerate. I think you will like what you see.” He reiterated my stats again. I thought, “Is that all my life amounts to? My height, my weight, my hair color, my penis length, how low my balls hang? Am I not a man, a real person? Maybe not anymore” The phone's camera was pointed at my nude body. The man circled around several times moving closer in and then farther out. There didn't seem to be much discussion after the video ended. “Very well, Mr Smith. Mr. Li has authorized me to pay you the price you are asking.”

He walked into my bedroom and came back with two pairs of my trainers, and stuffed a bunch of my socks in a bag. I was told to put on socks and shoes, and given a bath robe. While I put those on, a check was passed to my step-father. He smiled at me for perhaps the first time that I could ever think of. “Have a nice life, boy. Whatever is left of it.” he said with an evil grin. I was wrong about my step-father. He hated me a lot more than I hated him.

We rode for over an hour with me sitting in the back seat between the two goons. I dozed and didn't wake until we pulled into a warehouse. The drive says, “Everybody out. Let's get on with this sperm eval. I want to make sure Mr Li got his money's worth.”

One of the goons says, “You aren't worried are you boss? He should be able to pump out a good load with balls like that.”

“You can't always tell. We had a big gorgeous African-American guy a couple of years ago. He was 6' 5”, lean, with a long ten inch dick and the nicest set of low hangers you have ever seen. During the eval he's pumping away with both hands on his shaft, takes about fifteen minutes to reach climax, starts grunting and groaning, and we are all expecting a gusher of come. He bellows and grunts and all he produces is a little pearl at the end of his cock. I ask him if that's normal and he says yeah. He went straight out to processing. No reason wasting our time on more milking. It would have taken all day for him to make quota.”

I must have looked horrified, because the guy says, “ Now don't worry boy. Yes you will have a quota, but I'm sure you won't have trouble making it.” He hauls out a high stool and puts a glass plate on it. It is just under waist height and he tells me to get going. I start stroking my dick despite the overall weirdness of being watched. I close my eyes and try to concentrate on just being in the moment. I try not to think about what “straight to processing means.” The goons leave the room and the guy tries to say soothing things. I just concentrate on my penis and nothing else. After about ten minutes, I guess, I spew out onto the plate. When I open my eyes a lab tech has appeared.

The lab tech takes the plate away, and says, “Nice volume.” He scrapes the plate down and puts it into a vial, and says, “Yes over 5 ml almost six. Three and a half is closer to average in case you were curious so the volume is good.” He picks up the vial, and says, “Good color.” A little bit goes on a slide and goes under a microscope. I see my sample on a large screen on the wall of the lab. The lab tech glances at it for a few seconds and continues his grading evaluation, “Motility is good, morphology is good, sperm density looks good. I will generate exact figures and send them to Mr. Li, and of course we will monitor the production every day, but I see no reason he can't go into production.” Again my life comes down to the numbers. Should I be happy that I am going into production and will have a quota rather than going into processing?

The local boss says, “Ok. Send me a reasonable baseline for his semen production quota, and we'll start tomorrow. I'll take him down to meet the trainer and we'll start to put some meat on those bones.”

It turns out the trainer was a lean Chinese guy who could only count to ten in english. He looked at me hungrily, and started to feel me up. “Not a good sign I thought.” The man I had come to think of as the boss said, “This is Mr. Gan. He is a big believer in isometric exercises.” At the time I didn't know what those were, but I would come to passionately hate
them. After a hard two hour work out, I was exhausted. Any other day I would have called it a good workout. Everything I had done was dutifully entered into an electronic pad. When I thought I had given it my all for the day, I was led back to the weight bench. Flat on my back I pulled a fairly light load down almost to my chest. Before I knew it a ring was around my testicles and tied off to the weights, There was no way to let the bar go back up and the weights down without tearing off my nuts. I heard the stop watch start. As the minutes went by the fatigue and discomfort gradually built and worsened. I cried out and started to beg, then scream as I got ready to release the bar and feel my nuts tear away from my body. At the last second I thought I could possibly hold on, I heard the stop watch click, and Mr. Gan pushed the bar down to take the weight off of my poor tortured nuts. I had to be helped off of the bench. My arms and my pecs felt like jelly. I was given a tasteless protein drink and sent to bed.

The time on the stop watch, of course, became the baseline. I was expected to exceed that every time. No choice. No encouragement from the masochistic Mr. Gan. Just make my performance numbers. The other sick exercise I was forced to do was after doing hundreds of sit-ups was to lay flat on my back suspend my legs a few inches above a wire. The first time the stop watch stopped at five minutes or so. Then later that week I was told the wire would be electrified. It was not lethal, but it sure did hurt. The result was various muscle groups were worked to the point of exhaustion and beyond.

My morning routine became get up, visit the toilet, get weighed, then scanned up and down my body by a laser scanner, I would swim, or run, drink tasteless protein mixture, then lift weights. After that I was taken to what I came to think of as the milking parlor. In order to maximize my “production” two shorter milkings per day were recommended over just one long session. On my first day, the technician, an Asian guy, who was a little more talkative, and could speak english quite well, said, “Mr. Li has a big investment in you. It's time to start paying him back.”

“How am I going to do that?”, I asked.

“Mr. Li owns a chain of fertility clinics across China and South-East Asia. Preliminary market research indicates your semen is very marketable in Asia. You are going to be a father many times over.” he said with a chuckle. “But don't worry. You won't have to support any of your kids. In fact you will never meet them. Maybe we should think of you as a sire rather than a father” he added. Maybe that was supposed to make me feel better about what was about to happen? “Get up in the chair and I'll get you started with the Serious Kit milking machine.”

The thought of being milked for my semen like a farm animal disgusted me. When I was at college there was an ad in the school paper for sperm donors at a fertility clinic. Some of the guys liked the idea of being paid, but I said no way. Those things are supposed to anonymous but you always hear stories of kids coming forth 15 or 20 years later. My seed is my own, or up until that time that's what I assumed. Like most people I thought someday I would settle down with a girl and start a family. It would be our decision. Even if I went to a bar got drunk and knocked up some gal, it would still be my responsibility, and my choice, at some level. Now that was being taken away from me. Foolishly at the time I thought that was the depth of my humiliation.

After a few weeks I was still in the dark as to what the ultimate outcome was to be. There had to be more to this than just exercise and pumping out sperm. We seemed to be on some kind of schedule, but what for? The boss told me never to speak unless spoken to. Gan couldn't communicate in english. I asked the lab tech what was going to happen to me. He said he didn't know, but was pretty sure he was lying. One day I saw the Gan and the lab tech going down the hall to the boss's office. I decided to get closer and listen.

The lab tech said, “Mr. Gan wanted me to interpret. He doesn't think you understand what he's been recommending. He's says if you feed the guy steroids, he can make him look like a movie star.”

“I understand perfectly what he has been recommending, and I don't think Mr. Li will approve. The kid is meat, and no one wants that steroid shit in their food.”

My knees gave way and I fell down sick to my stomach. I was to be eaten? I started to sob. They all three came out in the hall. Realizing that I had heard what was said the boss came over and put his arm around me. “Look kid, I'm not going to sugar coat this. You heard what's going to happen.” He looked a little sad, and after a few moments, went on, “ I will give you a little bit to hope for. It isn't much, but everyone here likes you. You have cooperated every step of the way. You have been easy to work with and we need you to keep it up. Mr Li has hired a world class chef. I have it on good authority that he likes young men. If you can convince him that you are more valuable alive, than..., well you know. He might put in a word with Mr. Li.”

It was weird , but it did give me a little hope. It was the first time in weeks that my own destiny was possibly back in my own hands. When I was trying to feed my drug habit I did some male escorting. I had some regular clients. I knew how to make a man happy, but really consider myself straight.

It was hard to keep track of time as mostly I was always on the edge of exhaustion. What little free moments I had to think were about how to seduce this chef who I had trouble imagining. What little hope I had rested on getting his attention and then give him the experience of his life. It was certainly going to be the experience of mine. No matter what he looked like I had to come on pretty strong.

No one would tell me my time in this place was over, but when the groomers showed up, I knew I would ship out soon. One girl showed up for “manscaping” That was a new term for me. She was told to shave my balls completely. She didn't have to tell me twice to stand very still. The rest of the pubic hair was to be trimmer, but I wasn't to be shaved smooth down there yet. (What did “yet” mean?) Some other Asian ladies came in to give me a pedicure and a manicure. Discussions with the hairstylist took hours. My hair had grown shaggy and for the first time I had a proper beard. There were two video consultations with the mysterious Mr. Li. Obviously a lot of thought was going into my appearance. The whole experience reminded me of the time I visited my cousins on the farm and we went to the State Fair. We walked thru the livestock barns and there were a lot of kids shampooing cattle, applying hair conditioner, and blow drying the animals.

My final weighing was galling. I had put on thirty pounds. What little fat I had when I arrived was gone. You could see a six-pack and an eight pack was forming. But, everyone congratulated Gan. He didn't run and swim miles. He didn't lift tons of weights. He wasn't the one who nearly had his balls pulled off a couple times a week, or shocked with electricity. No one said a word to me.

If I was to be taken out of the country, I had a plan of throwing myself at the mercy of the immigration staff at the airport, but that never happened. A semi pulling a twenty foot container pulled up to the warehouse. The first third was loaded with sacks of something strapped to pallets. I was told to get in. Some ready made meals, water, a bucket and a blanket were put in with me. More boxes were loaded in after me. Gan closed the doors and the truck took off for the port. After a few hours I felt the container lift off the trailer and put down again on a ship. A tiny pin hole in the side of the container was the only way to tell the difference between day and night. After two days Gan came and got me out. We lived in a room up in the super structure of the ship. He would go out a couple of times a day, lock the door, and bring back food. I would leave with him to exercise. It was so boring.

We changed container ships a couple of times. I had no idea where we were. At last we pulled along a big cruise ship. When we moved on board I foolishly wondered if Gan and I would get a nice suite. Handcuffed to some shelves in a big food storage area several levels below water line was where I was left. There was a refrigerated storage locker at the end of the room. There were some jokes about me being left in there. That was creepy, but I tried to focus on finding the chef and seducing him. After a while the meat locker opened and a guy in a winter coat came out. He hung up his down jacket not far from where I was tethered. Was this my guy? It was hard to tell. If he was, I didn't want to blow my chance. When he saw me, I saw his eyebrows jump and I knew he was interested. “You must be the guest of honor”, he said.

Here we go I thought. He walked closer. I reached out with my free hand and massaged his cock. “Can I help you?”, I said.

“Yeah maybe you can.” He said, while getting stiffer. “Is this the right guy?” I wondered. He could be since he was coming out of the meat locker, and I may not get a private moment again. Down on my knees I went while fumbling one handed with his zipper. His cock came straight out. At five inches and uncut, it wasn't the biggest I had seen, but I was committed now, and it wanted some attention. Had the guy showered this morning? It was hard to tell. I bathed the head of his cock with my tongue, and said, “It's so beautiful.” he moaned, so I kept going. My tongue travelled up and down the shaft over and over. When he was fully erect and now fully cleaned by my tongue, I started licking his balls and tried to keep him erect by jerking him off. I rotated between sucking his shaft and then the head and his balls. He kept telling me it had been so long, and what a great job I was doing. His testicles kept getting closer to his body, and I knew he was getting close, so I concentrated on the head while massaging the shaft. My lips were around the head when He shot salty volleys across my tongue, and I tried to sound appreciative.

He was almost in a dream state, but I wasn't finished showing off, my skills. “Dude that was awesome.” I said all the while massaging his cock which wasn't deflating that much. Can you give me a good ass-fucking? It's been so long.” This a crude thing to say but I needed him to want me alive rather than dead.

“Yeah, sure.” he said coming out of his dream state, looking at me with a desire that told me he still wanted more. I lubed his cock up again with a lot of saliva for the ass fucking I was about to receive. He opened a bottle of olive oil and lathered it on his cock and spread some across my hole. It had been a long time since I had been fucked and I knew I would be tight so any additional lubrication was welcome. He lined his cock up and I braced myself for his penetration. I was going to make him believe I was loving what was coming no matter how painful. His tip was against my hole when he told me to wait a second. I heard him fumbling with some keys, and saw him pull one out of a big ring, that fit my handcuff. He unlocked my wrist, and told me to turn around and brace myself on the shelving. That was going to be an improvement, but what was a chef doing with so many keys? Oh no, I realized. I am about to get fucked by the janitor. With that going thru my head he pushed in and I pushed back.

It helped that he wasn't too big, but when he said, “My wife never let's me fuck her in the ass.” He had a wife? Now I knew I had the wrong guy, but it was too late. I might as well see it thru and give this guy the ride of his life. Maybe I would get another chance when the actual chef turned up. He lasted about ten minutes and came in my butt as the door at the other end of the store room opened.

The man that strode in was wearing a chef's coat, was taller than I was, maybe six four balding and had a gut. All I could think about was never trust a skinny chef. He bellowed, “Jerry what the hell do you think you're doing? Only the guests are supposed to be fucking him. Mr. Li will not be pleased.”

“Andre, this guy has such as sweet ass. You got to try it.”

“Well I wouldn't mind, but I'm not taking sloppy seconds after you.”, as the chef felt all over my ass. Chef Andre's tone was not angry, but kind of kidding with this other guy Jerry, but I could tell chef Andre was serious about not having me now that Jerry had a go first.

“Andre this kid really came on to me. He practically begged me to fuck him.”

The chef, gave me a quizzical look. “Why would you do that?”, he asked.

Sheepishly I answered, “Because I thought he might be you, the chef, I mean.”

Chef Andre at first scowled, and said, “Let me guess the guys back in the preparation and production center stateside, told you I was gay and might spare you, if you put out. So you gave your ass to the first guy who walked by, the head of maintenance.” He stayed serious for another second or two and then they both howled with laughter. He was right. I had given my one bargaining chip away to the janitor. If it wasn't my life on the line, maybe I would have laughed too.

What could be worse? Well, what was a private act between me and Jerry was not only common knowledge, but a huge joke for every other member of the crew. If you are chained naked in a store room, it isn't like I had any status anyway, but it seemed like the crew went out of their way to walk by snicker, and gawk. It occurred to me that maybe the best thing would just to get this over as painlessly as possible. Maybe I would be drugged and killed while unconscious? That wouldn't be that bad, right? The not knowing was starting to wear on me. With those optimistic thoughts going thru my mind, a small guy in a chefs coat appeared in front of me. He had a measuring tool in his hand. “excuse me”, he said, “I need to measure between your legs.”

“Is it time for milking again?”, I said.

“No. I imagine your milking days are over. There's enough of your frozen seed to re-populate the world several times over. I do hear it is selling well in Japan though. Of course Mr. Li deserves credit for that. He's a genius of marketing.”

Of course Mr. Li gets the credit. My contribution means nothing apparently. “Great”, I said sarcastically, as I spread my legs. He measured both the left and right testicles with a caliper like tool and wrote down the width and length in a notebook.

“Very nice. Good size. The testicles are not what I would describe as true low hangers, but they aren't hugging your body either”, he said. It seems like I had heard that before, but why did people care so much?

“What's going to happen to me?”, I asked.

He stood back and said, “Yes, I supposed no one would tell you. You are the special guest at a dinner Mr. Li is hosting for his business associates.

“Cut the crap. I not the guest. I am on the menu.”, I countered. “And why do you care so much about my balls?”

“Do you know what the most valuable part of the human body is?”

“The brain?” I guessed.

“That's a really bad guess. That's the one part that isn't safe to eat. No it's your balls. I am a Mr. Kang, specialist chef. I am on board to cook just one dish. An aphrodisiac soup. There are two older gentleman on board who have married much younger women. They are concerned about keeping up, so to speak. Mr. Li expects these guys to bid enough for your balls alone to recover his investment in you. Rhino horn is getting tough to find, and frankly it's pretty old school. I found this recipe in an ancient Chinese scroll....”

He went on talking about the scroll but I wasn't listening. My stomach turn over several times. I was so scared about losing my balls. I would have puked, if I had anything in my stomach. Finally I blurted out, “Why are they doing this to me?”

He looked annoyed to be interrupted from his prattling about the recipe for ball soup, and said, “Look dummy, you know how in a gangster movie the bad guy says, “It's nothing personal. It's just business” That's nonsense. It is very personal and all of these gangs have at least one or two guys if not the boss who loves it when someone screws up or tries to rip them off. Every criminal gang from Asia and South America has sent someone like that here for this cruise.”

“Why do they like it when someone crosses them?”

“Because this is the fun part. It's an excuse to bump someone off, and watch them squirm. Even this part, explaining it all to you is a power trip?

“Will I at least go peacefully? I thought maybe I could get a sedative, and it would be taken care of while I was asleep.”

“Are you nuts? Have you not been listening? What would be the fun in that? You're dealing with sadists. Chef Andre has been building something special. But I have probably said way to much already.” He reached out and fondled my balls one more time. “The only question is do you lose these before you go into the pot, or after.” With a wicked smile, he turned and walked away.

After he left I could not sleep. I was awake for hours dreading about having my balls taken. In more lucid moments I would think it was just a small part of my body, and why should that bother me? Then I would go right back to being terrified about losing my balls. I had just drifted off to sleep when Kang was jostling me. “Wake up you lazy sod. Mr. Li is coming.”

In walks a small entourage with a short pudgy balding man in the center wearing thick glasses a Hawaiian shirt and a speedo. After hearing so much about the great Mr. Li, I was expecting someone more impressive. He looked me up and down and said, “ You look terrible. You are supposed to meet the guests in a few hours. Haven't you been sleeping?”

I got down on my knees and said, “Please don't do this to me Mr. Li. Please don't cut off my balls.”

“We aren't going to do that. Where did you get such an idea?” I saw Kang melt into the back of the group. “I have customers who may want to use you as a breeding stud, or sex slave. If they will pay more for you as a whole rather than the parts, so be it.” The enormity of what he had just said did not sink in until a longtime after. It was such a relief to hear there was even a chance I wouldn't be castrated. The idea of being forced to bring children into the world against my will or be used as a sex toy, actually sounded like a big improvement over what I had been imagining. I actually felt relieved. The idea that my worth was up to the numbers, whether some one would pay more for the whole rather than the parts took long time to sink in.

“Get a sedative so he can sleep for a little while before meeting the guests.” Mr. Li commanded.

I felt the needle go into my arm, and turned to see the plunger going down. Immediately my legs became wobbly and someone guided me down to the cot. “What you have to understand is that I love Americans, boy.” Li said. My eyes closed, but I could still hear what was being said. He probably thought I was unconscious, and continued, “I love them baked, roasted, and fried.” He had a creepy low laugh. I could feel him massaging my pecs, and feeling all over my prone body with his greasy hands. This guy was truly revolting, but there was nothing I could do to stop the molestation. “I look forward to trying one boiled.”

Chef Andre piped in, “About that, Mr. Li, are you sure you want to boil him? I know I'm British and we are famous for our boiled meat, but we could do a Hawaiian luau. You know bury him with hots rocks for a few hours, or we could spit-roast like last time. I thought that went well.”

Li countered, “No I want to proceed as planned. Have you finished with the apparatus I specified?”

“Yes, Mr. Li. The kitchen staff calls it the stud boiler. What happens if someone buys this piece beef as a whole, live and on the hoof so to speak?”

“I doubt that will happen, but we can use that janitor who could not keep his dick in his pants, or I believe there is a police under-cover informer on board who needs to be taken care of one way or another.” The last thing I heard him say before I completely lost consciousness was, “I do love it when they beg. So many of these men in the same position try to be tough to the end....”

I have no idea how long I slept but Kang came and woke me. I could barely keep my eyes open as my hair, beard, and nails were trimmed. They finally gave me a shot of something else to wake me up. Kang gave me a pair of slippers to wear and we were off. Our first stop was in a stateroom where there was an old Chinese guy with thinning hair, pot-belly, and very thick glasses. There was a middle-aged woman in the room who wasn't that attractive, really, as she wore way too much make-up. Kang talked about me and my body in Chinese so I couldn't really understand exactly what was being said. He kept fondling my balls, pulling them away from my body. It was my assumption he was talking about how he intended to prepare his aphrodisiac soup. The idea that some how this old fossil would gain more virility by eating my balls was crazy, but that seemed to be what Kang was selling the old geezer.

We stopped at another stateroom and visited another old Chinese guy. He had a much younger woman with him who seemed a little bored by the whole affair like talking about removing a young guys balls to make soup was something discussed in her presence every day. When we left the couple's room, Kang said, “Now the fun begins. There are ten gangs on the ship from all up and down the coast of China and around Asia, and a few from South America. They all get a close-up inspection of you. They are not allowed to bruise you in any way. We would not want your meat damaged, but I would expect that fine ass of yours will entertain a number of cocks.”

He was right about that. The first stop was with one of the triad gangs from Hong Kong. Kang, again spoke in Chinese, so I couldn't follow what he was saying exactly, but he seemed to be talking about how various body parts could be cooked, or how much meat there would be. He would squeeze my guts, or pecs, and talk about that. I got a lot of hungry looks from everyone there. These guys were all mean looking with way too many tattoos and wicked looking scars. Don't let anyone tell you all Asian guys have small cocks. Even those that did made up for smaller size with violent fucking intensity. Every one fucked me and I lost track of the number of cocks I sucked. My existence was reduced to being a mere fuck toy for some really tough dudes. They only cared about which orifice was open for their pleasure, and my torment.

It didn't matter that I was exhausted after meeting the first gang. We went on to meet another group from, I can't remember where they were from, but some port city in China, or was it Jakarta, or Malaysia, I don't know? Kang went thru his spiel on every visit, and I got fucked. - Many times. After the third group, and many dozen cocks up my ass and down my throat, I was allowed to rest. Before passing out it occurred to me that the days of being attached to a milking machine weren't that bad. The cycle repeated over until I had been introduced to every group on the ship, and everyone who wanted to fuck me did.

On the last day I don't even remember being led back to my cot. Kang woke me informing me this was my big day. A shiver went down my spine when it occurred to me it was my last day. We walked into the ships's ballroom and Kang, dressed in a tuxedo, escorted me, naked, onto a small stage that had been erected. A tall glass cylinder with a gas burner at the bottom was there being filled with water. Kang told me to look across the ballroom at a big electric lighted board. He said, “Watch this board closely. The numbers on the left are what guests are willing to pay for various parts. The first row is your ass muscles, about half way down are those cute balls of yours and so on. The numbers on the right column are what bidders will pay for you whole and intact. Those bids will come in over the phone. You want the numbers on the right to be more than the total on the left. It's all about the numbers. At the moment you have one standing bid for $5000 from some Arab buyer. I hope that's enough for you.” He said they last part in such a way that I thought he knew it would not be.

There was also a whiteboard up on the stage. Kang pointed to that and said, “We don't expect all of the guests to be able to afford a select piece so we have started a betting pool to see how long you will live once the water temp starts to climb. Once the bidding is over will put a heart rate monitor on you and you'll climb in the tank. Mr. Li specified cooling hoses that will go around your neck to keep the blood going to your brain cooler for a longer time. It should enhance the over all experience for the guest and bidders.” There was a time when a statement like that would have sickened me, but now it didn't really surprise me.

There was a spreader bar hanging from the ceiling. My wrists were tied to the bar and my arms raised to above so the were slightly above my head. Guests started to filter in, ordered drinks from the open bar. Mostly they talked among themselves, but they did leer my way from time to time. Some taunted me by licking their lips and rubbing their stomachs. When the room was mostly full, Kang announced it was time to get started. The guests made their way to their tables. A guy with a TV camera showed up. I saw myself on the large screen around the room. Warm wet towels came out of the kitchen and two chefs brought shaving cream and straight razors. The camera would focus in on what ever part of my body was being shaved at the moment. While that area was being shaved, Kang would go start promoting that particular body part as he had done when we were making our rounds of all of the groups.

Bidding was slow at the start. It was like no one wanted to seem over enthusiastic. Two of the staff were in front of the stage on the phones. Everything had been orchestrated against me so far. I didn't have a lot of hope some buyer not on the ship would pull my ass out of the fire ( or in this case the pot), but there wasn't much else to keep my mind occupied. The shaving was done expect for my groin. I had seen one of the old fossils come in and take a seat with his wife/mistress who was still wearing way to much makeup. When the other old man came in and was seated shaving on my groin started. Kang went into full promotion mode. I am sure he was talking about his stupid soup, and how it was like the fountain of youth. All eyes in the room including mine were on the two old geezers. One threw out a bid of $5000. Already just one part of my body was worth more than the first and so far only bid for me as a whole. Apparently one of the prospective buyers on the phone hung up immediately as did the other after a few minutes. Bidding for my balls climbed at $5000 each bid as the two oldsters tried to out do the other and impress their girlfriends. At the same time bids for every other part started to come in fast and furious. I saw Mr. Li in the back of the room smiling. My ass was as good as cooked.

Bids started started to slow, and I saw Mr. Li give the signal to Kang, who announced, “The bidding is now closed.” That brings me to the start of the story. Hoses were wrapped around my neck. So much cold fluid circulated around my neck that I got a brain freeze. The camera focused on my face and was projected onto the screen around the room so everyone could see my demise. I heard the flames ignite at the bottom of the tank. At first it didn't feel too bad. As the temperature rose it was uncomfortable, for sure, but not as bad as I had dreaded. Just as I started to get sleepy and think this wasn't such a bad way to go after all, Kang announce that he had forgotten something. He climbed over the top of the tank and smeared some foul smelling goo on my upper lip just under my nose saying something about an ancient Chinese recipe. That woke me up again. There would be no drifting off from here on out. I was awake for the duration and it hurt like hell. It's so damn hot in here........

Next day

Two chefs made there way out of the ships kitchen both carrying platters of sausage. “Did chef Andre let you try any last night?” one asked the other.

“Yeah and I got a couple of bites of rump and a little bicep. Did you get any?”

“I got a little rump too, and some rib. I would have loved to try the soup but that was just way too expensive. This sausage should be incredible.”, the other one said.

“Tell me about it. What did you think of the taste?”

It was pretty good. I think Chef Andre was right though. Boiling is not the best way to go from a taste perspective. On the other hand what impressed me was that how much of cooking is about the presentation. That was very impressive. The look on that guy's face was