Punishment castration
 
Her younger sister is kidnapped for two days, tortured and raped. Months pass
but eventually older sister gets the chance to punish and have the revenge she
longs for.

 

1.    Two sisters
 
I am six years older than Carmel. We were as close as you might expect for two
girls with that sort of age difference. With me looking after her she got into
more trouble than I did. As we got older we did our separate things but the bond
stayed between us and in some ways was stronger than ever.
 
Often I took Carmel netball on Saturday mornings. She plays in the Under 16s.
She has real talent but was also helped by being quite big and having her
birthday only two days before the age cut off date. There were usually 3 or 4
games going on at the same time. Carmel 's game got a lot of watchers because
they were by far the best team around. The courts were over the other side of
town and I drove her there for most of the home games and sometimes to other
suburbs for away games. There would be perhaps 30-40 people watching, mostly
friends or some casual passersby. Afterwards we would go for coffee and
sometimes an illicit rum and coke.
 
I had noticed the guy. I'd seen him watching the games since the start of the
year. He looked OK, harmless, medium build, nice face, a bit older than me.
Maybe someone’s brother but I never saw him talking to one of the girls. Dark
red hair with paler tips. No reason to really take any notice at that time. He
seemed to be there every 2 or 3 weeks. After the last game before the finals I
thought I saw him driving a small car coming out of a lane and coming behind us
for a couple of blocks. Two weeks later Carmel said to me  "I've seen that guy
with the red hair in this part of town, he must live here somewhere". I think I
just ignored her. It did not seem important,
 
Just 6 weeks later they won the grand final. The coach organised a party at her
house. Dad drove Carmel there and I was going to pick her up when she rang my
mobile. Dad said the house had been full of girls dressed to kill and boys he
did not much like the look of. He was a bit old fashioned in that way. Carmel
had said she would call by 11.30. No call came, I rang the coach's house but got
no answer. So by 12.30 I was driving around there, my mobile lying silent on the
seat beside me.
 
Cars parked up and down the street. The party was still going. However no sign
of Carmel . The phone was buried under a pile of pillows and a blanket. The
music was loud, the neighbours must have hated it. I tried to talk to the girls
but it seems most of them were from other teams and hardly knew Carmel, quite
apart from being high on something. Then someone told me they thought Trish was
going to drive Carmel home, red sports car. I'd noticed that car, parked at the
end of the street. I was really getting worried and then things got suddenly
worse. "There's Trish" I was told. A woman my own age came in from the back yard
with her bloke looking like they had had a good time. After giving the guy a
shove she called out for Carmel. I pushed over and told her there was a problem.
 
The story was simple. Trish had arranged to take Carmel home sometime after 11.
Just then her boy friend had turned up and Trish apparently yelled out to Carmel
that she would be at the car a few minutes later. Presumably Carmel went out to
wait and now she was gone. I rang home but she was not there. We panicked,
running around the neighbourhood calling for her. Useless. It was nearly 2
o'clock when I rang the police. They started doing all the normal things which
was not much when someone was missing by only 2 hours.
 
By 10 next morning everyone knew it was serious. There was no sign of her and I
had rung around all the known friends and even the hospitals. The police got
more serious. Nothing helped. Mom and Dad were frantic, me too. We went and
talked to people living around the party house and near where Trish's car had
been parked but got nowhere. The cops did the same on Sunday afternoon. Nothing.

Nothing all day Monday. The police had not found any clues. We feared the worst.
Monday night we even managed some sleep, from utter exhaustion. 
The phone rang at 4am. It was the police. She had been found. Alive, hurt but
will recover. She was in the Central hospital. Euphoria with extreme concern. We
all jumped in the car and got there real fast. Reception was expecting us and in
the nicest way insisted we first talk to the doctor. Our distress trebled. We
got ushered into an office to speak with Dr. X.
 
Dr. X. got straight to the point. She was going to recover, not likely to have
any long term physical damage (lost virginity apparently did not count) but will
need counselling for some time to get over the psychological stress that you
have to expect in these cases of extreme abuse. He talked about ups and downs.
We all shouted at once. Dr. X. got us to be quiet and started on the details
though later I learnt that he had given us a very mild version. He spoke with
quiet, concerned intensity. He understood how we felt. "Remember no matter how
bad things sound there is actually no long lasting damage. Carmel has been
vaginally raped, very viciously and often. She has been beaten over most of her
body though not her face where she has only a few light bruises. She suffered a
great deal of pain. That is all over now that she is here but we need to
continue to treat her for some days. Carmel will need some minor surgery. We will keep her asleep for the next 2 days except for a short
period about 11am this morning to let the police talk to her. You can have 5
minutes after that." Mom, Dad and I stayed there, hoping to do more than look
through the door. She looked OK. Her face was a bit puffy.
 
Over the next weeks we never did get the whole story. Neither from the police
nor from Carmel. Apparently there were 2 kidnappers. The police interviewed
seven men but there was no progress. No identity parade because Carmel had been
blindfolded all the time. No kidnap vehicle was ever found. Carmel could not
identify the voices. She listened to all the suspects speaking but the cops did
not let her see them. She said who sounded like her rapists but apparently she
got it all mixed up, kept on changing her mind and identified voices from men
known to be innocent. The police would not tell us anything but once, a few days
into the investigation a sergeant let something slip. They had looked closely at
a guy who had years earlier stalked a woman. He had the right profile but a cast
iron alibi. The sergeant shook his head when I asked him yet again about the red
haired guy that I had told them all about at the beginning. "We know about him,
he's in the clear". 
 
Slowly Carmel and the family appeared to heal though underneath we were still a
disaster zone. Me more so than the others. I appeared more cheerful to help
Carmel but bottled up my anger inside me. I wanted not only to heal Carmel but
to avenge her.
 
Carmel went to the councillor 3 times each week. Four months later the
councillor rang me up at work. She thought Carmel was getting ready to talk.
That would be a breakthrough she assured me. Could she put it on me to be the
listener. I went to her consulting rooms and spent a whole hour getting prepared
for the most essential but worst task of my life. This was going to be really
important to help Carmel work her way back to a more normal life and to help
heal her mind. I would just have listen, to stay quiet, no pressure, no
prompting, no questions, promise never to tell our parents or anyone, don't get
shocked and so on. She told me I will have to be extremely strong. She gave me a
tiny recorder to use. It could only be listened to after downloading to her
computer. This would help identify Carmel’s worst fears, the ones they still
needed deal with in therapy sessions.
 
2. Carmel's story
 
It was now already 5 weeks after the psychologist had talked to me. Mom and Dad
went away over the weekend for the first time since it happened. Carmel was on
her fourth cup of coffee on Saturday morning. "Sis, she says I should tell
someone, someone like you. She says it could make a lot of difference to how I
get better." I was stunned rather than prepared but managed to stutter a yes
that seemed to convince her. I pleaded to go to the toilet and on the way got
the recorder and put it in my pocket. She then took charge, she led me to the
couch in the lounge room. We sat down. "Please do it for me Sis. It's going to
be awful but I need you. It's all as clear in my mind as if it happened
yesterday and might happen again tomorrow".
 
Carmel did not really wait for me to say anything. She talked in a monotone. She

hardly paused to gather her thoughts. It was all there in her mind waiting to
pour out. The only times she stopped was to break down in a fit of crying and
sobbing but after a few minutes she continued. I had turned on the little
recorder. Hard as it was I managed to follow my instructions. I hardly said a
word for 2 hours. She often repeated herself, the story jumped around and there
were some long silences. I just hugged and patted her occasionally.
 
"Sis, I did not do anything to make them pick on me. It just happened. It wasn't
my fault. I was waiting out in the fresh air for Trish and after a while I
wandered towards her car. I was nearly there when two guys jumped out from a
driveway, tripped me and knocked me over. My face was pushed hard into the
ground, I couldn’t even scream, my left arm was trapped under me, one guy sat on
my back, he grabbed my other arm and twisted, he jerked my head back by yanking
hard on my hair. I tried to scream but a rag got stuffed in my mouth and tape
went around my head, then more tape blindfolded me. I never saw what they looked
like. They tied my hands behind with more tape and then my ankles to my hands,
tight so it hurt. I got put into some sort of car. I could only just breath. We
drove for ages, maybe an hour or a lot more. We stopped and I heard something
like a roller door opening, drove in and I heard it shut.
 
“They dragged me out and dumped me on the floor. They made sure my blindfold was
tight. One of them did all the talking. ‘This is a dog chain going around your
gut, padlocked tight so you can’t get out. The other end is fixed to the floor.
Going to undo your gag. We want you to breath. You can scream if you like but no
one will hear you. Do not touch the blindfold. If you see us we will have to
kill you.’
 
“I felt a chain go around me between my top and jeans, tight and then a click as
it got locked in place. They took out the gag and while I was gasping untied my
arms. It took me a while to stand up by myself. The chain was short. I could
take 2 or 3 steps only. I got some water to drink.
 
“Then it really started. I can still hear him say 'Now girl, you've probably
guessed but we are going to rape you, lots of times. We're going to play with
you for a couple of days. Its not just rape.  Both of us will like hurting you.
Lots of good tortures we can do here. Nothing too severe like smashing your
toes. Just more pain than you could ever believe, all over but most on your
girly bits. We’ll really have fun.' I pleaded and begged and so on. They thought
it was great that I was still a virgin. Then he said, 'Take your clothes off.' I
couldn’t move. I just kept on pleading and saying No, No.
 
“He said ‘You've got to learn to do as you're told. Feel this. It's a whip. I'm
going to give you 10 lashes on your bum.' He made me hold it. A short wooden
handle and a piece of round rubbery stuff like electric cord. Very flexible,
thick as my little finger and as long as my arm. Gawd how I begged. They
shortened the chain. My arms got tied behind my back and lifted to make me bend
forward. My jeans stretched real tight and then the pain, low down on my bottom.

I shrieked and begged them not to hit me any more. I thought he was going to let
me off because there was such a long wait but he was only letting me feel the
full hurt before he hit me again, right on top of the first one. He kept that up
until I had all ten. The pain seemed to keep on doubling. After about 5 or 6, I
didn’t just scream with each stroke but as soon as I got enough air I screamed
again and again. He said 'I put them all in the same place, hurts more that
way'. The whip wrapped around me, from hip to hip. When the guy let go my arms I
collapsed, wailing, sobbing, screaming as wave after wave of pain poured through me.

 
“They left me for a bit and then untied my hands and said 'Stand up, take off
your clothes.' I did and I stood there naked, howling, holding my sore bum and
feeling the wide swelling welt that ran around the bottom of my cheeks. I
couldn’t stand still, dancing around at the end of the chain and pleading with
them not to hurt me again. Not being able to see made it all worse.
The blindfold had sort of cloth pads that were taped over my eyes. They were
sodden with my tears.

 Then they must have undone the chain from the floor. They pulled me along by it
and forced me to lie face up on a bench or bed or something. One pulled my hands
over my head. I pressed my legs together but the guy just used his weight to
force his knees in and push me open. The whip welts on my bum hurt like fire. He
groped me there, made me open and then I felt it, he was pushing his penis into
me. It hurt right from the start. I could feel myself stretching around it. I
heard him say, 'She's dry. Good. That will make her feel it more. Now lets see
what she's like deeper in.' He broke my hymen, God it hurt. I felt desperately
sick, I screamed, I howled, on and on. He was really pounding into me, my vagina
hurt, my bottom felt it was being burnt when he scraped against the whip marks.
I felt him lean forward and grab my breasts. He crushed and twisted. I was
screaming more and more at the new pain in my tits and then I felt him go off
inside me. It was awful.
 
“I thought it might be over but they just changed places. I must have been numb
but this time it did not hurt so much except when he pinched and yanked my
nipples. He was really cruel but he came quickly and left me. I curled up, I
don't know for how long. Then it all started again. I got pulled onto the floor.

The first one told me to turn around and kneel, then bend forward and put my
face on the floor. His hand scrubbed at my slit from behind. God how I hurt. He
talked all the time, telling me what he was doing and how much he was liking it.

Then he put his thing in place and pushed into me again. The welt on my bum
still hurt like anything and he was rubbing against it all the time. He reached
underneath and grabbed my breasts and really started to hurt them. He crushed
and twisted and pinched and pulled. I screamed with pain, again and again, as
soon as I could get some breath I screamed again. The deep glandular agony in my
breasts made me retch. He told me that the best bit was when he twisted my tits really hard
because that made my insides squeeze his cock. He kept on telling me how good it

felt, that he was enjoying it, he humped on and on. It seemed to take for ever
and all the time me begging, screaming and moaning. I begged him not to hurt my
breasts anymore but he just laughed and did something to make it hurt more than
before. I don't know how long but eventually he stopped. Straight away the other
one got on me. My breasts were so swollen and bruised. When this one rammed into
me it did not seem to matter any more but then he made my breasts hurt twice as
much than before. He dug his fingers right in like he was trying to rip them
off. After a long time I think I passed out.
 
“Next I remember I was lying on the floor, only a very short of length of chain
for me to move. I got water to drink. Then with a gentle voice he told me I
would get fucked some more later on but what both of them really liked to do now
was to hurt me. They had some great ideas and for the next few hours they were
going to torture me. I think I just whimpered, then I vomited. He said seeing I
was blindfolded he was going to tell me and let me feel the things they would
use on me.
 
“I got sat on a chair, hands free, held by the chain now wrapped tightly around
me and the chair. I felt them tying my knees wide apart. He loved telling me
what they would do. God it was awful. There was the whip and a cane, rattan he
said, feel how bendy it is. I would get both in all sort of places. He touched
me as he said where I would get the cane, my hands, breasts, bottom, feet and my
pussy. There was a pair of pliers and as he made me hold them his finger circled
my clit. He had a plastic penis thing that vibrated, it was thick and long. I
could feel it was rough and bumpy, it had some hairs sticking out from the
bumps, they felt like short bits of a clothes brush. There were other things. I
don't remember all. I don't think they used some of them. They made me take tablets, they said
so I would feel everything more and be less likely to pass out.”
 
There were long pauses in her story. It was really hard to keep quiet. I wanted
to tell Carmel how I felt for her, how awful it was, and yet I wanted her to get
on with it and tell the details hoping this would cleans her. Her telling became
erratic. I think she blurted out whatever worst bit surfaced in her memory.
 
After many minutes she went on. “They made me hold one of those bulldog clips
with the wire handles. He said my left nipple would get done first. He clipped
it on my left nipple low down. I was already so sore. I felt a white hot pain,
it shot through my whole breast, it hurt all through my chest. He told me it was
going to stay on for 2 minutes then they take it off and a minute later put it
on again. When he took it off and rubbed the nipple the pain got worse. And then
he put it on again, right on the very tip of my nipple. My whole body shuddered,
I was too exhausted to scream much more. They put it on and took it off maybe 20
times.”
 
“It seemed to last forever, they used the cane lots. I had
to stand and hold out my hands for them to hit, just like at school. They
pretended to be teachers but they hit so hard, so hard. It started with ten on
each hand, four on the palm and six on the fingers. After a few I just couldn't
do it anymore.
 
“They said that whenever I didn’t hold my hand out and kept it still they would
use the pliers on the nipple on that side. I managed to take two more on the
fingers. You can’t believe how much that hurt. They let me wail for a long
while. My right hand was next but I just couldn’t hold it out again. He laughed
and said I would now get the pliers for half a minute on my right nipple. That
was a totally new pain, worse than the clips, it cut right through me, much
worse than when they just used their hands, I screamed and tossed myself around,

I clawed at my breast but couldn’t make him let go. When I had recovered enough
they told me to get up and hold out my hand. Sis, I did. I took another three on
each one before collapsing. He warned me, then he said ‘In 3 minutes”. I
screamed and got on my knees. I eventually held out my hand but he said it was
too late and used the pliers on my left nipple. It took ages for him to do the
ten strokes.They left me for a long while to get my strength back.
 
“They had chained me in the toilet. I don't know for how long. I think I slept
for a while from exhaustion. When they came back it was all business. I had to
lie down with my legs over my head and they tied my ankles to something. My
pussy must have been wide open, they hit me there with a strap and then the
cane.

He said they wanted me really sore so that when they raped me again every little
movement would hurt like nothing ever before. Then they scraped the vibrator
thing over me, the hairs made it hurt so I wanted to die, the pain, the
pain. He must have scraped me raw. Then they put it in my vagina and scraped me raw in
there, did it in and out and twisted it around. It was bigger than his penis.
Then they both raped me. It was in a blur of pain. It seemed to go on forever, I
couldn’t even faint. One of them pinched and pulled my bruised folds and clit,
rough fingers and nails, it hurt lots and I cried and howled. The fuck took a
long, long time and hurt worse and worse. They used the pliers on my clit, just a little
bit he said, but this time I just passed out. I woke chained to the toilet. I
hurt all over. My whole sex was burning with pain and my clit was still on fire.
 
When they came back I was put on a big heavy chair. Legs tied. Rope around me,
just below my swollen breasts tying me against the back of the chair so I could
hardly move. My left arm tied hard behind my back. My swollen breasts aching
badly. He explained they were going to cane my breasts, on the underside. I
would get 25 strokes on each. I think I screamed. They forced another tablet
down my throat. He told me that I had to hold each breasts in place for the
cane. I had to grab a breast around the nipple, lift and press the nipple into
my chest so the underside would swell out tightly for the cane. He thought it
was great that I was going to help them punish my tits. Five on the left, then 5 on the right and back again, five times. 'If you don’t hold your tit properly my
friend will hold your hand back and I will give you 3 strokes on the nipple.
Then we start again’. God oh God how it hurt. My breasts had their own special
deep agony that exploded in me every time the stick sank into my flesh. This was worse than
anything else he had wacked my nipples a few times. After that I just held my
tits for them to cane no matter how much it hurt. They joked about how the cane
sank right into my breast. During the third lot of five I passed out. They just
waited for me to come around and kept on with the strokes. He told me later it
had taken just over 2 hours and they had loved every minute of it.
 
“They did lots more to me Sis. I wanted to die, I just wanted to die. They caned my
feet, on the soles and on my ankle bones. It hurt and hurt, it never stopped. I
felt I was going insane with the agony. I couldn't stop shaking.'
 
“They did other things. It's a blur. I can’t even remember them letting me go.”
She stopped she cried and sobbed. I held her for more than an hour but she said
no more.
 
I have never felt such anger before. I wanted those men.
 
3. Retribution is on the way.
 
The police had made no progress. There was no evidence. Even the place Carmel
had been taken to could not be found. There was some hint they may have
suspected someone but they would not say.
 
Over the next 5 months my anger and thirst for revenge began to really consume
me. On the surface I was an entirely different person, even a little cheerful to

try and help Carmel.
 
I took Carmel to watch the netball thinking she might be ready to face up to
that but still a hundred metres away she baulked. We stopped and stared for
several minutes. Then someone walked past us. It was Redhead. He turned and
seemed to smirk, looking Carmel up and down. He sniffed. Carmel turned and ran
away. Around the corner she slowed down. She was crying. “Sis, one of the men
sniffed just like that, when he got excited he sniffed just like that. Oh God,
it must have been him”.
 
An hour later she was not certain anymore at all. But I was. I knew it was him
all along. No good going back to the cops but what could I do about it. The
answer was nothing, nothing at all. By next day I wasn’t certain anymore either.
 
Three weeks later help came quite unexpectedly. A note in a plain envelope
addressed to me at work marked ‘Personal”. It was from some organisation calling
itself “Higher Level Justice”. The note looked totally anonymous, from any old
inkjet printer. The message was in plain language and straight forward. They said it was easiest
to think of them as a vigilante group who had as their mission the punishment of
guilty persons who had escaped the police justice system. They had obtained a
copy of the police files relating to Carmel’s rape and torture. The note was
sent to me because the files had identified me as the main contact person and it was not a matter on which they wanted to approach Carmel directly.
 
The note said that their organisation had conducted its own investigation and
identified one of the two men. Did I or my sister want to be kept informed of
events or even take part in them. The envelope included three large stickers,
blue, red and yellow. If I did not want any more contact I should put the red
sticker on the back window of my car, to be just kept informed the yellow
sticker and if I wanted to potentially participate then the blue sticker. This
was either a very sick joke or deadly serious. I broke out in a sweat. I
instantly boiled inside. Two minutes later the blue sticker was stuck on my back
window, just in case there was someone watching my car even at work. I resolved
to deal with this myself, I would not tell Carmel. I did not want her to be
dragged through this and at that stage I thought it might well turn out to be
nothing.
 
They sent me a key to a post office box. The letters kept coming, every few days
always requiring an answer by coloured sticker. There was always a red one. If I
changed my mind and used the red one they would never contact me again. I got in
deeper and deeper. In one letter there were stickers for about 10 different
levels of punishment. With my hands shaking I stuck the white one and a red and
blue striped one on the rear window. They stood for torture and castration.

 
Many letters and 4 weeks later he was going to be captured and left in a
suitable place safely tied up for me to go and deal with him. Details would come
later but I would get several hours to punish him and then walk away. They would
clean up any mess including disappearance of the person if necessary. I would
get only a few hours notice when the time came. I should plan my intention and
prepare any items I needed. Drugs to keep the guilty party “sensitive to my
ministrations” would be available at the place. Also a ‘basic’ whip and some
canes. I still did not really know who it was going to be.
 
It took nearly another 3 weeks. I was getting frantic with waiting. Then a fat
letter arrived. They said that the man they had been caught 5 days ago. He had
confessed after they had broken his alibi using methods not normally available
to the police or acceptable in court. He would be available to me tomorrow for
whatever punishment I wanted to use between 11 and 5 o’clock. The letter
repeated that I had a totally free hand to do to him whatever I wanted. A map
and directions to some place in the mountains was included. Looked like about a
2 hour drive. At the end of the road I was to follow a track, go through a
padlocked gate, key included in the envelope, lock it behind me and drive on for

1.8km on a drivable but rough side track leading to a hut. The man would be
blind folded and chained to the floor with hands cuffed behind his back. I did
not get a key to the chain or cuffs. I could make the chain shorter but not
longer. Drugs with instructions, some rope, two rattan canes and a whip would be on a table. All
other equipment I needed I should bring with me.  Noise and screams did not
matter as the place was totally isolated.
 
There were some very serious instructions. Immediately I get there I have to put
on a full body suit and surgical gloves as provided in a box outside the door. I

must not leave the shack for any reason at all until I am ready to go away,
whether that was just after a short time or the full 6 hours. Then I must leave
everything I found there on the table and take with me every item I brought. A
small side room will have a camping toilet. If I vomit it should be in there or
in one of the buckets provided. After I leave they will do what is necessary to
deal with the medical problems they anticipate and make the man disappear. The
shack would be cleansed so no biological traces would be found in the unlikely
event that the site was ever discovered. If they had any doubts it would be
burned down. I was to leave the gate key in the padlock. I must never come down
these roads again. STAY AWAY FROM THAT REGION it stressed. That was all fine by
me. I put
out the blue sticker. 

4. Retribution finally happens
 
I had planned what I would do and what I would need. There were some vile but
helpful ideas on the internet. I was going to keep it very simple but I wasn't
just going to slice his balls off with one cut of a sharp knife. The process
should take a few hours. A man's balls are perfect pain centres so why
remove them in one second flat. Better to make use of them for a while. Also he
obviously has two balls so I could work on one and a couple of hours later the
other one would be there in near pristine condition so I could start all over
again. What a delightful thought. My plan needed bamboo skewers, sewing pins, a
gas jet lighter with a large flame and disinfectant alcohol rub. My main cutting
tool was going to be a little pair of strong and very sharp nail scissors, snip,
snip, snip. Sometimes I frightened myself. The last 6 months have changed me
forever. I also put in big scissors and a sharp knife for other stuff like
getting clothes off the guy when he was tied up.
 
I could hardly sleep that night. I got to know the map off by heart. Car was
full of petrol My clothes were new and cheap, down to my bra and undies. I had a
complete change in the car. I had a packet of fire lighters so my working
clothes could be burnt in a deserted picnic fire place before I came home. At
8.15 next morning I put my bag in the car and started off. Driving carefully I
got to the gate at a quarter to 11.
 
Ten minutes later I was getting into the body suit, put hood and gloves on and
walked through the door of the shack. I instantly recognised Red, hands tied
behind his back and chained to the floor just like Carmel said they had chained
her. Very seriously blindfolded but not gagged. He heard me come in and
immediately spewed a mixture of threats and begging. He knew that the person who
came in would be the one to punish him. He whined, he had never wanted to hurt
the girl he said, it was the other bloke, and so on. I ignored him. God, I was
ready to enjoy this. My silence as I moved around was driving him closer to
absolute panic.
 
I spoke to him for the first time. He flinched and gasped when he heard that I
was a woman. "You know why I'm here." Slimy denials and protests of innocence.
"I am going to punish you for torturing and raping the netball girl. You have
been sentenced to suffer a punishment castration" You should have heard his
screams and filthy curses when I told him that. He kicked and threw himself
about but the chain held him nicely and I had no trouble staying out of range of

his legs. "I have you for 5 hours or so. I’ll explain what is meant by
punishment castration so you’ll understand why I am spending so much time on
you.” He whined and howled and begged, twisting his legs over each other. I was
already enjoying this.
 
“Usually when a man gets castrated someone pulls down his scrotum and cuts the
bag and testicles off with one slash of a knife. They say it hurts but I think
doing it like that is a real waste. Your testicles can cause you so much pain.
It would be a real pity to cut them off quickly. I’m going to use your balls to
hurt you for hours before they finally come off, one at a time.” He was really
frantic. He abused me, he begged, he swore and begged again until eventually he
broke down sobbing and begging for pity. Tears squeezing out from the
blindfold and snot streaming from nose.

I told him to think about what they had done to the girl.
 
“I'm going to fill in the first one to two hours by flogging you till you bleed
all over. Then I'll torture your penis and balls for an hour. After that I will
ever so slowly and painfully remove your balls”. I loved the way he got frantic
and decided to worry him a bit more. “I may change my mind but just now I think
I'm not going to kill you this time. That is lucky for you because, believe me,
you would rather be killed by anyone other than me. You see, for a start I sit
you over a log and nail your penis down seeing you haven’t got balls anymore,
big fat nails with a big head. Then your hands and fingers get nailed down.  The

last guy I executed screamed for two hours before he got snuffed." Redhead
screamed like he was already feeling the nails, he panicked and begged so
pathetically. I don’t know where I got those ideas, I couldn’t have done
anything like that but his frantic panic was great.
 
He kicked madly but I easily got a rope loop around each ankle because he could
not see what I was doing. I stretched his legs out so hard he couldn't move,
Then I simply cut all his clothes off, followed by a rough trim of his wildly
orange pubic bush. I played with his prick and balls till he got real hard
despite his fear. I was loving this, the power of revenge and punishment.
 
I untied his leg ropes and told him to get on his knees so I could flog his
back, arse and thighs. He did not want to cooperate until I cracked the cane
across his ears a few times.
 
5. The punishment

I would need 50 pages to tell you all the details of what I did and his
reactions and screams. To cut that long story short I'll give you the main bits
as simply as I can, though sadly, you may not get the real feeling for how much
I enjoyed the next 5 hours or just how much he suffered. You will have to
imagine the extra details yourself. He screamed a lot when it hurt and as the
punishment went on he just groaned, which was most of the time, but whenever I
increased the pain level or hurt him in a new way, he went back to real
screaming, really inhuman screaming. He begged and pleaded in the most boring
and repetitive way.
 
On the table where medicines to stop him passing out, to make him erect and to
stop excessive bleeding. First I followed instructions on the use of the tablets
to keep him alert. Making him swallow them was easy, just a matter of sticking a
bamboo skewer through the tape blindfolding him and into his ear hole till he got
it down. Later on the injections into the base of his penis with the tiny syringe was
also easy. It worked like a miracle.

I could get him erect in a few minutes and he stayed that way for a
good half hour no matter what I did to it. They had left 3 of the syringes.
 
So there he was naked on his knees, hands still behind his back, his middle
directly over the chain’s anchor point. A rope behind his knees tied them to the
base of the chain and kept him in the kneeling position. I’d used a spare
padlock to shorten the chain and hold him down so his tummy was just a few
inches above the floor. Two ropes stretched his elbows sideways. The cuffs dug
into his wrists. He couldn't move or roll over or anything. I put a wooden block
under his feet and tied them down to a bolt sticking out of the floor. I loved
the idea of using the cane, after all, I had memories of being on the receiving
end only 10 years ago. He was going to get it on his buttocks, thighs, calves
and the soles of his feet. His arms fastened behind his back meant that the cane
was not much use there, I would have to learn to use the whip to crack on his
back and ribs.
 
The cane was easy. Forty strokes at half minute intervals on his bum and thighs.
These were full power strokes, not like the smarmy stuff kids get at school.
Huge welts and skin breaks all over. I did not bother with the calves much but
the tip of the cane digging into his soles and toes made him do particularly
high pitched whining screams. The whip was really difficult to crack just where
I wanted it to land. I had taken the skin off his arms by the time I had done a
decent job of his back.
 
Time to get serious and give him a taste of things to come. I still had him
locked in the kneeling position with his knees tied together and his face near
the floor. I pushed my hand between his thighs from behind and with help from my
left hand I grabbed his scrotum and pulled it back between his thighs. This left
his testicles trapped and poking out between his thighs looking a bit like the
balls on some dogs. I told him, 40 more with the cane, just on and around your
balls. As it happened about half the strokes landed directly on his balls,
sometimes the very tip of the cane digging into his bag and cracking on one or
the other of his nuts. He did not like that at all. He found new and louder ways
of screaming. Because I waited to let him feel each stroke fully it took nearly
half an hour to give him that lot. I was going to have to watch my time.

Next I turned him over on his back and stretched him out, feet tied wide apart.
He obviously thought the moment had come and I was going to cut his balls off
but there was a long way to go. I tried getting his penis up again but perhaps
because of the pain in his balls nothing happened. I injected one of the the
tiny syringes into the base of his floppy cock. I'm sure he did not want to but
in a couple of minutes with a bit of help from me rubbing him he was up hard.
Amazing stuff in that syringe.

I grabbed the shaft low down in my left hand and held it up vertically. I then
spent 10 minutes whipping the thin cane across his piss hole and over the cock
head. Not very hard because I had to be careful of my left hand but with perhaps with 200 wacks it adds up. Very satisfying reactions. The pain seemed to build up in
him, probably more than any normal person could imagine. Then I clamped a strong
metal clip with sharp teeth on the tip of his dick, and pulled it straight up
with a string tied to a convenient hook hanging from a bit of chain in the
ceiling. “100 hard strokes” I told him. It was like hitting into a piece of
stretched rubber hose except that from about half way through it was bleeding
all over and particularly at the tip where the clip did rip out a couple of
times.. That was a good way of spending a few minutes.
 
I let him rest for a longish while. I had a drink and a chocolate bar and made
him have another tablet to keep him awake. This was by now a threefold overdose
but I didn’t think it mattered. Main thing he kept on feeling every single bit.
I tested the system by pouring some alcohol disinfectant over his penis. His
screamed like an animal but he did not pass out. Good.
 
6. Slightly more serious pain.
 
I had him sitting up on a chair, handcuffed arms stretched behind him, legs
spread wide and his enlarged bleeding penis half flopping over a tight scrotum,
stretched taught by his swollen balls. His head lolled but he was awake.
 
Change of target. I picked up the nail scissors and snipped a 5mm cut down one
side of his left nipple. Oh yes, the new pain again made him howl and scream.
Six cuts down the sides of each nipple, slowly, ever so slowly. It was a pity he
could not watch me doing it but then, you can’t have everything. Back to his
penis, that string-like strip of skin running from his pisshole to the back of
the cock. Working the nail scissors very slowly I sort of amputated it as well
as an adjoining bit of foreskin with about two dozen tiny little cuts. He really
seemed to think that hurt a lot but when I started slowly pushing a dozen long
pins into him and a long blunt bamboo stick down his urethra he realised things
could always get worse. The bamboo made his now shrivelled penis nice and stiff
so I could easily tape it out of the way on his belly. It was neater that way
than using another syringe. A second slosh of disinfectant over nipples and cock
head nearly made him pass out. He needed a rest.
 
Time was definitely getting on. There was no avoiding it, I had to start being
really cruel. I told him, “Balls next, left one first”. I had planned to cut off
his whole scrotum high up against his crotch leaving both testicles hanging open
on their cords. On feeling around there however, I thought it was too difficult.
I might accidentally cut one of the cords and deprive him of feeling the due
pain in that testicle. So I went for the safer option, a long cut on the side of
the balloon tight scrotum, with about 30 tiny snips of the nail scissors. There
was quite a lot of blood but it was not a big problem. A little squeeze and the
testicle popped out. A gentle pull and it hung on a funny wrinkled sort of pale
coloured cord, an inch or two clear of the bleeding skin. It was a sort of puce
pink colour with many bright red splotches. The chord sort of stuck to it down
one side. All this time his body was convulsing and he was doing high pitched
wailing screams and groans. In fact nothing much changed between then and nearly 2 hours
later when I left.
 
We were now at the end game. I cradled the testicle in the fingers of my left
hand and hit it with a short stick. It swelled even more. I slowly pushed some
pins and hit him again taking 10-15 minutes. With the nail scissors I slit the
whole thing open, snip, snip, end to end, careful to avoid cutting the cord. The
inside of the testicle looked really funny, not solid meat at all. This took
another 15 minutes. I then took the lighter and did a bit a bit of slow cooking.

A few minutes later I let the flame burn along the cord until the testicle fell
off. To my disappointment he passed out but, no matter, I had just over 60
minutes left.
 
A 20 minute rest and then I did the right testicle in exactly the same way. A
bit of an anticlimax really.
 
With 10 minutes to go I started cleaning up. Made sure my stuff was packed.
Double and triple checked. Tipped the last of the alcohol disinfectant over his
wounds. Went to the door and stripped off the body suit and gloves. I peeled off
all my clothes and put on the new ones. I picked up my bag and went out, slammed
the door and drove off as instructed.

 
The future looked good. It shouldn’t be too long before they catch the other
guy. I was already thinking of the things I’d do better the second time round.
Maybe I could get to be a sort of punishment contractor for those times when the

victim did not want to do it themselves. It wouldn’t always be a man or as
serious as the one I’d just done. I wouldn’t mind doing a job like that every
few weeks I thought to myself as I turned into a deserted picnic spot well away
from the road.