No more ASBO’s for Mason

An anti-social young man meets his match
castration, humiliation

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No more ASBOs for Mason

Mason sat on the leafy ground with his legs tied wide apart. He was deep in the woods, and nobody would be coming to save him. He looked between his legs at his banded testicles. They were so dark that they had almost turned black, as the trapped blood within died from lack of oxygen, and with it, the testicles it supplied. His pain was just a dull ache now, and that was the sign that their end was near.

Over the past hour, he’d been through three of the five stages of grief, and was starting to reach the fifth; acceptance. The fourth would come out of sequence, and it would last a lifetime. It was depression. Depression at the loss of manhood and status. Depression at his impotence. Depression at the abrupt end to the expectations he’d had of one day fathering his own children.

A man knelt before his legs and gripped them.

“Cold,” he observed. “They’re nearly dead.”

Wearing the expression of a wounded puppy, his defiance completely gone now, Mason looked up at the man.

The man released him, and his tightly constrained testicles momentarily bounced jauntily, more like a festive ornament than two of the three things that made the 19-year-old a man.

One hour earlier

“Go on, slide it over your nuts,” Phillip said, recording everything on his phone.

He was a former member of the SAS, Britain’s elite military unit, and even five young men like the one sitting on the floor with his knees spread would be no match for him.

Phillip looked between Mason’s legs.  The naked kid sat on the ground with his knees pulled wide apart, tied off on two trees that stood to either side of him. He already had a nasty black eye and a split lip. The hint of puke smell further evidenced the roughing up that Phillip had given him when he had captured him. Mason fought like a wildcat, sensing that he was about to face justice that a bleeding-heart social worker or lawyer could not talk him out of.

The kid’s nuts were not exceptional; far from it, but surprisingly, fear had not tightened his bag. Now he held them between the fingers of his right hand, pulling them away from his own body.

In his other hand, he held the metal tool that Phillip had given him. It was a farm implement, used for emasculating livestock. It was known in the trade as an elastrator.

Phillip had decided that Mason needed a lesson he would never forget, and forcing him to do it to himself was an extra component of the punishment that Phillip knew from his training in prisoner interrogation, showed far greater dominance, resulting in the total mental capitulation of the victim. After all, once he had been forced to castrate himself, how much more submissive could a man become?

Mason scowled up at him, unwilling to obey the man’s command.

“If you don’t do it, I’ll come over there and persuade you.”

Mason looked up at him defiantly, and spat blood from his mouth in Phillip’s direction, before releasing his nuts and throwing the elastrator off into the woods.

Phillip approached and the kid looked up with a sneer and a “What you gonna do about it?” expression, although Phillip could tell it was nothing but bravado.

Without looking, while their gazes were locked, Phillip kicked the kid brutally hard in the nuts with one of his army-booted feet. Mason’s expression changed instantly from defiance to wide-eyed panic, and then to agony.

“It would have been less painful if you had done what I told you,” Phillips told him. “You’re still going to lose them, but now they’re going to hurt right up to the last second.”

Mason didn’t hear the words. He was howling, in too much pain to articulate his usual cocky come-back. All he could manage was a repeated mantra of words, interspersed by strident wails of pain. His words were predictable.

“My nuts! Ahh my fucking nuts. Ahhh, ahhhh, oh fuck, my nuts. Ahhh, owwww, I think you burst them! Owwwww. Ahhh.”

“I’m certain of it,” Phillip agreed.

He wasn’t a vindictive man, but pain was a means to an end. In this case, the 19-year-old snot had to be given enough pain to crush any further thoughts of defiance, and nothing broke a man like agony in his nuts.

Phillip looked in the direction that Mason had thrown the elastrator. He wasn’t concerned about the kid escaping. The ropes were tough, and the teenager had nothing that could cut them. Phillip had tied him so that there were no knots on his legs to untie, instead positioning the knots on the trees that held his knees apart.

The man wandered off in search of the elastrator. He could hear Mason screaming and whining the whole time. It took him ten minutes to find them, then he picked them up and returned at a casual pace, only too well aware that each extra second only gave the brat longer to suffer. He showed them to the kid. Mason looked up at him with an expression of deepest hatred, still making constant noises of pain.

“We’re going to try again. If you throw them away again, I’m going to tear your cock and balls off, then I’ll feed them to you, and leave you to bleed to death understand?”

Mason looked at him, squirming and groaning loudly. He’d never before had to face meaningful consequences for his appalling behaviour and he was in shock as his world view came crashing down. The pussy social workers always sang a hard-luck story, then he’d walk free with a slap on the wrist. But this time, no one was offering pleas for clemency, and even if they did, Mason was certain that the man was not interested in hearing them. The young thug said nothing.

“Do you understand?” Phillip said more assertively.

Mason could barely think straight, but he managed a terse nod in between moans of pain.

“Good. Now I know you’re in agony. The only way to stop the pain is for me to cut your balls off or for you to use this on them.”

He threw the elastrator on the floor between Mason’s legs. It was already loaded with a blue band; one of the smaller diameter rubber rings used for nutting lambs.

“You know what to do with it.”

“My fucking nuts!” Mason burbled. “You busted my fucking nuts.”

“Yes, I did. This time I’m only gonna take your balls. Maybe without nuts you’ll lose some of the fucking attitude and stop terrorising the neighbourhood. If not, well, maybe you won’t walk away at all the next time. Now get on with it before I do something far worse to you.”

Mason looked down at the elastrator, then picked it up. This time there was no thought of defiance. He squeezed the handle and four pins stretched the rubber ring open. Snivelling, he carefully lifted his testicles. He gingerly pulled them away from his body, wincing as they pressed lightly against his sack. The left side; the larger one had clearly split, and there was mush oozing from it inside his scrotum. The right testicle was badly misshapen, but had not burst.

“The only way to stop the pain is to put the band over them. Cut off the blood supply.”

Phillip added with a smile, “Careful not to trap your nuts in the band when you let the pliers go!”

Mason grizzled.

“Please, no, not this.”

“They’re already fucked. I can come over there and kick them until there’s nothing left, or you can band yourself, and the pain might be gone in an hour. Your choice.”

Mason’s face formed a grimace as he looked up at the man. There was no trace of compromise in his expression. Grizzling now, like a child, he carefully passed the band over his tortured nuts, adjusting his gripping fingers to facilitate the action.

“That’s it, all the way to the base of your nut sack,” Phillip said.

Mason obeyed, then slowly released the handles. The ring clamped tightly shut, forming a loop of rubber smaller than the diameter of his own pinky finger. He felt it pinch the skin of his scrotum, crimping it within the rubber.

Philip reached a hand out.

“Give,” he commanded and Mason returned the elastrator.

Phillip added a second band and returned it to the teenager.

“Again.”

Mason looked up at him, groaning, a look of confusion on his face.

“Just to be certain,” Phillip explained.

Mason accepted the device and carefully slid the loop over his agonised testicles.

“Do the second a bit further from your body.”

Mason did as he was told, and momentarily a second ring cinched the flesh, leaving his testicles bulging below.

“You’re lucky I’m not making you do your cock too,” Phillip said without spite.

He wanted the snot to understand that this was a mercy, and things could still get worse. Much worse.

Mason didn’t feel lucky. His nuts were in agony. It was the most excruciating pain of his life.

The kid had been the bane of the neighbourhood for seven years now, graduating from being a nuisance, to a motorcycle thief, then to cars, and finally to burglary, and physical intimidation. His name was Mason Jones.

The justice system seemed unwilling to deal with him. He’d been arrested and freed countless times. He’d been issued plenty of Anti-Social Behaviour Orders; a legal slap on the wrist for a boy who did not fear or respect the courts. The press called them ASBOs, and they were a standing joke for their utter pointlessness. The local social services advocates always sang a hard luck story about his broken home, and his ADHD, and his oppositional defiance disorder caused by bad experiences at school. But now school was behind him, and his behaviour could not continue unchecked.

Once he’d discovered that there were never any consequences for his behaviour, he’d settled arrogantly, into a life where he did whatever he wanted, and nobody told him what to do. He was too small for the serious gangsters to care about, but too big for regular citizens to handle.

He’d felt like a wolf among the sheep; untouchable; king of his world, feared by the public, and admired by the up and coming thugs. But now he realised, there were far more dangerous predators inhabiting his stomping grounds; watching over the sheep, and one of them had had enough.

“I’m gonna find you and kill you!” Mason growled through gritted teeth. It took all of his effort to speak.

Phillip grinned still recording.

“Sure, you will kid, but you’ll still have no nuts. No breeding. No more little shits like you. Your future ends here.”

Mason frowned as he realised the implications. It wasn’t just about taking his nuts. The man was right; without them, Mason would never have kids. His family line ended with him. He’d fucked plenty of council estate Tracys and Sharons but they’d always been careful to make him wear protection. They didn’t mind taking his ever-eager, unwashed cock, but none of them wanted to bear his kids.

The thought that he would never become a father elicited unexpected emotions. He felt his throat closing. For the first time in his life, he wanted to beg, but he didn’t trust his voice not to choke up. He felt tears rimming his eyes. He looked away in a vain effort to hide his emotions.

He looked down at his nuts, they bounced beneath the bands like an oversized strawberry, although they had already turned a darker shade of crimson. He didn’t dare touch them. Despite his effort, the second band was so close to his nuts that his testicles were no longer individually distinguishable in his tight, shiny bag and the pressure only accentuated his agony.

The low-rent thug wished with all his heart that he had not antagonised the man. Mason was a tough guy, but only in situations where he knew the people he was confronting were inhibited by their position, or fear to push back. Sitting here naked, his legs spread apart, it was blatantly obvious that he was no longer in a position of dominance, and even though he could barely breathe through the pain, he was self-aware enough to know he’d brought it onto himself.

The man stood back to wait. Mason could do nothing but sit, his legs splayed obscenely wide, as though showing off his genitals. Above his dying balls, his uncircumcised penis with its loose foreskin, lay limp and useless, its root originating from a pubic mound that he had deliberately shaved to better show it off to the women he regularly sent photos to on his phone. But now, his baby-smoothness looked like a cruel joke, designed to show off his immaturity.

His cock would get hard again, partly, but no female would look at it with desire once his balls were gone. It would not shoot life-giving seeds. Instead, nothing but watery semen, absent the swimmers that his body had intended the fluid for.

“I don’t suppose the women will be so interested in riding your cock once word gets around that you’re a nutless wonder,” Phillip said as if reading his thoughts, and deliberately twisting the knife.

It was not a perspective that Mason had considered. In the present moment, almost his entire attention was taken up with the pain that radiated from his injured testicles. Although the blood supply had been cut-off, the nerves still continued to function very effectively. He cupped them, in an instinctive effort to protect them, careful not to actually touch the tight orb of flesh. But the damage was already done. He could not prevent the groans that emanated from his vocal chords, forced out by a primal connection to the pain centre of his brain.

He glanced up, and the man now stood a short distance away, idly looking at his phone screen. A momentary surge of rage flared up in Mason’s mind. The man was castrating him, and it didn’t even matter enough to distract him from his phone. Mason heard a noise through his own moaning. It was music. Game music. The man was playing a shitty mobile game while Mason’s balls screamed with excruciating agony.

Now the tears came, as Mason realised how utterly insignificant he was; what an inconsequential insect he was in the world of a real man like this, who had subdued and captured him without even breaking a sweat. The man didn’t even glance in his direction as the tears filled the brims of Mason’s eyes, before trickling down his cheeks, and now he was relieved by the man’s disinterest. He didn’t want to show any further weakness.

He wondered if it was too late to save his nuts. If he could somehow pull the bands off, if the returning blood would bring them back to life, or if they were already damaged beyond saving.

Mason moved his hands aside and looked down at himself. His cock looked pathetic; a slug curled limply.  And beneath, protruding from his groin, his ever-darkening nuts. Mason lifted them gently to examine their constraints. The two bands, a centimetre apart, crimped the white flesh below with implacable tightness. As long as they remained, he was certain that his testicles would be dead all-too-soon. As appealing as an end to his pain was, he didn’t want to lose them. He reached down and fiddled with the band that was furthest from his balls, trying to slide a fingernail between the band and his flesh. But he could not even gain so much as a millimetre of purchase, far less slide his nail all the way in. He examined the other band; more carefully because of its close proximity to his agonised nuts. That one was equally unassailable, and he realised that without a knife, he was never going to be able to remove them.

It was an oddly disempowering feeling to be sitting with his hands free, yet his legs gaping wide and his nuts dying between his legs. It was clear that the man was so unconcerned by his ability to escape or remove the bands, that it was not even worth securing his arms.

90 minutes later, Phillip approached, recording again. He looked down at Mason’s scrotum. It was nearly black now, except for the pale pimples caused by hair follicles. As he knelt down, Mason briefly contemplated then instantly discarded the idea of a headbutt if he could reach. But he knew that he was powerless, and who knew what revenge the man would exact if he did anything so rash?

The man reached for Mason’s tight balls, and the teenager tensed his stomach against a pain that didn’t come. His balls had stopped hurting completely 15 minutes ago.

Phillips squeezed the lump of brutalised flesh, pressing his thumb deeply into the meat, almost reaching his finger on the other side. Mason gave no reaction.

“They’re dead,” he dispassionately informed the punk.

Mason remained silent. What could he possibly say in response to that information?

Phillip stood and put his foot on the testicle orb, trapping it with the toes of his boot against the hard, leaf-covered earth beneath. Mason grimaced, ready for pain that never came. The man pressed his toes down, rolling his foot towards his heel, squashing the nuts against the ground. They flattened as though they were made of putty, but there was a distinct, if slight bursting sensation near the end as they lost their final battle and their contents squirted into his bag.

“Just in case,” Phillip said, moving back.

Mason looked down at his bag. Where it had once been a tight sphere, it was now a flattened flap of flesh laying against the ground. His jaw gaped. He knew that his nuts were doomed when they turned black, but seeing the contents of his nut sack like this, removed any wild hopes of redemption that he may have entertained.

He reached between his legs and felt his sack, which was filled with the slushy remains of his destroyed nuts. It felt as though it was filled with semolina pudding or cooked oatmeal. He palpated it, and deep within, he discovered the husks of his testicular capsules. Both were split and empty. He swallowed deeply.

“Still think it was worth causing all that mayhem?” Phillip asked.

Mason looked at him. What did he say to that? Of COURSE it was not worth it.

“Just to let you know kid,” Phillip continued, “I did consider fucking you raw at this point. Just to completely destroy your sense of manhood.”

Mason’s eyes widened in horror.

“But I figure, with no balls and THAT little thing;” he looked at the maggot that protruded from Mason’s groin with an expression of contempt, and flicked the shrivelled cock with the toe of his boot, “you don’t have any sense of manhood left.”

He zoomed in on his phone to show Mason’s absent testicles and pathetic penis, holding for a few seconds before zooming out and moving the viewfinder to show the criminal’s face.

Mason looked like he was going to burst out crying. His face flared crimson at the continued  humiliation. He pursed his quivering lips, his brows frowning deeply.

“Now, I’m not going to have any more problems with you am I?”

Mason struggled to answer. He was too choked up to speak.

“AM I?” Phillip urged.

“No,” Mason said, his voice small with emotion.

“No what?”

Mason frowned confused. Phillip firmly rubbed the sole of his deep-treaded army boot against the young man’s cock. Mason winced.

“No… sir?” he offered.

“That’s right. And that’s the attitude I want from you in future. Got it?”

“Yes sir,” Mason responded.

Phillip grinned. Mission accomplished.

He untied Mason’s legs.

“You can go now. You can keep those bands.”

Mason rose unsteadily to his feet. Although the nerves in his testicles were dead now, there was an after-echo that sent fresh jolts of pain through his groin. Mason staggered at the fresh pain, doubling over and putting an arm against a tree for support. Urine dribbled from his insignificant worm.

“Yeah, you’re gonna get that happen on and off for a while.”

“H… how long?” Mason asked, all traces of cockiness gone from his voice.

“Oh, six months or so. It’s like phantom limb syndrome. I’ve heard of it lasting forever with some guys. Luck of the draw I guess. Think of it as a reminder to behave.”

Mason’s face crumbled.

Phillips said, “You might want to consider wearing a nappy.”

Mason looked at him, utterly broken.

“Oh, and one more thing, I’m going to share this video; make sure that every single person in the area knows you lost your balls today and how. Hopefully serve as a warning to any other street rats who think about stepping into your place. And kid, don’t make me find you again okay?”

Carrying Mason’s clothes and underwear, he left the naked criminal to make his way home.