Problem Solved

I first suspected that he was beating her when I got a call from the ER of our local hospital. I found her lying on a gurney, crying. Her face was slightly bruised. There were marks on her shoulders and upper arms. I asked her what happened. She gave me some story about how she had fallen while changing a tire on her way home the night before. Suspiciously, I asked her where John was, why he hadn’t changed the tire. She said that he had been visiting his parents. She tried to reach him, but got no answer.

I left her at the hospital. I could tell by the marks that she was lying to protect herself and him. I could understand the self-preservation aspect. I couldn’t fathom why she’d want to protect him. He wasn’t a particularly good provider. Hell, he wasn’t even that good-looking. I couldn’t even picture the two of them in the sack together.

On my way home, I decided to swing by John’s parents house. After making some small talk, I mentioned that I was looking for him. That I was thinking of going fishing. Did he stop there last night? No, we haven’t seen him in almost a week, his mother said. You might try him at home, his father suggested. I got into my car thinking that there was more going on than met the eye.

I stopped by my house and picked up a few ‘items’ that I might need. I put them in the trunk of the car. My mind was wondering as I drove the 15 miles out to the farmhouse where they lived. They didn’t farm the land, but leased it out to another man who couldn’t afford a farm but managed to split the crop income with them after expenses had been paid.

It was growing dark by this time. I noticed an unfamiliar car in the drive. There was a light burning in the back of the house. I knew that was their bedroom. Taking the bag out of the trunk, I walked up to the front door. I cranked the old-fashioned doorbell. There wasn’t any answer. I turned the knob. The door opened easily on its hinges.

Hello? I said. There wasn’t any answer. Nor was there any sign of life in the downstairs’ rooms. I walked across the hall to the staircase. Trying not to walk too softly, I didn’t want whoever was there to think I was spying as I climbed the stairs. The door to the master bedroom was open. I heard voices—one male, one female. That’s when I hit the only floorboard that creaked.

John came flying out of the bedroom, the door opened wide. Who’s there?, he shouted. I replied that it was only I and I was checking on the house. I noticed that a cheap polyester dress lying on the floor beside the bed. I recognized the dress. It belonged to one of the women in town. I didn’t need much more proof than that.

The woman picked up the dress, put it on, and walked past me with a sneer on her face. John said I can explain as he pulled on his jeans. She means nothing to me. It was just a fling.

Oh, John, it’s a little late for that now, isn’t it? Why don’t we go downstairs, have a couple of beers and talk about it. I’m sure we can work something out.

In the kitchen, I grabbed two beers. Popping open both tops, I dropped a couple of ativans in one of the cans. This I handed to John. Here’s to you, I said as I took a deep swallow. John took a huge gulp. He looked up at me with those light blue eyes. I don’t know why I do these things. I really love your sister, but sometimes…

John, I know things have been rough between the two of you. I just don’t want to see my sister get hurt again. I watched what she went through with her first husband. I’m glad that was taken care of. She got out of that one. I think she really wants to make this work for both of you.

After an hour of several beers and a conversation that seemed never-ending, John said something about having to lie down. He seemed unsteady on his feet. I guess I would too if I’d been give four pills and three beers. I helped him up the stairs. Once up there, he collapsed on the bed. I could hear him starting to snore as he fell deeper into sleep.

I walked downstairs and collected my bag from beside the front door. I thought, John, you’ve made this too easy for me. I was back upstairs in less than a minute. I decided that John would be uncomfortable half-dressed. I undid the fly and started to pull them down over his hips. I was amazed at how thin hipped he was. The flat, hardness of his stomach was something I didn’t expect. I tried not to look as I pulled them past his knees. It was only after I had them off did I look. I suddenly knew what my sister saw in him. His cock must have been a good 5 inches flaccid. His balls were enormous.

Oh, this was too good to be true. I’m really going to enjoy this, I thought. Reaching into the bag, I pulled out a three-pronged bander, a pair of shackles, and three bands. Loading the bander, I pushed each nut through the loop. Once they were far enough down, I grabbed his flaccid cock and prized it through to join his fellows. I pushed the band as far back on his body as I could while pulling his manhood as far out as possible. Then I pried the band off.

Taking the second band, I again grabbed each of his testicles and repeated the process. I reloaded the bander for the third time and pushed it down the shaft to his pubic bone. I didn’t care how much of his thick bush was caught in the mess I was making. Reaching for the shackles, I fastened one around his nuts and closed it as tight as it would go. The other end I fastened to the brass bed that they shared.

After making certain that everything was complete, I started to leave. Then I remembered the note that I had written earlier. Taking it out of my pocket, I put it on the floor. On top of it, I put a kitchen knife. The note read:

John, Sorry I couldn’t stay to watch your face when you woke up. I can only imagine how surprised you must be. If you want to get free from the bed, you must cut off your balls. I would advise cutting between your balls and the band. Otherwise, you may bleed to death. Either way, the problem solved!

I don’t think that he would realize that it didn’t matter if he cut off above or below the band. Since I had banded the whole of his identity, he wouldn’t bleed to death. It would be a little difficult to explain how he lost the works, though.

Funny thing, he never mentioned what happened to the police. I guess that he’d been too embarrassed. They suspected my sister of doing it, but never charged her. I guess they figured that with all the abuse she had put up with, he got what he deserved. As for her first husband, well, let’s just say that his second wife likes him just the way he is now.