Thecia's Final Revenge

I’m a 30-year-old female “cutter.”

My friend Leslie had just gotten out of a bad relationship with an abusing pervert named Bob.

He followed her and beat her up on more than one occasion. He was relentless and claimed to want her back at any cost.

We caught up with him and did a mock castration on him. To put the fear of god (and fear of my scalpel) in him. We gave him the feeling of helplessness and fear, but I guess the lesson didn’t take, or he thought we would never do the real thing.

About three months later he walked up to her as she was outside of her front door picking up the evening paper. He pushed his way in the house and backhanded her across the room. When he was finished, she had a broken jaw and three cracked ribs, not to mention bruises everywhere. While she was in this agonizing pain, he raped her.

When I heard all of this I was determined to fix him by “fixing” him. After all, It’s what I do.

I thought about finding him in a club and seducing him to a motel room but, he had fallen for the bar pick up routine before and I was convinced that he wouldn’t buy it again. Men are stupid when they think with their little head, but there is a limit.

I let Leslie in on what I was going to do and had her get out of town. I told her to be with friends who could attest to where she was.

I asked my friend Digger for help. He had helped me that last time that I dealt with this creep and he was glad to do it again even though there was no money in it for him.

Bob, Leslie’s ex, walked into the bathroom at the Playhouse Gentleman’s Salon in Paducah, KY. A large man was at one of the urinals and another walked in behind him. The man looked down at Bob’s equipment and in a thick Russian accent said “nice dick.” Bob looked up at him in surprise just as the other man’s fist came down on his neck. He fell like a ton of bricks. With practiced efficiency the first man opened the men’s room window and they both pushed Bob’s inert body out into the dark parking lot behind the club. They loaded him into a nondescript black Ford and drove off.

I met them in front of the Pear Tree Inn motel in Paducah where the larger man handed me the key to room 114. It was at the end of the row of rooms on the ground floor.

I had on my blonde “floozy” wig, a padded bra that added three bra sizes to my chest and platform shoes that added a couple of inches of height. . All to disguise my looks. In my field of endeavor one cannot be too careful.

The two Russians unceremoniously dumped Bob’s still unconscious body onto the king sized bed in the center of the room.

I thanked them and they left. It had cost me $1500 bucks for this help, but Leslie was worth it.

I got my nylon parachute cord out of my kit and securely tied Bob’s arms and legs to the metal bed frame. I was ready!

I used a box cutter to cut his clothes off so that I didn’t contaminate my scalpel. First his black shirt then his light colored jeans followed by his jockey shorts. He didn’t have a tee shirt on. I left his shoes and socks on. His big balls hung down just as I had remembered them from our mock cutting. This time I was going to get those big juicy things for myself.

In my kit I had a small vial of ammonia that I used to revive him. I wanted him awake for this. As soon as the clouds started to clear from his mind he began to scream at me. Things like “You fucking cunt”, “You miserable bitch”, “ you syphilis ridden bitch, I’m gonna kill you” and on and on. My ball gag put a stop to that, although he tried to bite me when I put it on him. When he tried to bite me, I simply grabbed his big balls in my other hand and squeezed. I eased the pressure and said “now can I put the gag on?”. After two or three hard squeezes it was no longer a problem.

Normally this would have been a simple procedure, but this was a vengeance thing. I positioned a mirror so that he could see the whole thing. I didn’t bother to shave him, but I did wash his ball sack. I didn’t want medical complications.

I held his sack up so he could see it. I told him that he should have his last load released before I cut his balls off. I put on my velvet glove and began to stroke his already hard cock. For some reason about half of those who are about to be nutted get erections. I watched for and saw his ball sack start to tighten. Just before the point of no return I stopped. I looked in his eyes and said “Gee, I guess that load will have to stay there, I’m sorry.”

With that I sliced the right side of his nut sack open. He tried to scream into the gag but only gurgles came out. I popped his right ball out and stretching the cord showed it to him. I carefully tied off the cords to his right ball and let it hang. I went on to expose the left one. His eyes showed both hate and terror. After preparing both, I held the right one up and told him….”This is for Leslie.” My scalpel sliced the ducts like they were kite string. His ball fell into my hand. I placed it in his navel for him to ponder. As I hefted the second one I said “Last one.” Now I could see pain mix with the terror and hate.

I was enjoying this. I snipped the second one and held them both up like they were cherries, swinging them in the air. I looked him in the eye and laughed, “remember your balls!” I said. I went on to tell him that if he ever bothered Leslie again, the next organ removed would be his heart.

I sewed up the slits, still without pain killer, and then gave him a grain and a quarter of morphine. My reasoning for this was to put him out, not to ease the pain. I removed his gag, put his former balls in my little peanut butter jar, got in my car and began the long trip back to Texas.

I was quite sure that he would never bother Leslie (or any other woman) again.

Epilog:

On my next trip to Mexico I gave the set to the leather-tanning woman that I know there. She sun dried his balls. We then put the much smaller orbs in pink tinted acrylic and Leslie now wears them as earrings. My gift to her. I hope they ease her painful memories.

Respectfully submitted;

Thecia