Castration phone sex Christmas has begun. The weekend after Thanksgiving, I begin my once a day Castration ritual. It is my way of giving back to society. My special brand of charity helps prevent fucktards from reproducing and in the Me Too era, it empowers women because I am castrating sexual predators too. Don’t know how to use your testicles? Well, then you should not have them. I traveled to another city over the weekend to stalk Damien. Seems he has been living up to his name. He is a privileged college boy who likes to drug coeds then assault them. My guess is his daddy’s money and high-powered lawyer has kept him out of prison even though there have been 12 complaints about the bastard. I decided he needed a charity castration. Neither the law nor the school is going to protect the coeds, so I took matters into my own hands.
I dressed less threatening to lure him. We met at a bar, he spiked my drink when he thought I was not looking, but I am smarter than him and I switched our drinks. He was shocked to wake up tied up naked to my hotel bed. I listed his offenses, gave him a chance to rebut but the little prick was unrepentant. If he had a least shown some remorse or made up a fake apology, I would have used a castration band and a clean blade. He was a piece of shit, so he was treated worse than cattle. I didn’t even let him do a shot of whiskey. I just used the jagged, rusty blade to chop off his balls. He bled like a stuck pig and cried like a little bitch. I just smiled as I looked at him bleeding out. “Apologize now prick and I will cauterize the wound,” I seethed. Now, I got a fake ass apology, but it saved his life. I took the bottom of a hot pan and sealed the wound. He won’t force his cock inside anyone ever again. Fuck, he won’t have a hard-on ever again. Damien gave me my first set of holiday balls.
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