The following story is fiction about a youth fed up with years of parental abuse finding a way to fix the problem.  The story contains scenes of spanking, strapping and castration.  If these subjects are offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please leave now.

This work is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission.  Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice.

The author would appreciate your comments – pro and con, including constructive criticism, and suggestions.  Please take a moment to email.

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No More Abuse

By

YLeeCoyote@juno.com

It was shortly after I turned fourteen that it became obvious to me.  I can sum it up in just three words: Dad was abusive!  I'm not sure why – maybe because his job changed and his pay was cut, maybe because he lost out for a promotion to a guy that he hated, maybe because he couldn't cut the mustard like he used to.  I don't know.  I'm not a shrink so I just don't know.

What I do know is that Dad turned mean and nasty.  It wasn't so bad when Mom was about because she kept him under control.  He wasn't like he used to be, but it was OK.  Dad became much stricter than he had been.  It didn't matter that he yelled at me but that he got physical.  Sure, spanking is a time honored way for a father to deal with his son and I can accept that easily.  I got spanked over his lap even before I started kindergarten right up to when I started high school.  I guess it was pretty standard treatment.  First, he would yell at me.  Next, he would take down my pants (something I was not allowed to do) and haul me over his lap.  Then his huge, hard hand driven by his strong muscles would crash into my little butt.  It would crash into my pain racked little butt repeatedly.  I always cried.  When I was little, it did not bother me but once I was twelve I tried to be macho and to keep quiet.  That was not a good strategy for Dad only spanked me harder and longer for he wanted me to cry.  Then he would berate me for crying like a baby.  I backed off from that flawed scheme very quickly.

Once I was in high school, the protocol changed.  It was not OTK with his hand anymore but bent over whatever and with his heavy leather belt on my bare butt.  He would open my belt and pants and yank everything down.  Then he would bend me over and strap me until I was screaming.  Just like when he spanked me, there was never any aftercare.  Never a hug.  Never anything to show he loved me rather than loving to roast my tail so that it would outshine a brilliant nova.

It got worse after Grandma got sick.  Then every third week, Mom would take a long weekend to visit her and give her sister a break from the exhausting duty of elder care.  It was then that things got more extreme for Dad would strap me two or three times when Mom was away.  He would even make outrageous comments with disgusting sexual content while doing that.  A few times I noticed that he had a wet spot in his tented pants.  Sometimes the spot was a pretty big one although the tent was small.

This abuse had to stop!  But there wasn't anyone to tell.  It would hurt Mom if she couldn't go to help with her mother.  The "authorities" would just break up my home and there would be a loss of income and legal expenses.  I concluded that I needed a way to fix things.  Yes, things needed to be fixed and that made me I realize that it was Dad that needed to be fixed.  Of course, this was going to be a tricky thing to do.  I certainly couldn't just take him to a doc and have him deballed.  He surely would not cooperate and it would be expensive.  I would have to be much more resourceful and make it a DIY project.© YLeeCoyote

I took a long time to come up with a viable plan where I would not be suspected of doing anything.  I found thinking like Columbo more helpful than like Sherlock as I laid my plan carefully.  The hardest part was getting the knockout drops which I went to the city for one Saturday night.  The other stuff was all common place and I picked it up over the course of a couple of weeks.

I was all set but the weather did not cooperate the first opportunity.  It had been a very rainy week and the ground was mushy.  That would mess up my story so I had to wait another three weeks.  But the time came and Mom went off.  I was alone with Dad when he came home with a buzz from a few beers.  We had the dinner Mom had prepared and before the dessert I said I heard noises from outside.  We live at the end of a street in a low density neighborhood so noise was rare.

"Maybe prowlers." I said, setting the stage.

Dad insisted that we check things out, saying.  "There have been burglaries in the neighborhood."  That was just perfect.  We did not see anything and after getting back in locked up tight.  It was in Dad's portion of dessert that I put the KO drops.  They worked like a charm.  He was out cold in just a few minutes.  I got the stuff I needed and went to work.

I pulled Dad to the floor and got his pants off.  I wrapped the first wire tie around the top of his sack and pulled it as tight as I could before using the wire tie tightening tool.  I added two more the same way above and below it.  Then I pulled them all super tight a couple of times before cutting them off with the tool so it looked real neat and professional.  I figured that three would totally stop the circulation and in a few hours his nuts would be stone cold dead.

I returned the tightening tool to its place in the basement right next to our supply of wire ties of different brand than I used on Dad.  Next I went to the front door and from the outside smashed a glass pane so I could reach in and open the door with my gloved hand.  I dropped a couple of extra ties and the note I had prepared by Dad.  I washed out the water bottle I had the KO stuff in and tossed it into the recycle bin.  Now that everything was setup I sat down and enjoyed my second dessert.  Soon I passed out.

* * * * * * * * * *

It was almost dawn when I came too.  The police and EMT's were there.  Dad had gotten up a bit before I did and called for help.  He told about the prowlers we had heard but hadn't seen.  He couldn't understand much less to explain the note: "You should have paid up!"  He insisted that he did NOT owe anyone – especially a mobster – anything.  All I knew was we heard some prowlers while we eating and Dad dropped off.  By then I was foggy and quickly passed out as well.

The doctors were very sorry.  The blood circulation to Dad's testicles had been stopped too long and, most unfortunately, they could not be saved.  Surgical removal of everything including the scrotum was required before gangrene set in.

The food was checked and few days later the desert was reported to have been contaminated.  Since it was OK a couple of days earlier, it was assumed that someone had snuck in after Mom had gone and before I got home from school and put the chemical into it.

The police assumed that the mob had extracted a price for being crossed.  The investigation found nothing and the case was quickly relegated to the unsolvable files as not worth police time.  Because both Dad and I were unconscious there wasn't anyway we could identify the assailants.

After a few months Dad's personality changed and he became calmer.  Most importantly, he even stopped beating me and did better at work.  Anytime he tried to be aggressive, especially violently, to me I would remind him that he wasn't a real man any more with just a couple of choice words which totally knocked the wind out of his sails.  Now, many years later, I look back on this as my most successful and important DIY project.

The End

© Copyright A.I.L. March 19, 2013

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