Chaste Bob's Erotica

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the prequel to the Elaine series which follows. Pictures have been taken from the Internet with modifications to the background signs etc. If you can show you own these and wish them removed I will do so with apologies.

By Chastebob

I was walking down Second Street when a squad of female officers in their characteristic black SUVs pulled up; one about a block ahead and two others covering the block behind me and the side streets. In no time they had the black box tent erected and the signage in place; “Mandatory Male Chastity Checkpoint”. All of the men were being moved to line up by the tent. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a man try to “casually” change direction to head down a side street, but he was blocked by an officer and moved toward the line. I hoped for his sake that it was his first violation. He might just get a citation and fine. If he was a repeat offender it could go a lot worse for him.

The fellow in front of me was locked but he had his key loose in his pocket. “That’s not technically a violation,” the officer said, “but I have to tell you this will be noted and that this information may be used against you in the event of any future violation or incident.” While he was pulling his pants back up and making ready to leave, I already had mine down and my key, sealed securely in an envelope marked “For Emergency”, ready for the officer. “Hey, you,” she called to the first man. “Look here. This man has the right idea. The key is available if he must have it but it is easy to see that it hasn’t been used repeatedly while out. You should follow his example.” And with that I was dismissed as well.

Although extremely intrusive into personal choices, the public chastity law was not met with as much opposition as you might expect. At first it was easy to violate the requirement to be locked in a chastity device when out in public, who was to know? Permanent checkpoints were set up at park entrances and night life areas, but those were known and easy to avoid. But soon inspection stations like the one I just went through were being set up on a moment’s notice in random locations and enforcement got very tight. Even so, how much inconvenience was that really? 

Most controversial was the proposal for punishment by castration. I first heard of it at the office. It prompted the expected debates, to the extent anything is actually well debated in our society. I came into the break room in the middle of the conversation.

Bob from Finance was saying, “Isn’t that cruel and unusual punishment?”

“It’s been done for thousands of years, and for reasons less significant than sexual assault, so I don’t know how ‘unusual’ that is,” Suzie from Accounting was saying. “As for cruelty you really should read the details of these rape cases.”

Peter piped up with, “what if an innocent man is castrated?”

This time Sandra answered. “Peter, I know you favor the death penalty. You also know a few innocent men may have been executed despite the best system to ensure only the guilty are punished. So why aren’t you opposing executions? That takes away more than just your sex life?”

They were just mirroring the TV ads. An actual case FOR castration was never really presented except as counterpoints to the arguments against it. Effectively this subtly got across the feeling that the case for it was made if the case against it couldn’t be countered, and of course there were these simple counters.

Another time honored tactic for those pushing a cause without rational debate was to focus on the purely emotional elements. Mobs are mindless because they are united only by emotion. Opposition to the castration law was quickly being cast as taking the side of rapists and other violent sex criminals against the mass of good people who only want to be safe from these monsters.

Just like leading up to the public chastity laws, there were the puzzling nude demonstrations both for and against passage. And just like with public chastity, in the end both demonstrations seemed only to accelerate the passage of the law. This group chanted “Protect our sex organs, not rapist’s” and similar cheers. The nudity was to underline what we should be protecting, I suppose. I felt for these women but it was scary to be around some of them and their pretty open hostility to all males.

On the other extreme hundreds of nude couples had a “love fest” to reacquaint those of us who may have forgotten how lovely and enjoyable sex can be and that depriving someone of that pleasure forever must surely be too much to inflict or endure. I felt like an intruder around the sea of moaning, writhing bodies.

I’m sure the politicians, trying to read the mood of the public, felt that providing for castration in the case of some extremely violent sexual cases would satisfy this urge for “eye for an eye” justice. The first judicial castration was conducted like an execution. It was not televised, the witness pool was very limited and press were not allowed photos. By the time the victim and family were accorded their places, along with directly related law enforcement and prosecutors there weren’t a lot of places available. It was done with anesthesia, all quite medically proper; an anticlimactic event to be sure. But that didn’t thwart the reporters. 

My TV screen had been alive with replays of the castrated criminal leaving the prison the day after his surgery. His attorney trying to shield him and forge a path through the sea of people all the while shouting “Mr. Franks has no comment,” while the reporters shouted their obvious and ridiculous questions. “Mr. Franks, how does it feel to be the first man castrated under the new law?” “What will you do now?” “How do you feel about your trial?” “Did you feel any pain, and are you in any pain now?” I wondered to myself, if this will become so common that one day they won’t bother the castrated criminal.

What I didn’t foresee was that this debate was far from over. The pro-castration forces weren’t so easily appeased. Interviews with some of the same ladies I’d seen in the nude pro-castration demonstrations were on all the morning talk shows.

“Well, Don, we feel that the legislature was either incompetent in their set up of the law, or deliberately trying to sabotage the castration law.”

“How’s that?”

“We made it clear in all of the debates leading up to passage that these offenders needed to be followed closely by psychological professionals to ensure that their violent impulses were not finding a new manner of expression. We also strongly urged that in some of these most violent cases (the only ones which the legislature authorized for castration) that the penis be removed as well. This was common sense because of the potential for a castrated male to restore an erection.”

“Those are all reasonable points but I’m sure my audience is interested in the rest of your objections to the law, notably the use of anesthesia. Would you care to comment on that?”

“That’s right, Don. We object to making the punishment for a painful act that in many cases physically and emotionally scars a woman for life no more severe than the clipping of a fingernail. By minimizing the perpetrator’s suffering we are trivializing the victim’s suffering – saying her pain, her trauma is not important.”

It had a certain awful logic behind it. And it was easy to see that they were relentless. The opposition had apparently already taken their best shot before the law was passed and now the public regarded the cruelty issue as over with, done and decided. From that point on most castrations were performed without anesthesia, and were televised on a special channel.

But those who thought that was the end of it were mistaken. Popular demonstrations kept calling for more public punishment of all sexual offenders, not just those getting castrated. Apparently the authorities thought it a good idea as well, and some simple whippings and canings were added to the Justice Channel, or “CBTNet” as it became known. 

Demonstrations continued to call for something where more of the public could witness the punishment live. There were a limited number of places for live witnesses in the Justice Center, even after a private fund raising event built additional viewing rooms. Although televised live they insisted it didn’t have the same impact. My suspicions were that they wanted something with more of a show quality about it. The whippings and canings at the Justice Center were invariably conducted by matronly women in ordinary clothes, in a quiet setting, except for the screams and cries for mercy. It was simply what it was, punishment with a perfunctory recitation of the crime and the prescribed sentence.

My suspicions were confirmed when I happened by the preparations at the open air stage where some of the first public sentences would be carried out. The stage resembled what might have been set up for any rock concert; huge speakers and video screens. I wondered if the demonstrators demanding more public punishment were in fact secretly in league with the Female Council. This way the Council could look like they were still staid and conservative, while yielding to public demand for more of a show around the sexual punishments. The punishment arena was officially a clothing optional area, but of course male chastity devices were still mandatory, unless the male was under the immediate control of a female. The final proof for me that more than just greater public access was behind this push was the nude group of 50 or so men and women rehearsing in front of the stage. Clearly their job was to incite the audience, especially during the lesser sentences, the whippings and canings used as build up. I even wondered if they were supposed  to appear to be audience members. It would put a sexual frenzy into the audience, or perhaps, more correctly, encourage expression of what was there all along. That it further tormented those about to be castrated seemed like a bonus to many I’m sure.

As odd as it might seem, these events turned out to be great places to meet women for casual sex, even during the event. Of course a guy wanted to be sure he was locked and had the key to give, at least temporarily, to one of the ladies, unless he wanted to see the show from the stage. No one could deny that the women in the audience at these events were turned on. The media even coined a phrase for it, Castration Fever.

I would have thought that the men in the audience would have been more subdued if not sympathetic to the poor wretches on the stage, but that under estimated the power of sexual distraction. No man wants to seriously think about that worst fate, and always reassures himself that he would never get himself in such a position. It’s easy to tell oneself that the criminal on stage deserves what’s happening to him. No man would want to be seen as condoning such crimes. Of course those who don’t follow the news closely wouldn’t know how the rights of the accused had been chipped away. It was almost true that an accusation was tantamount to proof of guilt.

As you can see from any news coverage, these events draw a lot of the young people, and create a party atmosphere. Add the potential of sexual encounters and these become fond memories of youth, and these are the future leaders. The Council has ensured that this punishment will not disappear for a very long time. It will not only seem natural and right, but also foster a sense of solidarity; the good people versus the bad.

I was on my way to the stadium to see one of these for myself. It was a high profile case, a serial rapist who had been followed in the news extensively. The notoriety of the perpetrator required a stadium instead of the usual stage. As many as 40,000 were expected to witness the punishment. Admission was free, on a first come, first served basis. It was an hour until the “show” started and the crowds at the entrances were backed up several blocks. Large electronic bill boards proclaimed “Justice is Served Today ‘Bareback Rapist’ Joe Dickson” then faded to his police booking photo then cycled to “Special Appearance and Participation by Amy Nelson” followed by a hospital photo of her very battered face. A serial rapist so confident that his DNA was not on file anywhere he conducted all of his rapes “bareback”, hence the media name. The DNA he freely left behind connected him to half a dozen rapes.

Amy Nelson was Joe’s most recent victim and the one for which he was originally apprehended. He had broken into her apartment and raped her. Like his previous victims the attack was rough, but not otherwise especially violent. However, Amy went to the police and became a very public voice about the rape. She described Joe in very unflattering terms, including inferring mental and sexual short comings. She was propelled to more media fame when she discovered she was pregnant from the rape. Amy was quite vocal about the dilemma this presented her. She certainly didn’t want his baby, especially with all of the evidence of genetic predispositions toward criminal behavior. At the same time, while not totally opposed to abortion, she wasn’t a fan of the idea either. She counted being put in the position to make such a choice and live with the consequences either way as more trauma caused by his crime.

About four months in to her pregnancy Joe broke into her apartment again, in his words “to do you the favor of not having to choose,” and “to pay you back for those lies you told about me”. The beating did result in her miscarriage, during which he said, “I would have loved to wait till you were showing more, but I couldn’t risk you doing something before then.” Some officers had been watching Amy in the event that her attacker would come back for some retribution for her public statements. Although not quick enough to stop the beating they did apprehend him in the act. He might never have been caught or his identity known, if not for the officers staking out Amy’s apartment on a hunch. 

Joe Dickson was the perfect criminal to make a spectacle of in a stadium show. He was smug, unrepentant and completely without remorse for any of his actions. He was the very “poster child” for painful, humiliating castration as an appropriate punishment. Even men, and I guess I should admit I was one of them, were anxious to see that arrogant look wiped off his face in pain. It’s a big part of why I was in this line at the stadium.

Oddly enough there was no chastity checkpoint at the entry to the stadium, only an ID check to ensure that you were 18 or older, or if not, that you were with a parent or guardian. The mood inside was definitely excited anticipation. It was like just before a sporting event, but with more than a little sexual energy thrown in. The women seemed happy, confident and powerful; all smiles and twinkling eyes. The men fell into two groups of responses; there were those who were clearly hoping for sexual contact with the excited females, their reactions were indistinguishable from what they would be if the local bar had Happy Hour and Ladies Night combined. They were simply following the scent of the ladies and hoping their good mood would lead to good things for them. The other group of men were grimly ready to see this through. Anger might be a better description of their emotion, a controlled anger; masquerading as a fervent desire for justice, but perhaps also directed at these perps. It was because of their uncontrolled desires that the rest of us must be locked up and our orgasms monitored and limited.  These animals were not only responsible for the suffering of their victims, but the whole of man-kind was paying the price for their reckless and irresponsible behavior. Later these men, and I admit I was one of them, would be cheering the loudest for blood.

One End Zone seating had been turned into a stage. The places on the field were filled already. Although the seating was supposed to be open to all on a first come basis, rumor had it that places on the field up front could be obtained for a “mere” $1,000. Above the lowest band of seats in the stadium was a row of tinted glass windows for the private suites. These, of course, we not open to the public as they were the private domain of the rich and powerful. At least one member of the Female Council, Dana Stewart, CEO of Women Inc., was known to own one of those suites. In addition to their excellent vantage point, suites came with high def video feeds, instant replay and slow motion effects. I imagined some of the proper and powerful society women unseen behind that glass in frenzied masturbation at the punishments below. I have since learned that my suspicions were true, at least for many.

I found a seat in that lower loge section, around midfield. That put the stage to my right, but not at an uncomfortable angle. Giant screens were all over, one on the pillar 15 feet in front of me, so there really were no bad seats. The stage had a standard “X” cross for attaching and securing the prisoners, as well as a spanking bench that someone could be secured to in the bent over position. Two large eye-bolts were about six feet apart on the floor of the stage, and directly overhead were wrist cuffs and chains that could be brought together, or spread apart depending on where they were locked down on the overhead bars. Various paddles, canes and whips were laid out on a small table and there was a smaller table on wheels that was covered with a green cloth.

There was a middle aged couple in front of me, he balding at the crown of his head, she blond with perfectly coifed hair. He seemed uncomfortable, while she was clearly excited, looking around, impatient for things to begin. Every now and then she would lean in close and whisper something to him, sometimes pointing to one or more of the items on the stage. I could imagine that he was worried about what his wife would want to do when they got home. I suspected he’d be in for some serious play re-enacting of many of the punishments today.

The young couple to my left could hardly keep their hands off each other. She had dark brown hair, almost black and it just touched her shoulders. She had a seductive smile which she flashed at him every time he reached out to cup her firm breasts through the transparent material of her top. He was average looking but the way his eyes devoured her it was easy to see that he was completely under her spell, and that must have made him all the more attractive to her. It was easy to see that he would do anything for her, and that she loved and cared for him, cherishing him for the power she had over him.  Every now and then she would slowly reach between his legs and lightly stroke the insides of his thighs with her fingernails. You could tell from the passing grimace that it was having an effect on him in his chastity cage. She would giggle each time he winced. I envied him, not just for having a girlfriend, but for the fact that he could almost certainly count on being unlocked and getting many full orgasms amid wild sex with her tonight.

There were a few other single men scattered throughout the stands. They were probably hoping for a hook up. I wouldn’t have turned down the opportunity, but I wasn’t really expecting it to happen, nor was I going to work very hard to make it happen. I also knew that a lot of sex workers trolled these events looking to earn. Of course these days they really wanted to be your keyholder after – repeat business for them. Some could be quite insistent. Basic advice when seeing a professional for sex, keep a good hold on your own lock, and be sure it’s the one that gets locked back on you when you’re done. I was more interested in seeing first-hand what the crowd was like at one of these events, especially where the criminal was someone who richly deserved this fate.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats we are about to begin,” a voice boomed over the speakers. It was a pleasant but authoritative voice, almost unisexual, but ultimately female. “We have some minor punishments to deal with before we get to our main event, but you won’t be disappointed.”

Music replaced the announcer’s voice. It had a heavy beat and a building theme that gave it an air of grandeur and seriousness while maintaining a hint of impending excitement like club music. In what seemed like a very short time, the music faded and the announcer returned.

“First we have a simple caning and whipping. We all know how important the public chastity law is. It has literally prevented hundreds of rapes and public indecencies. I’m disappointed that the criminal is female. I know we all expect better. Ms. Jenny Myers has been convicted of complicity in her boyfriend’s violation of the public chastity law. She was aware he was going out in public without his chastity device, and took no steps to prevent it or report it. She even pleaded with officers on one occasion claiming that he was only out for a moment to fetch her something from the corner store. However, officers had been following him for hours and knew that was a lie. They are both repeat offenders who have been previously punished at the Sexual Offender Justice Center. And now it’s time to face public justice.”

There was hollering and cheering as the nude prisoner was led to the center stage. Jenny Myers was a slim brunette with relatively short hair, and small breasts. She seemed mortified with shame and fear. The women in the audience clearly felt she had betrayed them all. Jenny was bent over the spanking bench, her legs spread wide and secured firmly at the ankles and wrists. Her hairless pussy was clearly visible between the small globes of her ass. The monitors simultaneously broadcast three views, the close up of her rear, a close up of her face, and a larger shot that took in her whole body and that of the female officer who would deliver the punishment.

“Ms. Jenny Myers,” the announcer’s voice intoned solemnly, “you have been sentenced to 50 cane strokes plus an additional 6 with the whip, on your genitals.”

Jenny started sobbing almost immediately. The announcer picked up on that, “Don’t worry, dear. You’ll soon have plenty to cry about.” A ripple of laughter washed across the crowd. The Corrections Officer was a strong, no nonsense sort of woman. She applied the cane with strong strokes and a determined expression on her face. In no time Jenny was screaming, and each stripe of the cane left an angry red mark across her buttocks.

Somewhere about the 20^th stroke she began to plead for mercy and claim that she couldn’t stand any more. Of course those entreaties did no good. The score board continued to count out her strokes and her lovely white ass showed more red welts from the cane that slowly turned purple with bruising. At some point she lost bladder control. No one said a word or reacted to it. The caning just continued. You might think that being sexually oppressed by women, the men might have enjoyed the idea of a woman in the stocks for a change. But I think most of the men felt as I did, if they were that willing to do this to one of their own, there would be no leniency for males.

When the 50 cane strokes had been applied she was turned over and her legs fastened to the overhead cuffs and spread widely apart. She managed to beg “NO! PLEASE NOT THAT,” between sobs. The whip made a loud crack when it connected with the tender nether flesh, which was followed by a blood curdling shriek and a futile attempt to bring her legs together. The whole pussy area could be seen turning red and swelling between the lashes.

When the pussy whipping was done, she was unshackled and helped to her feet. She clutched at her injured sex as she was led unsteadily off the stage. The women in the audience squirmed a little in their seats, and the whole stadium was silent. The announcer broke the silence, “We hope Ms. Myers has learned her lesson this time. There are more severe punishments that can be enacted.” As it was undoubtedly intended to do, it made each of the women silently resolve never to be in Jenny’s place through leniency with their men.

”Next we have the man ultimately responsible for Ms. Myers’ punishment, Frank Parton.” The audience booed and hissed as he was brought on stage, nude as was his girlfriend. His ankles were fastened to the eye-bolts in the floor of the stage and his wrists to the overhead cuffs. He was stretched out to a painful limit, the balls of his feet barely touching the floor. “Mr. Frank Parton, for repeated violations of the public chastity law, as well as the violations of the terms of your previous probation you have been sentenced to 100 lashes with the bullwhip, no part spared.” That last meant his cock and balls could be whipped as well, despite the chance that a lash could effectively castrate him if it caused enough injury.

All of the audience’s fears and sympathy for Jenny were now directed as anger at Frank. A few rows down a woman stood up and using her hands as a megaphone shouted “Whip the bastard’s balls off!” Others chorused agreement with her sentiment. The girl next to me in the thin top leaned over and clutched her boyfriend’s balls through his trousers. I heard her whisper to him, “I saw that done at the Justice Center once.” Then she shuddered all over, and squeezed his balls tightly. I couldn’t tell if it was sexual excitement or revulsion at what she was recalling. I’m not sure her boyfriend could tell either.

The whipping proceeded in a slow and deliberate manner. The announcer giving a “play by play” commentary on some of the more noteworthy strokes; “A nice solid lash to the sweet spot between the buttocks and thighs”, “Right on the tip of the penis, that’s got to hurt like it should!” “Twenty-five lashes and he’s yet to cry out. He’s a stubborn one, alright.” More of the lashes hit his penis and testicles and soon he was howling like a pitiful animal in a trap. I recognized the scent of aroused pussy immediately. I noticed that both the woman next to me and the one in the next row had their hands between their legs. On the floor of the stadium men and women had already begun to strip off their clothes and engage in various sexual acts, mostly oral, in front of the stage. Of course I knew that it wasn’t entirely spontaneous, but it didn’t seem to matter. It was arousing just the same for others and I had to admit a little for me as well. Some of the screens zoomed in on the couples on the floor, while others maintained their wide and close up shots of the prisoner’s punishment, while the score board relentlessly counted out the strokes.

When the full hundred strokes had been applied he was let down and had to be supported by guards on both sides. “Mr. Parton will be fitted with a government chastity device for the next year,” the announcer intoned. “The device is monitored remotely, both for location and unlock periods. His girlfriend will also have to answer for the frequency of releases during that year.”

The women immediately around me had managed to hold themselves back from full orgasms during the whipping, though it had served as powerful build up. Following Frank Parton’s extreme bull whipping, and perhaps to make a point, was a “Courtesy Punishment”. These were not criminal offenses, but basically domestic discipline for infractions of the wife’s rules at home. The wife could have the punishment carried out by the professionals at the Justice Center. Often it was because the wife didn’t want to carry it out herself for fear of either being too lenient or too harsh; but others did it to add an element of public humiliation and/or to build a public record which could be used against him in sentencing in the event of a criminal conviction in the future. The wife must have made an important contribution to get on such a high profile event to punish her husband for unauthorized orgasms. His caning was unremarkable until the end when she directed at least half a dozen strikes directly to his penis, eliciting the most awful shrieks and pleading so far.

Then there were some relatively minor male offenses; 2^nd violation of public chastity laws, and such. These offenses earned canings and paddlings. The monitors were divided between showing the crowd, previous punishments from other days as well as the live punishments below. All of this worked the crowd into a higher sexual pitch.

A dark haired lady sat down to my right and immediately flashed me a smile. “Enjoying the show?” she asked with a sly look. 

“There are certainly some very attractive women here,” I answered, being sure to stare straight into her eyes as I said that last. 

“Aren’t you cute,” she said right back. Then she reached between my legs and clearly was feeling for my chastity cage. My first thoughts were undercover cop or sex worker. “Don’t worry, I’m not a cop. But feels like it wouldn’t matter, you’re locked up fine,” she smiled. “I’m Elaine,” she said. 

“David,” I answered. 

“I’m not a pro, David. And I’m not looking to hook up, so if you brought your key hoping for that I’ll move on.”

“No need, Elaine. I didn’t bring the key.” A white lie, even though I had my emergency key still sealed, I didn’t have another envelope to seal it in after if it were used. Besides she said she wasn’t interested in a hook up. My answer clearly intrigued her, she smiled broadly, proof that this was the right answer.

“I love visiting with certain males at these events, and you seem like just the one. Do you come to these events often?”

“No, I saw one at the open air stage set up by East Town Mall a long time ago. This is my first since then.”

“So what brings you out today?” she asked all smiles and cozy.

“It’s a high profile case. I wanted to see the bastard get what he deserves.” It was true but there was more and she could tell.

“Since you don’t usually come to events in person, and could have seen him get his ‘just deserts’ just as easily, if not better, on live video; I’ll ask again, why are you here?”

“I was curious about the crowds that come to these events.” Something about her made it easy to tell her the truth.

“Me too,” she said and gave my arm a squeeze as if we were fellow undercover agents on a mission.

Keeping our voices low we continued our conversation in more earnest now. We shared our thoughts, and questions. “I was mostly curious about the women. Were they here for the revenge on the offender or excited by the idea in general?” I offered up first.

“Some of both. Some of the women are only sexually excited because it is happening to an offender. A few are excited by the power of taking away someone’s sexuality. Some see it more as an opportunity to drive home a lesson to their man.” Lowering her voice and nodding to the couple in front of us, “like her, for example.”

“And which type are you?” I asked a little boldly, but smiled to take the edge off the question.

“Somewhere between the first and second,” she smiled back. “So I’ve noticed that a lot of the men are clearly here to take advantage of that sexual rush in the women. What I want to know is do any of them share the revenge on the offender idea? And how does that play out, and are there other motivations? Since you came without your key, I’m guessing you’re not one of the first, and that’s why I stayed to visit.”

“Revenge on the offender brings me to watch even on television. It’s because of perps like these that the rest of us have our sexuality so tightly regulated. That revenge doesn’t necessarily have a sexual arousal component, though I think there is at least a little of that for us all.”

“Really? How is that?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.

“The idea is so horrific, sexualizing it is the only way to make it tolerable on an emotional level. You do it only to the ‘deserving’, that satisfies the mind. But the emotions still want to sympathize with the pain and the loss, to imagine what it would be like if it happened to you. Eroticizing that makes it a little easier to slip past the bad parts. I will give whoever thought it up credit – that’s about the only way this could ever have come about.”

Elaine nodded in agreement. We occupied some of the time until the main event by pointing out other people in the audience and speculating on why they were here. “That fellow over there. He’s desperate to find someone for sex, but he’s very nervous. I bet he isn’t locked up. And now he’s worried that wasn’t a good idea.” “That lady is literally wetting her lips as she watches the punishment videos. I’d say she’s your second type.”

The fellow we speculated was unlocked a few rows down had reason to worry. A fellow with bright red cane stripes on his buttocks was being escorted off stage, having been caught unlocked in the audience by one of the other spectators. 

Three black men were brought to the stage. This would be the ‘warm up’ castration. The woman had agreed to go out with all three at the same time for sex. She had sex with one them right in the drive behind her apartment. However, she said no to the double penetration because of their size, but they forced her anyway. The wall between her vagina and rectum required surgical repair. The first man took a picture of the crime, which now filled the screens. Despite her pleas he did nothing to stop it. 

The double penetrators lost their penises quickly with a single cut. They were massive organs and likely removed like that so they could be mounted in some private collection. Their wailing was as much psychological as physical pain. Their wounds were clamped off to make a nice surgical outcome. “These two will retain their testicles and sexual desire, but will no longer be able to satisfy it with penile penetration. Well, at least not their own,” the announcer quipped.

”For his role in the rape, principally failing to render aid, Jerome will lose his testicles.” Jerome seemed tearful but resigned to his fate. “I shoulda helped her. I deserve this!” he shouted. A low murmur and subdued applause followed. It did not spare him the scalpel. He gritted his teeth but did not cry out, though tears streamed down his face. For his cooperation in convicting his associates he would not be barred from hormone and erectile drugs.

“And now it's time for the main event,” the announcer boomed with obvious excitement in her voice. Elaine hugged my arm and cooed, “the part we've been waiting for!” Even though nothing was going to come of it, I liked that she was being so intimate.

Joe was lead out on stage to a chorus boos, hisses and catcalls. Without realizing it I was shouting right along with Elaine and all the others. “Mr. Joe Dickson, your despicable crimes cry out for the most extreme punishment, and even so it does not seem to be enough to balance the scales of justice,” the announcer said with contempt. “For multiple rapes and assaults, including the violently induced miscarriage of one of your victims you have been sentenced to complete castration. Your testicles and penis will be removed. When the surgeon finishes you up after punishment, she will also sever selected nerves in your groin region completely eliminating any potential pleasurable feelings from any sort of stimulation. The exact methods for the destruction and removal of your organs…will be revealed during their progress.”

Can’t spoil the surprise, I thought. I found myself hoping it would be particularly gruesome, if only because he deserved it. We weren’t to be disappointed. The announcer continued, “assisting in today’s punishment is his last victim, and we mean last ever,” dramatic pause, “Amy Nelson!” The crowd went wild cheering her and encouraging her to “make him suffer”. While Joe was tied to the upright X cross, the video recapped his victims, leading up to the horrific pictures of Amy’s black and blue belly still distended but clearly no longer carrying a baby. While his expression was not contrite or remorseful, Joe didn’t have the cocky look so frequently portrayed on the news footage. It was more like he was trying to be tough enough to not whine or beg.

His penis was taped to his belly, up out of the way while his balls were placed on a small platform with a low ridge that closely surrounded his balls. They were held there by a collar at the neck of his scrotum. “That rim is 10 mm high,” the announcer said, like a teacher, “but Joe’s balls are about 30 mm at their thickest. Do you see where this is headed,” there was a smile in the tone of her voice. “The rim is just high enough to keep the balls from being crushed, but not high enough to stop them from taking the majority of the blows’ force.”

The audience made approving sounds. Amy stepped up and selected a rod to strike with. Joe grimaced but other than a grunt managed to keep quiet during the first few blows.

“I wonder how long before he’ll pass out or become numb from the pain?” I speculated in a low voice to Elaine.

“Oh he won’t,” she answered immediately. “They give them two drugs, Narcan which blocks the endorphin receptors so the pain will not be alleviated by the body’s natural systems. The other drug is a synthetic amphetamine that over stimulates the reticular system so he can’t become unconscious.”

Another vicious blow and this time Joe shouted out. Elaine reached over and took my hand and guided it under her short skirt to her wet panties. “Do you mind? It won’t bother you too much, will it?” she asked with pleading in her eyes and coy smile. “No problem,” I mumbled as my fingers found her erect clit and flared pussy lips through the damp cloth of her panties. Soon I was smelling the sweet smell of feminine arousal again, and not just from my seat mate, and my chastity cage was getting tight. I was suddenly wondering why I hadn’t tried for a hook up. It would have been perfectly legal for Elaine to unlock me and supervise whatever play she would allow as long as I was locked again before she left. But her introduction seemed to make clear that she wasn’t here to hook up. Having me please her didn’t change that, if anything it only validated that part of her seat mate selection was a male she wouldn’t have to please.

The professionals were taking swings at Joe’s balls while Amy rested her arm. He was unabashedly howling in pain now with each blow. The build up apparently had done its job. I don’t recall seeing any man in the stadium sympathetic by imagining it happening to them. Of course most of the men in the audience were getting a little aroused, if not by actions of the women directly on them, then at least like me by what the women were having the men do for them.

Finishing with the simple beating it was time to get down to business. His ankles were unshackled and legs raised to sit on a narrow wooden table, then ankles reshackled. Once the camera could get a close up angle again it was easy to see that this afforded a flat wooden surface under his balls. The professionals injected something into his penis which immediately erected. “And now,” the announcer said with an odd mixture of excitement and solemnness, “on behalf of all victims nailed by Joe Dickson, Amy Nelson will nail Joe.”

With a grand flourish to the audience and cameras Amy was presented with a hammer and 3 inch nail. Placing the nail over his left nut, she drove it through with a few hard strikes of the hammer to Joe’s wailing, and the crowd’s cheering. Joe’s legs were shaking uncontrollably as much as the restraints would allow. Elaine’s pussy got suddenly wetter and I heard a stifled squeal from her. She placed her hand over mine to let me know not to stop my fingering. I didn’t know whether to be repulsed by her obvious sexual response or to be envious of Amy driving the nail! Beasts like Joe were the “proof” that males’ sexual urges needed to be strictly controlled. The professional disciplinarian took the second nail, as the State had to be involved in these punishments. As electric current was applied to the nails his violent shaking and convulsing caused the nail holes to rip wider. I don’t know if it was stubbornness or the good sense to know it would make no difference, but Joe didn’t beg or plead for mercy. I know that disappointed a lot people, myself included, who wanted him to plead piteously for mercy and be denied as he had denied his victims. But we were cheated of this, which only ensured he would have no sympathy from anyone.

Down on the stadium floor the sexual fever was running high. A few of the monitors even showed floor level POV, while others showed the current close up of Joe’s castration with previous ones also on display. In some of the replay castrations I thought I heard the sounds of their perps pleading for their sexual lives. Elaine was shuddering and grinding her pussy into my hand almost constantly. Her face was contorted which made her almost continuous orgasm seem painful to endure. But still she kept a close hold on my hand and her eyes fixed on the screens.

Joe’s balls had been destroyed and would be surgically removed later, still with no anesthesia, only paralytics. Elaine’s orgasm subsided slightly and her breathing slowed. “Got to catch my breath for the finale,” she smiled, panting slightly. My cock was trying to get so hard that I could feel it bulging out of the vent holes. She lifted my hand and massaged it, stretching my fingers slightly. “You able to go some more?” she asked with a seductive smile. “Sure,” I answered unable to pass up the opportunity with my head full of her intoxicating scent.

Elaine pulled my hand back between her legs, only this time she pulled her panties down, so my fingers were touching her warm and wet sex directly. I began again with long slow strokes up the sides of her pussy. On stage the head of Joe’s cock was being cut off with a serrated butcher knife. The bleeding was stopped with a kitchen blow torch. The screaming was unearthly. His eyes were frozen wide, I truly think the inability to either dull the pain or lose consciousness was driving him insane. Elaine’s pussy was so wet that one might have thought she lost bladder control. She was making a low keening noise continuously. Her hand pressed mine and I put two then three fingers in her and began to work them in a curling motion, rubbing her G spot. Another inch was cut off Joe’s cock followed by another blood curdling scream. Elaine scooted down in her seat, bringing her hips forward as she raised her heels to the arm rests. It would have seemed odd, if not for the fact that similar scenes were being repeated all around us. The loving couple to my left had shifted so he was sitting on the ground, his feet under her chair while his face was completely buried in her sex. She clutched him intently while her gaze was transfixed on the monitors showing Joe’s mutilated penis and his horror stricken face. In front of us the man was watching while his wife gave him a blow job, no doubt reminding him what Joe would never feel again. He jumped at each of Joe’s screams, I think because she bit his cock at those times.

The last inch of Joe’s cock was cut, but he was no longer making any sounds, his voice was simply too hoarse from screaming. Elaine let out a yell, modest by comparison to most in the stadium, but still startling me as she literally squirted what had to be half a cup of liquid over my hand. Joe was carried off stage on a stretcher. The last cries of orgasms died out across the audience. In her exhausted state Elaine turned her head to me and smiled, “You have very talented hands, thank you!”

“Thanks for letting me please you,” I answered. She slipped off her soaking panties. “If your tongue is half as good as your fingers I’d like to see you again,” she said as she wrote her phone number in the waist band and handed them to me. I acknowledged her gift by raising them to my nose to appreciate their bouquet as if they were fine wine. “I would like that too,” I answered. She smiled, got up and began to head for the exits with the crowd. It was a signal that I should call some other time, we’d not be leaving together now.

I was in a tumult of feeling over everything that had happened. But rather than thinking about any of the reasons I had for coming to the stadium, all I could think about was Elaine. Her deeply aroused state at the sight of the most brutal castration I can recall should have been disturbing, but instead somehow it was alluring. I knew that I would end up calling her. I knew that it would be difficult to wait even 24 hours before doing so.