Mall management and store owners love teenagers because the little shitheads are indiscriminant spenders who blow their money on worthless designer shit that they could buy for a lot less at Wally World or K-Mart. The mall maintenance staff that cleans up after the little bastards don’t quite share their management’s enthusiasm, and most custodians brag about what all they’d like to do the cocksukers that tag the walls with graffiti and vandalize the rest rooms. The official policy is to march the miscreant up to the mall office and extort enough money out of him to clean up his mess or repair the damage, and then ban him from the premises for a month or two, but the custodian’s lunch room abounds with suggestions as to what should really happen to the perpetrators.

Ralph believes that they should have their balls spray-painted and then be pushed bare-assed naked out into the crowd, while Julie maintains that we should wipe their asses with the same solvent used to remove their graffiti. It is wishful thinking for them because they’d never have the guts to follow through with their threats. I never enter in to these discussions because I’ve already fulfilled my fantasy, and someday I’ll take the balls I cut from the kid and nail them to the bulletin board by the mall’s front entrance as a warning for the other little bastards.

I watched the tagger for over a year before I caught him. He got my attention right away, as he always hung out alone instead of with other kids and he always wore the baggy cargo pants that all taggers use to hide their paint cans or markers. The other thing was that he was always eyeballing the security cameras to figure out their blind spots. I never caught him in the act but it was obvious that it was he doing the tagging. He would head down a corridor that was out of camera sight and emerge a few minutes later. I would hustle down there and always find fresh paint. It got to be kind of a game between us that he always won. I couldn’t lay a hand on him unless I caught him in the act, and the only way I could detain him for a search was that if he got caught shoplifting, which he never did. I finally just kind of gave up and took to following him around with a rag and a can of solvent so I could clean up the graffiti before the paint set.

Brookdale Mall, like so many others, is run by a vicious money hungry bunch of lawyers with no decency or sense of fair play. Thus it was that a long established shoe store in the mall was forced to vacate so their space could be used as part of a national chain that wished to move in and didn’t want any local competition. The fact that the little mom and pop shoe store had originally been a cornerstone of the mall made no difference and they had to move out of the mall.

The vacant shoe store and the immediate area were scheduled for demolition and were barricaded off from the rest of the mall with a temporary plywood wall, the front of which was in plain view from several security cameras. I watched the tagger one day as he slid behind the end of the wall to decorate, or depredate, depending on your point of view, the backside of the wall and the empty store it protected. I slipped in behind him and immediately smelled the biting tang of fresh spray paint. I finally saw him as he went into the old storeroom of the shoe store to do even more mischief. I carefully crept up while he was busy and wedged the door shut with a four-foot long board to keep him from escaping. I looked around to make sure that we were alone, and then left him there to stew for a while. I knew he couldn’t escape, as the room was solidly built of concrete blocks and there was no other doors or windows or means of egress, and the room was essentially soundproof.

I came back the next morning with a drill and hole saw and popped a two inch diameter hole in the metal door at eye level, and a four inch hole about three feet off the floor. He immediately came over, peeked through the hole, and begged for his release. I just ignored him, covered up the holes, and left. There was no water in the room and the air conditioning had been shut off, so he was basically fucked. Demolition and construction wouldn’t start for a few weeks and by that time he could die of dehydration.

I came back the next day, and as soon as I removed the upper hole cover he started begging me for water. I listened to him whine for a while before quietly ordering him to strip naked. He looked at me the way teenagers with attitudes typically respond when given an order, so I started putting the cover back on the hole.

“Wait!” He cried, “I’ll do it!” He slowly removed first his t-shit, then his shoes and socks, passing each article out through the lower hole as commanded. He hesitated when he got to his baggy pants, but finally relinquished them as well. I sorted through the pockets and removed his wallet, house key, and three small cans of spray paint. His wallet contained a condom, twelve dollars in cash, and a Brookdale High School I.D. card.

He stood before me in his boxer shorts, not quite as smug and defiant as he had been. He was probably at least a little bit proud of his body, and he no doubt strutted naked around his peers in the locker room showing it off, but was apprehensive about letting an adult see him nude. I studied him for a long time before he finally got the message and slid his underwear out through the hole.

I told him to stand against the opposite wall of the small room so I could look him over. He was maybe fifteen years old and on the cusp of manhood. His smooth cheeks had never known the bite of a razor and his chest was as smooth and hairless as a young boy’s. It was only the fuzzy hair covering his legs and the fur on his crotch that announced his approach to adulthood. He had teenage-slender flaccid cock perhaps four inches long and ample balls that hung low in the heat of the warm room. “Jack off,” I commanded. Another look of defiant contempt clouded his face, but he finally complied when I started to cover the holes in the door.

He started slowly, almost as if unsure how to proceed, his cock unwilling to rise to the occasion. He’d had at least a year’s practice by that time and had most likely participated in a few adolescent circle jerks as well, and was probably as comfortable with his body as any teenager, but jerking off for an adult was something else all together. His cock finally responded to the manipulation and got hard, and a half minute later he arched his back, grunted, and cast four thick ropes of his seed halfway across the room.

I rewarded his performance by passing a drinking straw through the upper hole. He had to stand on his tiptoes to reach it, and as soon as he started drinking I reached through the lower hole and gently grabbed his balls. He immediately quit drinking and tried to back away from the door, but I maintained my grip and rolled his balls around in my hand as if a doctor might do during a physical examination, not really causing him pain but leaving no doubt in his mind as to who was in control, all the while ignoring the fact that his sticky cock was dragging across my wrist. The little shit wasn’t much to look at but he sure as hell hand a set of nuts on him, and even though he was still a kid they were bigger than my own. I finally released him and he finished drinking, emptying two full bottles of water that he would later piss into the floor drain. I gave him a piece of beef stick and a bag of peanuts, then covered the holes back up and left.

Looking back, I realize that it was at that time I decided to castrate him. My initial loosely formed plan had been to humiliate him, and make him suffer a little, then release him to spread the gospel, so as to speak, about the ramifications of getting caught tagging in the mall. Something about holding his balls in my hand changed my mind though, and I decided to deprive him of his sexuality, rendering him less than male and making him an object of ridicule among his peers.

The paper ran a picture of the missing boy the next morning. A supposedly reliable witness reported that she had seen him get into the back seat of a gray sedan near the school the previous morning, so the authorities weren’t even bothering to ask around the mall. I visited him every morning after that. The area where he was imprisoned had been sealed off pending asbestos removal, and it was near certain that no one else would dare enter the area. I gave him just enough food and water to survive and tried to ignore the growing pile of his feces in the corner of the room as I watched him jack off.

I grew even more accustomed to the heft of his testicles and made it a daily practice of fondling him as he drank from the straw. Although I am sort of ashamed to admit it, holding his manhood in my hands did something for me. I hadn’t touched another guy that way since early adolescence, and being as how I am a happily married man, getting a boner from grabbing a kid by his balls seemed strange. I briefly considered using the lower door opening for a Glory Hole and making the boy blow me, or perhaps even coercing him to back up against it so I could fuck him in the ass, but just thinking along those lines was enough to soften my boner. I really wanted to fuck him, but my body wouldn’t cooperate, even though my resolve to cut those magnificent nuts from his body grew every time I held them in my hand.

I must admit that I was feeding off of the boy’s sexuality. My wife was going through her change in life at that time and was usually unapproachable, and watching the young boy masturbate gave me an instant boner, and touching his balls afterwards was usually enough to make me get my own rocks off without even touching my cock.

I castrated him the next week. I wasn’t quite done with him and given enough time I felt that I could convince my cock to go along with the idea of taking him in the ass, but time was running out. The asbestos abatement crew was due to start in a few days so I had to either nut the little fuckhead or turn him loose.

I wanted his last orgasm to be memorable so this time I had him back up against the door and spread his legs so I could hold his balls from behind as he jacked off. It was weird for me as well as him; holding his balls and having his hand hit mine on the down stroke, and when he finally came I swear I could feel his goop flowing from his balls. I had shot my own wad long before he came. I could feel his weight bear down on my hand as the orgasm temporarily sapped his strength, but instead of releasing him I pulled his balls through the hole as far as I could and severed them with one stroke of my knife.

I opened the door and threw his clothes inside and then went back to work in the mall. I was betting that he would regain enough mobility to make his own way out before bleeding to death, and I was right. My shift had ended and I had gone home but I heard all about it the next day. The cops questioned all of the mall staff but no one knew anything, of course, and the kid hadn’t really seen his tormenter nor could he identify the voice. I hid the evidence in a vacuum-sealed food bag in the bottom of my freezer just in case I might need it someday. I take the package out every now and then just to admire it. The hardest part of the whole thing was explaining the cum-stains in the front of my new skivvies to my wife.

I felt sorry for him in a way, losing his nuts just when he was starting to enjoy having them, but I sure appreciated the effect it had on the other kids. They still flocked to the mall to piss away their parents’ hard earned money, but vandalism and tagging dropped off to practically nothing for over three years. It is starting to show up again now though, and I’m already planning my next demonstration. I get hard just thinking about it.