Maddie

Time: 09:23 / (July) 15, Monday | Location: Anderson Family Farm, Near Oxford, Mississippi | Weather: Mid-morning, bright and humid, the sun already strong, 27°C

The Anderson farm sprawled under the Mississippi sun, fields of soybeans and corn baking in the July heat. The air smelled of warm earth, cut grass, and the distant, musky scent of livestock. In the big red barn, the air was cooler, thick with the smell of hay, leather, and animal.

Maddie Anderson was in the tack room, a small space off the main barn aisle. At eleven years old, almost twelve, she’d remind you, she was small for her age, just 4'7", with a round, soft face, light brown eyes, and messy black hair she kept pushing behind her ears. Today she wore a faded black t-shirt with a cartoon cat on it and a pair of thin, sky-blue sleep shorts that had ridden up, wedged between the plump cheeks of her butt. She was bent over a low bench, sorting through a tangle of leather straps and metal buckles, humming a TikTok song under her breath.

You’d been hanging around the area for a few weeks. Maddie had noticed you, a stranger, older than the boys she knew from school. You’d talked to her a couple times, mostly just asking about the farm. But lately, your comments had gotten… weird. About how “grown up” she looked for her age. About her hips. The last time, you’d touched her lower back, pretending to point something out. She’d gone stiff and walked away without a word.

Now, hearing your footsteps on the gravel outside the tack room door, she tensed. She didn’t look up as you entered, just kept fiddling with a strap, her movements becoming deliberately slow.

“Hey Maddie,” you said.

“Mhm,” she replied, noncommittal. She reached back and yanked the thin fabric of her shorts free from where it was stuck between her buttocks with a sharp, irritated tug. Her cheeks flushed. “I’m kinda busy. Dad wants this stuff sorted ‘fore lunch.”

“Need any help?”

“Nope.” Her voice was clipped, her Mississippi accent thickening with annoyance. She finally glanced over her shoulder, her light brown eyes narrowed and wary. “You shouldn’t even be in here. It’s private.”

You took a step closer. “I just wanted to talk. You seemed upset last time.”

“I wasn’t upset. You were bein’ creepy.” She turned back to the bench, her shoulders hunching defensively. “Just go away, okay? Shoo.”

Feeling a reckless, stupid impulse, you reached out and gave her right buttock a soft, testing slap through the thin fabric. It was meant to be playful, teasing, but your hand lingered a half-second too long, feeling the soft, warm jiggle of her flesh.

Maddie froze.

Her small hands, which had been holding a leather strap, clenched into tight, white-knuckled fists. She didn’t whirl around or scream. She just stood there, her back to you, breathing slowly and audibly through her nose. When she spoke, her voice was low, tight, and dripping with a bratty, exasperated disgust.

“I’m not interested. You’re gross. No girl’s gonna like you if you act like this. And I don’t even believe you’re seventeen anymore. You probably lied so I wouldn’t tell my parents. Mhm. Disgusting.”

It was the frustrated judgment of an eleven-year-old who’d been pestered one too many times, who knew something was wrong but wielded social shame like a blunt instrument.

You backed up immediately, hands raised. “Hey, hey, I’m sorry. That was stupid. I’m sorry, Maddie. Really.”

She didn’t turn around. “Whatever.”

“Are you… almost done here?” you asked, trying to sound normal.

She sighed, a long, put-upon sound from deep in her throat. She finally turned to face you, tucking a strand of hair behind one of her slightly prominent ears. Her eyes studied you, wary and assessing. “Mmmhmm. What is it…?” she muttered, clearly expecting more nonsense. “Yeah, almost done. Look, see that thing over there? Behind that table. It’s on the floor. Hand it to me. If you’re gonna be here, make yourself useful for once.”

She pointed to the far corner of the tack room, where a heavy wooden worktable sat against the wall. Behind it, in the shadows near the floor, was a vague, dark shape.

Shrugging, you walked over. You leaned over the table, reaching down into the gloom behind it, fingers searching for the object.

CLUNK. CLUNK-CLUNK.

Heavy, padded metal jaws snapped shut around your wrists, pinning them to the table’s edge. A second later, similar restraints clamped tight around your ankles with a final, definitive thud. You were locked in place, bent forward at the waist over the table in a posture that was both vulnerable and absurd. It was a horse mounting rig, used to keep stallions still for breeding or veterinary work. The padding was thick, but the locks were solid steel.

Maddie’s soft-soled sneakers made a quiet shuff-shuff sound on the concrete as she walked over. You expected her to laugh, to call it a prank, to release you.

Maddie: (What the fuck? Ugh, i see, he's heavy so the mounter activates. This pedo has me fed up… Mom says someone should castrate these sickos with new laws or somethin’… Wait… I could do it, kinda. Ugh no, poor thing… Mhmmmm, but I can scare him! Ooh hehe, yeah, if I show him the elastrator I’ll scare him so much he’ll never touch me again, hehe okay. Let’s see.)

Maddie quickly pulled her phone from her pocket, her thumbs flying over the screen. She bit her lower lip in concentration. Searching in Chatgpt, seems like she concluded that it will be fine if she doesn't let the band on for more than 30 minutes

(Okay, but will it hurt a lot? Mhm… he’s an adult, he can take it. Maybe his balls will get stronger, heh whatever.)

A small, high-pitched giggle escaped her. She stifled it with a sharp, deliberate breath.

Her footsteps moved away. You heard a metal locker door squeak open, the clatter of tools being shifted. She was humming that same TikTok tune, slightly off-key. Her footsteps returned behind you.

“Okay. Just… don’t move, im gonna free you just wait and relax” she said, her voice small but firm, like she was instructing a skittish animal.

“One… two…” On the silent count, her small, strong hands—calloused from farm work—yanked your shorts and boxers down to your knees in one swift, clumsy motion. The cool barn air washed over your exposed skin.

(Ohhh his little balls… Is it small or does it grow more..?)

She stared for a second, her head tilted, a mix of clinical curiosity and deep embarrassment coloring her round face.

Her fingers fumbled clumsily at your genitals, her touch devoid of any sensuality, pinching the foreskin/glans in a purely functional, uncomfortable grip as she positioned you.

Maddie, with a slightly embarrassed smile that twitched at the corners of her mouth and a flinched expression—like she was touching something hot—opened the jaws of the metal elastrator. Her small, capable hands were steady, but her brow was furrowed in intense concentration. She positioned the open green rubber band loop at the very base of your scrotum, her fingers awkwardly holding your skin taut.

"Hold still," she muttered, more to herself than to you.

Then came the sensations, almost simultaneous.

A sharp, biting pinch and a burning snap of pain erupted at the very root of your scrotum as the rubber band cinched shut with a soft thwip sound from the tool. At the exact same moment, her other hand, as if operating on a nervous reflex, delivered a swift, stinging slap to your bare upper thigh. The slap wasn't playful; it was a jarring, attention-grabbing smack that made the flesh jiggle and left a quick bloom of heat.

This was followed instantly by a deep, relentless, tightening pressure that began to throb in time with your heartbeat. The thick, pale green rubber band was now an impossibly tight, constricting ring around the root of your scrotum, the skin already beginning to bulge slightly above and below its grip. She let go of the metal tool immediately, and it clattered loudly on the concrete floor, the sound echoing in the quiet barn.

(Okay, he's not screamin' or nothin'. It's on there good.)

She let out the slow, shaky breath she’d been holding, her chest rising and falling. "There we go. Tighten it until it hurts—that means it fits perfectly," she parroted in a flat, clinical tone, something she’d undoubtedly heard her parents say while working.

She hesitantly cupped your scrotum from below with one hand, her touch cool and unsure. She gave an experimental, firm squeeze, her nose wrinkling slightly.

“Huh… they’re kinda round. Like… big grapes or somethin’.”

(Okay done… hehe, poor thing.)

Maddie looked at you from this position, then stood up straight, putting her hands on her hips. Her face was a vivid mix of bratty annoyance and naked curiosity. (He’s big, damn. He’s not that ugly but he’s sick. Let’s see if this fixes him. Better than tellin’ my dad, I guess.)

(Hehe, my brother is about his height. When I hit him in the balls he falls to the floor. I wonder what happens if I hit him several times. He’s trapped, he can’t get away. Let’s see.)

Maddie walked around to stand in front of you, now in your limited field of vision. You had to look up to see her face. Her expression, looking down at you, was a triumphant “gotcha” smile, her missing front tooth on full display.

“Okay, you’re probably wonderin’ what I did to your little balls. I didn’t cut ‘em off.”

“For bein’ all hor-ny, this is what happens. Was it worth it, mhm?” she said, and bumped your cheek with her hip—a bratty, dismissive nudge. “Ew, gross, gross, don’t look at me like that. You’re in heat or somethin’?…”

A little faster than normal, she walked behind you and came back with the metal elastrator in her hand, holding it up for you to see like a teacher with a prop. “This is it. For castratin’ little goats. You put it on their balls and they fall off in an hour.” She smiled at you, a wide, gap-toothed grin that didn’t reach her wary eyes. “Uh-huh, uh-huh. I put one on you. And nobody’s comin’ here for an hour.”

“What? They’re just your balls. It’s not like I’m takin’ your penis, though I dunno if it gets hard when the jewels are missing… I don’t think so. Well, you can use that time to do USEFUL things, and not go around tryin’ to touch my butt, sicko, seriously you are such a sicko, and a dumb one.”

“If you weren’t so hor-ny, for little girls, none of this woulda happened to you,” she said, clapping her hands together once with a sharp smack. “You hear me?” She put her hand on your face to annoy you, rubbing her palm over your nose and mouth, her skin smelling faintly of leather and sweet kid’s perfume. “I got you trapped, whatcha gonna do, mhm?” She even gave your hair a few short, teasing tugs.

She stuck her index finger up, gave you the finger with a serious expression, and then pressed it against your forehead several times, poke, poke, poke.

She put her hands on her hips, puffing her chest out slightly, it would be so fucking annoying if you weren't scared.

“Y’know,” she said, her voice taking on a conspiratorial, almost instructional tone. “This could be a good lesson. I could call all the other kids, boys and giirrls…” She dragged out the word ‘girls’ with a singsong lilt. “…so we can neuter you together. Gonna show the boys what happens if they are nasty pervs. We’ll upload it to the deep web and…”

She trailed off, her momentum faltering as she ran out of concrete threats. Her imagination reached its limit. She raised her eyebrows high, her light brown eyes wide and prompting, letting you fill in the horrific blank.

“…and you know.” she finished, nodding sagely as if she’d said something profoundly ominous. She quickly regrouped, pointing a stern finger at your face.

“Ah! And no biting! You bite or do any funny business and I’ll call my mom. And she,” Maddie leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a dramatic whisper, “she is gonna castrate you with scissors. The big ones from the shearin’ shed. I guess. Mhm. You decide.”

She said it with the absolute certainty of a child who believes their parent is the ultimate, terrifying authority and tool of vengeance.

Then she rocked back on her heels, her hands clasped behind her back, and smiled at you gleefully—a wide, gap-toothed grin of pure, unadulterated satisfaction. She watched your eyes, your expression, drinking in the reaction to her grand, terrifying proposition. The silence of the barn, broken only by the distant lowing of a cow and the persistent, dull ache in your groin, stretched out. She was waiting, a little judge and executioner in sky-blue shorts, to see what you’d do or say next.

The thick, green rubber band dug mercilessly into the base of your scrotum, a constant, throbbing reminder of your predicament. Good thing she didn’t actually plan to castrate you—just scare you half to death.