Day 28. Marked
Themes include tattooing, cock worship, machine fucking, double fisting, fucking, bondage, rubber, leather and domination. Average reading time: 30 minutes.
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Everything and nothing has changed since the last time I wrote. After Carl successfully jacked off his thick fuckslab with his hands in my pussy he announced my hole had levelled up from pussyboicunt to mancunt. It was pretty damn exciting and I felt very proud if I'm honest. All that hard work had really paid off. Who needs university now, eh? My previous life - and future - seemed an eternity away.
What's been more scary has been the rest of my body having to catch up with my new status. Whilst in retrospect this may have been an obvious development, it's actually come as quite a shock. I now look as fucked up as my cunt: a walking billboard of filth to attract the attention of only the most discerning and deviant ass play fanatics.
The next day or so after my cunt jacking session were actually pretty sweet. My training continued as you'd expect (Carl said he had plans to `fully' stretch out my hole to the proportion befitting a true mancunt and said I'd be amazed at just how much further my cunthole could expand) but actually it was the attention of all the other tutors that made me feel special. It didn't matter what I was doing - whether I was mid-fist or mid-machine fuck - there was a constant stream of guys wanting to see the results of my training.
Many of the tutors seemed to be impressed at just how slack my hole had become from all the intensive stretching. Others commented on its rubbery appearance and juicy texture. But the best compliments by far were from those tutors who inspected my hole up close and personally. It was these tutors - who took the time to bury an exploratory arm deep inside my fist trench - who pronounced me to be the very textbook definition of an insatiable mancunt.
I didn't have much time to rest on my laurels though. If anything Carl's job on my ass had been slightly too good. By this stage my hole was so huge and trashed that my cuntlips hung out pretty continuously.
To avoid any accidents I was forced to wear a couple of big clamps to hold my cunt shut. Although the edges were tipped with soft silicone, the clamps themselves were made out of metal with a very powerful spring. The tension meant I couldn't go anywhere or do anything without being reminded of just how slack, loose and open my hole was.
However, things got much worse when some of the tutors decided that my inner cunt could still do with being made bigger and more accommodating. Between sessions they started making me hold giant metal weights in my pussy. These were long, heavy and thick cylinders with perfectly rounded ends. The one I have to carry most of the time is nearly 4" thick by 6" inch long and easily weighs over 2.5kg. To say it was a heavy burden on my cunt was a giant understatement.
In fact, the dead weights were a real struggle to hold - I felt the cylinders were constantly at danger of escaping and sliding out at high speed. Somehow the walking distance between classes got longer and longer, the weights heavier and heavier. It was almost as if the tutors wanted to see me waddling around and desperately trying to hold my cunt in. It made the pussy clamps really important, even though the two constantly fought against each other. The sweet pain was an almost impossible challenge! God knows what will happen if they make me hold in two weights at once...
Still, the fact that I could reliably hold even one meant that I seemed to be the buzz around the entire School. The tutors were excited about the new benchmark I'd set and the more progressive pupils were obliquely excited about the new ambition it gave them. Not that I wanted anyone stealing my cunt crown though!
However, one person who didn't appreciate all my attention was Hiro. When I last saw him he was being led out of the gym by a couple of heavies after losing a pretty monumental bet: whether his pupil or Carl's had the largest cunt. I had won easily and Hiro's forfeit had been the complete and utter hole annihilation of his pupil Ben.
(Ben had been sent to the school by his hung and dominant boyfriend to `learn the true value of dick'. Apparently Ben had once made the mistake of refusing to put out his puss - some bullshit about being tired or worn out - and the boyfriend had not taken it lightly. The Dom wanted a cunt that was always available to fuck and so off to the School for retraining it was.)
The poor lad had been strapped down and machine fucked for 24-hours solid. No hole could survive that much punishment, especially one that had only taken dick till then, no matter how hung. Ben's formerly tight and elastic hole was now a sloppy and distended mess with no clutch left. Honestly I'd heard that it was doubtful that even a double fist would properly touch the sides.
Everyone knew that it had been Hiro's braggadocio that had resulted in Ben's downfall. And it well and truly was his downfall. His boyfriend had found out what had happened and had immediately rejected Ben. Said he'd wanted a tight fuckhole... one that would feel the stretch from his girthy pussyslammer each and every fuck. Where was the fun in a pussy that was now so slack it resembled a no-limits meat-sock? Ben really had been made worthless for any and all fuck action. Rumour had it that the situation was so bad that the boyfriend was demanding his money back and more, with Hiro making up the compensation.
However, back then I didn't know quite how badly Hiro had taken the situation and I wish that Carl had taken a few more precautions. Things got real when I was leaving a circuit training session and I was suddenly bundled against a wall and I felt an injection in my neck. I could barely put up a struggle before I slumped in the corridor.
I woke up to find myself strapped to one of the School's standard barbershop restraint chairs. The chair was in a pool of light in the middle of an otherwise darkened room. I instinctively felt that I might be in the School's advanced training wing. Somehow the smell of ass in the the air and the odd background noises of sex and surgery gave it away.
Over the last month I had been restrained in many of these chairs, each time my legs held wide open in stirrups that gave good access to my ass. This time was entirely different though. Not only were my legs closed but my arms were stretched out in front of me on a flat, metal surface. The restraints were fucking odd too, I'd never felt anything like it. My hands were palm down, and my fingers and thumbs had been individually secured with loops that went through the metal surface. A heavy leather buckle then went around the mid-point of both forearms. My hands were totally immobile and yet oddly on display, it was weird.
Oh, and there was a ball-gag in my mouth. I struggled as much as I could but the thick leather strapping meant I wasn't going anywhere. I could barely even make a noise.
"Ah good, you're awake... I hate to mark a boy when he's not conscious to savour every moment."
The deep voice came as a shock and I turned my head to see who was talking. It was an enormous black guy, standing half in and out of the shadows. He was stacked with muscles and literally covered head-to-toe in tattoos and piercings. Or at least the parts of the body I could see: he was half naked and just wearing a leather bartender's vest on top. He had so much ink that it was impossible to see where one tattoo ended and another began. They must have been built up over many years, layer over layer. All seemed of a deeply sexual nature, in fact if anything his body resembled a visual map of fetishes and fuck positions. The ink continued up his neck, framing his face and shaved head.
Puncturing the ink was some serious metalwork and body modifications. The line of bumps (stumps, ridges?! - hell, I don't know what they're called!) on top of his head were probably the most extreme. He must have had something fused to his skull or something because there was a raised implant or pointy stump every inch from the back of his head to the centre of his forehead. It was like he had a mohican of mini-devil's horns. It was sick. Rows of large metal spikes arced above his eye brows, whilst his ears had giant tunnel piercings. His nose was studded with the largest septum ring I had ever seen, and thick nipple rings glinted in the light. He looked like a man addicted to morphing his body who simply hadn't known when to stop.
As my eyes finally followed the path of his body downwards, I was amazed to see the size of his bulge. He was wearing tight leather jeans, but there was no way these were simply off the shelf. His crotch bulged out obscenely in every direction. It wasn't so much that his jeans looked packed, it was that his jeans had clearly been tailored to provide a lot of extra room and yet they still looked fucking overstuffed. Surely only a seriously silicon enhanced dick and balls could be that mammoth?
I was shocked to realise that I found the man brutishly handsome. Yes, he looked like a thug and I wouldn't want to run into him in a darkened alleyway but... however basic I thought tattoos were and how over the top his piercings were this man put it all together pretty well. The palpable sense of sexual danger was powerfully alluring and my hole juiced up a bit. I still hadn't a clue why I was here though. I tossed my head and moaned through the gag. What the fuck was going on?
"Welcome to the Theta room, bitch. I'm Blue, the School's head of body modification and enhancement... It's my job to make sure that all our stock leaves this place in the best shape possible. That means that everybody has been uniquely customised to their training goals but also that everyone totally looks the part.
What does that mean for you, Bobby? It means I can modify your body to give pleasure... or take it away. I can accentuate your natural look... or I can turn you into nothing more than a low-rent piece of trash. I can give you ink that elevates you to the reams of fetish god. Hell, give me enough time and I could even make you look like me." He said all of this with a mean authority and confidence, but with a slightly maniacal bent. Could you be sane if you looked like that?
"I've heard about you of course, but I was real surprised that Carl hadn't mentioned you by name. Normally we always talk about his cunt du jour. But no... your name he held back. So, I asked him what the deal was. Said he'd decided that you'd benefit from a `natural' look...
Now I trust Carl, but I'm not so sure... after all, even the most natural guys can benefit from a little bit of enhancement here and there.
Maybe a couple of big filler injections in your pussy lips to give them that nice fat, over-plump trout-pout look? Or a thick Prince Albert piercing so we can install a new cock cage and deep urethral plug combo to really keep your dick under control? Then of course there's hormone injections to make your tits swell up and lactate. Many good fist guys like a nubbin or two they can play with Bobby, I assure you..."
What the fuck was this guy talking about! These weren't `enhancements' they were fucking depreciations! I moaned and desperately tried to get a word out. Where was Carl or Marcus to rescue me from this shit?!
"However, maybe simple natural enhancement isn't the look for you, Bobby. I mean, yes, some fist pigs like working over a regular looking guy - they like the contrast between a boyish face and the - what was it? - `mancunt' between your legs.
But then I heard what you did to Hiro... He's a good friend of mine, in fact it was through him that I was recommended for the job here.
You've destroyed his life Bobby. You made him lose that bet. Not only has he lost his reputation at the School, but he's lost his star pupil and his wages. He's got to pay back Ben's extensive School fees and pay compensation for finding a new fuckhole for Ben's ex...
Hiro had a good shot of being promoted to Chief Hole Officer, but your friend Carl is going to get that now. You've ruined it all. Which made me think long and hard about whether you'd be better off with a look a little bit more... manufactured..."
Hiro! That fucking loser! So it was all his fault I was here, god damn it! Salvia drooled out of my gag as I desperately tried to protest. Hiro losing the bet wasn't my fault, I just had the biggest cunt. That was hardly my fault! Hiro should have known what he was getting in for before he started mouthing off in the gym!
"You see, I can work in any location or city I want. My services are in constant demand from pigs all over the world. I help make dreams come true. Hell, last year I even engineered a series of plastic surgery operations to make one guy look like a pig, snout and all! There aren't that many guys out there who could conceive of an operation so fucked up, let alone pull it off! I charged good money for it too...
But money no longer interests me. I've got bored of working for clients and their whiny demands. I wanted to be able to do my own work, in my own time and in my own style... And so that's what I negotiated with the good doctor. He was so desperate for my services that he would have agreed to virtually anything I wanted. And what I wanted was complete executive freedom to `upgrade' the appearance of any student as I see fit. Whatever I want goes...
So, Carl wants you to look all natural and yet by all accounts what you've got between your legs is about as unnatural as you can get. I think it's time that I closed the gap and bought your appearance in-line with your cunt. I'm sure you'll thank me by the end... well, Hiro certainly will!"
Fucking hell. This was getting worse by the fucking minute. Sure, I knew my hole was `different' but all of this sounded fucking crazy. Right now I looked totally normal. That meant a passerby - or god-forbid, my friends or family - would never know what was going on between my legs. Now I was caught between Hiro's idiocy and this lunatics hell bent desire to avenge his friend. I was fucked.
Blue pushed a trolley towards me. I knew enough to recognise the instruments lying on top: a tattoo gun, ink and all the paraphernalia necessary to permanently disfigure someone.
"Now I keep on hearing that the School has done an excellent job of giving you an impressive mancunt. Frankly I couldn't give a shit how big you think it is.
All I know is soon you'll be walking out of our doors. Have you thought what life is going to be like on the outside? I bet you're looking forward to having a degree of normality again, eh? Sure, you'll need to have near permanent residence of some dive bar's back room sling, but the rest of the time I bet you see yourself out on the streets, chasing tail, going to the cinema, getting drunk with the boys... Hell, maybe even visiting your friends and family? Perhaps even finishing your studies?
That's why Carl doesn't normally ink his boys. He prefers the natural look. Says having a cunt may define who are and what you need, but that doesn't need to define what you look like. Well Hiro and I think that's bullshit. If you're a cunt then you can damn well look like one too."
And with that the fucker started to work. To be honest I was absolutely terrified and had no idea what to expect. He reached for my tightly secured right hand and I suddenly realised his underlying madness. Anything he inked on the back of my hands would be permanently visible to the world. Unless I went around wearing gloves all the time and this wasn't the fucking 1980s.
At this stage I had nothing else to compare the pain too, but a needle blasting on the back of your hands is pretty fucking painful. I looked down but I could never quite work out what he was doing - the design was always covered by his hands, the tattoo gun or surplus ink. All I knew was that it was intricate and extended from my fingers up to my wrists.
The inking felt relentless, just the hum of the needle and the quick stabs of pain. Every so often Blue would look up and glance at my face and then return to his work, muttering some worrying obscenity like "Gotta mark you out as a true cunt, otherwise how are all the other pigs going to know what kind of bitch you really are. Doing you a service, that's what I'm doing..."
How could he actually believe that shit?
My right hand was suddenly completed. He wiped the ink off and looked proudly at what he had done. "Whoo-hee! That ought to get the pigs talking!" he said, laughing. I couldn't make it out, upside down. It looks like-- Jesus, the fucker is holding up a mirror...
My right hand says `HOLE FOR HIRE' in giant college-style block letters. Each word is stacked on top of each other. And in case there's any doubt of the meaning, sitting on top of it all was a highly sexualised drawing of a naked man sitting on his arse with his legs wide open. He's got a giant cunt that's dripping pussy juice onto the words. Shamefully it looks totally like me. No wonder he's been glancing at me so often. It's the most finely detailed, vivid and disturbing tattoo I've ever seen in my life.
Just below the bottom word it said in script writing `A dollar a go'! Fucker has just marked me out as nothing more than a fist whore! It didn't matter where I went or who I was with, there was no escaping the meaning of my hand. It couldn't be passed off as a joke or a a stunt, it was way too intricate for that. Christ. I had just come to the point of being a happy cunt, but this was life changing in ways I simply wasn't expecting.
Blue then started on my other hand. An hour later he held up the mirror again... Oh fuck. My left hand now has the words JUICY CUNT' emblazoned on it in a fat, friendly looking font. It completely dominated my hand - you must be able to see it a mile off! Except that if you get up close you could see the small text above and below that meant it actually read I've got a JUICY CUNT and I cannot lie.' This is sick.
Surely he must be fucking finished... My whole body felt exhausted from the tattooing. Any endorphin rush from the ink gun was sadly lacking, and my mouth was aching from the ball gag. Suddenly my head was pushed far forward and one of his big hand held it in place.
"Steady bitch, you wouldn't want me to mess this one up... Especially as this ink will really put you in your place." I groaned as I felt the sharp pain of the needle on the back of my neck - really high up, well above the collar line. Another hour passes before he announced he's done. "There you are bitch, I reckon that should do it. Not so high and uppity are we--"
His words were broken by the door being wrenched open. "Bobby!" It was Carl's voice. Thank fuck, I was saved! "What in the hell is going on in here?!" he cried out.
"Just making a few adjustments to your boy here. I would have thought that was obvious. Felt like he could do with the extra help" said Blue. God he was a cocky bastard.
"The hell you are! Who gave you permission to brand my boy?! We agreed no markings" replied Carl.
"I know, but then I thought about it some more. Decided he could do with a few after all... Besides, I can brand, mark or enhance any student I fucking well want and you fucking know it, big boy!" said Blue.
Even though I couldn't turn round enough to see Carl I could feel that he was seething with anger. Obviously no love was lost between these two. Right now I was just desperate for Carl to come and untie me.
"I'll leave you two little love birds in peace, shall I?" With that Blue put the tattoo gun down and sloped off, having the sense to leave by a different exit from the one Carl was guarding.
Carl rushed over and grabbed my face with both hands. "Oh my god Bobby, are you okay? Tell me what happened." As he said these words he was untying the ball gag so I could speak again. I stretched out my mouth, desperately trying to get my circulation back and tell Carl all.
Slowly I managed to get words and sentences out. As Carl started methodically undoing the many other restraints I told him what had happened. The injection, waking up in the chair, Blue appearing and telling me how he was going to mutilate my body. The fact that it was all Hiro's fault.
Carl stopped untying me - I was still pretty secure - to say that Hiro had actually had his comeuppance. As he'd been single handily responsible for Ben's downfall, the doctor has decided Ben should be the one to come up with Hiro's punishment.
Ben had decided that Hiro should complete two of the School's famous 100 challenges. As Hiro was all top and had never taken a cock up his arse or even given a blowjob, Ben decided that a 100 dildo challenge would be appropriate, closely followed by a 100 load challenge.
All Hiro had to do was ride 100 dildos - in size order from hung to super freak - recording a video diary about how it felt to cunt-grip each and every one in extreme detail (exactly how did the giant flange of that life-sized, imitation horse cock feel as you plunged it into your hole, Hiro?). Do it perfectly for every dildo and he could sail through to the end fairly easily. Make one tiny oversight recording each experience and he would be sent back to the beginning, no matter how many toys he'd riden. It was fucking tough even for experienced pussies.
However, I bet it would be made even demanding by the second challenge preying on Hiro's mind. That followed the same format, except this one was swallowing 100 double shot glasses of cum, each donated by a different guy. Each load was to be savoured, relished and its tasting notes described in such exquisite detail that even a cum connoisseur would be impressed by. No less than a thousand words a load Carl said.
Fuck! Ben had finally showed some spine after all. Hiro's hole was bound to be as ravaged as Ben's by the end, plus he'd have a pretty intense cum addiction.
I said to Carl that was all good and well, but that it hadn't stopped Hiro having his final revenge on me.
He nodded several times and said he was sorry. By now he had removed my finger and forearm restraints, and the table that had supported them. I was still pretty tied up though. He suddenly paused and asked to take a proper look at my hands. He took each one in turn and looked at them closely from every angle. Although I felt I knew him well I couldn't read his facial expressions... He was just about to say something when I remembered the tattoo on the back of my neck. I told him and asked him to describe it to me.
He walked round. "Hmm, it's not looking good Bobby. I mean... it's pretty consistent with your hands but I don't think that means you're going to like it."
He let the silence build. Just tell me already!
"It's text again... on a wavy banner or scroll. Wow, it really is high above your collar line. I don't think even a turtle neck is going to be able to hide this ink! I guess it's about five inches long and set in really bold letters... `wet pussy whore' it says, in capital letters of course... Well... I guess it's factually accurate..." his words drifted off as I broke down and started sobbing. I was branded a cunt for life.
Carl came round and tried to placate me. None of his words made any difference, in fact if I didn't know any better I would have said his mind was elsewhere. He was holding my trash hands again, looking intently at the horribly explicit phrases and pictures.
"You know... to give Blue his credit he really has done a good job of marking you out as a whore. To be honest, I didn't think anything could be graphic enough to match the action between your legs, which is why I thought going all natural would be a good idea.
Hole for hire? Juicy Cunt? And the image of you dripping pussy juices from your open gash is fucking spectacular! And if you saw it I reckon even you would admit that wet pussy line is a stroke of genius."
This was not the kind of sympathy or reassurance I was looking for. Tears were flowing down my face and Carl was making it all worse. I was marked as a whore for life! What's more, I could sense that he was getting turned on by it!! I could see a sly leer coming across his face and a swelling in his jeans. His dick was so big that it was impossible to miss! What a cunt!
"I'm going to have to do this Bobby... Your ink has got me so fucking horny I can't hold back... I've got to nut!" he cried. In seconds he had wrenched open the top button and fly of his jeans. His meaty cock sprang free, a drip of precum already welling from the tip. One of his feet found the foot pedal that adjusted the height of the chair. Moments later my mouth was exactly at his crotch height and his giant cock was millimetres from my face. His foreskin had rolled right back revealing an angry red helmet, ready for action. I just had time to register the smell of ball sweat and see the over pumped veins wrapping around his thick shaft. I don't think I have ever seen his dick this hard.
I implored Carl to stop, that there was no way I could fit his massive cock in my mouth, that surely I still wasn't allowed to suck dick.
Carl just laughed. "Training's going into overtime Bobby! You may be a mancunt, but your new tattoos make you out to be a manwhore. And I'm pretty sure your mouth counts as a hole for hire! Besides, I couldn't let you leave the School without you sucking my cock at least once, could I? And don't worry, we will make it fit!"
The filth on my hands and neck seemed to have changed Carl into an animalistic beast. I had always known his sexual desires had been powerful, but this was something else. Something brutal and savage...
He started to face fuck me, impaling me on his big horsecock. To him it didn't seem to matter that I had never sucked a dick as big as his before. He just kept on plowing forward. On one level I wanted his dick, I wanted to please him... but on another level my face was punishingly stuffed with dick and that's before I could even feel it swelling down my throat.
"You know it's true Bobby, you really are a whore. Maybe Blue and Hiro have actually done you a favour. With those marked hands there's never going to a shortage of fist or dick wherever you go... maybe I've held back too much? Maybe we need to fuck up the rest of your body to let people know just how much of a cunt you really are?!"
He took the advantage of my appalled cry of surprise to ram his dick even further down my throat. I didn't want my body to be corrupted, but then again I didn't want to choke on his dick either. I was gagging and struggling to get any breathe. Carl pulled out to rub the swollen head of his 11" dick over my face. I was covered with his precum and my thick gloopy salvia. His cockslime dripped from my nostrils and hung in strips from my lips. It didn't matter how much I protested or tried to shy away, Carl was relentless.
He wrapped his strong hands around the back of head and held me in place for the longest skull fucking of my life. There was no way for me to slow down the onslaught, let alone escape it. My existence had distilled down to the cock ravaging my mouth.
Eventually - finally - the brutal face reaming came to a head and he blasted the biggest load I've ever seen. How did I know? Because he shot all over my face, and then scooped up the fuck from his still spurting dickhead to fed it to me.
I was absolutely wrecked, though I guess I took some small comfort in the taste of his cum. As he made me lick his jism-coated fingers he spoke to me in a tender voice, trying to calm me down.
"We're going to do your cunt proud Bobby... We're going to turn your body into a beacon for sex pigs. You'll be so inked up that every homo for fifty miles will have heard of you. `Have you played with that crazy inked fist whore with the insatiable mancunt?' they'll ask all their friends. They'll rant and rave about you so much that you'll have to take lots for admission. Christ, there's no hiding the cunt you are now! It's time we got some help..."
His words fucking slayed me. I completely retreated into myself and I had no memory of how I got back to Carl's room. Next level
Since then things have gone from bad to fucked up on a scale I can't comprehend. The next morning I woke up with my hands and neck covered to protect my new markings. For the briefest moment I forgot what had happened and wondered whether it all been a sick dream. Of course, it wasn't.
It was a real surprise to see Marcus at the end of the bed waiting for me. He was back to wearing his usual slacks and a polo shirt, but I don't think I'd ever seen him with such an evil leer on his face.
"Long time since I've walked in on you sleeping, Bobby. I seem to remember the last time you were so covered in your own semen I had to cage your dick. Hmm... I see you're still incapable of waking up dry though" he smirked.
Shit! The motherfucker was right! I was lying in a lagoon of my own ass juices that must have leaked from my cunt overnight. I was so used to my own filth that I had barely noticed. Most of it looked to be spent lube, but that begged the question as to how it had got there.
"What the fuck--" I barely got the words out before he stopped me.
"Yeah, I'm sorry about that" - fucker didn't look that sorry! - "I guess we forgot to clamp your pussy shut when we put you to bed last night. I know you'll understand - we were all pretty spent after the all-night fist-a-thon."
"Fist... a-thon?" I must have looked totally bemused.
"God, you really don't remember anything do you? The side effects of that anaesthetic Hiro stole from the surgery really can be a bitch... Basically a few of us guys wanted to have a proper send-off for that all-natural jock body of yours. We heard that Carl had authorised the corruption mandate and some of us leapt at the chance to play with you one last time before the big change. It's a shame you weren't really with it, you seemed pretty stoked by the start Blue's already made."
My head was reeling. The party-in-my-hole stuff (of which I have absolutely no memory of whatsoever) I simply had to put to one side. What in god's earth was the fucking `corruption mandate'? Fuck! The memory of Carl's reaction to my degrading ink was beginning to kick in...
"That's right pig, Carl's decided to totally change your life again. We don't use the corruption mandate all that often, it's like rolling out the fetish big guns! I had to look up the procedure myself as I'd only heard rumours about it. Not that many guys can cope with it, but after Blue got started on you Carl said fuck it, let's go for it! I had to spend some time updating some of the procedures for the social media generation and all that shit, but I think that's just going to mean it's more effective...
So let's get started. If we're going to achieve our goals you need to get moving... God, don't look so lost Bobby, it really isn't a very flattering look. You agreed everything last night, remember? I've already started flooding the internet with gifs, clips and feature-length films of you in action to kick things off. Now we just need to record your video testimonials of why you need a particular tattoo or body modification... How else do you expect your friends and family to rally round the crowd-funding campaigns if you don't lend a hand?
I can see you're still looking confused Bobby. What's unclear? You record a message saying what you'd like... I don't know... like having `FISTPIG' tattooed in giant gothic letters across your chest. Then we send out targeted mailers to your friends, family, class-mates, university lecturers, people you went to summer camp with... hell, basically anyone you've ever met. Your high-school baseball team for example. I bet they'd love to leave their mark on you!
They then bid on what goes where. Highest bid wins, no matter how fucked up... And don't think you can wimp out though... Your body is being marked whether you like it or not and as this shit costs money. Don't bring in enough cash with your testimonials and we'll be the ones deciding the ink and you'll be the one paying for it... And I'm pretty sure your only asset right now is that leaking fist gutter between your legs. What was it again? A dollar a fist? Seems like a bargain to me.
Anyway, enough talking. Time is of the essence and we need to get started, bitch!" said Marcus excitedly.
This was some next level shit. I could barely process all this - it was like being hit with one sandbag after another after another. It sounded as if the entire fucking world now knew I was a cunt. And just how fucked would this whole corruption thing go?
OMG, the reality really started to sink in as the day went on. It was made worse by having to be all perky and winning for the recording of each video, but the rest of the time I was completely mind-fucked.
Marcus made me do the recordings wearing a bunch of different outfits, all specially chosen for their audience. Forget wearing the gear Carl had so carefully chosen for me, most of the time Marcus just wanted me looking super slutty rather than butch. Which meant I was back to a powder blue tank top and tan shorts. At least this one had my proper name of `Bobby ManKunt' on it, but Marcus ensured I looked like a cheap whore ready to be used by pouring a bucket of cold water over me. The tee was skin tight on me, whilst rivulets of water clung to my face and my nipples stood up like bullets.
This look Marcus said was designed to appeal to my high-school friends. It basically screamed out `mark me like the basic bitch I am'.
The second set of clothes was even more dehumanising. I had to wear a crotch-less mankini. It was made out of a vile, bright pink mesh material. The camera was deliberately positioned low down, and I had to sit with my legs wide open and my cunt on open gash display to the world.
The edges of the mesh were super tight and pushed my pussy lips wide. Marcus was determined I presented my best face, so he made sure to ream my hole with a set of pussypunchers before he started recording. If I fucked up the take then the dildo had to come back out in the open, to make sure I was properly swollen, gaping and leaking lube for the next recording.
Apparently this look was meant to excite anyone from my past who had even the slightest grievance against me, or indeed anyone who wasn't on board with homos. It screamed out `abuse me like the fag I am'.
Finally, I got to wear my new leathers for some shots... It felt good to be back in my gear, though these were perhaps the toughest ones to shoot. Marcus was determined to keep the pressure up on my hole so a mobile fuck machine was bought on set. I had do my pieces to camera with a wicked dildo jackhammering my cunt. Of course, the fuck machine was just off camera so my sex grimaces and groans made me look even more like a demented pig.
This was intended to attract my core target' market of extreme, hardcore sex addicts who are always on the look out for fresh cunt with limits to test, challenge and push way beyond. It said use me like the pig I am'.
Marcus had all the scripts and promos worked out in advance. I recognised Blue's fingerprints though, they were that sick and twisted. Or at least I hoped they were Blue's work. If Carl had contributed then that sick fucker was dead to me. Some of the scenarios were so personal that I couldn't help but see his influence though. Like Carl knowing that after all this time punching was still my weakness. Even given the training with Sig the ex-Boxer and his own fist-riding sessions, I still found punching tough.
So saying to camera that I was desperate to have the phrase `ONLY PUNCHES WILL DO' inked on both my inner thighs alongside giant arrows pointing to my cunt was particularly tough. I could only begin to think just how this had the potential to change my future self.
Carl knew too that being stretched was my other weakness, except in the other direction. I would do anything to get a good stretch of my hole; I always wanted to be bigger and better. By that didn't mean I wanted to have a giant bullseye tattoo marked on and around my ass cheeks. Hell, can you imagine keeping a straight face and saying that for another 25 grand each ring on the bullseye could have a hand added that pulled the target (and my cunt) wider and further apart?
The last recording I had to do was probably the sickest, on so many levels. I was in my leathers and yet, instead of being cored out by the fuck machine, Marcus had reattached my pussyclips. The clamps were connected to a rope and pulley on which Marcus kept on adding more and more weight. As my face contorted to hold my shit together - a mixture of pain and extreme pleasure - I had to pretend that I thought it was a great idea for my cuntflaps to be injected with a Botox-like neurotoxin that would desensitise all the nerve endings in my pussy. I would receive no pleasure from my hole being used, and as I wouldn't feel any pain either my last line of defence would be gone. Without the sensations of pleasure or protest my hole would receive absolutely no mercy. It was the ultimate fucked up body mod.
After hours and hours of recordings the day was finally over. I watched over Marcus's shoulder as he sent the packaged promos and clips out to the internet. Man alive there were a lot of them, and so many videos of me! I mean, yes, I knew that every room of the School has multiple HD cameras built into the walls and ceilings. Hell, the rooms are so well covered that the playback makes you think you're there in real life. But this must have taken days and days of man hours in an editing suite. Every step of my journey was covered, from my cherry busting to Carl's pussy jacking. They'd even uploaded footage of me being cunt branded by Blue.
Marcus left and said there wasn't much else they could do, it was just a matter of time and luck now. The mandate had been fully set in motion. Once started the corruption couldn't be revoked. There were no limits to just how fucked up I could get.
24 hours later and Marcus told me that I had been a huge hit. Apparently they'd never seen so many over-subscribed crowdfunding campaigns. The competition to brand me was so fierce that they had decided to extend the deadline for another 12 hours. Of course this was presented as to my advantage as it meant that only the best (read: sickest) tattoos and modifications would win out. I really wasn't convinced and my anxiety was rising. Finding out I had another half-day to wait made me bounce off the walls.
12 hours later and Marcus and the doctor came into my room. Both of them seemed pretty pleased with themselves, the doctor especially. All this bullshit about the response being `off the charts' and like nothing they'd ever seen before. To me that just meant that my friends and classmates were all fucking bastards. How could they do this to me?
Marcus said the doctor was here to administer an anaesthetic to knock me out for a few days. It was more efficient for the winning tats and mods to be done in shift work, and the easiest way to do that was if I was unconscious. I barely had time to protest (surely I at least had a right to know what had won?) before the doctor stabbed me with the needle. My last thought was to wonder just how fucked up my body was going to be if they needed to knock me out for days...
F U C K
I came to and immediately knew that my life was never going to be the same again. I don't think there was a single part of my body that wasn't telegraphing pain from the fresh inking. Jesus, was nothing left untouched? Even my head felt different on the pillow. However, by far the most unnatural pain was coming from my cunt and even before I fully opened my eyes I wondered whether my hole had received another fist-a-thon whilst I was under.
However, I decided this was highly unlikely. I had woken with a powerful desire to be cunted. The kind of hunger that could only be the result of being unused for a couple of days in a row. Surely I wouldn't be feeling that if my pussy had been kept up to date and used regularly whilst unconscious?
This feeling made getting out of bed a challenge. I felt deeply conflicted. Part of me was desperate to get up and find my next fist, but a big part of me wanted to postpone the inevitable moment of seeing my `enhanced' body for as long as possible. For the first time in my life I had actually started to become proud of my body over the last month. I had been put through my paces in the gym and forced to eat right. I now had a tight and muscular body with all the right shape and definition. I hated to think that all that hotness had been permanently defiled.
I was equivocating wildly when Marcus came in. The sight of him in such normal clothes - a polo short and slacks - somehow made me even more self-conscious of the ways I might have changed. Right now I hadn't even wanted to lift the bed sheet off to furtively look at my naked body.
My deeply ingrained fistlust got the better of me though and I dragged myself out of bed. Have a quick check-out of my body and then surely playtime must be soon...? Marcus had other plans though and directed me to a couple of free-standing mirrors, positioned so that I would be able to see my entire body, front and back. As I walked over I couldn't help but notice the new, dark colour of my skin. Jesus, I was fucking covered in ink!
I already knew that things were much worse than I imagined - my nose felt different for example, I'd been given a slutty, short mohican and my eyes literally hurt - but the reality was a complete headfuck. I took one look in the mirror and wanted to jump straight back into bed and pretend that none of this had actually happened. My tight body was unrecognisable. Obscene. A new definition of pure filth.
Marcus took no notice of my disgusted reaction and told me it was time that I manned up and faced the world... Oh, and that a lot of people would be seriously hacked off if I didn't personally thank them for all their crowdfunded donations to my transformation fund. I also had to show my heartfelt appreciation to the team of experts who had laboured so hard to sculpt my new body.
I immediately told him that he could fuck right off. There was no way I was thanking anyone for my body being ruined! Being made to be a cunt was one thing, but this? This was a whole new level of sickness. As my eyes caught glimpses of all the ways my body had been fucked up - the piercings, the ink... the still unidentifiable cunt pain - I got more and more angry. I would never be able to go outside again. Hell, I don't think I could even be naked in private!
"You really are a dreary little shit-stain, aren't you? I can't believe you're back to being a whining pussy again. I thought we were over this bullshit' Marcus said. "You know... I'm gonna do it. I'm going to pull the trigger on the fist train. You need to be fucking re-educated."
My eyes pricked up at this! I had pulled a punishment fuck train a while back of over 30 cocks. It had been draining back then but the thought of taking that many fists in a row sounded like a boycunt's best dream!
"I don't know what you're looking so fucking pleased about bitch. Don't think for a minute that this is going to be enjoyable for you. I bet you're imagining lying back in a sling and having your core reamed out right now, eh? Your cunt getting the workout it so desperately needs? Hell, I bet you're juicing up already, right?" He was right, I couldn't deny it. My programming was so ingrained that my hole was pulsating at the mere mention of fist. I was hungry!
"Well that's not how it works bitch. It wouldn't be a punishment if we gave you exactly what you fucking want... No, you're going to get the exact opposite. You're going to have to watch a full-on, balls to the wall, epic fist train. It will the biggest concentration of raw fist assembled in the School's history. 50 tops and one motherfucker of a tight hole waiting to be wrecked! And that hole ain't going to be yours, bitch! You're going to have a ringside seat at the demolition though. Hell, you're going to be so close to the action that you'll be drenched in cunt blowback! You'll be able to smell the fist slop and see the cunt drag happening in graphic detail..." proclaimed Marcus.
"Your hole though? Ain't going to get touched. You'll just have to sit it out whilst you see Carl, Trent, Jay, Sig, the doctor and an army of tops fist raping a new pussy and all the time wishing it was your hole that was getting the attention it craves...
By the end you'll be a gibbering wreck. It doesn't matter how desperate your hole gets, no matter how much you need fist, ain't nobody going to touch your pussy for a week! We're going to drag this out for as long as possible. Prolong the suffering to really make it count. I reckon that should change your attitude a tad, eh?"
I collapsed on my knees. There was no way they could do this to me. I needed fist so badly. I begged and begged and begged. Said I was prepared to do anything Marcus or the School wanted. Just please don't punish ffuck me. Thankfully - blessedly - Marcus grudgingly relented.
"Okay bitch, but I'll be standing right here. If I don't think you're doing a good enough job of thanking people then your cunt is going on total lockdown..."
I nodded in haste. Anything he wanted. Marcus started walking me through my `improvements', saying he wanted to make sure I didn't miss anything out... As always, the School's hidden army of cameras were catching my every reaction in high definition. I bet there were even cameras in the mirrors in front of me.
He started with my arms. Both of them were full sleeve tattoos stretching up from the existing obscenities on my hands to the top of my shoulders. He said that competition had been fierce and there had been a real push to extend my hand slogans further. My biceps were seen as prime real estate by some and the bidding had been steep. In the end, the winning bid had been from my high-school English teacher, Mr Harding. I couldn't fucking believe it.
I hadn't thought about him in years, though he'd always had a reputation for being a bit seedy. The other students put up with it though as he had been a bit of a jock, and he still had the body and persona to match well into his early thirties.
God knows where he got the money from, but apparently he'd always harboured fantasies about totally breaking me down and turning me into a raunchy pig. He'd been amazed and delighted to receive the invitation to bid from the School. Apparently seeing pictures of my cunt's destruction had made him spunk hands-free in his jeans. He said he wanted to make sure my body was as beautifully fucked up as my cunt.
That meant my arms had been turned into an explicit montage of me being fisted in every fucking position you can possible image. Each scene was amazingly graphic and virtually photo-realistic. They were bordering on art - the quality was that good - but there could be no doubting the hardcore nature of the images. The fists and dicks were big, and the reproductions of my body, face and cunt were hyper vivid. Overlaying the writhing bodies and hands were cartoonish spurts of lube, ass juices and cum, and pornographic exclamations of filth. Squirt! Punch! Spasm! Quiver! Wreck! The combination was obscene and so unexpected that you couldn't help but stare at the fifth parading up and down my arms.
Marcus paused expectantly. He was looked at me with raised eyes. Obviously this was the moment where I was meant to give thanks to the tattoo artists and Mr Harding. Knowing the jeopardy hanging over me I couldn't afford not to do a good job. I gulped. Several times.
"Erm... I really don't know what to say... This is so much more than I ever could have expected. I... erm, guess these sleeves will provide lasting inspiration to each and every guy who tops me. I'm not sure what it's going to be like living with a manual to fisting my cunt so explicitly marked on my body, but I guess... it's going to be erm.... a unique experience finding out. Thank you Mr Harding, I didn't know you cared. And thank you to the guys who inked me. The quality is disturbingly life-like..."
Marcus seemed just about satisfied and then started talking about the next tattoo. And the next... and the next. It went on and on. He spoke about the giant gothic letters curving across my chest. He said that now I was a pretty basic bitch, lots of donors had wanted me to have some basic ink... I couldn't remember ever seeing any bros with `ONLY FISTS WILL FUCK ME' across their chest though.
He then pointed out my pierced nipples and septum. Somehow they seemed like the least of my worries, even though they were all serious gauge rings - the kind of thick steel only worn by fucked up sex pigs.
The next was the fistpig from my harness, directly in the centre of my chest. I'm pretty sure the red pig outline (with a black clenched fist in it's centre) was perfectly aligned to where the harness would sit, so I guess it make sense.
The next set of designs Marcus described completely freaked me out though. A series of quarter-inch thick lines had been drawn horizontally around my entire body, starting at my crotch and then working their way up my torso at irregular intervals. Marcus explained that each one corresponded to a significant event or breakthrough in my fisting career and just how far a hand (or hands) had travelled into my body. Each line was literally a fist event marker with its own graphic thumbnail and splashy headline.
The dates and times of when I'd first been fisted to mid-forearm, elbow and bicep were all marked. The depth at which I'd taken 500 punches? Marked. How deep Carl and Jay had doubled me... it was all there. What was even worse was that by some of the markers there was an exhortation. `Think you can do better? Punch away!' Fuckers! I was never going to have an easy life. My cunt's capabilities were laid out for all to see.
Marcus explained that all this ink had been paid for by one solitary guy. Apparently he was a long-term supporter of the School, which meant he had all-access pass that allowed him to view a live stream of virtually any room he wanted. He'd apparently had his eye on me for a very long time. He sounded like a dirty old queer to me.
"Yeah... I erm... don't know how to describe my feelings on seeing the fist marker lines around my body. I'm sure you've thought just what these lines are going to mean to my sex life on the outside... I see how there's been space left to ink in new milestones... how very creative of you. I'm not quite sure it needed that much future space to record how many gang ffucks I have in a row though..." I caught my breathe as Marcus was looking at me sternly. "What can I say though? It's truly distinctive and nobody's ever going to be able to forget it..."
Marcus then turned to my back. Obviously the aforementioned lines continued round my body (one slogan: if you were fisting me now this is how deep you'd be...') but the most dominant features were my name and my new tramp-stamp. BOBBY KUNT' had been inscribed in block letter across my shoulder blades. I was slightly surprised it didn't have my full name but that wasn't as bad as the text directly above my ass: 'CUNTALICIOUS'.
There was no doubting it. If I was out in public there wasn't a square inch of my body that wasn't crying out for hardcore fist action. I was beginning to quiver with trepidation. My hole was hungry (and still fucking aching) but nothing had prepared me to imagine anything this extreme. I was totally wrecked.
My legs were next. Jesus! The same idea as the fist markers around my torso had been applied to my legs, except this time the amount of stretch I could take! Starting from just above my knees, the cross-sections of a whole bunch of toys I'd taken had been inked - in size order - up my thighs. Starting from small circles (for me) at my knees and then progressing to irregularly shaped (and giant) fucked up ovals. The ones directly under my cunt and on the inside of my legs were fucking HUGE. Big, black circles 4 or 5 inches across. Every mean pig looking at my cunt was going to know exactly how much I could take.
Marcus said that they had been determined I would look good from every angle - whether my legs were in the air in a sling or I was on all fours. Semi-instructional slogans and arrows had been marked pointing towards my hole. Only serious cuntwreckers allowed!' and pussies are made for punching'. Jesus wept.
The enormity of the changes - there were loads of smaller trash tattoos in loads of different styles dotting my body that I can't even describe - meant I could feel tears welling in my eyes. Fuck! I suddenly noticed that I had been marked with eye-liner. No wonder my eyes hurt. I looked super slutty and a total whore.
It was then that Carl walked in. Cameras or no cameras, I couldn't help but hold him responsible for the abomination I saw reflected in front of me. I had been branded a pervert for life. Any dreams of even the slightest hint of normality I could forget.
My anger overspilled and I tried to have it out with Carl. Punishment ffuck or not I had to say it. What they'd done was the complete and wholesale cuntification of my entire body. I was fucking finished. He wasn't having any of it. Said that my body had been elevated to the highest levels of pigness and I should be thanking them. The fuckers!
He then asked Marcus whether he had told me about my cunt yet. Marcus hadn't and I immediately reached with my hand to check. It was fucking painful and I suddenly feared the worse. Had I been pierced? Botoxed or some other fucked up shit? They felt exactly the same, fucking tender, but just as puffy and rubbery as I remembered...
Carl then told me that he had given me the ultimate gift. That it had cost him a small fortune but he thought that he was totally worth it. A sign of just how far I had come and the epic journey I'd completed. He had paid for each of my cuntflaps to be tattooed with the word `PIGCUNT' on the inside of each lip.
I immediately squatted and lifted my pudenda as high as I could to see. I could just make out the beginning of each word in the mirror. Fucking hell. No content with turning my formerly tight boyhole into a slack and distended mess, now I was desecrated for life.
I was slack-jawed as Carl was explaining his rationale. He said I should be grateful. That anyone looking at my hole is going to know exactly what I was and exactly what treatment I needed. He would have gone with mancunt but anyone looking at my body would have known I was a pig. He asked what better way of remembering the impact he'd made on my life than this?! That from now on I was never going to struggle finding fist...
I felt gutted. I mouthed some platitudes. I was so appalled I honestly can't remember what I said at all. All I remember was what came next... Marcus asking me to read off a card. Said it was it was a commemorative recording that would `wrap' things up, so to speak.
I started reading the card out loud. "I'd like to personally thank everyone who contributed to the permanent inking of my body, I truly am marked as a pig for life and that's all down to you." I struggled through the next sentence... "I sure am... grateful for what you've done for my body and I hope I get a chance to meet you all soon so you can see your work up close and personal. Don't forget to tune in on Friday and watch the-- what the fuck!" I abruptly halted and looked daggers at Marcus and Carl. "Just read the card, bitch" said Marcus.
I slumped my head and carried on... "Don't forget to tune in on Friday and watch the... live stream of my sale by auction. There's still time to register - it's just 10k to make a bid by telephone, or 100k if you want to be here in person. I'd sure love to see you all..." I paused, but Carl's stern look forced to me to carry on. "Oink, OINK!"
Next: Bobby's final day at the School before being sold off.
------ Comments and suggestions welcome at stuhadley77@gmail.com