The Hole Inspector

The Hole Inspector Chapter / Case Study Number Two The Perfect Fists

The Inspector's 2nd case study, an exercise in creating the perfect fists. Themes include fisting, verbal, erotica, leather and body modification. Average reading time 20 minutes.

If you enjoy reading this - or any story in the Nifty archive - please make a donation to keep this invaluable resource going. Any and every contribution is welcome. Thanks.

I don't want you to get me wrong, I don't just deal with cunts. Yeah, for sure, the object of my life is cunt creation but that also extends outwards to the fists that use them.

For my next case study I'd like to present David.

I was a little worried when I researched him before our initial consultation. There was something about his Instagram feed that made him look all body and not much else. He flashed a lot of flesh - he evidently spent serious time in both the gym and the protein aisle of the supermarket. Was there anything beneath those muscles other than hubris?

However, I was pleased to discover when we met that there was a lot more going on under the surface. In fact, he had a warm and unselfish vibe. I was quick to feel his energy and it was entirely natural and unforced. No tricks or subterfuge up his sleeves... I responded with honesty and openness, saying he wasn't quite what I'd been expecting.

He laughed a kilowatt smile. Oh, someone's been looking at my Instagram feed, have they? He explained he'd been a skinny kid and exercise had been his way out. Pushing his body in the gym and then online? That had given him pride and a way of building confidence. Now he didn't need the likes or the followers, but it still gave him a boost.

So' he said, I have a personal trainer in the gym who's helped me with my form, my technique, my diet... and he's upped all my personal bests. Well, now I need that for my sex life... I'm simply not making gains right now.'

A spark was immediately lit inside of me. I wasn't sure what he meant - what exactly was his sex life - but I became determined to help.

David went on to explain that - after all his gym gains - finding shags wasn't difficult. In fact, by now he'd done his trophy shags and lapped them twice. Everything from spearing twinks with his cock to muscle bears balancing on his balls. Well, now he wanted more. More connection, more fetish realness. And that had led him direct to handballing.

From his initial first and hesitant steps - the exploration of the new was nearly always tough - he was surprised at just how much he loved it. Passionately loved it! Reaming out a guy, using their hole, stretching them big and wide... I could see him get excited and demonstrative as he talked. I had no idea whether he realised he was making fisting motions with his elegant yet big hands but it was very fetching. And hot.

But - despite all his playmates and the porn he'd watched - he wanted more. Not more partners or more opportunities, but to give more back to the guys he played with. That he could be a better top.

As I recounted it later to my assistant I couldn't help but swell with premonition and pride. What an amazing opportunity to create the perfect fisting top. One who was hungry to be the best, handsome, and - if his dedication in the gym showed anything - the determination to make it happen. The perfect symbiosis of mind, body and fist.

Of course, that's where Jason came in. I told my assistant that the next step was to assess David's abilities and for that I needed an impartial judge. Him. It was going to be the next step in his evolution as my assistant.

I'm pleased to say that Jason didn't flinch. He didn't see it as me whoring him out (although it was a close-run thing!) but as an important task in evaluating a new client and deciding their treatment regime.

Honestly, Jason was such a young horn dog that - even though David's skills came with a bit of a sexual health warning (how bad was he if he needed help?!) - he was very happy to jump into the sling for the muscle bound stud, paying client or not. The top was also excited by the prospect of playing with my youthful assistant. Who wouldn't?

I quickly arranged a time for them to use play space number 2. It was one of the more relaxed and `homely' of my rooms. Yes, it was still designed for sexual deviants, but not full-on dungeon mode. Less intimidating. Just red light, a leather sling and the essentials. I left them to it and looked forward to hearing Jason's full report.

I'm afraid to say that it wasn't the greatest of reviews.

However, it was a pleasure to hear Jason recount the full night. He seamlessly moved between clinically assessing David's performance and pornographically describing the session. He raved about the top's physicality and his body - how the sweat caught every one of his muscles in the light and how his face lit up with joy every time one of his fists sunk into Jason - and yet...

It was also a disappointment. Jason relayed that whilst David had some natural technique - and was definitely enthusiastic - he seemed quite limited. As if he was trading on his body rather than his abilities. Oh, and his verbal skills? Jason said that whatever we ended up doing, we had to do something about that. Apparently David was very American porn star. A lot of of `yeah, man' stuff that seemed to be stuck on an infinite loop.

I thanked my assistant and asked him to sum up the entire experience. He was frank. David simply didn't have the skills to take a bottom to the next level like the top wanted. Yet.

I paused and looked carefully at Jason. 'And your recommendation?'

This was a big question. Jason had been my receptionist for the last year and he knew everything that went on in my workshops, the procedures I used and exactly what my labs were capable of.

He smiled, like he'd been prepared for my question and had been thinking about it hard.

`I'd say extensive vocalisation training and... I reckon we need to make his fists as good as his body. If not better...'

I arched my eyebrows and nudged him to go further.

`Honestly, I think you could spend a life time training his fists but I don't think it would move the dial that much. I think he needs a more significant intervention.'

The next time I saw David he was quick to say how much he'd enjoyed playing with Jason. Ever the polite man. It made me wonder whether the programme I'd planned for him was going to be a step too far. However, I quickly dispelled my doubts and got down to it.

I told him that he was going to find the next few months exceptionally tough, but he would come out of it a changed man, with alterations to both his mind and body. It was going to be intense but if he was prepared to grow and really follow his passions then nothing I proposed would be a problem.

Of course, he quickly agreed, both respecting my reputation and chasing the rabbit down that hole. I then took an important first step. I reminded him of how he wanted his skills to be as good as his body. I could tell by his reaction that he was thinking physical technique. No, I was talking mentally - he was obviously articulate in real life and yet that wasn't coming across in the sack. He looked surprised to hear it, as if he hadn't thought of it before.

I explained how good - no great - verbal skills can help push a bottom past what they normally thought possible. Despite his initial acceptance of my proposal he turned and said that kind of stuff was just porn talk and he didn't think it really make a difference. I flat out rejected that supposition. I said it wasn't just an act, it was a powerful way of communicating with the guy you were playing with and deepening that connection.

Seeing the look on David's face I guessed he'd relied on his muscles for so long that he'd forgotten how you can use your mind to drive a session forward. After all, sex therapists always say the brain is the largest sexual organ.

He looked slightly befuddled, like I was saying something completely new. I responded by saying he just needed to learn the signals and react to them.

He pressed me for more details, to give examples. Whilst I liked his eagerness, this was slightly weird. After all, it was daytime and neither one of us was particularly horny right now. But hey, this is what I get paid for, right?

I created a scene, a picture with words.

`Okay, imagine you're playing with a guy right now. They're lying in your sling, receptive and ready for your fists. The room is dark, lit with sex. You've got everything ready and so has the bottom... time and effort and dedication has gone into this moment. Because every fist session is special and not something to be given away, right?

Maybe you've been looking forward to this for a while, your dick so hard it's ready to burst, or so hard that it's going to plough a new hole just for itself. You look down and see your cock is oozing pre-cum. Your body is taut and poised, ready to move in with your fists already lubed...'

I could see his imagination was primed and was running with it.

`Now, think of all the things you could say to get things going. In fact, what would you say?' I asked.

`Erm, I really want to play with you.'

I let the silence speak volumes.

`God, I really want to fist you.'

I softly but firmly put him down, asking him to go back and think about what this session meant. To focus on just how much he enjoyed fisting and the act of stretching out a cunt. Did `I really want to fist you' cut it? Instead, how about if you were to look down at that pussy and say:

`Man, I can tell how much you want my fists inside of you, I can literally see your pussy twitch! Your cunt looks so juicy that I'm going to have to throw another fuck into your stretched out twat first. Make you really beg for it...'

or,

`Your hole is looking super tight man, I'm not sure I can get my fists inside. How about you really spread those cheeks for me, show me what I've got to work with? Oh yeah, that's looking better. Now I can see you really want it. Do you? Prove it to me, bitch...'

or,

`Christ, just how much work has your pussy seen? You're fucking gaping already, you must be a real slut! When was the last time you played-- no, don't tell me, I don't want to know just how much of a cunt your really are. I can guarantee that no matter how much you've given up your fuck-slot before tonight nothing is going to be the same as what you're about to experience. I'm going to fucking destroy your pussy. That's what you want, right? To see those big pussy lips draped around my wrists?'

I could see David's mind working overtime. Was this really him? I carried on. Of course, you should always tailor your voice to the guy you're with. You could take the romantic route, after all, being verbal doesn't have to be obscene. It can be gentle and loving. How about:

`I'm so glad we hooked up man... I've really been needing this. I can't wait to get inside of you... you look so damn hot lying in my sling... God, it makes me want you even more! I've been looking forward to this for so long... Christ, I'm going to open you up so fucking good...'

David seemed lost in thought before he shook his head and snapped out if it. `Okay, well, maybe the last one? Hell, who am I kidding! I'm not sure I could say any of those things. I don't have anywhere near the confidence to say it. I may think it and imagine it - sure - but it never comes out that way.'

Man, did David have self-confidence issues! I told him that he just needed practice and that he should start by writing down his thoughts, to get comfortable with words. Basically, write some hardcore FF porn. Scenes, scenarios, situations. Each story he crafted would be an opportunity to experiment in a safe space before he said it out loud for real.

I set him a series of assignments, home work if you will. Basically a bunch of starting points (and some favourite authors to review) and asked him how he'd tackle them. I told him to express his deepest inner demons and get in touch with his sexuality. To use his imagination to the fullest.

It was amazing how quick he found a voice, aided by my feedback of course. Christ, I felt like an English professor! (Oh, I also had to contend with the smell of fresh jizz in the employee's bathroom every day. Jason was unable to hold back from jerking off at every fresh consignment of David's stories. Fisting erotica is a cruelly undeveloped category on the internet and my assistant was clearly feeling the need to spill! Still, even given the cum stains, it was good to know the supply of spunk in my assistant's balls seemed to be never-ending. And how surprisingly high he could shoot across the room and up the walls...)

David's new written dexterity meant it was now time to reappraise his skills. Of course, Jason was primed and ready to take part. God, it was good having him as my right-hand man for this kind of stuff! I already knew I could totally rely on him.

The previous time I'd simply let my assistant report back, but this time I decided I wanted to watch myself. I took position at a peephole (okay, a video station replaying all of the playroom's cameras live) and let them get to it.

The session was a big improvement! Jason's toes curled in delight and he was a much happier pig! That was because David was turning my assistant on with more than just his fists... he was using his head too. Saying how proud he was of Jason's hole, how well he was taking it. Yet also just how much bigger he wanted that cunt to be it. To witness it was like hearing someone use their voice for the very first time.

The great thing was that David could feel the difference too. He could tell for himself just how much more responsive Jason was to his commands and desires. It was primeval, on a fundamental level of play. Like he was constantly amplifying the call and response between his fists and Jason's cunt.

The most stunning moment by far was when David fully degraded Jason's pussy. It was done in such a disgustingly clinical way that I'll remember it forever. This is what he said, word for word:

`Your pussy sure has given up a lot, I'm really proud of you. However, I think you're holding back. After all, I've rearranged your rectum so bad that it's nothing more than a juicy cavern right now. In fact, your sphincter is gaping so much that I can see your fucking tonsils from back here! And yet, after all this work, it still wants more, right? You're just a little punch-pig, aren't you? A swine for my fists... or at least that's what that trench you call a hole is telling me. It's literally leaking juices for me... does it want more? Show me how much you fucking want it... God, I love fisting your cunt!'

And who said romance was dead?! It was a stunning display of fist bravado and top confidence, and - of course - totally in tune with the moment. Both men lost in total cunt lust.

Jason was very happy to report back that the vocal exercises seemed to have given David's fists a whole new energy. Was it enough to halt the next stage of his training though? God no.

Now that David had perfected using his mind it was time to perfect his fisting technique. My assistant had reported back that although the top's hands seemed to have a new impetus behind them they still seemed a bit limited, a bit mundane. As if he constantly needed a helping hand.

After the session I met David and said how impressed I was by his mental development. Of just how far he'd come - so fast - and that it had absolutely been worth the hard work. Then I landed the killer-punch. Was he ready to take the next step? To really fulfil his goals and desires?

Before he had a chance to answer I asked whether he trusted me. Of course, he said yes (gratifyingly).

`Well, I can only take you so far. I believe there are additional - physical - gains you'd benefit from. However, only if you're fully committed. You do want the perfect fists, yes? Something that will make you stand out and be unique, right?'

I will happily admit the right' and yes' at the end of such leading questions was quite folksy. I knew what I was doing though. It was a simple technique but would reinforce his desires - and his confidence - at every step.

Having come so far there was no way he could say no. I then casually slipped a waiver across my desk and asked him to sign it. Nothing complicated I said, just procedural. He did it without hesitation - I do like a compliant top!

I then told him to meet me at the airport in a week's time, passport in tow but to pack light. He wouldn't need much. Also, no sex for the next 7 days either. 'Can you do that for me?' I asked. `I don't need to lock your dick up, right?'

'No, you can trust me', he said innocently.

I was glad he signed the waiver as lining up the correct surgeon - even with my contact book - had taken a LOT of effort. There weren't that many professionals out there who have the same creative vision as me. Or who are willing to follow through with it. So, that's how we ended up on a flight to Brazil.

As we checked in I could tell that David was unsure of himself. I'd insisted he wore a couple of personal items that advertised his fetish, even though we were in business class. Discreetly - we're not talking about a t-shirt that said `I fist on the first date' here - but stuff that anyone into handballing would immediately recognise.

In David's case this was as simple as wearing a tank top to show his epic chest, shoulders and arms. Oh, and his left bicep sporting a thick leather band with a red stripe cutting round the centre. What more did such a big muscle stud need?

Happily I knew with total certainty that one of the senior crew on the flight was bound to be into fisting. Stewards are always kinky fuckers, especially the experienced ones. Too much time away from home and too much horn to spare.

As soon as we'd boarded I'd clocked this one particular guy. Tall, handsome and confident with a deep voice... someone who wasn't able to keep his eyes off David and was giving him unusually close service. My client quickly responded to the extra attention and quickly fell into flirting with the hunky steward.

I soon nudged David along, slipping a couple of 50ml bottles of pre-mixed fisting lube and something extra into his hand. `Go on, stud. You know you want it.'

(Joining the mile-high fisting club seems a bit of a stretch, doesn't it? However, you have to remember just horny my client was after a week without sex. Oh, and that most modern planes have an extensive crew cabin at the rear. A chance for off-duty attendants to get some much needed shut-eye... or for more nefarious activities...)

Right now it was early in the nighttime flight and virtually the entire cabin was already asleep. I pinged the attendant light and was pleased to see our favourite steward come over, slightly breathlessly this time.

David's left wrist - the arm with the leather band - was hidden under his blanket, except now it was also accessorised with that little extra something I'd slipped into his hand. As the steward asked what we wanted, the top casually let the fabric fall away to reveal his left fist was now covered by a black latex glove. The signal was unmistakeable and the smile of delight on the hunky steward's face was all the invitation David needed.

`I'm just about to go on my break, come meet me at the back of the plane' said the guy.

It made me smile that the steward was evidently so primed for sex that he traveled clean all times, even if just on the off chance. I guess that meant he was a bit of a slapper, but I was pretty sure David wouldn't be complaining. After 7 days of no sex he was a horny beast!

I wasn't totally privy to what happened back there, but the smirk David bought back to our seats in the darkness said a lot. As did the smears of lube on his forearms (J-Lube is so pesky to remove, especially when you have such great hair as David had). The lingering tidemarks left very little to the imagination about exactly what the steward could take!

In the darkness of the cabin I let David wallow in his ffuck-lust for a while longer before telling him he wasn't going to be able to do that so easily in the future. He didn't immediately take my own words on board, but he did seem surprised. What exactly did I mean, he asked, still nonchalant.

I simply reminded him that he'd tasked me to give him the perfect fists. Why else did he think we were going to Brazil? For a sex holiday?

Don't look so worried,' I continued. I'm going to give you something that no other top has...'

And, with that, I turned my head away and fell asleep.

Later - as I led my client through the back-streets of Brazil - I couldn't deny that his energy levels seemed a bit off. Wary even. I could tell the environment felt alien to him though - the flickering street lights, closed-in buildings, hanging electrical cables and narrow pavements strewn with trash. To be honest, I wasn't all that sure either but I had the advantage of knowing the doctor we were visiting was one of a kind.

David positively recoiled when we turned into that last alley and saw the harsh fluorescent lights of the seedy clinic's door beckoning us on. God knows how he must have felt when my swift and surprise knock-out injection to his neck kicked in. But hey, who cares? He'd given me power of attorney to make decisions for him. All of this was going to be for his benefit...

He woke strapped into a specially converted barber chair, a chair that had definitely seen better days. The leather was worn, the metal rusty and the arm rests saggy. The only thing that looked up to scratch were the after-market restraints the doctor had added. Well-used for sure, but just as strong as the first day they'd been installed.

He groggily clenched his muscles and rattled his limbs against the bounds. When he realised he couldn't escape he slowly took in his surroundings. I've got to say, the clinic was way more run down that I'd expected. The cream tiled walls were chipped and paint flaked off the ceiling. It wasn't best to look at the stains on the curling, green linoleum floor either... nor the racks of surgical instruments lying on the side cabinets. Some of them looked positively ancient. Needs must though!

This was all an elaborate front though.

Behind the double doors at the far end was one of the most up-to-date plastic surgery theatres in the world. The clapped-out institution vibe was there to throw the authorities off the scent. After all, if the regulators knew what the doctor was truly capable of (combined with his decidedly low moral compass) then he'd be locked up in a heartbeat.

That wasn't my problem as a paying customer though. No, the clinic's chief doctor had effortlessly constructed a shop-front shit-house that meant no-one could ever imagine him as a surgical mastermind.

When the doctor had arrived I gave him full credit for keeping up appearances. He was wearing a white lab coat that was decidedly ragged around the edges. Well-used, shall we say. The doctor himself looked young, handsome and slightly manic. Evidently he enjoyed his job! I'd thoroughly researched his background before engaging him and I'm sure I'd hit gold. It turns out he'd almost been disbarred for performing illegal and highly dubious experimental anal procedures on the young adults in his charge at the orphanage he used to work at. (Hell, that kind of a disbarring was a top calibre recommendation on the streets of Brazil!)

By now David was fully coming round, though he must have been feeling off-kilter from the jet-lag and the drugs. I think he joined our conversation half-way through...

`--I'm glad to see he's what you promised. His wrists are unusually long and thick, perfect for this kind of procedure. As you know, I only like to work at the extremes' said the surgeon.

David almost squeaked though his gag (did I mention that detail?). His eyes going white at every word, he must have been thinking what the fuck was this? And in this seedy environment with the surgical museum pieces on display?! He must have been terrified as fuck!

Of course, he won't be able to fist for a while, not until he's fully healed' carried on the doctor, manhandling David's forearms. You do know that after this procedure his easy fucks are over, right? He's going to struggle to find bottoms that can take him on. Though some guys are going to love that!'

`I know, it's a sacrifice. But a good one, right?' I replied.

David looked crazed, but then his vision went cloudy as the doctor inserted a syringe into his neck, knocking him out for the final time that night. I helped the surgeon's assistants decant him from the chair and remove him to surgery. My work here was done. For now.

The operation was intense and invasive, and it took several days for David to recover before the doctor let him wake up from the anaesthetic. I used that time to carefully examine what I'd helped create - after all it had been my instructions that had made all of this possible.

Between bandage changes I looked at his new wrists and expertly measured each newly created bump and ridge. I then proceeded to use all my leather skills to make two custom gauntlets - a different one for each arm - that would fit snugly around David's new wrists and hiding what was underneath. I've always had a gift for leatherwork, it was as if the material spoke to me and it was deeply satisfying making these. I made them with care and with only the highest quality materials - I knew they were going to have to last a very, long time.

The next difficult decision was deciding exactly when to show him what the surgeon had done.

To be honest, we hadn't needed to go anywhere near so deep on the illicit back-room charade. But part of of me wanted him off-balance, to let his imagination run wild. Not least that when he did find out what we'd done he'd be relieved. And excited.

So, that's why we heavily bandaged his forearms more than we needed to. A thick covering that - even through the pain and the touch of his fingertips - he wouldn't be able to deduce a thing. That meant the unveiling would be under our control, not his. Of course, he tried to ask. Repeatedly. But I said he had to trust me. Oh, and to get ready for the future, after all, there was no going back.

To say our flight back had a very different energy wasn't a lie. I knew his mind was running overtime trying to work out what was under his bandages. Thank god his fetish education wasn't all that high...

When we got back to London I installed him in one of my short-term holding cells - one of the ones with a full gym. After all, we couldn't let him loose his fitness. It was actually a double cell as I moved Jason in with him to make sure he didn't remove his bandages or take an illicit peek before we were ready.

When the big reveal did come we made sure everything was perfect. Which started with Jason slipping David a sleeping draught to make sure we were able to stage manage everything...

We laid the top out on his bed - naked and every muscle on his (previously) flawless body on display - and then carefully and painstakingly removed the bandages. It was the first time Jason had seen what was underneath and he couldn't resist whistling and saying `oh my sweet Lord!'.

That's when I slipped on the custom 6" high leather gauntlets I'd made David. I was pleased to see they fit superbly. This was because the inner layer of leather had perfectly positioned cut-outs to allow the implants in his new wrists and forearms to be seamlessly covered by the thicker outer layer.

I was also deeply pleased to see just smokin' hot David looked with his forearms covered in black leather. Sure, they looked fresh and new right now, but they'd improve with age. I knew he wouldn't be taking those thick, black leather bands off ever again. Well, unless he was playing or purposefully wanted to look like a freak!

It was time to wake him up.

He knew something was different the moment he came round. Not least because Jason and I were intently looking over him, but also because the heavy bandages he'd become so familiar with were no longer on his arms. He instinctively reached across to touch his wrists, feeling the soft and seamless leather under his fingers for the first time. I could tell the smooth material both scared and surprised him. The back-room procedure in Brazil? The pain in his forearms as he'd healed over the last month? What was it all for? Surely he must have some idea though, he couldn't be that naive?

Relax', I told him. Those gauntlets are going to be your best friends. So dark and hot, right? And not a hint of what's underneath. Though I can - of course - make you a set with some red stripes. For informal wear,' I smiled, eyes twinkling.

What the hell's underneath?' he said slowly, moving to open the pop-studs tightly securing the coverings in place. He paused. Wait, are these covering tattoos? I've always thought the idea of some wrist bands would be pretty hot...'

He seemed lost in contemplation for a moment, maybe wondering why a tattoo would need to be covered up? Just how obscene could they--

`You ready to find out the truth?' I asked.

As his hands popped off the leather studs his anticipation was extreme. Even before the first stud was undone his eyes were wild, in fact he didn't even get to the second stud before he started stroking his fingers along his wrist. He was touching his left forearm, the one the surgeon had implanted a series of hard ridges of a fake bone-like material deep under his skin. In different widths and at random intervals.

I've got to admire how swiftly he took it all in. The consequences of having wrists that were true pussy-wreckers. In fact, he was so excited that his dick rose so fast that he was erect before he'd even turned to his right forearm.

That side was the rough rider, the one where large bumps had been fused to his radius and ulna bones. Although the dodgy doctor had done a perfect job, once the gauntlet was off the circular lumps were clear and obvious for everyone to see. As would be the effects... his wrists were now certified cunt-splitters, giving everyone he played with an experience like no other. Maybe they were even the perfect fists?

It looked like we were about to find out. Seizing the moment, David ordered Jason to get his arse in a sling, right now!

Wow, this was going to be fun!

Of course, my assistant hot-footed it to the sling in my biggest playroom. He'd been fisted by David twice before and now I knew he wanted the trio. Especially after the changes the surgeon had made. I really hoped they would unlock David's latent abilities as god knows he needed a helping hand. Not least as only the pro cunts would be able to take him from now on... and playing with Jason would be his first real test.

It was always insanely hot to see Jason splayed out in a sling. David's body was hot, but let's not forget my assistant was a beefcake too. His thick and muscled legs were spread wide, revealing a fantastic hole, a pair of giant low-hangers and an obscenely fat dong that was getting bigger with every second. Then that magnificent pelt of hair that rose up his body to his broad chest, shoulders and lean, corded arms. All topped by his confident, sultry, sexy face. Complete with `come-fuck-me' eyes.

However, it was even hotter to see David enthusiastically and tenderly strap him in. Evidently he wanted my assistant to be unable to escape from his new fists. At every moment the top wore an evil and twisted grin. A new energy that we hadn't witnessed from him before.

Which was exactly what I'd hoped for.

David then lubed up but I was intrigued to see that he only greased his hands and didn't go any further. Maybe he wasn't ready to touch his new wrists yet?

Either way, he meticulously started working his hands into Jason's eager pussy. I say meticulous as, even though he knew my assistant could take the depth, David kept on holding back. In fact, his hands repeatedly sunk inside Jason's well-oiled cunt but stopped well short of his new wrists. In fact, the lube was making a perfect glove around each fist. Such a tease!

That skill was a masterful display of just how far David had progressed. He then suddenly went deep on verbal. `Can you see my forearms? Take a good look at them Jason. Just imagine what they're going to do to your pussy... I mean, a lot of tops say they can wreck a boy's cunt, but they don't really mean it. With these fuckers though? I honestly don't think your pussy is ever going to be the same!'

He said that as his right hand was buried inside. David looked from his bumpy forearm to Jason's eyes. See this?' he beamed. I bet it's going to be a fucking rough ride! I reckon you're going to feel every... fucking... bump.'

Then he pulled his hand out and seamlessly replaced it with his right, although once again only going as far as the tidemark on his wrist.

This one though?' he said. My ripple wrist?--` cute name! '--I think that's the one that's going to make the real difference. These big ridges - the walls of your pussy are really going to have to stretch and flex! And just imagine what they're going to do to your cunt lips. Fuck! Is that what you want? Your hole trashed?'

My god, getting a bottom to agree to their own destruction is a power move. After that you have permission to do anything, right? And by now Jason was so delirious with desire that anything was possible.

And that was when David made his move. Not stopping to remove his hand, or to apply any extra lube to his wrist, he slowly pushed forward. So, so fucking slowly. Christ, I could see Jason's cunt expand and contract around every single fucking ridge. It was beautiful to watch, the different sized rings stretching my assistant's cunt in truly joyous ways.

And that was before the top started to travel his new forearm fully in and out, brutally fast. His wrists were moving so quick that he was playing with the bottom's hole like nothing more than a stretched out rubber band in the sun!

My surgeon really had done his work well.

Just when Jason was getting use to the ridges David moved onto his other wrist, the rough rider. Christ, it must have been the closest thing to physical shock and awe that fisting could ever deliver! The top really rode that cunt deep, giving my assistant something he couldn't get anywhere else. Literally. I could that tell that from the delight in David's eyes, Jason's squeals and an amazing anal bloom!

David pummelled away like he was discovering fisting for the very first time, all over again. As he punched yet another pussygasm out of my gaping assistant, he demanded Jason answer a question.

`Tell me... what do I have?!' he asked.

Oh my dear god...' Jason cried out, before being punched again. The perfect...' PUNCH! Mother-cunting...' PUNCH! Fucking...' PUNCH! Fists...' PUNCH! Aargh...!' PUNCH!

By now Jason was nothing more than a sweaty mess and there was no need for me to stay. I left the playroom with a smile on my face and went back to my workshop. Time to make up another pair of leather gauntlets. I was pretty sure David would want a pair with red stripes after all...

Next: the 3rd case study: installation