Whole Destruction Chapter 1 - Admittance
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Two men end up on a program with a singular and unique purpose.
Themes include fisting, fucking, sucking, rubber, leather and (later) bondage, tattoos, piercing and porn.
Average reading time for this chapter: 10 minutes.
When I saw him in the admittance room my instincts told me I had a friend already. Sure, he was older and obviously more experienced than me, but I sensed he was kind at heart. Some things you just know.
Of course, regardless of body shape, size, age and maturity, we both had one big thing in common. We had signed up to the `Hole Destruction' course. It lasts half a year, is extremely exclusive and promises guaranteed results. Extremely expensive too - the fee has to be paid up front and is totally non-refundable. In fact, it's even stricter than that. Once admitted you aren't allowed to drop out. Regrets, second thoughts or doubts simply aren't tolerated. In fact, they're punished by the guards doubling down on your ass.
As I got changed with about 20 other guys, I thought about those words. I guess they're meant to scare, to drive away the undecided or basic wannabes. I was fully fully signed up though. I didn't have a choice.
The pre-entrance survey had been something of a warning sign though. When they measured my body, questioned my experience, detailed the condition of my hole, ran down my status... I should have got worried. But having my width, size and performance clinically appraised was strangely hot. Like no other doctor appointment I've ever known. Even the pre-douching had been a strange turn-on. Knowing I wasn't allowed in without being completely ready? That was kinda hot.
The journey to this room was fucked-up though. To get here we'd been led past ranks of men getting power fucked, lines of fully-occupied fist slings and rows of fuck machines hammering away. Then put in here, each given access to a numbered locker, told to strip naked and deposit our street clothes inside. I've not a prude but I'm all that proud of my body either, however, as I undressed and looked around I was pleasantly surprised at the sheer variety of men alongside me. We were short, tall, lean, muscular, flabby, old, young, and in every colour. I felt like I was in a very big tent looking in, not least as I was the minnow of the group. 23 and barely bantamweight, how would I fit in with this intake? Would I be taken advantage of?
I think that's why I felt such a strong connection to Max. Or at least, that's what I'll call him. So far we've only been told two rules. All our belongings had to go in the lockers, no exceptions. And, strictly no personal questions about the other inmates. That even went as far as not asking for anyone's name. I guess some guys wanted to keep the experience totally private. Or they want to dehumanise us?
Still, calling him Max in my head was better than using his number.
Ah yes, our numbers. By now everyone had finished undressing and deposited their clothes in the lockers. All the doors were closed before a mechanical thunk sounded and each one sprung open. We looked in unison to see our clothes had gone - disappeared - to be replaced by an orange jumpsuit and a pair of white wellington boots. No under layer, no tank, no skivvies. No, this outfit was designed to be worn totally commando. That makes sense.
As we pulled on our overalls it was clear that each one had our unique numbers printed on front, military style. Mine was #7557. Oh, and we were also given nicknames. These were emblazoned across the back in bold, white, stencilled type. Was I the only one who was embarrassed by this? Was anyone else's face as red as mine? Surely having PigHole' splashed across your shoulders would make any man blush? I may have got off lightly though. Others had names like PussyWhore', ManCanyon' or NoLimitsPussy'. It was insane.
Max's was `PowerCunt'. I rather liked that.
The material of the overalls was rough and coarse, the colour an obvious echo of the notorious prison camp at Guantanamo Bay. The real surprise was the fit. Each one seemed to have been individually tailored to our bodies. Virtually skin-tight too. I could both feel it from the grip around my slender frame but also by looking at the way it fitted Max. By god, he was solid and swarthy! Handsome and hairy. And at this point? Completely oblivious to my presence. That had to change. I knew if I was going to get through the next six months I was going to need support. A calm mentor to take me under his wing and help me in this life transformation.
That's when my opening came. We were all now uniformed up when a succession of thumps from behind the locker doors announced something else had been delivered. As we looked there was a universal chorus of fuck no's.
Out of everyone in the room, he seemed to take the contents of the bag in his stride. Without question he pulled down the white, wrap-around zip of his overalls, hauled out his fat prick and started the complicated process of fitting the chastity cage.
Hmm. They seemed to have the sizings for these all sorted too. The one I held in my hand was a fair bit smaller than Max's. This was my chance though, I'd never worn one of these before but he was being so smooth. Surely I could legitimately ask for his assistance?
He was nothing but helpful, gracious even. He opened the metal ring that formed the base, wrapped it around my junk and then slid my dick into the gated sheath. Before I knew it the two parts were locked together. This was actually tougher than I make it sound. Our cages might be purposely designed to fit, but the sight of such much man - and the combined carnal smell - was really difficult for me to ignore. I was having a very natural reaction, not least to the close attention of a big-handed guy holding my cock and manipulating it. He told me to breathe it out but I guess the feel of the heavy, cold steel helped too.
That's when I looked in my eyes and I felt a real frisson. I'd approached half-way through him putting on his own and he wasn't fully secured yet. Would I return the favour?
Yes! This was a fucking privilege. Helping him just as he'd helped me. The weight of his tackle felt so good in my hand - so warm, so heavy, so big! - that I honestly didn't want to click that lock. I had too though, we had no choice. I reached round to his ass to pull his zip back up, over the freshly installed cage and traversed his hairy chest. As I did I could feel the warmth of his body. The heat. A smile of thanks was all it took for me to know. This could be good.
Now, you're probably not going to believe this, but I signed up to this thing as the result of a bet gone horribly wrong. A hand of poker I well and truly lost. I'd been drunk and cocky, not hearing the consequences, too high to really think everything through.
As a 21st Century gay I vaguely knew of the program - who doesn't? - but I didn't imagine for a second that I'd ever end up being a part of it. I honestly thought it might be an urban myth. A hole destroying course?! What the hell does that even mean?
Part of me loves that I rebelled against the bet. It was clear I didn't have the cash to pay, even if I sold everything I owned. I would be in hock to this guy for the rest of my life and there was no fucking way I would do that. So, he'd given me this challenge instead. Pay up or sign up. I honestly don't think for a moment he actually expected me to agree. Surely this would be far more punishing than financial penury, but...?
Look, I'm no stranger to assplay (although no expert at fisting) and risking having my hole played around with for a bit was nothing. Right? Not least the number of times a top has said in the heat of the moment they want to wreck my pussy' or destroy my hole' and they never have. Surely this can't be any different?
However, all this did make me wonder why my new friend was here. Was he here by choice? I had no idea but the smile in the corner of his eye made me fervently hope they provided double cells. I needed to be with him.
That's when a Tom of Finland style guard strode into the room. Fuck me! He was butch, intimidating as hell and totally stacked! Of course, I say `Tom of Finland style' but this guy was a walking dream. His leather fitted his body with not a millimetre of surplus or excess. Several cows had died to bring this vision to life and it was all worth it.
Immaculately polished Police boots rode high up his calves. Then came thick thighs overlaid by oh-so-tight and shiny breeches, at the centre of which was a monumentally well-packed bulge. I couldn't help but look between him and Max. Who was packing the most heat? Could it even be comfortable to have your dick and balls so compressed that every vein of your shaft was on full display? Your helmet in stark relief?
Evidently the guards didn't care or they simply took it in their stride. His upper body looked as if it had been virtually poured into a uniform shirt with sleeves so tight on his biceps that I swear they must have restricted his movement. Then mirrored sunglasses and an authentic Muir cap. Oh, a Sam Browne belt and holster too.
Now, I'm not an expert at these things, but I assume prison guards normally carry around truncheons. Smooth, long, hard and punishing weapons. This guard? Well, I knew what he was brandishing: a supersized copy of his own meat. It had to be. It matched every detail of his bulge and yet turbo-charged. Why would he possibly need to carry a dildo that big?!
I suddenly started to get rather worried, I even moved towards Max for protection. Did he also have poppers, handcuffs, gloves and a lube canister on his belt? And was that a cattle prod? He carried it all so casually that it could only be his standard kit. To be used without hesitation, for discipline or pleasure.
I was on high alert as we were led through to the cells. Even given the explicit tour we'd already had through the compound, what came next surprised me. The corridors were dark, steel walkways under foot. Each door we passed was open. Large utilitarian spaces, stainless steel fixings. Slings hung down, fuck benches secured to the floor.
That wasn't what stuck out though. No, it was the stark bollock naked man in each cell, all in the `present' position. Overalls cast aside, their only adornment their cages. Each guy turned to intimately display their holes. It was seriously fucking obscene.
All these buff men parting their butt cheeks with their hands, revealing themselves to the new fish. I had no idea holes could get so big - so many ripples of red flesh, so much gape, so many puffed up lips. Were these really arseholes or simply pussies in their most evolved male form? How could they all be so fucked up?
As we went further in I got even more worried. Not just by the sights - oh fuck me, that hole is seriously broken! - but by our diminishing line. Men were being doled out, some to empty cells and others to enclosures with guys already inside. No one was being kept together. Was I going to be alone? Or with someone I've never met. Some old-timer who would punish me?
The guards must have been smiling at us. Maybe they noticed how my attention had been focused on this tall, dark stranger? How I'd been captivated by his quiet, confident energy from the beginning? We were suddenly down to the last two. Surely not? The man with experience, the one I'd sought out in the changing room. Max. The one with the big dick, fit body and - as I was to find out - giant hole and the experience to match. Just the guide I needed. The one I was now interred with.
Look. I can't say that the sound of the heavy metal door slamming shut didn't freak me out. In fact - after witnessing the hole parade - I was almost on the verge of collapsing. What the fuck was I doing here? And with him?! He was a fucking tank, biceps that commanded attention, a body you wanted to be swept up in. Unfazed by anything. God, I so wanted to be him.
That meant I had to summon my confidence and ask the obvious question. Why was he here? Surely this had to be a fuck up in the universe?
That's when he told me the big secret. One that I'm not sure I wanted to know. He was surprised I didn't know the truth already. That the program wasn't called hole destruction' but was actually whole destruction'. Yes, with a w.
You see - as Max explained in the twilight of our cell - hole destruction implies simple ass wrecking. Gaping, big, ruined. But no, oh God no. `Whole' destruction meant the mind too. Implanting a permanent desire to be fucked up at all times, no ass-limits, 24/7/365. Till death or being worn out, whatever comes first.
I felt confused and overwhelmed so he decided to make it real... and that's how I ended up on my back taking fist on my first night in. How I began to understand just what `whole' really meant. It scared and excited the hell out of me.
Man, did he do it smooth though. He touched me in all the right places, kissed me too. His tender touch and smooth lips felt so fucking good, so right. Have you ever completely and utterly folded in someone's presence before? The animalistic sights we'd just walked past - that couldn't be unseen - should have clenched my butt as tight as a quail's snatch, but his attention soon released me. It's only now, as I digest everything, that I notice how well our cell was set-up for this kind of scene. Giant containers of lube. That heavy-duty sling.
He maneuvered me into position like a natural. My overalls seamlessly fell open, hanging apart from my ass down. He was in charge. In seconds I was lying back and feeling totally at home, slings have the power to do that. Wait, were the lights always this red?
Then his hand was dipped in lube and felt my trench.
Yes, yes, I know.
Trench is an extreme way of describing that part of my anatomy. However, it's been drilled into us. Language matters. How we see our manpussies matters. Each and every fucking day: we won't achieve perfection until we do.
Of course, that was all to be understood later, but for my first night in, this was all so wrong, but so very, very right.
I'm a horn-dog, I can't deny it. Why else would I have accepted this challenge? To put so much on the line. But as he slid his hand into me - the orange overalls, his intent stare and determination, the leather supports, my ass needing to be serviced - well, I completely folded. I couldn't help myself. All this pussy, the stench of ass and lube, the sight of those trashed holes? I wanted it.
I've played with so many guys that I felt had tried to force their way in, but Max did it with ease. So much ease. Like he was a fucking professional. Christ, was he actually a bottom or top? As he sunk his hairy forearm into my hole I no longer cared, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. That's the power of fist.
I know, total cliché alert. Sometimes you have to rely on old favourites to describe a moment though. He worked my ass like nothing I've ever felt before. By the end I'd pussy-gasmed so much that a constant stream of cum oozed out of my cage.
He knew it too, god damn it. The way his eyes shifted from his gloves, enveloped in fat drips of lube, to my sweet hole meant his desires were obvious. He wanted me to be big.
For all my pleasure - for all my alienation at this environment and situation - he was already challenging the limits of my hole and my surroundings. Could he get some of his second hand in? Could he pull back with a clenched fist without me screaming out loud in pain? Exactly what were my capabilities?
Even in my fist-addled state I couldn't help but notice the blinking red LEDs of the cameras covering the room. Was this all being recorded? Towards the end - even with a fist trammelling my ass - I suddenly got suspicious that this might actually be part of some insane initiation ritual. Maybe Max was a stooge? That actually he didn't want my ass at all and all this was for show?
Surely not though?
All the time he reassured me, telling me just how good a bottom I was, that I was taking his fists so easily that surely I must want more. It was only later - so much later - that I realised how fucked up this was. As he ploughed he went into even more detail about what whole destruction meant. Fuck, he even managed to make it sound horny! That I would leave here with a permanent desire to be corrupted, messed-up, destroyed. I would never be the same.
Is it wrong that I came so fucking hard at that point? Trapped dick aside, it was the most painfully intense orgasm of my life. So far.
All I know for certain is that as he withdrew his fist, removed his gloves, helped me down from the sling and packed me into bed, I felt something I'd never felt before. My big spoon. Hugged and held by the guy who'd just completely rearranged my ass. Forget the consequences. Forget the next 6 months. I'd found love. I twitched my asshole, begging for more. Christ, I wish we weren't wearing these cages so he could fuck me.
Next: Initiation
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