Whole Destruction Chapter 6 - Destruction
Themes include fisting, porn, bondage and body modification. Average reading time 10 minutes.
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Soon after I'd fisted Max wearing an actual steel ball on my hand - what the fuck, seriously?! - we were released from our metal orbs. I'm happy to say that my cell-mate took full advantage of my healed ink to power fist me. The tattoo around my hole was outrageous but god did it lead Max on! I mean, he really did drive a train into my cunt. It seemed to inspire him, saying he'd never used a pussy like it before, that it showed I was a real slut and that he had no idea my appetite to be a male fistwhore was so extreme.
Wait. What?
Even as he punched my pussy out and my toes curled in ecstasy I couldn't help but store those words away. Surely he was the one with the bigger cunt? If anyone was a fistwhore it was him? When our session ended that night I actually went to bed feeling slightly churlish and didn't hug and hold him the way I normally did.
Maybe that's why the porn challenge went so wrong.
We were challenged to write the most extreme porn scene we could possibly imagine. God knows, we'd seen enough online shit by now that it was a good chance to be original. We were told that no location, device or set-up was out of scope or budget. If we wanted to film in a nuclear power station or the Queen's bedroom it was possible. With a cast of one or a thousand. The only thing? It had to be based on our deepest, darkest fantasies. Nothing else would do.
Max is such a better man than me.
He wrote a scenario where a young guy - remarkably similar to myself - takes the double for the first time. Where I described a scene where a big, muscular guy - just like Max - gets turned out as an irrevocable fistpig and gets used until there's nothing left of the man he used to be.
Can you guess which one they decided to film?
Max's scenario was really rather loving. Sure, it involved elements of kidnap and rape, but it was still quite caring. A bottom smuggled away, he wakes on an open train car travelling across the American mid-west. Mountains and sun in the background, strangely poetic. Body strapped down and legs held akimbo. As the scenery changed the bottom (me) would be challenged, pushed, expanded. The drone shots alone would make it worthwhile. The conclusion? It would be inevitable. Taking the double for the first time.
One hand buried inside, and then the other sliding alongside. The fingers rotating around the implanted wrist, gently stretching and aided by plenty of lube. That all important extra hand slowly going deeper, but ever-so carefully, finding it's path. Sliding, moving, manipulating. Your hole getting bigger and bigger, being stretched in ways you've never felt before.
You want it so bad, you need it, and all with nature at your back. Sun over the Rockies. The moment is insane, the expansion too big, but how can you say no with this golden backdrop? The universe is saying `take it, take it, TAKE IT!' and so you do.
The best and biggest stretch in the world. The two hands slid alongside each other, merging to become a power-ball, a column of fisting power that reams you out, changing you forever. There's nothing you can't take after this.
I found the idea crazily hot. For a long while I'd wanted the double and yet it seemed to be alluding me. Forget the stretching, the assessments, the toys... I had something of a mental block about this. Maybe I was scared of the commitment it represented to a lifetime of fisting? Either way, my mind kept on shutting down and my hole said no. Even though I wanted the double it seemed to be a barrier I simply couldn't get past.
Had he written his story with me in mind? He had to of done, right? To use his intimate knowledge about me to understand just what it would take to expand my horizons. The perfect scene.
Which made my script all the fucking worse. There was no sense of expanding capabilities or learning new things here, no this was just a full on cuntal abuse.
It started with a muscular and hairy man being prepared. A thick and heavy steel cuff being attached to his balls. Maybe they'd even be a splitter bar to separate the sack? However, the most important thing would be the various hitching points that came as standard. This scrotal security cuff would literally be fundamental to securing the subject down and in place. In this case, to a fuck bench welded to a steel box frame.
Forget the tight rubber vac-rack scenes I'd been forced to endure. I wanted something more primeval, more humiliating, more fundamental. The steel cuff would be locked to the heavy bench. Not with ropes or chains, but steel bars. That would mean you couldn't pull back or away from whatever was happening to your ass. Your manhood would be on the line. Your hands and body further restrained with leather so you couldn't reach back or protest.
Surrounding the bench and providing a stable platform? A three dimensional metal frame, a perfect, open box. You would be so much meat that could be transported and used wherever needed. Your hole in perfect position - trapped - ready to be cunted. From rest-stop to truck-stop. A college frat to leather bar. Wherever horny men needed to work out their frustrations, literally being delivered with the air of a forklift. Christ, I even imagined the box being dropped off by helicopter at an army base. Anything would be possible for the Rent-a-Pussy service.
It shames me that I imagined my cell-mate inside this fantasy.
I didn't have to imagine it for long. Except I was the one in the box, not Max. I should have guessed it but I can't believe they actually did it.
My balls still hurt but I guess that's nothing compared to the damage to my hole and body. Cunningly they designed the restraints so as allow me just enough movement. It made the pressure on my ball cuff all the more punishing, and meant my body could give just enough feedback on the force of a fist punch to count. They took what I'd written and made it better. Fuckers.
Then was the design of the steel frame. It was brutal and utilitarian yet something of a marvel. The fuck bench itself was suspended in the centre by hydraulic pistons that could change the angle and height of the platform inside. It would always automatically adjust to match whoever the fistee was and their best angle of attack. I promise you, it ended up dealing with a lot of variety. All heights, all sizes, all abilities, all colours. I know this as HD cameras were built into the frame, LED lights too. Everything was all captured from every angle - a mobile porn studio and fisting bench built into one.
They'd really made it mobile too. Yes, there were the helicopter hitching posts, but they'd also designed it so I could be delivered on the back of a long-wheelbase SUV. I could literally be driven from from venue to venue, all with no chance of escape or relent.
The backlot of that Chicago leather bar was perhaps the most extreme. Thank god it was recorded! That BLUF top yanking his fist back and me prolapsing for the first time? That moment needs to be saved for the nation! And I can't even begin to describe the night at the barracks. Christ, that battalion was seriously hungry.
However, none of this - none of it - compares to me taking the bottom's role in Max's script. Yes, we filmed both. And yes, I've only gone and fucking done it! The double!
It was blissful, romantic even. Whereas I'd constructed a scene based out of restroom toilets and parking lots - ammonia or gasoline in the air - he'd created a picture that was nature itself. Those spectacular slow-mo captures of the Milky Way in the Utah desert? Touching the very sky itself. Think of that, except for my ass.
It was amazing.
Taking the double reminds you of all the reasons you got into fisting in the first place. That delight in the stretch, of limits being pushed, of the deep connection between two horny men.
Somehow, as you gain experience and can take a single with ease, that eye-opening delight gets diminished. You can do it now, what's next? Fisters always go after the extremes.
That's what makes the double so powerful. It resets the baseline. It gives you something new to constantly chase and aspire to. And to make you a true pig. That was the nickname the program had given me: PigHole. Countless guards had used it, now it was coming true. Not least after that truck-stop where the rednecks formed a moving punch-line. There was a literal queue for my ass - each guy got 50 punches before they had to return to the back of the line for another turn.
Christ, no wonder I could take the double?!
I get that my abilities have grown, but is it any wonder I put Max as the protagonist of my story, but he put me as the hero of his? Even though I love him, I feel like his pet his puppet to be used. Did he have to direct the bench porn with so much authenticity? I mean, I get that it's the number one viewed video on PornHub's fisting category, but did he have to do it so well? I mean, my hole was fucking used. Paraded around until I was fully punched out. I was left a gaping slot and no matter how much pleasure I got out of it, I also felt annoyed and frustrated. Where was my hero now? Who was looking after me?
The voice of the internet seemed to think the double video was arthouse erotica and therefore not porn. Even though the beautiful moment had meant so much to me it soon fell off the charts. Maybe I had the better fantasies?
Of course, despite my starring role, all of this was book-ended by Max constantly fucking and fisting me.
For every load he deposited in my fuck-channel, for every batch of lube that sluiced out by fist-trench, I was getting more and more frustrated. Why was his dick allowed to be free and mine was still locked up? Why did I have to wear such dehumanising rubber in our cell and he got to be all high and mighty in form-fitting leather?
Was it because he was hung? That his hole was bigger than mine? Why was he seen as better? I started rebelling, trying to not let him fuck me. Turning away. Closing down.
It was a long time before I realised all this drama was intentional, manufactured. It was what the program demanded. The constant struggle in my head, the dilemma in my body. My desire to be used was now so strong that I couldn't say no for long. When you've been made an open, gaping slot, you can't exactly turn away dick. It will find its home if it wants to. And it did, repeatedly. Max fucked me to kingdom come., so much so that the guards actually started complaining about the cum leaking out of my hole. Max always did fire a big load.
Maybe that explains what came next? Maybe the guards - overseers? - picked up on my frustration. I say `overseers' as I've realised there has to be a plan behind all this. Methodology. Routine. A construct. They know what they're doing. Destroying our minds as well as our holes. Creating suspicion and resentment. I will come out of this experience a transformed man. I will live for fist, I'll need it survive. I'll do anything to achieve it but I won't trust it.
But did they have to be so cruel?
By now the clones and drones knew I was unashamedly a bottom over top. That was my role, that was my purpose. That meant two possible surgical procedures.
First. A urethral plug. Basically, what they'd threatened to do to Max if he didn't comply with their demands. My dick would be pierced so the cock cage would become be an integral part of my being. I would still be able to pee, leak pre-cum and (if lucky) ooze cum out, but there was no way I'd be allowed to get hard again. The metal cage would be set in place.
Second. Their chosen option. My balls.
I woke up with no memory of it happening, but I clambered out of bed and immediately knew something was very wrong. I had been given a set of seriously low-swingers! I guess they must think my balls could be a source of extra pleasure to the men I play with. Visually and physically. The pain was so startlingly, their size so big that I had no choice but to tentatively hold them in both hands. I was amazed at what I had.
What they did is simple to describe but it must have been insanely complex. First they stretched my sack. I knew this was happening as the guards kept changing up the cuff part of my chastity case. After the whole `scrotal security cuff secured to fuck bench' thing they hadn't wanted to remove it. Too useful. But it had got thicker and heavier with each passing day. Of course, I didn't get to argue, protest, question or even understand why this was happening. I just had to accept it as fact.
Now the procedure was done, they finally explained it. There was a perfunctory letter on the table:
TO: INMATE #7557 / `PIGHOLE'
NOTIFICATION OF SURGICAL PROCEDURE: TESTICULAR ENLARGEMENT AND SCROTAL STRETCH
Scrotum was pumped for six hours until inflated to the required size. Sac incision made vertically and 4" artificial veterinarian testicles inserted. Each is a clamshell that surrounds your existing (average size) testes and will allow for the continued production of semen. The implants are made of surgical grade stainless steel and weigh 7.19oz each, surrounded by a thick layer of soft-density silicon for life-like feel. As your actual balls are now shielded by steel, expect the nerve endings on the surface of your sac to intensify over time. Not least as you will now be able to bear extremely punishing use.
Healing time: 14 days. Do not unduly manipulate your scrotum in this time. Drugs to manage excessive pain are available. In addition, we have provided a ball harness to support the recovery of your new junk. Do not rely on this equipment to be available in the future.
That last line? That's what was sitting on the table next to the fucking note! It seemed to be some kind of rubber contraption that would provide a cradle for my balls. Thank god there was a picture as otherwise I'd never have worked out the complicated full body harness it was attached to. I had no choice but to put obscene harness on as my hands - and my body - were already getting tired from supporting the weight.
Oh my word. My dick looks tiny in comparison to these fuckers! I can't begin to imagine what a target my balls would be in the future. And these fuckers are so heavy that they're only going to get lower and lower over time. The upside? I couldn't deny that my balls now matched my stupidly oversized nipple rings. My bulge was tremendous. I mean, epically big. Attention grabbing big. And there was nothing I could do about it.
I liked that.
Next: Completion
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