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Taming the Beast 3
Emile, 2010 - 2011
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When I woke up I was outside in the cold, propped up against an alley wall on some pavement wearing just the metal cockring. My legs were akimbo and every passer by could see my cum covered jock body. My muscles ached. As well as dried cum I could smell piss and spit, Which from the snickering nearby I worked out was some local fun they'd had while I was out. I tried to stand but fell back, and the local kids came over, snickering. They came close, supposedly to help me, and knept down on either side of me. I stunk of cum, and they asked me what happened. I muttered something about being raped and they said "what is that cum?" pointing to the pool of sticky mess between my legs. Worse, looking down I realised my cock was still rock hard in the tight metal cockring, the glans flared and bulging. By this stage each of my arms was being held firmly by their concerned hands, and now they were prying apart my thighs. I didn't respond which they took to mean I needed a closer look, and one began forcing my head down, making me go down on my own dick. They pushed me further, my body wracked with pain, until finally they had me engulf my whole stalk, nose rubbing in the scum leaking from my arse. "Yeah, that cum you filthy faggot!" There was a yell and the kids bolted. I slowly pulled up from my dick, still covered in goo. "You jis can't get enough sex eh gringo?" the voice said. It was Paolo. "We thought we'd get you a farewell gift with the money you earnt last night. Here" he said, lifting me up, draping an arm over his shoulder. Agonisingly, I limped along, unable to stand on my own or resist. "the tattoo parlour's almost open!"
If I thought my live was bad before, then arriving at that parlour only made me realise the depths I could plunge to. We rounded the corner onto a street. There were a couple of signs for sex shops and clubs with names like "Man Nation", it was trashy, and the guys walking around all looked gay. Most stopped and stared as I struggled along, dick bobbing in the breeze. One burly guy passed, and I hoarsely whispered "Please help me", and he slowed down, but only to give my engorged dick a couple of pumps, before continuing along. The parlour faced a main street, big windows for everyone to see through, and as we entered, a small crowd began gathering at the window. The tattooist, a big hairy guy called Matt, bristling with tats and piercings, was setting up a camera on a tripod, facing a big dentists chair in the centre of the room. He looked back, grinning when he saw me naked and exposed. He ignored my hoarse pleas, telling Pablo the camera was "for the internet - Mr Jones' special request."
They each grabbed under an armpit and bundled me into the chair, pulling my wrists behind it so my biceps strained around the chair back, and they tied my wrists together with a cable tie. The chair was wide-backed and bulky, and despite my broad shoulders the stretch forced my wrists tight, arms bulging and chest out, toward the camera. The exertion made me damp with sweat. Then they pulled my corded thighs over the arms of the chair, spreading them wide and securing my ankles together behind the pivot. Again I was strained to breaking point, the muscles joining my legs and crotch were stretched taut, arse up off the bench, my heavy dick thrust toward the camera. Matt came back with an evil looking device - two flat metal hooks joined by a short length of strong elastic cable, and hooked one end under my foreskin, and stretched the cable over my balls to hook the other end to my winking sphincter. The effect was electric - they pulled against each other, so my dick arched out and down like a faucet, foreskin stretched out and down from my body. The tug on my sensitive cockhead, especially the tight inch of tissue from the base of the frenulum, put me in overdrive, and my cock began burping long streams of precum toward the lens - clear sticky goo that spewed out and drooled over the hook, spattering onto the ground in a relentless stream of agonising pent up lust. The other hook was equally infuriating, stretching my pounded hole up and exposing my tender cherry to the camera, still clogged with multiple guys' cum. The stretched skin pulled deep into my hole, stirring more fucklust in my overworked prostate. And my big balls, still heavy with cum, dangled either side of the elastic, bloated and full, every vein bulging to the camera. My ball flesh was still smooth and taut, not a single hair had grown on my jock body since my brothers had smeared their itching cream on me, and straining my jaw down on my barrel chest, I could see them glistening, coated in sap, through the valley of my pecs.
Soon, my desperate horny itch was replaced with a greater agony, as Matt wheeled over on his gurney to start the tattooing. Neither guy had told me what they had planned, but as he surveyed the canvas of my body, I began to realise in horror their plans for me. Matt shoved a wad of cloth in my mouth, tying it securely in place, telling me it would stop me biting my tongue. I tried to speak but my protest was muffled to a moan. He took in from the nape of my neck to the base of my cock, the curve of the fat dong to the tip, with one grinning gesture. Then he got to work, inking me from the peak of each shoulder in a wide curve over my chest, meeting just below my fat pec overhang, down over my abs to the root of my dick. The work took hours, camera whirring constantly, and whenever Matt moved down to a new part, the leery grins and chuckles of the pervs in the window gave me a sickening feeling of what was to come. Eventually, he finished on my thighs, in what looked like exaggerated legs in army boots. Matt had finished, and leaned back for a cigar break as Pablo came over with a mirror, pointed down at my sweat and ink stained body. Despite my wildest imaginings, I was still shocked. the picture was me, in a way, a beefy oversized muscle boy, cuffed melon arms stretched wide over my chest, head hanging down below my pecs, cut tapering body covered only by a rag shirt, straddling my fat cock, thick legs dangling either side, curving in to my sensitive inner thighs, weighed down by the boots. The figure was covered with streaks of cum which dripped off his arms, snaking over my chest, pooling at my nipples. The picture said 'filth', but they weren't content with that, and soon Matt started work again. This time it was my cock, and the pain was excruciating. I strained down and saw him defacing my dong with a jagged, slop covered dildo which started just below the head and punched up the curve of the cock, plunging into the inked man. Then he added something high on each pec, between the arms, which Pablo read to me with a grunt - "JOCKPIG". He surveyed his work, clearly content as his dick throbbed in his pants. He gave my mutilated cock a few painful jerks, and despite everything, my heavy balls kept pumping out clear sap. Still going, he wheeled around to my side, adding in a thick band around my bi's and tri's, the words "CUM DUMP" on the left, "DUMBARSE" on the other. I still clung to the hope that despite him ruining my sexy body, I could still get by in public with a shirt on, until he stood behind me, pushing my head forward, to give me the final tatt on the nape of my neck, well above the neckline. After a few minutes, he switched off, satisfied with his final effort. "Yeah you little dickpig" he snorted, "see how popular you are now with your teammates, with "WET PUSSY" back there. He pulled out the gag, and through my spittle I yelled and cursed, told him he'd pay for fucking up my beautiful body. Before I could get breath, the jabbed me twice, punch to the stomach and uppercut to my jaw, knocking me senseless. "Look here faggot" he sneered "don't give me that uppity shit. Your bro's were right, you still think you're king shit, eh. Well perhaps I can give you a few more reminders that other people's pleasure comes first. He shoved the gag back in hard, and stormed off, coming back brandishing a piercing gun. The next five minutes were agony. With the careless precision a builder would show with a staple gun, he pointed the pneumatic gun at my sensitive flesh, firing off bolt after bolt of thick gauge steel through my skin. Each barbell piercing tore out a chunk of skin, as he pierced my top lip, my tongue, above my chin and my nipples - shot after shot scarring me like a trash whore. He switched gauges to an even thicker bolt, a real heavy duty slug of steel that stretched the skin, and leaning down between my legs, he wrenched off the hooks, and began savaging my dick. He fired a line of bars down the underside of my cock, pinching the skin each time for the maximum penetration. I jerked and spasmed with pain, my dick spluttering drool constantly. He continued down to my ballbag, firing two rods through the sensitive base where it joined my body. As I would later find out, these piercings were cruel weapons, as their constant rubbing and tugging on my 'male G spot' would give me achingly hard, slimy erections day and night. Another bar slugged through my perenium, just up from my spasming hole. I was a walking, aching billboard for cheap male rough sex, and he knew it.
Pablo called from across the store "Hey man, this is awesome. Thousands of guys have signed up to this, and they're posting comments. There's a few in the area, say they love how you've marked him up. They want to throw our mule-boy a little party down the road. Whadda you say, Matt, up for some fun?" Matt laughed, nodding, but the world began to spin, as the agony, strain, blood loss and fear finally knocked me unconscious.
When I came to, my predicament had worsened. As I came around I took in my surroundings. I was in what looked like a nightclub, out of hours, mirrors all around me reflecting the depraved, foul tats and piercings that criss-crossed my body. Above me, a spot light was turned on, flooding my body with heat and light, and casting the room into darkness. Two people walked in, my brothers, and I was never happier to see them. They were dressed in their usual baggy sweats, and I thought they'd finally come to rescue me. I struggled to get to my feet, hoarsely whispering "Thank god, they were going to rape me all over", but Seth just pushed me back down to the ground. I looked up unblinking, confused. "Not yet, bro" Rock said "a few of your fans have paid good money to sample that jock bod of yours. Here's something to take the edge off..." Rock shoved a brown vial under my nose, and the whiff of ammonia sent my head spinning. Someone else had entered the light, but in the headspin, all I could make out was a looming, veiny cock arching towards me. "Now be nice" Rock cooed, "just a little suck and a good hard fuck for each of them and you can go home. There can't be more than 20 guys here. Don't worry, boy, we've put them in order of cock size so you won't get all stretched out."
I looked up at the massive dork looming above me, tried to focus, but the guy had already started drooling sap over my eye. He looked enormous - at least 8 inches with a fat cut cockhead that would stretch most girls, let alone a jock stud like me. "Easy there" the guy said - he sounded younger than me even. Fuck! Being dicked by a teen my junior! The tangy blunt cockhead rubbed against my mouth, still drooling precum on my face. My own cock, stimulated by the piercings, was still bobbing and dripping on its own, balls heavy. He popped the head in my mouth. "Yeah man, slow and steady - your big dick log is dripping so much scum it must be bursting to unload, piggie, but unlike you, I could happily last hours. It must be so frustrating being constantly so aroused, unable to get off. Augh fuck yeah, turns me on, feel that sap pouring down your throat. I can't wait to fuck that tender arse your dick is lubing up for me. Keep spewing sap, trashie, beg for me..." And I did - drooling constantly as he, and then his 9" replacement, porked me like a prize sow, waves of arousal washing over me, the tight cockring preventing them from taking me over the edge. Now I was on my third cock, another 9 inch monster, but thicker. Twenty cocks! This was the third, and already my mouth was stretched to the limit. They'd tear me apart! But they persisted, slamming into my head as I kneeled, then grabbing my thighs and upending me so they could plunge into my arse, a constant parade of overendowed behemoths splitting my orifices wide.
Hours later, and the final guy stepped into the circle. Unlike the last few, hairy trucker types with cheesy cocks and fierce fucking style, he was slow to approach, still wearing his trunks. I looked up, taking him in. He was big and black, like Jefferson's big brother, and in his stretching trunks a snake uncurled, swelling rapidly. He thumbed the waistband down to let his gargantuan tool spring free - easily a 15" tree trunk, tight rings of flesh up the stalk like inch-marks. "Yuh I bin waitin to fuck yo' sweet arse for years bitch - since I first laid eyes on you. I was the janitor at your school, remember? No you whiteys never care. But now your sweet white arse is mine dick, so let's start nice and slow. Start by cleaning the head. Yeah suck that teat. In a haffan hour or so, you'll be getting this choker stuffed all the way down your pretty throat. So start sucking!" I must've been a beat too slow, and he slipped his big foot between my knees, kicking them apart. He jerked the foot up, under my cock, until his toes nudged my heavy swinging balls, and pincering them between his toes, he jerked his foot down, stretching my nuts in the sac until I thought they'd rip off. I grunted, and immediately sunk down to take off the pressure, but he was holding my head, feeding his cock into me,and I couldn't move. My stretched nuts were screaming, but as he relentlessly fed dick down my throat, I could do nothing but concentrate on not gagging. After 10 minutes pistoning his massive dong into my mouth he came with a roar, filling my throat and spurting cheesy nutjuice out of the sides of my jaw, splashing over his crotch and dripping down to my chest. He made me lick him clean and then let me collapse, a mouth-fucked wreck.
Seth and Rock threw me a cloth, which I though was a towel and began to wipe my mouth. "No you stupid fuck" Seth bellowed, "that's your new shorts. Sheesh we get you a present and this is how you thank us!" I said nothing, thinking that fucking me raw was payment enough. I looked at the cloth more closely - it was a terry towel pair of 80's workout shorts from some charity shop, the inside still encrusted with the former wearer's ballsweat and leakage. I began pulling up the filthy cloth, the split sides hugging my corded thighs, and it strained near the top, bringing my cockroot into high relief and hugging my tight arseglobes. The bottom, however, was still loose and breezy, and I could feel my cockhead and balls hanging free and heavy. The waist was so tight I couldn't even pull it the last 1/4 inch over my cockroot, and in any case my tackle peeked out the bottom of the undersized shorts. "Okay" they said, each throwing an arm around my shoulders "time to get the subway."
The trip home was incredibly humiliating - the stares and catcalls on the street as they saw me, nearly naked and inked up. Most guys hooted at "Jockpig" and "Dumbarse", which they called after me. But it was much worse on the subway. It was getting to the morning peak by now, and the subway was packed, businessmen on their way to work, schoolkids, manual labourers, all staring and gawking as I stood on the platform. Rock and Seth stood near but apart, and I felt completely exposed. When the train came Seth shoved me between the shoulderblades in to the most packed part. The train was shoulder to shoulder, and as soon as it lurched to a start, I felt hands on my body, as the commuters pressed around me used the chance to get a free feel. They figured I was up for it, and with my brothers there I knew more than to protest. The hands got more bold, and by the first stop, one hand was already cupped around my balls, another testing the 'Wet Pussy' claim, feeling up my arsecrack under the cloth, pressing against my raw swollen nub. Another arm snaked down my taut abs, pushing the waistband down further and pressing on my cock. I clenched my teeth, trying vainly to stop my overworked cock from getting hard. It was futile, soon I could feel it poking out of the material, standing up hard and drippy. There were many hands now, pulling and prodding none to gently. The guys used the banging and rattle of the carriage to press ever closer, the businessman in front of me steadying himself once by grabbing my titflesh, tweaking the nipple, and then pretending to cough, spat a gop of spit right on to my dickhead below. He worked it over the head, making me shudder with lust. The guy behind me now shoved a marker pen tip into my arsetrench, wiggling it around until it grazed my hole, making me buck forward into the businessman, who was now teasing my hooting foreskin. The pen was fucked in and out of my hole dozens of times and then unexpectedly withdrawn, until i felt it press on my back, realising someone was writing something on my back. By some tacit agreement the pen was passed around, even the businessman writing something on the stalk of my cock between our pressed bodies. When it made it around the circle it was pressed back in to my butt, just as we got to my stop. Rock and Seth hauled me out, oblivious to the fact that I was now sporting a dozen phone numbers and lewd suggestions like a toilet wall, and my cock was thrusting hard up out of the shorts.
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