Date: Fri, 12 Jul 2019 07:32:41 +0100
From: Stu Hadley <stuhadley77@gmail.com>
Subject: First Hand School Chapter 15

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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consider making a donation to keep this invaluable resource going. Any and
every contribution is welcome. Thank you.

------

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.

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Comments and suggestions welcome at stuhadley77@gmail.com