© Justin Cumberland 2007

Chapter Twenty-Six

‘Are you good?’ Todd said.

‘Yes,’ Jason answered.

Todd hit him with the riding crop. ‘Have you tried hard?’

‘Yes,’ Jason answered.

Todd hit him again, whipping the crop across his arse.

They were out on the stage, taking part in the final round that Jason would have to play.

He was naked, and was shackled and manacled. His hands were stretched up and out above him; and his feet were stretched out and down below him. There was pressure – an upward pressure; but he could just keep his feet flat on the metal platforms. They were spread wide apart and his body made an X with his back to the audience.

They could see from down below him – see up between his legs to where there was nothing, while his arse, the focus of this round, faced them, the cheeks spread because his legs were spread wide.

He was supposed to be a slave. He was chained for punishment because he had done something wrong. It was some scenario that was supposed to have happened a couple of centuries ago, although Jason couldn’t believe it had ever happened. He had never heard of an upper-class English boy having a slave – and Todd was dressed in full riding regalia as though prepared for a hunt. He had the tight jodhpurs, the little shirt, the boots, the riding crop – and even, of course, the riding helmet. Perhaps Jason was supposed to be the horse.

It didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

Todd kept asking him questions. Jason was naked; and even though he was sure he got the answers to the questions right, Todd kept hitting him, as though he had got them wrong.

‘Are you bad?’

‘No.’

Todd hit him again, only this time he brought the crop up between Jason’s legs, whipping his groin.

The platforms moved. They sunk down a couple of inches. Every time Todd hit him, the little platforms he was standing on sank in a sudden jolt towards the ground; and, although he couldn’t see it, and didn’t realize until a later, something was rising up from underneath the stage, moving in the same sudden jolting motion. When he saw the tape he realized it was supposed to be a penis – a huge erection which was elongated and stylized. If he had seen this before it had gone into him, Jason would have supposed it was impossible. It was as thick as his ankle; but angled up into a point about the size of his finger. The head was shaped like the bud of a flower, curving back over onto the stem which was entirely cylindrical and straight. It was a very stylized penis.

‘Have you done what you were supposed to?’

‘Yes. I’ve tried to—’

Todd whipped his abs.

‘Have you hurt anyone?’

‘No – not, I didn’t mean to if I—’

Todd whipped his back; and then Jason felt it. The platform sank and he felt the head of the cock rest up into his hole. He wondered what it was and tried to look down.

‘Do you need this punishment?’

‘No,’ Jason said. He was getting frantic. Of course he didn’t need this punishment. He had had enough. He hadn’t, after all, done anything wrong, had he?

Todd whipped him across the side of the chest, hitting him under the arm as the platform sank with a sudden jolt. The head of the cock moved upward and entered his arse.

What was it? He wondered. It felt like a football with a pointed end. The pointy end had entered his hole but the rest was way too big. He was practically sitting on it. There was no way that thing was going to fit up his arse.

‘It is what you need, isn’t it?’

‘No.’ Oh Todd, please don’t, he wanted to say; but Todd hit him again, on the other side of the chest, and the platform sank. The head of the cock rose up and strained at his arsehole. Jason felt his feet lift of the platform, straining at the manacles and chains.

He was sitting on the thing now. He was suspended on it while the manacles cut into his feet. If Todd hit him again, the platforms would drag him down while the cock moved upwards. His legs would stretch, surely. There wouldn’t be any way the thing was going to go into his arsehole even with the muscle relaxant Todd had given him before they left the surgery – even with the grease which Andy and Sam had spread all around his arse. There were limits to how far something could stretch before it…broke.

‘Have you wanted?’

‘Yes.’

Todd hit him full across the chest. The platform sank and his legs stretched. He could feel the football sliding up between his cheeks. Inexorably, under the pressure of the restraints he could feel it sliding slowly, working his pelvis apart.

‘Have you done what you were told?’

‘I wasn’t told anything, Todd. No one said—’

Todd whipped him across the back of a thigh.

And then it happened. All at once the platforms sank and the erection rose. A whole lot of movement which didn’t seem possible happened around the back of Jason. He felt something enter him, something which felt as big as a football even if it wasn’t. He sank down suddenly as his sphincter moved over the bud-like head of the cock all in one movement, warping itself over the curve of the bud and closing back again underneath it where there was a shallow depression running around the cylinder. That was as far as it was going to go.

Jason felt like he had eaten a meal. There was something big and round inside him. It was like a shit and as it stretched at him Jason felt his cock rising, only to remember, as he felt it, that he didn’t have a cock. The whole area of his groin tingled; and, once again, Jason felt like he was going to come.

The muscle relaxants had made it easier. It didn’t hurt half as much as he had thought it would. It hadn’t seemed possible; but, now that it was in there, he could cope with it. Nothing, as far as he could tell, had been busted; and he only hoped they wouldn’t pull it out again any time soon – and not in too much of a hurry.

‘Last question, sinner,’ Todd said. ‘Do you think you’re good?’

Jason tried to think. Of course he was good. He had always been good. Everyone was always telling him how good he was. He had never tried to hurt anyone, had he? He had never meant to do anything bad. He hadn’t done anything bad. He was good at things. He was good at sport. People liked him. He looked good. And he was only a kid, for Christ’s sake. People were supposed to help him.

‘Do you think you’re good?’ Todd repeated.

‘Yes,’ Jason said. ‘For fuck’s sake, I’m good.’

The audience laughed and Todd hit him hard, slashing the whip into his butt unmercifully.

The lighting darkened and Jason started to cry. He raised his head up to the ceiling and listened to the music which suddenly exploded all around him in a single dire cord.

He opened his mouth wide, distorted, reckless about who might see him or how he looked, groaning at the ceiling where he saw the feet of a crewman working unperturbed.

Suddenly, something snapped. The music stopped all of a sudden; and there was a sound, like a string had snapped. It was a sound effect, but seemed to be coming from far away, from a forest somewhere, from an orchard in the winter, ice, and snow. A frozen hoar frost. The sound a life, long, losing, breaking and turning to dust.

And with the sound went a feeling – a feeling of loss; and a sudden sensation, a loosening – a pleasure, a hopeless ending to all that had been hoped for; while in the curve of his hole, blood started to flow.

A star-like configuration of five blades had accompanied the sound. They had popped from the sides of the phallus, from the curve where his sphincter was positioned, darting out in a sudden movement from where they had been concealed, slicing into his sphincter in five places, severing the cord of muscles; and then sitting there, while Jason’s body started to spasm, before they suddenly retreated after a second or so, in a single snapping motion.

They were invisible to everyone. Invisible to the audience. Invisible to Jason. But the idea was relayed on a screen for the audience’s comprehension.

The lights came up and Jason wondered what had happened. The pain was too much for him to make sense of. It seemed to be coming from everywhere – from everywhere below his waist, rising up into his torso, flowing up his back and into his neck, making his head ache with a sharpness like metal.

He gritted his teeth and grimaced. Tears were streaming down his face and he was trying to make a sound with his teeth clenched firmly together. He was straining, pushing at every muscle in the fiber of his body – pushing, and trying to get the thing out of him which had somehow exploded, he felt, but remained whole in there.

If he could only push it down, he figured; but nothing seemed to be working. He pushed with his abs and felt it start to slide out from under him as he pushed himself up onto the tips of his toes.

Why hadn’t someone told him this could happen? This wasn’t part of the deal. He had never agreed to this. Something had busted inside him. Everything was hot and loose and shot through with pain like sharp shards of ice.

The tears streamed down his face and suddenly Jason managed it. He screamed. He made a sound the audience had never heard before. A high pitched wail of pain and frustration, of desperation and dejection, of resentment and failure, while a trickle of blood started to flow down the insides of his thighs.

The audience laughed.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, the large false cock retreated downward, all in one motion, disappearing into the floor. It happened without any strain. There was no pulling at the membranes inside of him. It simply slid out and the platforms lowered. Jason felt his legs shudder as a gush of warm blood burst forth to flow, streaming down the insides of his legs and curling around his ankles, onto his feet.

He let his head flop back and looked weakly at the ceiling. The stage hand there was smiling at him, smoking a cigarette, crouched in the rigging and smiling at him as though they had just shared a good joke together.

Jason’s body flopped. It was impossible to keep upright. His legs were shuddering and juddering and the muscles in his torso were spasming up and down along the length of his trunk in ripples. His shoulders twisted from side to side and he just had to let himself fall and hang, suspended from his wrists like a thing crucified. He legs crumpled inward and he was aware all at once of the emptiness in his groin as he sank, dangled from the cuffs at his wrists.

Then was someone was behind him. He only understood later when he watched the tape; but there was someone behind him.

It was Todd. He hit Jason’s arse playfully with the riding crop a couple of times before tossing it off to one side. He took off his little jacket and tossed it away also before rolling up his sleeve and making a fist. Todd showed it to the audience before crouching down on his knees. He held the fist under Jason’s hole where the fingers of his hand were hit by a droplet or two of blood, before he pushed up suddenly, extending the fisted arm into Jason’s hole, thrusting it up slowly, right to his elbow. Todd let the blood flow down all over his arm, staining his white shirt. He moved the arm up and down, extending the whole length in and out, pulling the fist out and his bloodied hand around before pushing it up there again. There was no resistance and he brought the fist down again, holding it so that the bones of his wrist were visible, while he turned to the audience and smiled.

‘Busted ar–se,’ he said, drawing the word out and making a joke of it.

Todd removed his hand and walked to one side while Jason wondered what was happening.

A narrow metal nozzle rose up from the floor. It was like a rigid hose and it rose up quickly, entering Jason’s arse with a coldness that made him suddenly jolt and stand upright. He couldn’t stand anymore. He decided at that moment that he couldn’t stand anymore and he stood up, reaching onto the tips of his toes and trying to get the nozzle out of his arse. It wasn’t possible, of course. It was too long – and it was, anyway, there to deliver the sealant.

He felt the milky liquid explode in his hole as the tube began to spray from a hundred narrow holes. The liquid frothed and dripped, sliding down his legs and pooling on the floor before the tube sank again, exiting his arse as painlessly as it had entered.

Jason closed his eyes and swallowed. Everything felt better suddenly. Not right. Certainly not right; but better than it had been. The warmth of the pain was gone, replaced by a coldness which was familiar by now.

Another tube rose up, a larger metal tube which forced its way inside him and was followed by a gush of water which burst like a geyser from underneath him, from underneath the stage. The pressure was so great that it would have hurt his balls if he still had them. The warm liquid from under the stage scoured the insides of his legs, scoured his arse and his groin, while the thick nozzle which had entered him kept spraying inside, ensuring the sealant didn’t close his hole together.

It all ended, of course, in a matter of moments. Andy and Sam came forward with the towels and dried him. His arms were lowered and they released his feet and hands.

He fell. He couldn’t stand upright. Even when Andy and Sam came over and tried to help him up; he couldn’t, didn’t want to anyway. He kept himself propped on one elbow with his body facing the audience – the V of his groin clearly visible; but his arse, busted, concealed behind him. He had his head lowered and was looking at the stage, not wanting to think, not being able to while Larry came over and started talking to him.

‘Well, Jason,’ he said. ‘You were the first. How does that feel?’

Jason said nothing.

Larry crouched down and put a hand on Jason’s shoulder. Jason could see the curve of the guy’s packet in his jeans.

‘Jason, you need to think,’ Larry said.

There was something about his voice which made Jason stop. He looked up at Larry and knew, as he did so, that his eyes were tear stained. He didn’t care anymore. He was shit. He knew that.

‘Do you want to go on?’ Larry said.

Jason almost laughed.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t need to go on.’