BONE SPURS

 

B O N E   S P U R S

 

An astonishing tale of lives without restraints by strzeka

Historians will discuss the societal changes which led to The Act of Corporal Responsibility for years to come. Superficially the reasons are clear enough. So many millions of people were left severely mentally and physically disabled by the fifth pandemic, called at the time the African Revenge, that the government had little choice but to approve laws allowing doctors the facility to euthanise those patients who requested an end to their paralysis and semi-suffocation. Religious organisations were vociferous in their opposition and after the Secular Referendum, churches, temples and mosques were closed, religious leaders removed from society and dissemination of religious thought was proscribed in law. The hidden community of body integrity disorder sufferers, people who wished to lose one or more limbs, seized the chance and forced through a parallel act, allowing citizens suffering from extreme nerve and joint pain the right to have the offending limb or limbs amputated professionally on the understanding that the State would not be responsible for further care. The Bill passed by a three hundred and nine majority. For BID sufferers, it was clear. If you wanted to be legless, a surgeon would remove your legs. After that, you were on your own.

 

Body-building addicts Buck Cloutier and Mason Tinsley had been together for a couple of years. They were both heavily tattooed. Buck’s face was black with such intricately drawn artwork that after several years, much of it had bled together. He was disgusted with their deteriorated appearance and wore a skintight black leather hood everywhere, always. He had several of the same design, changing when his breath and sweat caused it to stink. He took it off each evening, just before he removed his false teeth. His teeth had been pulled when he was twenty-four. Now, at thirty-five, his steel dentures glittered through the rectangular slot in his mask when he spoke. He stood two metres tall. Both his legs were artificial from the thighs down, thick wooden legs with foot-like extensions to fit into shoes or boots and held onto his stumps by tightly wound sheets of rubber. Neither of his legs could bend. Knees were a distant memory. He felt intense erotic pleasure from his rigid legs, from the vibrations transported though them directly to his stumps. He found great satisfaction in standing six foot six tall, taking advantage of the fact that his legs could be any length he chose. He wore black leather boots extending up his thighs, designed by himself and custom made in San Francisco. They had cost him over three thousand new sterling but he could well afford it. He removed his boots, jeans and wooden legs at the same time, replacing them the next morning. Never wearing underwear, his precum and smegma coated the crotch of his jeans until they became too stiff for comfort. His crotch always stank of male sex and that was the way his men liked it.

 

Mason had allowed himself to have his own body modifications, persuaded by Buck. He had five diagonal stripes tattooed across his face, down his neck and across his scalp. His chest was tattooed with three thick horizontal stripes and his legs had one thick black strip front and back. His arms would receive their own stripes in due course. He enjoyed rubbing the tips of his forearm stumps together. He assumed that Buck would sooner or later forbid him from doing so. He would have to wear thick leather sheaths on his stumps or have them desensitized. When he arrived home from work, Mason shucked his clunky wooden arms and used his stumps as far as possible. His wooden claws were not practical. They could grip objects weighing up to a kilo but had no ability to turn. The mechanism worked with thick elastic bands held by cables running over his leather biceps cuff to his leather harness.

 

There was a growing cottage industry for amateur prosthetists. Some could produce comfortable sockets to which devices from other sources could be attached. It was not unusual to see standard hooks attached to highly decorated sockets and cuffs. It was becoming a recognised art form as more and more citizens realised their fantasies and shed limbs in favour of well-formed stumps and designer prosthetic limbs. Mason and Buck had been trailblazers. As soon as the Bill went through at the start of the previous year, they were at the head of the queue and succeeded in getting their double amputations during the first three weeks. Both had been smitten with the desire to be amputees in early childhood, never expecting to receive amputations-on-demand from the state. They discovered each other’s predilections after a few pints at the Leather Motorcyclists’ Club they frequented. Buck hatched a plan whereby they would share an apartment and undergo their first amputations as soon as the new Bill passed. They both wanted to be quads. There was currently such a pent-up demand that they would have to wait at least another six months before being readmitted to the waiting list. The sight of young men and women walking on crutches with pinned-up jeans legs or swinging an empty sleeve became common. There were more young amputees now than after a conflict. Older aficionados were satisfied with the amputation of one leg or arm. Youngsters frequently wanted bilateral amputations. There was a growing elite of fashionable young people who gathered in dedicated coffee shops and clubs to exhibit their artificial limbs, not dissimilar to the old Steampunk adherents who occasionally sported grotesque prosthetic devices. An artificial limb soon became the most distinctive attribute of a young dandy just as long thick beards had been twenty years previously for the hipster generation.

 

Buck called for Mason from his boudoir.

            – Undress me, boy.

It was a little unjust of Buck to expect the handless Mason to remove his legs when he still had a serviceable pair of hands. It was part of the process leading to a leather sex session. Mason entered and closed the door. He shucked his wooden claws and approached his master. Buck stood with his legs akimbo, smoking a fat cigar inserted through the mouth hole in his hood. He was wearing motorcycle gauntlets which reached up his jacket sleeves and a leather officer’s cap. Now it was Mason’s job to undo Buck’s leather trousers and release the wooden legs from Buck’s thigh stumps. It would take many minutes of frustration for Mason to get the buttoned flies open. The encrusted emanations stank and excited Mason. Removing the thick leather belt was the next step. It was awkward but it was finally open. He pulled the jeans down, swiping at the fabric with his stumps. He used the same technique to start unwinding the rubber which held his master’s wooden legs to his body. He unravelled a foot or so of the sheeting on the left stump and started on the right. Buck watched his progress. He loved the hairy masculine stumps. With a slave like Mason, he could afford to achieve more stumps for himself. He had never been able to decide whether he preferred to have similar stumps to Mason’s or whether upper arm stumps might suit his style better. He would still walk on wooden legs but he could afford artificial arms, maybe hardened and reinforced leather with some kind of hook attachment. It would probably require a lot of red tape and tedium before the amputations but he was certain that some kind of armlessness was on the cards. Mason would simply have to work harder after that.

 

His wooden legs were loosened enough for Mason to begin their removal.

            – Please sit on the bed, sir. I need to remove your legs now, sir.

Buck fell back. His rigid legs stuck out over the edge of the bed. He removed his cigar and watched as the unfurling rubber slowly revealed his stumps. His penis was engorged by anticipation. His thick hairy stumps were the height of autoeroticism. The wooden legs were off. Mason grasped them carefully between his stumps and moved them to a corner of the boudoir.

            – Masturbate me, boy.

Mason was disappointed. He had expected to be fucked. He placed his stumps each side of Buck’s penis and massaged it gently. Leaning on his elbows, Buck stretched his head back and his leg stumps twitched. His reshaped penis was as sensitive as before the operation to remove six inches of its shaft. The head was reattached to the inch of stump and the result was the chode Mason was currently manipulating. Chode was perhaps exaggerating. It was a perfectly normal penis except for its length. It was thanks to the aggressive shortening that Buck was able to maintain sexual excitement so often, resulting in the permanent caked mess in his jeans. He never washed his penis. It was cleaned of smegma in the mouths of his slaves.

 

The fucking Mason had been expecting was actually mutual masturbation. Both men disliked anal penetration and the shitty fluid which dripped from their anuses. They fucked into each other’s crotches, excited by coarse curly hair, pressing their cockheads into the other’s pubic hair, pushing and massaging the testicles with their cocks. Excited now even more by their stumps. Mason had admired Buck’s very short penis when it reached its first full erection after his recovery and fellated it with pleasure but was disappointed when he realised that he would lose out so much from their fucking sessions. Buck was not interested in Mason’s disappointment. His cock head felt exactly the same and that was the most important thing.

 

Buck lay back and let Mason’s stumps explore the rest of his leather clad body. His leather T-shirt was sweaty and the pressure from the stumps felt moist. Buck groaned in pleasure when the stumps reached his leather-clad face. The hood he wore turned his face into an erogenous zone. Mason inserted his penis through the mouth hole and allowed Buck to suck on it. Mason fell onto his elbows and ejaculated into Buck’s mouth. Buck swirled his slave’s cum in his mouth for a moment and swallowed it. Their games were over.

            – I want my leather shorts. Fetch them, boy.

Mason retrieved the black leather shorts from the closet, enjoying the heady scent of leather as he opened the door. He approached Buck and asked if he should dress his master.

            – No. you take too long. Give them to me.

Buck pulled the shorts over his stumps and sat up. Mason could see his master’s eyes through the eye slits in his hood. But no facial expression. Buck might be smiling but there was no sign of the steel teeth.

            – Bring me my wheelchair.

            – Yes sir.

Mason nudged the chair from the hallway to the boudoir with his stumps. It had been purchased before their amputations from a euthanist’s estate along with his collection of walking sticks, leg braces and crutches which the deceased had used in a desperate attempt to stay mobile as the African Revenge ravaged his body. All the equipment had been as new. Buck had little use for the callipers but could see how they might be converted into prosthetic legs. The two longest walking sticks were useful on occasion. Buck used them when they went into town on the Tube or to the Motorcyclists’ Club. They helped him navigate stairs with his rigid legs and holding them, he had no other use of his hands. He could command his arm amputee slave to see to his needs, balancing on his wooden legs with his walking sticks.

 

Mason had had most of his leather jackets adapted to accommodate his arm stumps. The shorter sleeves allowed him to serve his master better. Buck never allowed Mason to use his prosthetic hands when they went out. Mason had leather sheaths which covered his stumps completely. It was the maximum coverage which Buck allowed him. The sheaths felt horny against his rearranged skin.

 

Buck transferred to the wheelchair and pushed himself across the room. His naked stumps extended beyond the legs of his tight shorts. Mason opened the door in advance and bowed his head as Buck passed. They went to the dining area. A meal had been prepared for the two of them by Buck’s manservant Heath, himself a volamp. Now Mason needed only to reheat the meal. He wished he had his wooden claws. This was the sort of work they were suited to. But Buck wanted to see stumps, not prosthetics. Mason spooned the mush onto two plates and took them one by onto the table. Buck insisted that his food be easily eaten. He had a meagre sense of taste when wearing his dentures which were themselves unsuitable to chewing normal food. Their meals were based around macaroni or other soft pasta, rice or mashed potato. Buck removed his hood to eat.

 

His destroyed face needed a shave. He watched Mason eating with an adapted spoon which he held between his hairy stumps. He removed his right gauntlet and picked up a fork. They ate in silence. The meal over, Buck replaced his hood and gauntlet. He wheeled into the leisure room and switched on the screen. He selected a weekly newscast from the BID centre, paying attention to the expressions of the men in their before and after shots. It was immensely gratifying to see the newly amputated rejoicing in their sudden acquisition of arm and leg stumps. Mason joined him shortly after clearing away the plates for Heath to wash in the morning. They watched limbs being prepared for amputation, surgeons preparing their equipment, the initial incisions and the final severance of the unwanted limb with a bone saw. The next shots were always of the same patient several days later, impatient to be rid of the compression bandages, eager to see their stump or stumps for the first time. Later footage showed the legless being collected by friends or relatives in wheelchairs, the one-legged manoeuvring themselves on crutches and the handless and armless walking away smiling, their empty sleeves being blasted by the weather into unnatural configurations. It was a three hour show and one of the most highly rated on RBBC2. The two hour weekend sister programme showing artisans and enthusiasts creating prosthetic devices and limbs for new amputees was the most popular show throughout the country, with similarly high ratings in Alba and Cymru. Buck loved to see Alba men in kilts wearing wooden legs, preferably two like himself. But this evening, he opened his flies and allowed his micro-penis full reign as he watched severed legs being removed from surgical tables. His penis twitched in excitement.

 

Mason followed the show with similar enthusiasm. He intended to have his legs amputated next so he could use the same kind of wooden leg which Heath wore – a simple conical hollow peg attached to a thigh cuff which in turn was attached to a leather waist belt. He would have a pair made with velcro straps and tiptoe around serving Buck on the wooden ends of his pegs. His penis strained inside his leather trousers.

            – May I open my flies, sir?

            – Are you enjoying the show? Yes, you may open your flies.

Mason released his penis from its imprisonment and placed his arm stumps either side of it. The programme finished with a fine shot of a completely legless teenage boy wearing a plaster of Paris bucket, swinging his torso along on short crutches. His trendy parents escorted him, his father on a vintage aluminium prosthetic leg and his mother revealing her two hooks. The perfect family.

            – What do you want to do now, boy? Shall we watch more or do you want to sleep?

            – I want to be with you for as long as you are awake, sir.

            – Good. We’ll watch the Iraq War rehab video. I like to see their stumps from before stumps were fashionable. They present themselves as so heroic when they all love their stumps. The legless ones can fuck a hundred percent better and the arm amps have brilliant stumps for fisting.

            – I would like to see them again, sir.

Buck streamed the thirty year old video which they both knew by heart. The fresh-faced amputees would be overweight slobs by now but they were handsome in their youth, excited about their new stumps, pretending nothing had changed and determined to show the world that they could still sit in a canoe.

 

Buck switched off the electronics and looked at his mate, his slave. The dark tattooed slashes across his face kept his appearance constant. They were his most prominent feature.

            – Time for bed. I need no assistance. You may go to your room.

Mason got up and saluted his master with an arm stump. He went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, urinated and disappeared into the second bedroom where he slept on the lower part of a steel bunk bed. When they had legless guests, he had to sleep on the upper unless Buck wanted the guest in his own bed.

 

Buck heard Mason’s bedroom door close and wheeled to the bathroom. He shed his gauntlets, his hood, his jacket and his leather shirt. He rinsed his skin and studied his ruined face in the mirror. Mason could shave his chin and scalp before the weekend. It need not be perfect. No-one ever saw his face. He poked his steel dentures out with his tongue and put them in a plastic container to cleanse overnight. He ran his tongue around his mouth, enjoying the sensation against his gums. He probably enjoyed being toothless more than being legless. How would he feel after becoming armless as well? He went to his boudoir, shed his shorts and touched his micro-penis. It was erect, as so often. He might be ready again for another orgasm. He covered himself with the duvet and gently gyrated his groin against the sheets. After a couple of minutes, his four centimetre long penis erupted. Buck changed position, spreading warm semen over his buttocks and thighs, and shut his tattooed eyelids.

 

Heath was already waiting with breakfast when Buck woke. Buck called him in and Heath began fitting the artificial legs. Heath was fairly tall himself with a well-developed upper body. He had been a personal trainer before his amputation and now co-owned a specialised gym for the newly disabled. He acted as manservant for Cloutier and his partner partly as a favour for his own lover and partly for the extra pocket money it brought in. Heath wrapped the rubber sheeting tightly around Buck’s thighs and then asked if Buck wanted his dentures. He did not. Heath placed the hood over Buck’s head and cinched the hood tight. Finally, Buck allowed himself to be pulled erect and rocked out to the bathroom. Heath noticed the dried jizz on the sheets and stripped the bed. Buck had no compunction about wearing caked jeans but never wanted to get into a soiled bed.

 

Heath went to wake Mason. Mason was still asleep. Heath shook him.

            – Time to get up, mate. He’s up and taking a leak.

            – What time is it?

            – Almost seven. Do you want to dress or are you showering?

            – I’ll dress.

            – Let me help.

Heath dressed Mason quickly and guided his feet into his engineer’s boots. Mason’s claws were hanging on the back of the door but it could be hours before Buck allowed him to wear them.

            – He might be going out later. One of the tenants is in arrears and Harlan was talking about paying him a little visit with Buck to see what the situation is.

            – Is the tenant one of us?

            – Yeah, same as you. Bilat below elbows. Discharged from his job.

            – The usual story.

            – Yup. Anyway, just so you know.

            – Yeah, thanks, Heath.

Buck never discussed his business matters with Mason, or anyone else for that matter. He co‑owned a five storey apartment building containing forty households with Heath’s lover Harlan Trent. The rent was their prime source of income. Non-paying tenants were not popular.

            – Ready? You ok now?

            – Yeah.

Mason went for a slash and washed his stumps. He ran water over his face, dabbed it with a damp towel and went to join Buck for breakfast. Harlan called Buck at nine, as Heath had suspected. Buck grunted and agreed to meet him at home at midday. Heath would accompany him before leaving again for the amp gym. In the meantime, Heath made Buck’s bed, washed the soiled sheets and towels and prepared another pasta dish for their midday meal. He vacuumed the hardwood floor. From behind his leather hood, Buck watched him moving about on the peg leg. He was a hunk but not a leatherman. Buck knew about his devoteeism from Harlan and how he had been persuaded to lose a leg as a condition of cohabitation. Heath never mentioned his own disability but you could see his devotion to Harlan and to Buck’s leg stumps. Heath also enjoyed seeing Mason’s arm stumps, perfectly proportioned, muscular and hairy, but that was better left unsaid. Buck was a jealous man and could be vindictive. He was not even lenient with himself, wearing primitive rigid wooden legs and the leather hood. And today he seemed to be content to socialise without his teeth. Heath found Buck’s toothlessness erotic. He could remember when Buck’s face was free of tattoos and he wore a handsome moustache and soul patch which contrasted so well with the shocking steel teeth. Now Buck was literally defaced. He could surely afford to have the tattoos removed. Perhaps he felt that, after ten years, the hood was part of his identity now.

 

Buck was ready. The pasta was ready and needed only reheating. They had half an hour until the appointed time. Buck put on his chrome-rimmed officer’s cap and his gauntlets and accompanied Heath to his car. There was just enough room along the back seat for Buck to sit sideways, his back against the near-side door. Heath sat in the driver’s seat and started the car.

            – Home. Direct. City traffic.

The GS repeated the commands in plain English.

            – You wish to travel home directly through city traffic.

Heath push the glowing green START button and let the car drive.

            – I heard from Harlan that another guy was kicked out of work because of his amputations.

            – Yeah. I don’t know what it is about this case which is so special that Harlan wants to visit the guy but we’ll go and have a word.

            – I hope he doesn’t lose his home.

            – Well, the thing is, we don’t want to encourage tenants not to pay rent. If they all hear that some bloke in number seventeen got away for six months without paying, they’ll all think they’ll get away with it. Me and Harlan deserve an income too, remember. It’s what lets you live with Harlan rent-free.

            – Oh you know about that, do you?

            – Of course I do. I wasn’t born yesterday, Heath. I know how these things work. Do you think Mason pays me anything?

            – I’ve no idea.

            – I don’t believe you but you are very diplomatic. No, he’s my own little cocksucker, living rent-free so I have someone to help me. It’s not easy being legless. It’s easy enough for you with the one peg leg. When are you going to progress, Heath? Are you already booked in somewhere?

            – No, I’m not. Harlan and I can’t agree yet on what I want done. I’d love a pair of hooks but Harlan is worried that I’d be out of service for three months.

            – I suppose you would. I can lend him Mason if he’ll swap for you. I wouldn’t mind having you live with me, Heath, with stumps until you get hooks. You’re a pretty good cocksucker from what I hear. You should try mine sometime.

            – I’ll bear that in mind. Do you want to come inside or will you wait here?

            – I’ll wait.

The car pulled up outside Heath and Harlan’s apartment block and Heath stepped out. He rode up to the twentieth floor and checked on Harlan. He had dressed in his leathers and was wearing his prosthetic stump. He scratched his long black beard with his hook.

            – You’re early. Is Buck with you?

            – Yeah, he’s in the car. Are you ready?

            – I guess. Come on, let’s go.

Heath held the door open as Harlan stumped out on his black leather stubbies. Heath could never get enough of Harlan’s new mode of walking. He had initially struck up a friendship because of Harlan’s attractive armlessness. Three years ago Harlan had had his legs off mid thigh and soon found someone to make him a pair of stubbies. Now he had four pairs of different lengths, all covered in thick black leather and terminating in black rubber soles. The pair he was currently wearing were the shortest ones he owned, only a couple of centimetres longer than his stumps. His gait was exaggerated and slow, his stride pathetically short and strenuous. The armless torso balanced perfectly and ploughed ahead to the lift. Downstairs, Harlan climbed into the passenger seat and greeted Buck.

            – We may have another one on our hands. What do you suggest?

            – Leave him for another month and then get him out. He can pay us back over the next year. I don’t have a problem with that. He only pays seven hundred a month now. But we can’t let the tenants think we’re an easy touch.

            – Of course not, pussy cat. How are you doing?

            – OK. I’m thinking about getting a pair of legs. These pegs are a bit of a bastard sometimes.

            – I don’t know why you don’t use stubbies. Shall I have a word with my man? I’m sure he could whip you up a pair. Just give the word.

            – I will, thanks. But I like being tall.

            – Yeah it’s great until you want to sit somewhere.

            – That’s why we have our sl…, friends. Heath, what’s the problem? Why aren’t we moving?

            – I wanted to ask you first, sir.

            – McNaughton House, Chiswick. Same as usual. Come on, Heath, don’t be an arsehole.

The car acknowledged Heath’s commands and they sped away.

            – I see you’re wearing your stump. Special occasion?

            – No, I just felt like looking smart.

It was a prosthesis resembling a high biceps arm stump to disguise Harlan’s disarticulation. It was completely immobile and served only to even out Harlan’s shoulders, as well as to anchor the harness for Harlan’s solitary hook.

            – I don’t see how it makes any difference if you’re wearing your pros. I can understand wanting symmetrical stumps otherwise.

            – Well, listen! When you have your arms off, you can give me advice.

            – Haha! I will, don’t worry.

            – Have you made an appointment yet?

            – No, not yet. There’s a six month queue already.

            – Well put your name down, for christ’s sake! What are you waiting for? Are you using your fucking hands for anything in particular?

            – Not really.

            – So get yourself a pair of stumps and some hooks. Shiny steely hooks to match your teeth. You’re not wearing your teeth right now, are you?

            – No. I felt like enjoying my gums for a change.

            – That’s a stage too far for me, mate. I want to keep my teeth.

            – You don’t know what you’re missing. You’d love dentures, I can guarantee it.

            – We’ve been through this before, Buck. I’m not going to do it.

            – Your loss, not mine. Right, Heath, I need pulling out, mate.

The car slowed in front of the building and Heath unlocked the doors. He opened the near-side door and took hold of Buck’s wooden ankles. Together they got Buck erect. He strode around to watch Harlan rearranging his stubbies with his artificial arm. Gently, Harlan lowered himself to the pavement and flailed his leg stumps a few times to find his balance. His elbow inadvertently locked at ninety degrees. Harlan looked at it, thought Fuck it and approached the entrance with Buck and Heath following. He pushed the door open with the hook and stood by as the others entered.

            – Someone will have to call the lift. I can’t reach.

Heath rang the doorbell. They could hear movement from inside and then fumbling with the inside door handle. The door opened to reveal a guy, mid-twenties, wearing football shorts and a T-shirt.

            – Hi. We’re your landlords and we’re here to talk about what we’re going to do about the situation. May we come in? Heath, stay outside.

            – Yes, of course, please come in.

The young man looked fearful as the leathermen entered, one short quad amputee on stubbies, one tall on rigid legs, wearing a hood and thick gloves. He had not met his landlords before and was surprised.

            – I can guess why you’re here. Would you like to sit down?

            – Can’t sit. Let’s go in the kitchen. You can make us some coffee.

            – Sorry, I’m out of coffee but would you like some tea?

            – Yes, that will do. Thank you.

They watched as their tenant, Dorsey Ligon, used his long forearm stumps to arrange mugs and fill a kettle. He placed an almost empty box of discount teabags on the table. Harlan asked Buck to help him sit on a chair.

            – How long have you been an amp?

            – Three months last week. I’m pleased with the way these have turned out.

He held out his stumps for inspection. They were beautiful specimens. Amputated about five centimetres above the wrist, they were handsome phallic symbols and would suit prosthetic use very well.

            – Don’t you have artificial arms yet?

            – That’s the trouble. One of my mates said he could get me a pair from somewhere, secondhand, you know, but someone else snapped them up and I haven’t been able to find any others suitable. My stumps are a bit longer than usual, you see. I need long prosthetics.

            – I understand. Our problem is quite simply this. We can’t afford to have tenants defaulting on their rents otherwise everyone will be doing it. It may be strange to hear, but we don’t exactly rake it in either. This building costs a fuckload for maintenance and services so we need a guaranteed amount each month to budget for it all.

            – Yes, I understand.

            – So when do you think you’ll have an income again? What were you doing before?

            – I was a copywriter. In an ad agency. They let me go because they didn’t want amps scaring off the customers, even though some of them walked in wearing hooks or peg legs.

            – Sounds like a bit of an excuse. Anyway, have you got anything in the offing?

            – No. And I’m almost out of all my savings. I’ve only been working for three years, so I don’t have a whole lot. I can’t even afford to buy a packet of coffee.

            – Alright, I understand and I sympathise. You’ve been poorly treated and we don’t want to carry on in the same fashion. As it happens, there is a job free which might suit you. It doesn’t pay a great deal and the hours are difficult.

            – I’ll do anything.

            – Good. My companion’s gym needs a receptionist stroke guard for the night shift. Eleven to seven. I think you could just about manage without hands and if you need help, just ask a member with hands to help you. The place is closed on Mondays so that will be your day off. Six days a week, eleven to seven, a thousand two hundred a month. Your rent is seven hundred so you won’t have a whole lot of pocket money but it’s the best we can do. We’ll give you a year to pay the arrears, alright? We’ll also let you have two night’s notice, so if you land a better paying job, let us know and you can leave almost immediately. Does that sound fair?

            – It’s all I need. Where is the gym?

            – Brompton. You can walk there from here in under an hour. If you need to. You still have legs, I see. And for christ’s sake, get some arms. There must be one or two online right now if you look. There are enough euthanists leaving all kinds of prosthetics behind.

            – I know but I can’t afford to buy any.

            – How much do you need?

            – Well, they usually cost about two hundred. Sometimes less, sometimes more.

            – Look, I’m going to lend you five hundred. Get yourself at least one arm. Preferably a hook. Now, when can you start? I’m assuming you want the job.

            – Yes, it would be great. Can I start tomorrow night? I need to sort of get myself rested for a night shift.

            – Alright. Get yourself sorted and when you turn up, tell Darren you’re taking over his job. He’ll know to expect you and he’ll show you the ropes. We’ll sort out all the papers next time I come to the gym. Is that alright with you, Buck?

            – Yeah, I’m fine with all that. Shall we have that tea now?

 

Half an hour later, the tenant had a new job, a loan to buy a prosthetic arm which they had also sourced online, and permission to repay his rent arrears over the next two years. Harlan handed over five hundred sterling in banknotes, delicately pinching the corner of each fifty with the tip of his hook and placing them in front of Dorsey. It was an impressive achievement from an amputee whose sole arm stump was a meagre twelve centimetres long. The shoulders and lapels of his thick leather jacket rode up and down as his body contorted to control the hook. Buck was dribbling precum before two hundred was on the table. It was the moment that he decided to apply for his own arm amputations. He could not bear to feel so envious every time he met Harlan. They met so often and it always distressed him to see a friend so terribly disabled, reliant on only one hook without being able to experience it for himself. RAE and a disart, that was the way forward. He would talk with Mason about further amputations later. He would like Mason to acquire thigh stumps like Harlan’s, barely able to move about on short leather-clad stubbies. First of all, Mason needed a decent pair of hooks like Harlan’s, although something less beat-up and scratched might be more to their taste.

            – Right! Thanks for the tea. Get yourself that arm we looked at and I’ll see you in the week at the gym. And get yourself there with some time to spare tomorrow so Darren can show you stuff. I don’t want him to have to stay after his shift ends.

            – Will do. Thank you so much. Can you find your own way out? I have trouble with the door handle.

            – That’s why you need a hook. See to it!

 

Heath was waiting for them in the car, listening to a podcast about a rise in the number of re‑amputations for medical reasons. Italy and Switzerland had been affected most. Some aficionados had been amputated three times before succumbing to disarticulations.

            – OK, mate. Get us home and we’ll let you go.

Heath switched off the speakers and instructed the car into motion. He would take Buck home first and then Harlan. He wanted to get some fresh stump socks. The hot weather was always uncomfortable.

 

S I X   M O N T H S   L A T E R

 

Buck persuaded Mason to have short thigh stumps and they applied for remedial work later in the same week that Dorsey started at the gym. The prosthetic right arm with its long socket arrived during his second week. It had belonged to a farmer who had contracted the African Revenge virus and become bedridden within weeks. He chose suicide by euthanasia. His fearful widow wanted rid of all his possessions and suspected she could get a good price for the old man’s artificial arm from some fashionable volamp youngster. She asked for three hundred and fifty which Dorsey paid with pleasure and relief, using the rest of Harley’s loan for groceries until he received his first wage. The prosthetic arm was a little tight but long enough and the cuff and cable had been renewed fairly recently. Dorsey was very pleased with it and with the attention which the hook attracted. A good-looking man with a single hook was an enviable sight. Limbless clients often called him over for assistance, often simply to watch him and his artificial arm.

 

Buck’s arms were amputated three days before Mason’s legs. Buck now boasted a stump at his right shoulder approximately fifteen centimetres long and a smooth left shoulder from which his arm had been disarticulated. Thick bandages encircled his body. His wheelchair waited beside his bed. He would be unable to use a manual wheelchair in future and considered acquiring more practical prosthetic legs. There was no shortage online. A pair of vintage legs with mechanical knees would be ideal. Anything bioelectrical was useless. The technology to maintain them was unavailable and advanced computerised legs were no more functional than pegs. Mason’s legs were reduced to fifteen centimetre long stumps, long enough to operate stubbies, short enough to look extremely crippled. They too were wrapped in thick white bandages which caused Mason an almost permanent erection. His penis ached. Lying prone in a hospital bed, his arm stumps were just slightly too short to fondle himself. A decent wank was the first thing he would do in the bathroom tomorrow morning when he would be allowed up for the first time.

 

Mason and Buck were in different hospitals, not even in the same county. Both had sent voicemail to the other, assisted by patient nurses. Buck wanted to say how much he wanted to thrust his penis over Mason’s limbless body, between his leg stumps and his arse crack but was too considerate to express such desires publicly. Mason wanted to chafe his leg stumps against Buck’s body, hoping that his penis could slap against Buck’s skin as it always had during their sessions. He could hardly wait to get out of hospital. Harlan had ordered Heath to see to their transport home, since neither man had any means of mobility. Buck could hardly be expected to balance on his rigid legs any longer without arms to balance himself. He would be in a wheelchair for the foreseeable future until he had stubbies fitted. Harlan could introduce him to the guy who had made his. They would look hot together. Two leathermen on short stubbies, dressed in black leather, both with one solitary prosthetic arm and hook. They might look like twin brothers if Buck’s face were visible.

 

Heath and Harlan collected their newly amputated mates from their respective hospitals one Sunday. Their bandages had been removed and the stumps, such as they were, wrapped in shrinker socks. They were both given explicit instructions on stump care and a list of private prosthetic providers. A nurse wheeled Buck out to the waiting car and the three of them transferred the limbless man into the back seat of the car.

            –Wait here and I’ll fetch your wooden legs.

She returned carrying them and Heath opened the rear door. Buck twisted around and flapped his tiny arm stump at her. She wished him well in future.

 

            – Welcome back, mate. You look fantastic. It’s like looking in a mirror.

Buck’s steel teeth glinted behind the slot in his hood. He was smiling.

            – I feel so free. I love punching the air and swinging my arms around and nothing happens. It’s a huge turn-on. I’ve been erect for the past week just from looking at my stumps.

            – I’m glad to see you enjoying it. We need to get you kitted out with an arm and some stubbies. I’ll call Earl and he can come around to your place for a fitting. Do you know him? Earl Ledoux? Tall black guy. Always wears an officer’s cap.

            – Yeah, I think I know. Has a gold tooth.

            – That’s the one. He can fix you up with some stubbies and you can get around a bit better than on your wooden legs. I think you probably could sell them on. You won’t want to wear anything so unstable now you’re armless.

            – No, I’ve realised that. OK, shall we go and find Mason? See how he likes being legless? Heath input the destination and confirmed the car’s response. The car moved slowly through the car park and joined other traffic heading towards Swindon.

            – Have you looked to see if there are any suitable arms on offer? We have the most typical AE stumps, if you didn’t know. It’s the most common length so there should be a few artificial arms available at any time.

            – Well, I haven’t yet because I don’t have arms. Catch Twenty-two.

            – Haha! Don’t worry. We’ll have a good look at what’s going when we get back to yours, if you invite us in.

            – I’ll think about it.

            – What are we going to do about Mason? Stubbies for him too? I think he deserves a decent pair of hooks too, rather than those shitty wooden claws you like. Do the bloke a favour, Buck. He can wear the claws when you’re having a sex session but let him have a decent set of prosthetics the rest of the time.

            – Yeah, I’ve been thinking the same. I am going to be more demanding from now on but also more considerate. Mason is pretty much my creation now so I think it would only be fair to let him enjoy his stumps to their best advantage.

            – I think you’re right. Earl will be able to fit him with stubbies at the same time he sees to yours. He’ll be rubbing his hands at the thought of a double order.

            – How much does he want for a pair?

            – I’ve been paying him a thousand two hundred a pair, but it’s been a while. The leather covers cost quite a bit.

            – Well, the leather covers are essential.

            – Absolutely. I suppose you’ll have to come to your own agreement on pricing. But obviously, he’ll realise that he has a pretty good future clientele with both you and Mason wanting several pairs of stubbies so he’s bound to take that into consideration.

 

They arrived at the Swindon Surgical Hospital and Heath went inside to inquire about Mason’s discharge. Mason had his meagre possessions packed ready and sat in a wheelchair revolving his arm stumps around each other. He enjoyed the sensations he felt from his missing fingers. He tensed his muscles to ball his fists and to spread his fingers wide. His stumps twitched. Mason also loved the fact that he could fire his muscles without anything actually happening. The absence of his hands was intensely erotic and pleasurable. No non-amputee would ever experience the joy of a well-formed stump. Now he had four of them. A nurse arrived and leaned over.

            – Your friend is here. Time to say goodbye, Mason. Do you have everything?

            – Yes, thanks. The bedside cupboard is empty. I checked.

            – Well, it’s been a pleasure having you here, Mason. I’m sorry to see you go. I hope you are satisfied with your new body and that your stumps bring you happiness.

            – That’s nice of you to say. Thank you.

 

            – Mason! There you are.

Heath looked very impressive in a leather shirt, leather trousers with one leg sliced off at the knee to reveal his leather-clad peg leg. He adjusted his gloves and walked out to the car, opening the door so Mason could transfer.

            – Be careful with your stumps, Mason. They will be quite tender for a month or two yet.

            – I’ll remember. Thanks and goodbye.

Mason carefully turned towards Buck and hugged him. The lack of arms was shocking and exciting.

            – Careful, mate.

            – It’s so good to see you again, sir. I hope you like my new stumps, sir.

            – So do I. I shall inspect them later. Did you enjoy yourself?

            – Yes thank you, sir. There were many other volamps and I was able to teach some new DBEs about using hooks.

            – So you have not been completely useless. Heath, take us home.

Mason sat back to enjoy the ride into London. The car moved smoothly and silently. The loudest sound came from the tyres on the road surface. Heath and Harlan were indulging in some frottage in the front seat. Buck noticed what was going on and would have liked to play with Mason’s cock but that pleasure was no longer available. The car decelerated and stopped outside Buck’s and Mason’s building. Buck gave Heath instructions on where his old wheelchair was stored. It would take a while to fetch from the attic storage bay but it was the only method for getting the legless men inside. The one-legged man would have to see to it.

 

Buck transferred first. Heath pushed him inside and they went up to the apartment in the lift. Heath helped Buck onto the sofa and made two similar trips bringing Harlan and then Mason carrying Buck’s obsolete wooden legs. Harlan could have walked but wanted Heath to push him. Heath stood in the lounge, legs akimbo, arms crossed and watched the quadruple amputees eyeing each others stumps. Buck’s steel teeth flashed, revealing his feelings. He was smiling.

            – Do any of you gentlemen want coffee?

They all said they did. Heath busied himself making four servings. He could hear Harlan’s arm prosthesis squeaking as he manipulated his phone. He intended staying until he had arranged arm prostheses for Buck and Mason and a fitting for stubbies. He called Earl first.

            – Hi! Harlan here. ’Sup? Yeah, fine. Listen. I’ve found you two new customers. Both have about fifteen centimetres left, both want a leather set of stubbies asap. Can you get to Chiswick today for a fitting? Six? OK, see you then. Yes, I’m at Chiswick too. We just got back from the hospital. Great. See you, Earl. Gentlemen, your new prosthetic legs are underway.

            – So he’ll be here at six, will he? Are you staying that long?

            – Well, if you’ll have us, we’ll be enchanted to stay at least until Earl gets here. Haven’t seen him for a while.

            – Fine. I don’t know if we have anything to eat.

            – Let’s order in. Coupla pizzas or something.

 

Mason asked Heath to bring him the remote. He switched the screen on and summoned up some videos of men using AE hooks. The live example in the room concentrated on searching for second hand prosthetic arms for his two friends. His shoulder movements were distracting but in a good way. Buck watched him, knowing that he too would soon be wielding a new arm terminating in a steel hook. He squirmed in his seat to rearrange his leather shorts to make room for his short erection. The head pushed against the leather and began to produce precum. Buck could sense its stickiness and leaned from side to side to excite the sensitive head. His eyes focussed on the novice amputees onscreen opening and closing their hooks. Open and close. The steel click was beautiful.

            – Buck, I need your stump circumference. There’s an arm here which might fit you. Heath, find a ruler or something. Heath knew where Buck kept his tools and fetched a retracting steel rule. He measured Buck’s slightly swollen stump.

            – Well, this should fit after a couple more weeks. The thing is, this belonged to a teenager and the arm is not as long as it would be for an adult. It’s about ten centimetres short. It shouldn’t make much difference. Your hook will not extend from your jacket sleeves as much as you might like.

            – I don’t care about that. Let me see it.

The arm was black carbon and looked new.

            – Why is that on sale? What’s wrong with it?

Harlan scrolled down to see the seller’s remarks.

            – Oh, the guy got an electronic arm and needs some cash for a quick sale. Hundred and seventy.

            – Buy it!

Harlan carefully typed in the address where he was currently seated and paid with his own credit card. Buck could repay him later.

            – Shall I look for some arms for Mason?

            – Really? Can I have some hooks?

            – You might have one hook if Harlan finds one.

            – Heath, get me Mason’s stump length and circumference.

Harlan scrolled through below elbow prostheses for twenty minutes until he stopped.

            – A-ha! Look at these, Mason.

He held his phone to face Mason who leant slightly towards it, trying not to topple over. A pair of DBE arms with flesh-coloured sockets and cuffs and a white harness. The hooks were considerably larger than the usual design. They were semicircular and lined with rubber. They were described as measuring twelve centimetres across. Photos depicted the hooks opened – far wider than a normal pair. They were described as light-weight, probably aluminium, and used for about a year until the owner passed away of natural causes. The price asked was one thousand.

            – That’s a bit steep.

            – Mason, these arms would cost you ten times that new from a prosthetist. They won’t last for ever but if they’re as good as they look, they’ll last you a good few years. You want them or not?

            – Oh, yes please. Can you pay and I’ll reimburse you later after they arrive and I can access my account.

            – Alright, we’ll do that.

Confirmation soon arrived that the artificial arms were on their way.

            – I’m very interested to see those hooks, Mason. They’re a lot bigger than normal. I don’t know why they needed to be so big but they look really good. Buck, are you going to want a fake stump on the left? It keeps your shirts and jackets from slipping down.

            – What do you recommend?

            – Well, I won’t go out without it. It helps hold my pros on too.

            – Alright. How do I go about getting one?

            – Leave it to me. I’ll get in touch with the bloke who did mine. He’s a bit private, a bit reticent, so he can be a bit difficult. But he does good work.

            – Your stump looks pretty cool.

            – Yup, I like the look of it. It’s great being able to choose stump or no stump. I like the smooth shoulder too, don’t get me wrong.

            – I love having just the one little stump. Such a meagre thing to control the prosthesis with. I can’t wait to get it. You said it’s shorter than yours. That will look pretty exclusive too, I should think. A guy my size with a short arm.

            – Buck, mate, you look pretty fucking exclusive at the best of times. The main thing is you can do basic things for yourself, you know, like put your dentures in or wank. You’ll probably need Mason to dress you and put your hood on but I think he’s well up to that. I’m helpless until Heath attaches my arm in the morning. I can’t do it myself.

            – I didn’t realise.

            – Don’t worry about it. Lots of things to learn, Buck, and have a lot of fun along the way. They continued to watch medical and orthopaedic videos until someone rapped on the front door. Heath got up.

            – That must be Earl. Shall I let him in?

            – Yes please, Heath.

It was Earl. He high-fived Heath and stepped inside. Heath escorted him to the lounge. He stood in front of the sofa and announced himself in a deep baritone.

            – Good evening, gentlemen. My name is Earl Ledoux and I understand you have some work for me.

Buck and Mason took in the image standing in front of them. The officer’s cap, always present, the handsome face with a gold tooth, the motorcycle jacket and gauntlets, the black leather shorts and the long cylindrical black leather stubbies, easily half a metre long.

            – I would guess that you need a new pair of legs.

            – It’s good to see you, Earl. Welcome to our home. Yes, as you see, the pair of us are up for a pair of black leather stubbies. I’ve decided to forgo my wooden legs in favour of something more manageable now I have shed my arms.

            – Your centre of balance has changed. I understand. Go on.

            – And my boy Mason has a new pair of short stumps and I want him to have a short pair of black leather stubbies to match.

            – Your stumps are fresh, Mason?

            – Three weeks today.

            – It will be a few months before you’re ready for stubbies. But Buck, you’ve been a leg amputee for years so your stumps are ready for walking. Have you thought about their shape and material?

            – I think you can make conical or cylindrical legs, can’t you? I’ll go with cylindrical for this first pair. The base provides a greater surface area to balance on. And I want a black leather cover like yours.

            – Good. How about the length. Your stumps aren’t as short as I thought. I’d recommend something between twenty and thirty centimetres. No longer. Not to start with. Mine are forty-five but I’ve been on peg legs and stubbies since I was thirteen. Never had a normal pair of artificial legs. Always made my own.

            – Sounds like you turned it to your own advantage. Have you an idea how much a pair will cost? I’ll probably want two or three pairs of different lengths and so will Mason.

            – Let me think. If you order three pairs now, you can have the set for four thousand. Same for Mason. That’s five hundred less than what I’ve been charging. And I’ll make you priority, at least for the first pair.

            – OK, we have a deal.

            – Good man. Shall we get started? I need to take some measurements but I can’t reach you on the sofa. Can you get onto the table somehow?

            – I could carry him, if that’s OK, Buck.

            – Thanks, Heath.

Heath picked Buck up around his waist and lifted him. Buck clamped his leg stumps around Heath until he felt the safety of the tabletop. Heath removed Buck’s leather shorts, exposing the micropenis in its nest of wet pubic hair. The aroma of male sex rose from his crotch. Earl looked at the penis, fascinated by its perfect head and extreme shortness. His own cock was sending signs of arousal. Earl was surprised. He had never considered small dicks to be erotic. Obviously he had not thought about them enough.

            – Man, that’s a beautiful cock. I may have to release mine if I look at that much longer.

            – Go ahead. Do what you need to do.

Earl altered his stance, rocking his stubbies into a wider posture. He opened his fly and pulled out his semihard cock.

            – That feels better. OK, I’m going to measure your stumps so I can get the size and shape for the sockets right. You’ll be wearing a belt which the stubbies are attached to, do you understand?

 

Earl took out a tape measure and his phone. He tapped in Buck’s name and the order. He took measurements from Buck’s groin at five centimetre intervals and made a note of the dimensions.

            – How long do you want the first pair to be? I reckon an extra fifteen centimetres length on top of your present stumps is enough. They’ll be stable and that’s going to be important for you in future, balancing without arms. Then maybe something really short, say an extra eight centimetres and maybe something a bit more extrovert, say thirty-five? That will be a fairly good set. You want them all cylindrical?

            – Yes, let’s go with all that. Cylindrical, eight, fifteen and thirty-five. Make the fifteens first. Where do I sign?

            – Haha! I’ll send you an invoice, man. We do this the proper way. I’ll invoice you a thousand when I bring the first pair and three thou with the other two pairs. Is that agreeable?

            – Sounds fine. I don’t want to hurry you but when might the first pair be ready?

            – I can’t promise anything but four days? Less than a week.

            – Oh, that soon! I was expecting something more like a month.

            – No man. I know what I’m doing. I don’t waste time. This is my full time business, making stubbies and peg legs for volamps. It’s my calling in life.

            – It seems to be and you had a good start for it. I bet you never expected to be doing this for a living.

            – No. Now it’s my turn to ask you something. You have steel teeth, right? Dentures? Where did you get them from?

            – They were made by a dental student who wanted to make love to my stumps.

            – Oh! Would he like to make love to mine?

            – Ha! I could ask him. We haven’t been in contact for a while. Why do you ask?

            – I could see myself wearing steel teeth. It looks well horny.

Earl’s erection had reached its full length. It swayed as he altered his stance.

            – Are you wearing dentures? I didn’t realise.

            – Sure. I had my teeth pulled at eighteen. It saves a lot of money on dental bills. Earl loosened his lower plate with his tongue and pushed the teeth out between his full lips. He sucked it back.

            – Christ! Is that the sort of thing you had to think about?

            – Yeah. How about you?

            – I had mine out at twenty-four because I wanted these. I had a face full of piercings and they all matched up. Then I got tattooed but that got fucked up. This is me now, hood, leg stumps and hook.

            – You’re gonna look great, man. OK, Heath, can you take Buck and bring Mason?

            – Don’t you need to wait until my stumps have shrunk a bit first, Earl?

            – I’ll take a look. I know how stumps behave. We’ll check again after a few weeks but a few measurements now will let me order materials.

            – Gotcha.

Heath lifted Mason under his armpits and placed him on their dining table. Earl measured his stumps through the shrinker socks and noted their length. They were considerably shorter than Buck’s.

            – How about length, Mason? Your stumps are pretty short, so you’ll always be on the short side but you can have something up to twenty-five centimetres, I reckon. Do you want very short stubbies too?

            – Yes please. Something about eight centimetres to waddle around in. Then fifteen and say, twenty-five.

            – Good choices. How about the profile?

            – Can you make them all taper? Sort of conical? I think I’d prefer those.

            – Sure. They’re a little more difficult to learn to walk on but you have a lower centre of gravity so it shouldn’t be too much of a problem. If I make the tips five centimetres in diameter, does that sound OK?

            – They’ll look like fat peg legs.

            – Yes, they will.

            – That’s what I want.

Earl made his measurements and noted them. He typed recheck at the bottom of his list of figures. Harlan had ordered pizza for delivery while Earl had been busy. Just as Heath carried Mason back to sit next to Buck, the doorbell sounded.

            – I’ll get it.

He took delivery of the two family sized pizzas, paid and brought them into the lounge.

            – Buck, that’s thirty-seven fifty.

            – OK, we’ll settle up in a minute. Help yourselves.

Earl and Heath fed the armless amputees while Mason caressed Earl’s long penis between his arm stumps.

 

– – – – – -

 

Earl delivered Buck’s first pair of stubbies the following week. Mason was relieved. He had been relegated to sitting or laying on the sofa while Buck used the wheelchair during the hours Heath was present. Neither of the men had any mobility and Buck was becoming impatient with his armlessness. He wanted his new prosthesis immediately. Heath checked its progress on Buck’s phone. It was at the sorting office and the next stage was ‘out for delivery’. Both Buck and Mason were tired of watching videos of old war veterans struggling with their arm prostheses. They had also seen enough of stubbies for a while, until Earl brought Buck’s first pair. Earl cinched a wide leather belt around Buck’s midriff and pushed the new stubbies onto Buck’s leg stumps. The interiors were lined with rubber foam which felt almost solid and slightly sticky. He connected the stubbies to the belt with more leather straps and asked Buck to stand. Buck slid carefully off the sofa and felt his stumps sink further into the stubbies. Earl adjusted the leather straps and invited Buck to take a few steps. It felt odd to be so short and yet standing. Buck moved from side to side, testing the stubbies and tentatively stepped forward. He leaned forward and brought the other stubby alongside its twin. He carefully took another step and another. His microcock was fully erect, sliming his shorts. Buck stopped and leaned forward slightly while he ejaculated. This would be easier if he could swing his arms for balance but those days were behind him. He strutted to the far wall and slowly rotated his body. Earl watched him, another novice stubbie-wearer finding his new legs for the first time. He swung his own half metre stubbies around and followed Buck back to the sofa. He sat next to Buck and transferred a thousand sterling into his own account on Buck’s phone. Buck’s invoice was on the table.

            – I’ll message you when the other pairs are ready. It’ll be a couple of weeks. I have a backlog just lately.

            – That’s cool. Thanks, Earl.

Someone rapped on the front door.

            – Are you expecting someone? Shall I answer it?

            – Yes please, Earl. If it’s the Mormons, we’re not in.

A deliveryman handed Earl a long packet addressed to Buck Cloutier.

            – I’ll sign for this. Cloutier currently has no hands.

            – Whatever.

Earl took the packet into the lounge.

            – I can guess what this is. Would you like me to open it?

            – If you wouldn’t mind. I seem to be indisposed at the moment.

            – Ha! I’ll get a knife.

Earl slit the packet open and pulled aside the gyroid paper. A glossy black artificial arm revealed itself. Earl tilted the packet so Buck and Mason could see.

            – You wanna try it out, man? I need to take your shirt off, I guess.

Earl stripped Buck’s leather shirt and inspected the arm stump. It would slip into the top of the socket, obviously. There was a black canvas harness which he needed to understand. He held the prosthesis against Buck’s chest and followed the harness straps. Part of it would cross his back and the plastic-covered loop went over the other arm. Which Buck was missing.

            – We may have a problem, Buck. You need a stump on the other side as well. But let’s worry about that in a minute. Lift your stump up and let’s see if the arm fits.

The socket was wide enough to accommodate Buck’s muscular stump and was a little longer than necessary. It was not important. Earl pulled the harness over Buck’s shoulders and held the anchor loop, thinking about how to attach it.

            – Have you got any duct tape? I might be able to tape this to your shoulder somehow.

            – There’s some in the tool drawer. In the kitchen. Third drawer down.

Earl found it and pulled off a strip.

            – This is going to smart when you pull it off, man.

            – I don’t care. See what you can do.

Buck soon sported a harness taped to his shoulder with several layers of tape. The arm was at a ninety degree angle. It looked a little odd, being obviously smaller than Buck’s natural arm. Buck moved his stump around and tried putting a little pressure on the harness. The hook opened.

            – Hey! Look at that!

He opened it again and let it snap shut. He determined what movement he was making to open the hook. He shrugged to settle the socket a little better and the arm dropped.

            – Ah, I see. Alright, that makes sense.

Buck leaned forward and stood on his stubbies. The arm hung down, the hook conveniently at the same height as his genitals. He shrugged again and the mechanical elbow bent. He was trying to raise the hook to near his face.

            – Mason, find the old video of the guy being fitted with prosthetic arms. It’s about time I paid attention to what he was doing.

            – Good idea, Buck. Listen, I have to get going.

            – OK, thanks for everything. Can you find your own way out?

            – No problem. Cheers.

Mason found the video Buck had mentioned, one of their old favourites. A Korean war veteran being fitted with two AE prosthetic arms and being instructed by a pair of doctors in white coats on their operation. Buck stood and watched, comparing his modern equipment with that of eighty years previous. There was no practical difference. An hour later and after several rewinds, Buck was able to set his elbow at a suitable angle and operate the hook. It took him several attempts each time but he knew how to do it. The jerry-rigged prosthesis worked. Mason helped him back into his leather shirt. His master appeared as he always would, he assumed. Buck realised the necessity of a stump at his left shoulder. He asked Heath to ask the stump maker to pay them a visit. Buck wore his prosthetics the rest of the evening and through the night, being unable to remove them himself and don them next morning. Heath called his acquaintance and a meeting was arranged for that afternoon.

 

– – – – – – -

 

Three months later, Mason complained of pain in his leg stumps. He had been wearing his first pair of stubbies for two weeks. Buck told him it was perfectly normal but Mason protested that it was far more painful than seemed reasonable and the pain seemed to emanate from inside his stumps. They still hurt just as much even when he removed the stubbies. Buck felt fine and put the matter out of his mind. However, after a week when Mason had been extremely reluctant to wear his stubbies, Buck felt an excruciating pain in his short right arm stump. He shucked the prosthesis, leaving himself with only the prosthetic stump at his left shoulder. There was no change in pain. The prosthesis did not put any pressure on his stump and now there was nothing external to cause any discomfort. Yet Buck’s stump felt like something was slicing it from the inside. After a sleepless night, Buck told Heath about the pain as Heath was feeding him breakfast porridge. Heath thought for a moment and considered his options. He could take the guys to a hospital and wait around for hours to bring them home again, or ignore their situation and go to work as usual at midday. He made a call, grunted his thanks and announced that he was taking them both to the local AE. He dressed Buck in his stubbies and a pair of clean shorts and placed his motorcycle jacket over his shoulders. Mason sat in the wheelchair and struggled into his own leathers with the shortened sleeves. Heath drove them to hospital where there were several other trendy amps, all of who looked like they were in considerable pain.

 

The hospital staff had organised themselves into two teams over the preceding weeks. One would attend to the usual coughs and sneezes, cuts and bruises and the other would concentrate on the increasing number of volamps who were presenting with excruciating pains in their recently acquired stumps. They had noticed that volamps who had older amputations too almost never complained about pain in those stumps. The volamps were scanned with ultrasound revealing sometimes quite advanced bone spurs. The severed bone was trying to regenerate but the growth was uneven and chaotic. There had to be an external cause, recently developed. Teams of orthopaedic doctors and biologists all over Europe were frantically searching for an answer, many of them sufferers themselves, of course.

 

The culprit was found by a research team in the Netherlands. A microbe, new in Europe but common in the Middle East and west Asia, had spread north as the climate warmed and conditions for it opened up. It was Floriantes barbarosa, a bacteria harmless to its host plant but with the unfortunate property of intensifying calcium production in mammals. It infected grain crops most of all. It was found in wheat, oats and millet in high concentrations. Foodstuffs made from wheat, like pasta and white bread, and oats, like porridge, were found to be laden with Floriantes proteins. Buck and Mason ate little other than pasta dishes and porridge which Heath prepared for them every day and which Buck insisted on, due to his toothlessness. Buck’s leg stumps were fine. They were years old. His left amputation site was fine. There was no severed bone there, the whole arm having been removed in its entirety. Similarly, Mason’s old arm stumps were perfectly healthy. His leg stumps were making his life unbearable. They were only months old. Their diet was like a concentrated dose of Floriantes.

 

Medical staff initially attempted the usual treatments for bone spurs. First drugs, then invasive surgeries to remove the spurs and hone the residual bone. After a few weeks, the bone spurs returned without exception. Surgeons reluctantly realised that the only relief for their patients was disarticulation of the affected residual limb. Mason would lose his stumps and live his life in a supportive socket. At least he would still have his arm stumps and prosthetic hooks. Buck would lose his arm stump and enjoy life with two smooth, stumpless shoulders. He would still be mobile on leather stubbies. They were among the luckier volamps. Many faced the prospect of having all four stumps disarticulated. There would be tens of thousands of helpless torsos, twenty- and thirty-somethings who had looked forward to an active life with fashionable and functional prosthetic limbs now condemned to utter helplessness. Many governments realised the problem facing the loss of a generation if the new torsos began availing themselves of the new euthanasia laws. Several had already persuaded friends to deliver their limbless torsos to a euthanasia clinic. A campaign to persuade young people to act as personal assistants for the new torsos was arranged in many countries and proved to be a lucrative source of employment for the less educated.

 

– – – – – – –

 

Mason fared better than Buck. He enjoyed using artificial arms and used his hooks to wash and dress himself, to cook and eat. He was relearning to write and could operate his phone with no problems. His body was inserted in a size forty-eight HoldMe™ torso bucket each morning and Derek, their new PA, lifted him into his wheelchair after toileting each morning. Mason propelled himself by inserting his hooks through rings on the wheelchair propulsion levers and he could manoeuvre around the flat and outside with comparative ease. Buck was less fortunate. There were electronic arm prostheses available but the price for a pair was exorbitant, far beyond the reach of a man whose only source of income was that of a landlord. The shy and retiring artisan who had made his artificial stump stopped making them due to the sudden lack of demand and concentrated on making cosmetic arms. They had no function other than as sleeve fillers but they provided amputees with a better body image. Mason strapped Buck’s muscular black arms to his body each morning when he inserted Buck’s steel teeth and applied his hood. Derek saw to the rest of Buck’s morning routines.

 

Buck walked around on his longest pair of stubbies and still looked like an alpha leatherman. Mason masturbated him often. Buck enjoyed the cold touch of Mason’s hooks on his micro-penis and having the fingers of a hook inserted into his anus. His leg stumps twitched and thrashed as the hook tittilated his prostate. The unusual semicircular shape of Mason’s hooks permitted deeper penetration than that possible with standard hooks. In turn, Buck allowed Mason to gyrate his stumpless lower torso against his belly. The entire area below Mason’s buttocks was an erogenous zone. Mason had no way of reaching it with his arm stumps and relied on another warm body to chafe against. He could grasp Buck’s torso with his arm stumps and gyrate his legless torso against Buck’s short penis, the cock heads stimulating each other, their stumps flailing with never-ending emergency to reach orgasm, the two men, now equals, desperate to enjoy the only physical pleasure left to them. Buck tried to grasp Mason closer to himself with his non-existent arms and Mason attempted to curl his legs around Buck, holding him locked in place. He was always unsuccessful. They were limited to limbless writhing which, they found, was a gratifying substitute.

 

Despite their extreme limblessness, Buck and Mason continued to frequent meetings of leathermen. There were the biweekly meetings of the Motorcycle Leathermen which Harlan and Heath favoured. They collected their limbless friends and spent the evening among other men like themselves, some volamps, some wearing HoldMe™ sockets with short stubbies attached, exposing their dicks. Buck looked very butch with his motionless black replica arms. Mason occasionally wore peg arms and crutched around on his HoldMe™, chatting to devotees, exchanging experiences, giving advice to other torsos. Heath followed both men to raise a glass of beer to their lips, not ignoring his own admirers who loved seeing a man with a peg leg. Heath’s amputation was from long before Florry, as it was now known, and he felt himself safe as did Harlan with his hook and stubbies. Buck studied the men from the privacy of his hood, precum leaking from his micro-penis, lubricating his leather shorts, and felt pride and fulfilment.

 

 

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