EXTENSION

 

E X T E N S I O N

A TALE OF SADO-MASOCHISM  by strzeka

 

Kyle Byrne was a difficult child. He was precocious and sometimes aggressive, although his aggression was directed towards breaking objects rather than hitting another child. He learned to manage his anger but was frustrated by tedium in successive schools. He was a voracious reader from the age of seven and was continually confounded by the lack of worldly knowledge which his peers displayed. After puberty, he directed his aggression against himself, slicing his flesh with blades, punishing his genitals with steel clamps and treating his body as something to be restricted and disabled with rope. He was fascinated by anatomy and how the physical body worked. And how it could be mutilated without endangering life. As a teenager, his greatest pleasure was to be found through viewing video of legless and armless men recovering as best they could with prosthetic limbs. He imagined himself in their position, imagining himself with stumps instead of legs or striding along swinging handless forearms.

 

Kyle inherited money from an alcoholic uncle who died at the age of fifty. The bachelor uncle had been a successful investor and had regarded Kyle as his son rather than as his nephew. At seventeen, Kyle had enough money to fund his future studies and to buy himself an impressively ostentatious American motorcycle. He invested in a thick leather jacket, leather trousers, engineer boots and a black helmet with a mirrored visor. Black leather gauntlets completed the outfit. The leathers felt reassuring. The rigidity of the material provided some resistance when he moved which he found erotic. He soon owned several leather shirts and waistcoats and a black leather necktie. He turned heads everywhere. He bought a chrome-rimmed officer’s cap and acquired the smoking habit. He was not tempted by cigarettes but by large gauge cigars and oversized pipes.

 

After leaving school with commendable exam results, he decided to wait a year before continuing his studies. He wanted to work as a prosthetist in order to satisfy his desire to see the results of amputation and to handle artificial limbs. He should first find out what courses he would need to study. In the meantime, he took a job as a baggage handler at the airport, riding to work shifts at any time of day in full leather gear. He changed into his overalls after arriving. The trousers had detachable lower legs which he unzipped. The trousers became shorts.

 

Kyle had been a loner at school but did not enjoy his solitude. In an attempt to find like-minded friends, he applied to a Motorcycle Club which required a strict dress code. Only men wearing full motorcycle leathers were admitted. The club meetings were held in the cellar of a block of flats in Acton, five miles from his home. Kyle waited for his membership to be approved and received an ID card in the post. The following Saturday evening, Kyle turned up to check the place out. Twenty or so leathermen stood around in groups of three or four in the gloom, staring at the new member who entered wearing his officer’s cap and with a one-twenty-five gauge cigar between his teeth, holding his mouth wide open. Kyle had already inadvertently transgressed. Only the more senior daddies were allowed to smoke cigars and none of them ever boasted anything as impressive and phallic as Kyle’s huge cigar. Kyle eyed the men from beneath his visor. One senior member broke away from his friends and slowly approached the newcomer.

            – Come with me, boy.

The daddy put a leather-gloved hand on Kyle’s shoulder and guided him through a soundproof door to the back of the cellar. Steel cleats on their boots echoed their footsteps. Club members looked at each other wordlessly, guessing what would happen.

            – Who are you?

Kyle peered at the bearded face with its serious demeanour. He took a drag from his enormous cigar and disengaged it from his mouth. He blew a narrow stream of smoke into the room before answering.

            – My name is Kyle Byrne. I am an eighteen year old bike rider and I’m here to find like-minded company.

            – Is that so? And what do you do, Kyle Byrne?

            – I’m working as a baggage handler at the airport until I start my studies next year.

            – What are you going to study?

            – Prosthetics. I’m going to work with amputees to fit them with artificial limbs.

The senior man’s attention perked up immediately. Kyle replaced his cigar and sucked it back into life.

            – You’re interested in that sort of thing, are you? Disablement and stumps?

Kyle nodded once.

            – Interesting. I know a couple of men you might like to meet.

            – Amputees, do you mean?

            – I do. I’m sure you realise we have a few club members who came off their bikes and lost limbs. Some of them continue biking. What bike do you ride?

            – Harley V-Rod. The Night Rod Special.

Kyle put the cigar back in his mouth and angled it for maximum effect. The leatherman stared at him, surprised by Kyle’s nonchalance far beyond the boy’s years and a most unexpected revelation. The Night Rod was big and heavy and very expensive. There was more to this boy than he had expected.

            – And you rode it here?

Kyle nodded again.

            – I’d like to see it. My name is Hook. Zero Hook. I want you to meet two amputee friends. If you have nothing else this evening, you could follow behind me when I leave.

            – I don’t have an agenda planned. Where will this meeting take place?

            – At my home. Dulwich. You can leave your Night Rod in my garage overnight.

Without waiting for a reply, Hook left the room and rejoined the group he had left minutes before. Kyle adjusted his officer’s cap to conceal his eyes and sucked on the cigar until the room was blue with smoke. He shifted its angle and sauntered out, avoiding the eyes of other club members. He would wait until Hook was ready and anticipate meeting some amputees.

 

Kyle waited alone by the clubroom’s makeshift bar. It sold water and cola. He enjoyed his cigar until its taste began to change. Hook let him stand for a few more minutes and bid his colleagues goodbye. He walked towards the exit and beckoned Kyle to follow.

            – Follow me to Dulwich.

Hook mounted his twenty year old Harley and kicked it into life. He waited until Kyle was astride his own matte black beast, mirrored helmet hiding his face, led headlights suddenly splitting the evening. Hook negotiated his way to the road and Kyle followed him from Acton to Hammersmith, Battersea, Clapham and finally into a smart area with expensive houses in Dulwich. Hook turned into a driveway and garage doors lifted to allow access. Kyle slowed and turned in and edged his Night Rod alongside the older Harley.

            – Come into the house. Saturday night is our own club night when my guests have the opportunity to socialise.

 

Hook unlocked a door inside the garage which opened on a short corridor. An opposing door obviously led into the house but there was another door of brushed steel between them. It was a lift. Hook summoned it and the doors opened. Hook indicated that Kyle should enter and followed him. Seven large buttons were labelled from Plus Three to Minus Three. Hook pushed the lowest and the lift descended silently. Its rear doors opened onto a dimly lit space. Two leather-hooded figures sat on a broad black leather sofa watching a wide video screen. They heard the newcomers, paused the video stream and stood.

 

Hook and Kyle looked at them in silence. One of the men was considerably shorter than the other. Hook moved forward towards them and Kyle followed, not knowing what to expect or what was expected of him.

            – I have someone who wishes to meet you. He is a candidate for our extension. You will be civil and considerate. Kyle, I want you to meet Stub King and Mylo John who share my home and my interests. Introduce yourself to them. I will return soon.

 

Hook returned to the lift and disappeared from view. The three figures watched him leave.

            – Hello. Come and sit with us. It’s good to have some company. I’m Mylo. This is Stub.

Kyle walked around the end of the sofa and approached the men. Their identities were hidden behind leather hoods, their clothes were leather but Kyle saw that Stub was wearing leather shorts and standing on two slightly conical stubbies, also covered in black leather. He was a foot shorter than Mylo. His forearms were handless and encased in leather sheaths. The men sat.

            – You must have been at the Motorcycle Club, I suppose. What did you think of it?

            – I was disappointed, to be honest. I was expecting to find a friend or someone to talk to but people just stood around with their own friends and it was only Mr Hook who spoke to me and he wasn’t very informative. I’m only looking for new friends.

            – You can call him Zero. It’s not his real name. His bark is worse than his bite.

            – That’s good to know. He mentioned something about there being a club night here tonight. What was all that about? I don’t see anyone except us.

            – We’re the club. There’s only one reason why you’re here.

            – And what’s that?

            – You have an amputee fetish. Or you want to be an amputee yourself. Which is it?

Kyle was struck silent. Mylo’s simple answer hit two nails with one blow. He sharpened his thoughts and looked at the eye holes in the black hoods. He sensed both leathermen were waiting for his reply.

            – Both. I am going to be a prosthetist but I also enjoy seeing amputees.

            – Good answer. But that’s not enough. That’s not the whole story, is it?

            – No. I would like to use artificial limbs myself but there’s no way I can see to get them.

            – There is now. You’re a young leatherman, very handsome too, and we need another member of our family so we can continue our own destinies.

            – How can I help you with that? What’s it got to do with me?

            – Zero will ask you if you want to join us. He wants to extend the family. I know why but he should tell you himself, if he trusts you.

            – So you don’t actually know why I’m here?

            – No, not the details but I can read between the lines. None of us are stupid, Kyle. It seems to me that Zero is going to have his amputations and someone will need to take care of him until he recovers and probably even after that. He wants a batman.

            – Batman?

            – A manservant. A butler. Someone who looks after him. You know, dresses him, fits his artificial limbs, brushes his teeth.

            – Why can’t you do it?

            – We have our jobs here. I’m the housekeeper and Stub is the chef. It’s my turn to have another limb off so we need someone who can be a handyman around the house and take over my duties and if Zero goes ahead, he’ll be expecting you to be there for him.

            – Do you mean that I’d be living here all the time on beck and call for when he needs me?

            – Yes, of course. I thought you understood. Did he not explain?

            – No, he hardly spoke to me. What sort of a place is this, exactly?

            – This is where leathermen like us come to achieve the amputations they want.

            – Are you an amputee?

            – Of course I am. I have a leg stump and an arm stump.

            – It’s difficult to see in the dark and you’re dressed in leather.

            – We’re all dressed in leather, always. And tonight we’re wearing our artificial limbs in your honour.

            – Stub has two stubbies.

            – Yup. I have two above knee amputations and I’ve been fitted with stubby legs to get around on.

They heard the lift doors open and Stub fell silent. The two residents stood as Hook emerged carrying a leather-bound torso. He placed the truncated figure on the sofa next to Kyle and untied the lacing covering its head. The black leather hood slipped off easily to reveal a smiling bearded face with clear blue eyes looking directly at Kyle.

            – Hello. I’m Zeal Bones. Pleased to meet you. What’s your name?

            – Kyle. I’m Kyle Byrne.

Kyle looked at the newcomer, fascinated by his almost complete limblessness. There was no sign of leg stumps and two short stumps remained of Zeal Bone’s arms. Zero Hook spoke to him.

            – I hope Stub and Mylo explained why you are here, Kyle. If you have any questions, we will be happy to answer them this evening. Stub, we are ready.

Stub slid onto his stubbies and crossed the room to fetch a low mahogany cabinet. He rolled it to the end of the sofa where Zero sat and returned to his seat.

            – You may remove your hoods now. What do you want to drink?

Stub appeared to be about thirty, dark eyes, thick eyebrows and a stubbled face. Mylo’s skin and features were dark.

            – Two gin and tonics please, Zero. Kyle, what would you like?

            – The same, please.

            – Zeal, the same for you too? Kyle will help you, won’t you Kyle?

Kyle looked at Zeal’s hopeful face and smiled back at him.

            – Of course I will.

Zero opened the lid of the refrigerated cabinet and took out several heavy crystal glasses and set to making the drinks. He passed them over Zeal’s torso to Kyle, who set them on the coffee table. Zero poured himself a bourbon and closed the cabinet lid. Its interior illumination was a distraction.

            – Your good health and please welcome our guest.

Kyle lifted a glass to toast the others and raised it carefully to Zeal’s lips. Zeal took two sips and waved a stump to signify ‘enough’. Kyle picked up his own glass, impressed by its weight, and raised it to the others.

            – Your very good health, everyone.

He drank alone with the others watching and appraising the teenage leatherman whom Zero had cleverly discovered. Kyle was still wearing his full motorcycle leathers except he had removed his helmet and replaced it with the officer’s cap. The chrome edging on the visor glinted as Kyle tilted his head.

            – As you see, Kyle, we are a close-knit family. We are leathermen twenty-four seven and live as a social unit which serves as a safe house for us to live as we want. We are all devotees and wannabes—you know what I am referring to, do you not?

            – Yes, of course. You mean the amputations.

            – I do. You are here now to meet some of us so you can understand better the scope of your future duties.

            – What are you talking about? What future duties?

            – The time has come for both Mylo and me to advance. Mylo wants his remaining limbs removed and I wish to be legless. Oh, not completely. Don’t get me wrong. I’ll still have enough stump to be able to ride. That goes without saying. It’ll be your job to take over Mylo’s duties as a housekeeper and handyman until the time comes for your own amputations, whatever they might be. It would be preferable if you gained only one stump at a time so you could continue with your duties for as long as possible. You’ll be responsible for washing and dressing the torsos, sometimes feeding them and changing their catheters. They will tell you what they need and Mylo has been our housekeeper for seven years, five of which on one leg and three with one hand, so you can ask him for advice. Now he wants to be a DBK DBE—you know what that means, I’m sure. And you’ll take his place. Mylo will then join the other retirees in the sub-basement, the leathermen who have served us and who have achieved their ideal configurations, like Zeal here. Kyle looked at Zeal, who nodded towards his drink. Kyle lifted the glass to Zeal’s lips.

            – There are other people here too?

            – Oh yes. In addition to Zeal, there are three other retirees who have the ultimate configuration. Tell him, Zeal.

            – Yes, in addition to me, there are Edge, Rage and Mane. We are all quadruple amputees. Two of us have functioning stumps of some kind. You can see I’m still able to wear prosthetic arms, which I do every day. Actually, I’m the most able-bodied of the retirees and the chief, I suppose. I can feed the two guys who are completely armless with my hooks. The other leathermen enjoy each other’s company as black leather torsos. Lives of leisure which we all work towards and hope to achieve.

            – Thank you, Zeal. Very good explanation. The retirees usually stay in the house in each other’s company but we go on holiday several times a year. Which is to say, I always take one of the retirees with me on my travels, and I travel wide and far several times a year.

            – I was with Zero in Cancun last year. Two weeks in the sunshine on a private beach being pampered by young Mexicans who only wanted to stare at my stumps for much of the time, but that’s why I created them.

            – One of my retirees always accompanies me, you understand. We live here for convenience, sheltered and in a healthy community but we also see the world.

            – It sounds very interesting.

            – Tell us something about yourself, Kyle. How do you want to be?

            – If I ever had the chance, I would like to replace my hands with hooks. I think it looks spectacular.

            – It does. Several of us started that way. I’ll be a double hook user after my next revision.

            – I would still expect you to continue as our housekeeper even if you are a double amputee. Becoming disabled is no excuse to start slacking in this household. Everyone has a role to play to help the others one way or another.

            – I see. Why are you so interested in me?

            – You told me you want to study to be a prosthetist, did you not? I’ve thought about setting up a workshop here to provide artificial limbs for our amputees who want them but until now, I’ve not been successful in finding a candidate. I suggest you complete your studies and then start your own prosthetics company which would allow you to purchase components from manufacturers. Your workshop would be here, on the upper basement floor where the retirees live. There is a room there which could be your laboratory. Assuming you agree to continue your work with bilateral hooks, you would be ideally suited to the work. You would not be the first prosthetist to carry on his profession with two artificial arms.

            – Would you sponsor my studies if I were to agree?

            – I’m sure we could come to some arrangement, Kyle. I think Zeal would like a drink.

            – Sorry, Zeal. I suddenly had other things on my mind. May I ask how the amputations are organised? I get the impression that everyone is a voluntary amputee.

            – There are two legless retirees who are accident victims, otherwise everyone’s amputations are voluntary. The where and how need not concern you. We have access to surgical services on occasion. The next appointment is in eight weeks when I will undergo my first amputations in order to achieve my thigh stumps. Thinking about prosthetic aftercare made me realise how much more convenient it would be if we had our own prosthetist. A leatherman who could customise our components to produce unconventional prosthetics to order.

            – That sounds like a lot of fun. So I would live here permanently and share your lifestyle.

            – Yes, exactly that. There is a spare room for you on the second floor which you may furnish at our expense. Three meals a day, free board in exchange for custom prosthetics. You have already seen there is space in the garage for your Night Rod. You are free to join us as a leatherman immediately to work as housekeeper until your studies are complete in three or four years.

            – I hope you decide to join us, Kyle. Can you raise my glass again?

            – Here you are. Good health.

Kyle picked up his own drink and tasted it. He looked at Zero Hook, the community founder and leader, with his stern ultramasculine demeanour and impeccable black leather costume. He sensed the man was sincere and anticipated a positive answer. Zeal, Mylo and Stub watched Kyle’s face as his thoughts raced.

            – Can I have some time to think about it?

            – Of course. We’ll party until morning and you can stay until you’re fit to ride again. Let’s say we need an answer by tomorrow afternoon.

 

Kyle grinned at the incongruity of the situation. He was expected to make a life-changing decision in a few hours under the influence of alcohol. Mylo rose and excused himself. He went to the lift and up to his room to collect a split hook. He wanted to entice Kyle further along in his decision to acquire his own new terminal devices. Kyle could examine both the hook and the wood and steel artificial hand he was currently wearing. Mylo returned.

            – Kyle, would you do me a favour? Can you remove my hand and replace it with this hook? Take a good look at it so you know how it fixes on my socket.

Kyle moved across to where Mylo was sitting and knelt in front of him. Mylo explained how to detach the control cable and replace the terminal devices. Kyle took the leather-clad artificial hand back to his seat to inspect it more closely. It was an extremely desirable item. Kyle imagined his daily morning routine—waking and immediately reaching for his own pair of cool black leather sockets fitted with split hooks without which his stumps were next to useless. He breathed deeply and sighed. He had a powerful erection which would soon need additional attention.

 

More drinks were served. Conversation restarted, varying from motorbikes to leatherwear to customised prosthetic devices designed to enable the wearer to ride a bike again. Kyle imagined operating his Night Rod with a pair of hooks. Maybe rubber claws would be more practical. He would look into it. At three o’clock on Sunday morning, Kyle broached the question of moving into the Dulwich premises from his home in Cricklewood. He had little in the way of possessions, his clothes and leather gear, a few books and manuals. Nothing else was needed.

            – So if you allow me to join you, I would be honoured to be your new housekeeper. When might I be able to move in?

            – Immediately. Pay whatever rent you owe, cancel the utility services and bring your belongings here. You and I will furnish your room as you want it and from then on, this will be your home. You’re going to need a new name. We all use pseudonyms here. Do you have any suggestions?

            – No, not really.

            – In that case, bearing your future role in mind, I suggest Limb Steel.

            – I like that! Limb. Limb Steel. Yes, that sounds like a good name for a prosthetist.

            – I’m glad you agree. You’ll be Limb from now on. And now the decision has been reached, is anyone ready to retire for the night? Limb, we have no bed for you. You will have to share.

            – You could share my bed if you want, Limb. You’ll have to help me undress and remove my pegs.

            – Of course. I will. Thank you, Stub.

            – Good. Now let’s get some rest.

 

Rest was the last thing on Limb’s and Stub’s minds. They eyed each other in the lift. Zero exited first carrying the torsoman Zeal with him to his quarters. The other residents went to their respective rooms on the first floor, Limb behind Stub, watching the black leather peg legs beating a rhythm down the parquet corridor, the arm stumps waving to maintain balance. Stub’s room was about the size of a normal living room and split into two distinct areas. One held a row of low cupboards skirting two walls and in the corner was a large futon. The other side of the room featured a low desk holding a laptop, a comfortably padded wheelchair and two easy chairs facing each other over a low table. A steel rod projecting from one wall held Stub’s selection of leatherwear. Stub fell back onto the futon and Limb stood over him waiting for permission to undress him.

            – Put my hood over there, will you? And my jacket.

Stub was naked under his jacket except for a leather harness. He lifted his stumps up to indicate that the harness was next for removal along with the arm sheaths. Then his leather shorts with a rigid codpiece and finally his stubbies.

            – Just pull them gently but firmly and they will slide off. Take my liners off after that and we can go to the bathroom.

Limb knelt on the floor and allowed Stub to clamber onto his back.

            – Tell me where to go.

            – Turn right. It’s the last room on the right.

The bathroom contained three stalls with low walls, three showerheads and three low basins. There were two wetroom wheelchairs against a wall.

            – Put me on the toilet facing the wall.

Stub urinated.

            – And next my teeth. My glass is the one with a blue stripe on it.

Stub dislodged his dentures with his tongue and pushed them out of his mouth. Limb picked them from between Stub’s lips and placed them in the glass to soak. He bent down to take a mouthful of water from the tap, squelched it around his mouth and spat it out. He urinated and picked Stub up. They returned to Stub’s room and dimmed the lighting. Stub rested on his right arm stump watching Limb remove his own leather gear.

            – Come on and join me. You can hold me if you like.

Limb lay down and pulled the quilt over their bodies. Stub rolled towards him and caressed Limb’s chest with his stumps. His erection poked into Limb’s groin. The absence of legs felt unusual. Limb rearranged his legs in an attempt to entwine them with his partner’s but there was nothing. The embrace led to kissing and even more insistent erections. Stub was ready.

            – Fuck me, Limb!

Limb was ready. Both men’s tools were slimy with precum and Limb had no trouble penetrating his legless partner. Stub arched his back to intensify the sensation and the truncated muscles in his arms twitched as his non-existent fists tried to clench in ecstasy. Stub ejaculated first and lowered his rump. Limb increased the force of his thrusts and grunted as he reached orgasm. He waited a little before extracting his tool and relaxed, the two lovers holding each other lying in their own warm semen. They slept for six hours.

 

Stub woke first and nuzzled Limb’s stubble. Limb opened his eyes and mouthed ‘good morning’.

            – Shall we get up? Will you help me put my limbs on?

            – Course I will. Do we shower first?

            – I think we’d better. Then we can get some breakfast. I’d better get down there soon. The others will want theirs.

 

Limb carried Stub to the bathroom and placed him in one of the wheelchairs. He started a shower and stood back until the water warmed. He rubbed his body and genitals clean of dried jizz and saw to Stub. He rinsed Stub’s dentures and placed them into his lover’s mouth. They dried themselves with the same bath towel and returned to Stub’s room.

            – I’m going to need my long legs and my hooks. I think I’ll wear my short-sleeved shirt and the shorts again. I want a T-shirt first. In that cupboard, Limb. That will do.

Limb pulled the shirt over Stub’s head and asked where the hooks were.

            – In that drawer. Careful not to get them tangled. Just put them on the bed. I can do it.

Stub shoved his stumps into the sockets and heaved the harness over his head. He shrugged a few times and tested the hooks.

            – My legs are over there.

Limb had not noticed the pair of artificial legs standing in the corner. He fetched them and watched Stub pick the liners out of the sockets.

            – Do you want to do this? Turn them inside out and roll them onto my stumps. Thanks.

Stub pulled the right leg onto his stump and reached for the left.

            – Can you close the valves for me otherwise the legs will probably slip off. Great.

Stub twisted round to face down, thrust his left prosthesis out and pushed himself erect.

            – Now I need you to put my shorts on and we can go when you’re ready. Let me hold your shoulders.

The hooks gripped Limb’s flesh firmly as he lifted each leg in turn and fed the shorts over the feet. He dressed himself in the leathers he had worn the previous day and the two men descended to the kitchen and dining area. They already had an audience.

            – Ah, you had company. I see why you’re late. Good morning. I’m Edge. This is Rage and this is Mane.

They nodded a greeting. All three men were quadruple amputees. Two sat in custom-made devices little more than padded boxes on castors. Edge stood on extremely short stubbies, barely four inches long. He had short nubs at his shoulders, enough to hold the shape of a shirt. Rage and Mane were completely limbless, leather torsomen.

            – Where’s Mylo?

            – He’s changing the sheets upstairs. He’ll be down in a bit.

            – OK. What do you want for breakfast?

            – Bacon and eggs if we have it, sausage and eggs if not.

            – Alright. Let’s get started. Limb, can you seat the guys around the table and you can come and help in the kitchen if you want. Make some coffee or something.

 

Limb propelled Rage and Mane to the dining table and extricated each torso from the mobile platform. They were wearing leather shirts over rigid body sockets, the sleeves hanging empty, the collars up to frame their handsome faces. They balanced on the flat bases. Edge waddled over and asked Limb to lift him onto a chair.

            – Mylo usually does this for us. Are you joining us? This will be your job in that case.

            – Yes, I’m moving in very soon. Not sure exactly what day but definitely by the end of the month.

            – I’m glad. You look very handsome and capable. Do you have a job?

            – Yeah, I work at the airport, in the baggage section.

            – And what do you want done?

            – What do you mean?

            – What amputations do you want? That’s why you’re here, right? First you work, helping the rest of us and then you start along the road to the ideal body.

            – I want to use hooks.

            – First a pair of hooks and then a couple of peg legs, I bet. I look forward to watching your progress. But first, let’s have something to eat.

Limb looked at the grinning face of the limbless man and turned to help Stub who had already found sausage and bacon and was waiting for a frying pan to heat. A dozen eggs sat next to a mixing bowl.

            – Limb, crack those eggs and give them a whisk with some salt. And you can make a pot of coffee, right? The mugs are in that cupboard. Everyone has their own mug with their initial on it.

Limb set to making coffee and lifted half a dozen mugs onto the counter. Stub stood over the frying meat and used a hook to turn the rashers and sausages. He moved the pan off the stove and placed another over the heat. He drizzled vegetable oil into it and waited until it was hot.

            – Pour the eggs into here and hand me that wooden spoon.

Stub gripped it with a hook and stirred the eggs until they were scrambled. He tipped the fried meat on top and asked Limb to carry the pan to the table. The pair of them sat among the torsos and fed them with alternate spoonfuls of breakfast. Zero arrived with Zeal and everyone greeted each other. Zero helped himself to two mugs of coffee and saw to Zeal. Finally Mylo arrived.

            – Your room is ready, guys. Stub, do you need clean sheets?

            – Yes please.

            – OK, you’re next.

Mylo sat down and helped himself to the scrambled egg and bacon. The torsos had finished and Edge asked to return to their room.

            – Will you take them, Limb? If you’ve finished, of course.

            – Of course. Are you all ready?

            – Just see to Rage and Mane, Limb. I’ll catch up with you outside the lift.

Limb lifted the two limbless torsos back into their trolleys and rolled them one by one out to the lift at the end of the corridor. Edge twisted his torso along a few inches at a time on his rocker feet, shoulder nubs held out for balance. The empty sleeves flapped. Limb attended to the torsos until they were back in their room which had been cleaned and tidied by Mylo.

            – Will you put our hoods on now please, Limb?

            – You wear hoods during the day?

            – Of course. We are leathermen. The hoods are just over there. Mine is the gas mask. Rage wears the one without eyeholes and Mane wears the one with eyeholes but no mouth.

Rage’s mask had a round mouth hole. He held his head up while Limb laced the hood tightly, blinding the man before repeating the action for Mane. Edge’s gas mask was a leather facsimile of the more usual rubber version and had only one small eyepiece the size of a monocle. A breathing tube snaked forward from the mouthpiece, terminating in a steel filter. Edge’s breathing became audible and its rate increased as he became aroused in his disabled nirvana.

            – Do you smoke, Limb?

            – Yes. I sometimes enjoy a cigar or a pipe.

            – Good. Me too. Maybe we could enjoy a cigar together later before you leave.

            – I’d love that, Rage. We’ll smoke today.

Rage had some fresh Robustos to share but Limb had two more of his astonishingly huge cigars concealed under the Night Rod’s seat. He would invite Zero down to inspect his bike in the daylight and collect the cigars then. It was a relief to know that the residents were permitted to smoke when they had the opportunity. Limb was looking forward to seeing Rage smoking, blind and limbless with only a huge cigar extending from his leather torso. He imagined himself assisting while wearing new split hooks. His erection twitched with excitement.

            – Are you settled now? Is there anything else you would like me to do for you before I go?

            – Thank you, Limb.

Edge sucked air through his mask.

            – We’re set now.

Another audible breath.

            – We’ll call if we need anything.

            – I’ll see you later, then.

Limb looked at the stationary torsos, the silence broken only by Edge’s regular breathing as his lungs fought for air. He left and closed the door and returned to the kitchen on the lower floor. Zero was about to lift a mug to Zeal’s lips.

            – Thank you for helping the torsos, Limb. That’s the kind of work we need you for—more precisely, what Mylo needs you for. He will soon be legless and grateful for assistance. He has not yet decided to go through with his fourth amputation although I believe he will, eventually.

            – Can I ask you something? How is it possible for the men to get their amputations so reliably on demand?

            – I have a broad network of leather friends, Limb. That is to say, I belong to it. We are all highly specialised professionals in our fields with the only common denominator being the love for leather. Some of us, such as myself, are able to live the leather life each and every day. For others, their love can be expressed only during leisure hours. One of those men is a orthopaedic surgeon with a private surgery. You will meet him before too long, if you wish. Have you enjoyed seeing the men using prosthetic arms?

            – Yes, I have.

            – Stay with us and you will soon have your own stumps. I don’t need you to be able-bodied while you are working as a housekeeper. I insist only that you continue to do so also as a disabled man. All the others have put enough work in to earn their stumps and ultra-disability.

            – I understand. It sounds very logical and rewarding, too. Zero, would you like to come down to the garage to see my Night Rod? I have to collect something from the storage box. Actually, it’s no secret. I promised Rage we would have a smoke this afternoon and there are two more of the One Twenty-Fives down there.

            – Yes, I’ll join you.

            – Can I take a look too?

            – Limb can bring you. Do you want a wheelchair?

            – It would be easier.

            – Limb, go downstairs and ask a torso if you can borrow a wheelchair for Zeal.

Limb’s steel cleats echoed along the corridor. A couple of minutes later, he returned with a wheelchair and Zero lifted Zeal’s limbless torso into it. Zero placed Zeal’s hood over his head and tied the lacing tight.

            – Let’s go.

The three leathermen descended to the ground floor and entered the garage which illuminated as soon as the door opened. Four Harley-Davidson bikes stood ready for action. Limb’s long, low matte black monster seemed to eat the light. Limb pushed Zeal’s chair around his bike, turning it so Zeal could see every detail. He explained its speed and torque. Neither leatherman asked how much it had cost nor how Limb could afford one. Zero inspected it closely, not touching it.

            – I would love to ride that.

            – Unfortunately, I can’t take a passenger, Zeal. It’s a one-man bike.

            – You are a lucky man.

            – Thank you for saying so.

Limb lifted the seat and found the two enormous cigars in their thick cardboard boxes. Zero watched and nodded.

            – Rage has his own stogies but it’s kind of you to give him one of those. I hope he appreciates it.

            – I’m sure he will. I think after we have enjoyed these, it will be time for me to leave.

            – When will you bring your possessions?

            – Early in the week. I don’t know exactly when just yet.

            – Any time suits us, Limb. There is always someone here who can let you in. I will program an access key for the garage for you before you return.

            – Thank you, Zero. I appreciate it.

Zero gave Limb another of his long stares and turned towards the door.

            – Ready, Zeal? Seen enough?

            – Yes thanks. Let’s go.

 

            – Zeal, you can go back with the other men now if you like. Limb, I’ll say goodbye now. Let yourself out.

Zero pressed the sub-basement button and the lift descended. Moments later, Zero went up to the top floor, to his own private quarters. Limb placed the cigars onto the wheelchair’s seat in front of Zeal’s legless crotch and wheeled him along to the torsos’ room.

            – Would you help me don my prosthesis before you go, Limb?

            – Of course. What is it? An arm?

            – Yes. It’s an articulating arm I designed. I can use it to eat with. I want to use my phone later this evening, which is why I’d like to have it ready.

            – Would you like it now? Where is it? I’ll get it for you.

            – Third drawer from the left and third drawer down.

Limb picked up the artificial arm and straightened the harness. Zeal lifted his right shoulder and Limb placed the moulded shoulder socket over it. Zeal had just enough stump on the left shoulder to hold the harness on. Limb secured the arm with two additional Velcro straps. Zeal stretched his back and the forearm rose until he shrugged to lock the arm. He tested the hook, which opened and closed twice and thanked Limb.

            – Rage! Ready for a smoke? Where shall we go? Surely we can’t smoke in your bedroom.

            – No. Let’s go to the black room downstairs.

            – It’s the media room, Limb. We call it the black room. It’s where we watch tv and films and videos or listen to music. You’ll see it.

Limb turned the wheelchair holding Zeal around and lowered him onto his futon. He lifted Rage into the chair. Rage’s short nubs poked forward. He shrugged his leather shirt into shape and the pair left with their cigars.

            – Do you have a prosthesis, Rage?

            – An arm, you mean? No. I could have one but I can manage OK with Mylo’s help. He fits my shell every morning and I can get on well enough.

            – Good. Do you want to take your hood off to smoke? You might like to see exactly what it is we’re smoking.

            – OK, take the hood off in a minute.

            – Do you enjoy being blind?

            – Yes, of course. It’s why I wear a hood. That and the smell and the sensation of my head and face being gripped. Blindness is the final touch when you have already lost your limbs. You must understand that. What else can a man do to achieve the disabled status he craves?

            – I see. Do you think I’ll need to wear a hood after I move in?

            – I think so. Mylo goes without when he’s working and Zero rarely wears one. But the rest of us always wear our hoods and if we have stumps on display, they are covered in leather sheathes too.

            – Leather stumps look very horny.

            – They also feel very horny to the wearer and to his partner. Here we are. Push the door and it will open.

The door swept open onto an almost completely black room. Hidden lights illuminated a space in the centre of the room where a black leather sofa melded with a low raised platform, also cushioned with leather.

            – Shall we sit on the sofa? Turn the air conditioner on. The blue switch by the door.

Limb undid Rage’s lacing and pulled the hood away from his face. Rage opened his eyes slowly and saw the two cigars which he had been unknowingly carrying on his chair in front of his nubs. Limb grinned at his expression.

            – Let’s get to it. Have you smoked a big cigar before?

            – I always smoke big cigars but nothing as big as this. Where are these made?

            – Guatemala, as far as I know.

Limb took the cigars out of their wrappers and clipped the ends. He put one in his mouth and offered the other to Rage. He opened his mouth to accept the cigar and found he needed to open even wider to get it between his teeth. He grunted in satisfaction. Limb started the process of lighting the tip evenly. Rage pulled on the cigar with determination. The coal glowed in the dark room.

            – Tell me when you want me to remove it.

            – I’ll nudge you with my stump.

            – OK.

Limb set about lighting his own cigar. Rage watched him closely. The new man was very young. His leathers were still new and uncreased. He seemed completely at ease in the company of severely disabled men and with Zero. It was almost as if he regarded himself as Zero’s equal. Best of all was the fact that Rage would now have a smoking partner. Very rarely, Mylo had sat with him while he smoked a stogie. Rage ought to have a claw made, something he could use to manipulate a cigar on his own. Even then, someone else would need to prepare it, place it in his mouth and light it for him. Rage tilted his head back and sucked smoke.

 

Limb had his own cigar burning. He looked around him, peering into the blackness. He could distinguish electronic equipment which may be for audio and there was a wide-screen tv on castors against the far wall. A wall-mounted glass-fronted cabinet held a few bottles which caught glimmers of light. Limb adjusted his officer’s cap, pulling it forward so the visor restricted almost all vision. Rage’s remarks about blindness had resonated in his imagination. He understood how physical disability, limblessness, would be enhanced by the loss of sight. If he were to adopt a hood like Rage’s without eyeholes, he could experience it whenever he was together with the other leathermen. Sight was essential in order to use a pair of split hooks. After his amputations, he would be helpless if he were blind. His erection was uncomfortable enough for him to open his fly and extract it. Rage watched in surprise but made no comment. The air around them turned blue in the beams from hidden lights and smoke swirled slowly towards the air conditioning extractor. Rage leaned towards Limb and poked him with his stump. Limb took hold of both cigars.

            – How do you like it?

            – I love the size and I love the taste. I don’t know what I look like smoking it but you look fantastic. It really suits your face.

            – Shall I take a photo of you smoking?

            – OK, but Zero doesn’t approve of us taking photos. They have a tendency to end up on the web and we want to keep our lives here private.

            – Understandable, I suppose. I can delete it after you’ve seen it.

            – Alright. I’m ready now.

Limb inserted their cigars and took his phone out. Rage turned his head to show his profile and Limb took a series of photos showing Rage’s handsome features enhanced by the phallic monstrosity clenched between his teeth. Limb removed his cigar to speak.

            – If you want your hood on again, I’ll take more photos then.

Rage nodded carefully. They leaned back and Limb shifted closer to the torso. He put his right arm around Rage’s armless shoulders. His left hand held his engorged penis.

 

They had smoked a third of the cigars when Rage nudged Limb again and asked to wear the hood. Limb placed it over his comrade’s head and tucked the soft leather into Rage’s shirt collar. He tightened the laces, making sure the hood was straight and that the mouth hole coincided with Rage’s mouth. The One Twenty-Five still fit with a millimeter to spare. Rage was now blind and limbless smoking his enormous cigar. Limb took more photographs including some from the front showing Rage’s pathetically short leg stumps and his armless upper body. Streams of smoke leaked from the hood’s mouth hole. Limb returned to the sofa and cradled Rage again.

 

They smoked almost silently for a further two hours until the cigars were mere stubs.

            – Are you done? Shall we go? I ought to leave soon. I have to get up bright and early tomorrow morning. Back to work for me.

            – Yes, I’m ready. This means a lot to me. Thank you for holding me. I liked it.

            – Nothing special about that, surely?

            – Oh but there is! Remember, Limb—where I live, we don’t have arms.

            – Ah, I see your point. Well, do you want a ride back upstairs?

            – It’s the only way to travel.

            – Right, let’s go.

Limb tucked his penis back into his trousers and pushed the wheelchair ahead of him. Rage balanced on the unfeeling base of his carbon body corset. They entered the torsomen’s room and Limb place Rage gently onto the floor. He parked the chair with its twin in the corner.

            – I’m off now but I’ll probably see you sometime in the week when I bring my stuff from home.

The torsos called out their farewells and Limb went down to the garage. He replaced his cap with the mirrored biker helmet, pressed the door release button and wheeled his Night Rod into the bright afternoon sunshine. He waited until he was sure the garage door closed and locked, straddled his machine and powered it out into Sunday traffic.

 

Monday morning, back to work. He drove along the North Circular and Western Avenue to the Hayes bypass and through Harlington to the airport. It was an easy ride, pleasant enough if the weather was fair. He paid close attention to other road users although his mind was full of new experiences and the promise of more to come. He was fairly certain that he would be handing in his notice during the upcoming week. If he was going to take up duties as housekeeper in Dulwich, he would not be able to work elsewhere. He wanted some clarity. Zero Hook would give him some pointers.

 

Kyle parked the Night Rod by the wall of the multistorey staff car park and caught a transfer bus to Terminal Five. Some of his colleagues were in the changing room when he arrived.

            – Hiya Kyle!  Good weekend?

            – Not bad, not bad at all.

Kyle stripped his leathers and dressed in his work clothes.

            – Might as well get going. Are you coming?

The others followed and went down to the sorting area to relieve the night shift. They high-fived and swapped friendly insults and set to work, sorting luggage which the automatic system was confused by. The system had never worked as intended and there were almost as many manual sorters as would be needed even without the automatic equipment. It could be heavy manual labour with stressful deadlines but most of the time they could socialise with workmates and take a few minutes break. There was little to no opportunity of advancing a career in the sorting area. Most of the others were school-leavers like himself or a little older. It would not be disadvantageous to leave the job after only a couple of months. It was almost expected.

 

There was a stash of discarded suitcases and rucksacks which desperate passengers had left behind in order to avoid extra charges. They were regularly taken for auction and were not to be removed but Kyle borrowed a large olive green army surplus rucksack which he could wear while riding and took it with him when he left. He spent the evening packing his clothes and as many other meagre possessions which fit. He left his expensive leather shirts and other gear for the time being. He planned taking the rucksack to work the next day and riding from the airport directly to Dulwich in the evening. He would take the rest of his things later in the week.

 

Kyle arrived at the house and turned into the driveway. The garage door rose unexpectedly and he rode the last few metres and parked alongside Zero’s bike. Mylo appeared at the side door and welcomed him.

            – Good to see you again, Limb. I have to tell you that Zero requests your company as soon as you arrive. Bring your stuff in, though. You can leave it in the hall.

Mylo opened the door at the end of the short passageway. It led into the hallway and the stairs to the rest of the house. The residents had little use for stairs. Kyle rested his rucksack next to the front door and rejoined Mylo who was holding the lift door open.

            – I’ll take you straight up. I think Zero has some interesting news for you.

            – Oh, what’s that?

            – I dare not tell you, Limb. I know some of it but I’ll let Zero tell you what he thinks you should know.

Kyle looked at the housekeeper’s leather-clad artificial hand and imagined the artificial leg inside the leather jeans. Mylo was due to gain matching stumps in the near future to make way for Kyle. That much Kyle already knew. They approached Zero’s quarters and Mylo rapped on the door with his prosthesis.

            – Ah! Limb Steel. The man of the hour. Come in. Thank you, Mylo. I shan’t need you again this evening.

Mylo limped back along the corridor. He intended spending the rest of the evening with Edge and without his artificial limbs.

            – I’m pleased you returned, Limb. You realise that you’ve had two days to think about the situation. You could have just as easily decided to forget about us and continue life as you had intended. But here you are. I am immensely gratified.

            – I never thought of forgetting you. I was certain on Sunday when I left that this is the place for me, where I’m meant to be.

            – I think so too. This will be your home as soon as we get your room ready. We need to talk about your amputations first. There is little point in furnishing a room with furniture that is shortly impractical. Once we decide on a plan, we can order in suitable things.

            – Oh, you mean that I have to know what sort of a body I want even before we furnish the room?

            – Yes, of course. I think you already know, though, don’t you, Limb? You want hooks to replace your hands and I fully agree. You’d be an extremely handsome hook user. But your legs. We need to come to some arrangement about your legs.

            – I haven’t thought about losing my legs.

            – You must have done. I’ll be honest with you and I hope you’ll keep this confidential. Assuming this will be your permanent address by the end of the week, I will undergo disarticulations of both knees at the same time as Mylo gains his matching stumps. I choose disarticulation because it maintains muscular integrity of the thighs and I intend to wear prosthetic legs for many years. I shall also continue riding. I recommend you also think about disarticulations after you become completely accustomed to your artificial arms and hooks, or whatever you choose to use. Bear in mind you will still be our housekeeper even as a disabled man. You may not have amputations which disable you too severely. Not yet. If you want to be armless or keep short nubs at your shoulders—and they are useful for maintaining your broad shoulders—you’ll have to wait until we find your replacement.

Kyle stood in front of Zero Hook with an ever more obvious erection. He felt no embarrassment and Hook noted the young man’s arousal at talk of leg amputations. He might say he did not want to gain leg stumps but his libido knew different.

            – When might I have my first hooks?

            – When you are familiar with all your duties and when you feel able to continue them using hooks. It will be on your mind and in your imagination each and every day. Of that, I have no doubt. You’ll see how the leathermen use their own prosthetic arms and you’ll be able to judge for yourself how well you’d be able to continue your work as a double amputee. To put a date on it, shall we say in about six month’s time? Before Christmas. Would you like a pair of prosthetic arms and hooks for Christmas, Limb?

Kyle began to ejaculate into his leathers. His knees buckled and he quickly corrected himself. After a short interruption, his penis pumped more jizz.

            – I see you are of a like mind. Good.

 

Zero watched Kyle complete his orgasm and recover a little before continuing.

            – Have you handed in your notice at work? No? I suggest you do so as soon as possible. You can move here as soon as possible and travel to work but the earlier you can be here twenty-four seven, the sooner Mylo can show you his routine.

Zero slid open a drawer in his desk and placed a square blue token on the tabletop.

            – This will open both the garage door and the front door. There are doors inside the house which are off-limits to you. Respect the limits. That token will allow access to all the rooms which you are entitled to enter.

            – Thank you, Zero.

            – Now the next thing we need to do is get your room furnished. Come into my lounge and we’ll look at some options.

Kyle followed Zero into the adjacent room which was furnished in the modern industrial-style. Lots of naked steel and black leather. A video screen hung from the ceiling facing a projector on the opposite wall.

            – Sit down and we’ll look at some furniture.

Zero pulled a bound folder from his bookcase and placed it on the low table in front of the sofa.

            – Let’s think about a bed first. I suggest a futon like the other men have. It’s easily accessible for legless men and requires little upkeep other than straightening the quilt every morning.

            – Yes, I’d like one of those.

            – Done. Are you a studious person? Would you like a desk with a chair? How about a bookcase?

            – Yes to both. I do write quite a lot so a desk would be useful for my laptop.

            – And you could access it from a wheelchair. Good. We have some furniture ready to put in your room. What else? Would you like an armchair or a two seater sofa?

            – A two-seater would be great.

            – Good. There is one in storage. I think that’s all you’ll need, at least to begin with. You can buy whatever you want as far as lamps and small decorations are concerned. Or in your case, a humidor, perhaps. Your room has a small closet which is large enough to hold your clothes. I’d prefer it if you left the floor bare. The entire house is bare of carpeting and mats, for obvious reasons, but you can buy one if you want.

            – Can I have a coffee table in front of the sofa?

            – Yes, of course. Very good. I can promise you that your room will be furnished to these specifications by Friday evening. Will you move in with us then?

            – I’ll be here. Thank you, Zero.

            – Don’t forget to settle your affairs with your current landlord and electricity company. Oh, one other thing. I would prefer it if you did not take photographs of the other residents.

            – Oh! Do you mean the photos I took of Rage smoking?

            – Yes. Has he seen them?

            – No, not yet. I was going to show them to him tonight.

            – Very well. After you have, I insist you delete the photos. I’m determined to make sure that the lives of everyone here are kept private. So any risk of them leaking to the web must be prevented.

            – I understand, Zero. I never intended anything more than to show Rage what he looked like smoking.

            – Good. Please do so and then delete them. Can I trust you?

            – Yes, of course you can. Of course.

            – I believe you. We have to be careful, Limb. There are those who would love to end our lifestyle. And they would use photos as evidence.

Kyle stared at Zero in alarm. Zero lowered his eyes and Kyle understood. He had not questioned how Zero knew about the photos.

 

The meeting was over. The two men stood facing each other. Kyle looked into Zero’s eyes and held his gaze. After several seconds, Zero raised his right hand and the men shook.

            – Welcome, Limb. We’ll discuss your education later. I have some strings to pull first.

            – Thank you, Zero. I want to visit Rage before I leave.

            – You know where to find him.

            – I do.

Kyle turned and left Zero’s quarters, cleats ringing on the parquet floor. Zero switched on his cctv equipment and watched Limb enter the lift, exit it and enter the torsoroom. Edge was not wearing his stubbies but had his claw. He might like to have a pair of arms. Zero would ask him. Limb took out his phone and sat on the floor next to Rage. They looked at the screen together for a couple of minutes until Limb manipulated the phone alone for a few seconds. Limb looked at the screen and said something to Rage. Rage’s nubs seemed to lift and he nodded. Zero was fairly certain that Limb had deleted the photos. Limb stood and waved and Zero followed his steps to the lift and garage. He was satisfied that Limb was the man they needed for a year or so until he succumbed to limblessness. After that, he would become their own private prosthetist. He, Zero, would prevent Limb from disabling himself too much.

 

Kyle organised his affairs during the week. His rent was paid until the end of the month and the landlord accepted Kyle’s notice without argument. He notified the water and power utilities that he wished to terminate his contracts. His employer insisted that he work the full two following weeks which was no great inconvenience. Kyle borrowed another piece of discarded luggage which he could strap to his bike and packed it with his leather clothes and the few extra bits he wanted to keep. He had no need of anything else.

 

On Friday evening, Kyle rode home to Cricklewood for the last time, checked that everything was turned off and in order, gave the place a quick wipe with an old cloth and left his key on the kitchen table. He tied the suitcase to his Night Rod and headed south to his new home and identity. Shortly he would be Limb Steel for good.

 

He let himself into the garage and parked his bike. He went directly to the top floor to present himself to Zero Hook.

            – Good to see you, Limb. Are you here for good this time?

            – Yes, this is my arrival. I thought I ought to check in with you first. I have another bag downstairs and that’s all my stuff.

            – Good. The rucksack you brought last time is in your room. I suggest you spend the rest of the evening with the men and Mylo will start training you tomorrow morning. Before you go, I have something for you.

Zero opened a drawer in his desk and took out four soft leather hoods. One had eye and mouth holes, another corresponding pinprick holes, a third eye holes but no mouth and the last was a bag hood with neither mouth nor eye holes.

            – I want you to wear a hood at all times. These are all for you. Choose the one you like most and use it.

            – Thank you, Zero. I will. I’ll start with this one with the holes.

            – Put it on your head and turn around.

Zero laced the hood and Limb breathed in the fresh scent of good quality leather. He would test the hood with his bike helmet. Perhaps he could wear both simultaneously. It would be horny.

            – Your room is ready. I’ll let you inspect it yourself. Tell Mylo if you need any more furniture.

            – Thanks.

Limb went to fetch his remaining luggage. The helmet fit tightly but it was perfectly secure. Limb raised the visor and took a photograph of himself. He detached the small suitcase from his bike and took it to his room. The futon had two pillows and a sheet and quilt. A writing desk with a chair on castors stood by the window next to an empty bookcase and a two seater leather sofa completed the room. It was adequate for all he needed. He emptied the contents of his case and hung the shirts in the closet. He would see to the rucksack later. He changed his riding gloves for a tight pair of police gloves and went down to the torsoroom to meet his friends.

 

            – Hello everyone!

Everyone replied with calls of welcome. The four torsomen sat upright in their rigid corsets or lay on futons, distinguishable only by the slight permutations of their stumps. Stub was wearing his cylindrical stubbies, while Edge’s short metal legs and gasmask hood distinguished him. Mylo sat in an armchair, his natural leg crossed on top of his prosthesis. Zeal, Rage and Mane were almost completely limbless. Only Zeal’s shoulder nubs made his presence known. Mylo stood and shook Limb’s hand.

            – We were waiting for you to arrive before we opened a bottle. We have some whisky.

            – Great! I haven’t had a drink all week.

Mane and Edge said they would refrain. Neither wanted to remove their masks. Mylo poured whisky into glasses and the two men with hands set to giving the others a shot. Finally they clinked their own glasses and downed the evening’s first drink.

            – I ought to explain what we’re going to be doing tomorrow so you know what to expect. I’ll come and wake you at six thirty tomorrow morning unless you’re already awake, of course. The first job is to prepare the kitchen so Stub can get started on breakfast. He has trouble opening things like cartons of milk and jars and so on, so that’s our first job. Then we collect this crowd and get them toileted and showered. We dress them or help them into their corsets, whatever. Once everyone is ready, we take them to the dining room and feed them breakfast and have our own. Once they’ve returned to their room here, we start cleaning. I do a different floor each day. I don’t do the whole house in one go. Then I strip the beds if necessary and do some laundry. And while the machine is running, I check on the torsos to see if they want or need anything.

            – I suppose that’s the most important thing.

            – You’re right. It is. Someone might need a pee or to have medicine at regular times. That sort of thing. Then I check in with Zero to see if he has any errands. A trip to the shops or collecting packages from customs.

            – I see. It doesn’t sound particularly difficult.

            – No, it’s not difficult but it takes up a lot of time and things have to be done properly. Zero insists that the place is clean and functions as it should. 

            – OK. So it starts tomorrow. I still have two weeks to do at the airport before I can spend the entire time here.

            – That’s alright. After that, there’s three weeks before I have my revisions and then you’ll be on your own for a while.

            – I should be up to speed by then.

            – I should think so. There’ll be more work for you after we come back, though. I’ll be limbless although I intend using prosthetics and Zero will be legless in a wheelchair.

            – I was just thinking—would anyone mind if I used a wheelchair during my spare time? I’d like to feel myself disabled somehow.

            – I don’t think anyone would mind. There are enough wheelchairs to spare. Find one you like and just start using it. It’s a good idea, actually. You’ll have some experience of wheeling when you get your own stumps.

            – I want my hands off first, Mylo.

            – In that case, I know exactly the chair for you. I think it’s in the black room at the moment. It has handles on it which you pull backwards and forwards to move it instead of spinning the wheels. You could use that with your hooks. Hooks are no good for moving an ordinary wheelchair. Shall we go and see if we can find it now?

            – Sure!

Limb held out his hand and pulled Mylo to his feet. They went down to the black room and found an aluminium wheelchair fitted with red levers attached to mechanisms which drove the wheels.

            – There it is. Get it out and try it.

Limb shifted a couple of chairs and wheeled the chair into the room.

            – Let’s go in the corridor. I can’t see anything in here.

Limb sat in the chair and placed his boots on the footplate. To each side of him at chest level were two levers to be gripped either by the shaft or by a moulded ring at their ends. He tried operating the levers and the wheelchair moved at walking speed along the corridor. Limb laughed in delight.

            – This feels great. I love the way it moves.

            – Well, why don’t you sit in it for the rest of the evening? Come on, let’s go back upstairs and have another shot of whisky.

 

Limb used the wheelchair for most of the weekend. He was on his feet for the morning hours when he accompanied Mylo on their rounds but returned to the chair soon afterwards. Zero Hook approved wholeheartedly of the arrangement. Limb felt especially restricted not only by being seated but also by the unique method of propulsion, quite different from that of a normal wheelchair. He could easily imagine himself operating the chair with a pair of split hooks and later, with above knee leg stumps. This was an erotic foretaste of things to come.

 

THREE MONTHS LATER

 

Zero, Mylo and Limb adopted a daily outing to a local park in their wheelchairs. After lunch, Limb checked that the torsos were comfortable and the three leathermen rolled half a mile to the nearest park. Zero used a conventional chair without a footplate. Mylo had rented an electric wheelchair and was considering a gyroscopic two-wheeler and Limb pumped along using the manually operated levers. They were all decked in leather. Zero wore leather trousers, the legs tucked under his stumps, with an officer’s cap. He looked as imposing in a wheelchair as he had standing at his full height on natural legs. Mylo’s below knee leg stump had been revised at the same time as his right above knee amputation and he now sported a pair of six inch thigh stumps, eminently suitable for use with stubbies. He wore a hook on his left arm stump to operate the motorised chair. His right sleeve hung empty. Zero had made an appointment for Mylo to be fitted with a pair of body operated hooks. Mylo was used to doing practical work around the house and wanted to continue alongside Limb.

 

Zero and Limb, on foot, continued attending the Leather Club on alternate Saturdays. Zero ordered a taxi and managed to dominate the club room with Limb’s assistance. Both men entered clenching large cigars between their teeth. Much of Zero’s conversation revolved around his leglessness and the phallic nature of his stumps and enquiries about when he would again be turning up on his Harley. Zero was waiting for his stumps to heal completely before acquiring a pair of cylindrical stubbies, after which he could sit behind Limb on Zero’s bike and turn up walking after his own fashion. Zero stuck to his own company of senior leathermen inside the club. Limb had found his own circle and had become the alpha due to his association with Zero. Limb was always attentive to comments relating to the legless daddy figure and admissions of admiration for amputees. It was his responsibility to find the next housekeeper for Dulwich whom he would train before starting his own conversion into a quadruple amputee leatherman. First he would wield hooks and later leg stumps. He wanted to see how Zero came to terms with life on stubbies before he made up his mind about his own leg amputations. Zero was the only one with knee disarticulations. Everyone else boasted short thigh stumps or total void. Limb fantasized about having such very short stumps that no protrusion was visible when he sat. He would ambulate on his hooks and butt. Probably he would need some kind of rubber device, a short peg, on his arms to walk that way. He would always be swapping the pegs for hooks. Maybe two disarts were the way forward. It depended on Zero. One of the youngest leathermen, a blond with a wide handlebar moustache, spent a lot of time staring at Zero’s stumps. Limb would keep an eye on him over the coming weeks and try to recruit him if he seemed keen. Maybe if they brought one of the torsos with them one evening, Edge, for example, with his gasmask and stubbies, he might be able to get the blond talking. He would suggest it to Zero.

 

Mylo disappeared one morning and was absent all day. Limb missed his company when doing the rounds. Mylo was of little practical help but found Limb to be an enthusiastic listener. Mylo had no‑one else to whom he could explain the sensations and emotions which his crippling had brought. There seemed little point in describing his feelings to any of the other torsos who already knew first-hand everything which Mylo wanted to talk about. He was pleased most by the loss of his hands. Both stumps were beautifully proportioned and the same length. Limb was envious hearing how Mylo felt a deeply erotic excitement at finding himself unable to use the hands which he felt were still present and from odd genuine sensations in the repositioned skin at the ends of his stumps. Limb suspected that Mylo was out on some personal business. He put it out of his mind when an alarm came from the torsoroom. Edge was in pain because of a stray eyelash in his right eye which he was unable to remove. Limb removed the man’s gas mask and gently tended to the problem.

            – Sorry to bother you, Limb. It was in my eye all morning and I couldn’t get rid of it by blinking. Only made it worse in fact.

            – Don’t wait so long next time! It’s what I’m here for. Edge, would you like to come to the leather club one Saturday? We’ll have to get the OK from Zero first but I’d like the guys there to see you. You’re hot in your mask and you can get around on your stubbies. I think you’d be the star of the show.

            – Sounds like fun. Alright, I’ll come when you come and collect me.

            – Great! I’ll talk to Zero.

Limb returned to his chores and checked on Stub in the kitchen. He had just signed for a delivery of the next week’s meat and was stocking the freezer. He assured Limb that everything was under control. Limb brewed some espresso for the two of them before checking on progress in the laundry room.

 

Mylo returned before dinner. He looked conspiratorially at his housemates but said nothing about where he had been. Zero knew. Zero had been absent himself recently for the same reason but he was a private man. No-one could be sure if he was home or not.

 

They had been visiting a private orthopaedic centre to be measured for prostheses. Mylo was being fitted with sockets for his leg stumps onto which he could attach full-length artificial legs or foot-long stubbies. Zero was also being fitted with stubbies of a different design. He wanted tapered cylinders slightly longer than his stumps and which would encase his thighs totally. They would be ready shortly. Mylo’s fitting had only just commenced. He would be absent on several more occasions to have new body-operated arm prostheses fitted and tested.

 

Zero was negotiating a deal with the prosthetist, a old friend from his university days who had been as keen a leatherman as Zero had remained. Zero explained that he wanted to train his batman to manufacture prosthetic limbs at home and would be grateful if the batman, Limb, could study the manufacture of prosthetic limbs and associated anatomy under his friend’s tutelage. The boy had no prior medical training and would not be set loose on an unsuspecting public. Zero wanted Limb to understand enough about the process to be able to produce a variety of artificial legs and arms. They finally agreed that Limb would attend a practical course in prosthetics for a year as a disabled student on condition that all technical devices like wrist mechanisms, terminal devices like hooks and claws, and knee mechanisms would be ordered through the prosthetist’s company. He would skim ten percent off each item. Zero considered his options and agreed. Limb would start his training as soon as the prosthetist had fitted him with hooks. By that time, he would have a personal understanding of limb loss and prosthetics.

 

Limb was impatient to return to the leatherman’s club with Edge in tow. Zero was fully supportive. It was earlier than he had planned to acquire a new housekeeper but Limb seemed certain that the moustachioed youngster would be a willing convert and he wanted Edge along to act as a catalyst for conversation about limblessness. Zero asked Edge privately if he was willing to act as a focal point of conversation and warned him that there would be men present who would regard him as a freak and an abomination. Edge sucked a volume of air through his filter and said that anything which he could do to enable Limb to achieve his amputations would be a pleasure. Zero nodded. On Saturday evening, Limb and Edge departed in a taxi, both in full leather but with Edge baring his face until they arrived at the club. The gas mask was perhaps too specialised a trait to use in public.

 

Limb lifted his friend from the floor of the taxi and set him on his metal feet. He fitted the leather gas mask over Edge’s head and tightened the lacing at the back. The faint whistle of Edge’s rhythmic breaths indicated that the man was ready and at Edge’s pace, limited by his four inch long legs, they entered the gloom of the leathermen’s club. Edge was immediately the centre of attention. Limb pulled out a One Twenty-Five and fired it into life. They stood alone for several minutes until the first of Limb’s acquaintances arrived and introduced himself to Edge. Edge surveilled the leathermen through his solitary glass-covered circular eyehole and began to enjoy the sensation of a growing erection which someone else would have to attend to. After an hour, the young blond Limb was waiting for arrived. He bought himself a zero-alcohol beer and came over to stand with Limb and Edge. There was little to say beyond initial greetings but the youngster ogled the leather torso with the shortest possible arm stumps. The metal feet scraped on the concrete floor as the torso turned to view other leathermen. Someone beckoned him and Edge stumped across the room to join the new group. Limb grasped the opportunity to talk about Edge without him being present.

            – He’s quite a guy, isn’t he? He’s one of my housemates.

            – Really? You live with a multiple amputee?

            – Man! I live with seven multiple amputees. I’m their caretaker. I’m looking for someone to act as my assistant at the moment. It’s quite a lot of work and I need someone who wouldn’t be phased by seeing amputees.

            – That sounds fantastic. Is it some kind of hospital?

            – No, nothing like that. It’s a private house, a big one, sort of a care home for leathermen who have lost a limb or two.

            – I sometimes imagine what it would be like if I only had one leg.

            – Do you think about it when you want to wank?

            – Yeah. I can’t cum if I don’t think about being one-legged.

            – I think you’d enjoy living with us. Where do you live at the moment?

            – I’m just sharing with three mates. I’m at art college but it’s not what I was expecting. I’ve been thinking about dropping out but I’d lose my grant and you know what the employment situation is like.

            – It sounds like you need a change of direction but don’t know how you’d get by. How would you like to be my apprentice and learn to look after disabled leathermen?

            – Can you let me think about it for a bit?

            – OK, why not. But I want an answer before we leave this evening. The first guy who accepts the offer gets the place, see? Why don’t you talk to Edge—the legless guy I came in with. He can tell you what it’s like better than I can.

The blond boy watched Limb cross the room and after a few seconds, he picked the torso up and brought him back. He squatted to be at a similar height as Edge and the blond boy joined them.

            – Hello er… Edge. I’m Otto. Nice to meet you.

Edge lifted his short stumps as if to hug. He inhaled audibly.

            – Are you coming to take care of me? I have some friends who you might like…

A new whistling inhalation.

            – …to meet. Limb takes care of us now but I think…

            – … he needs some help now and then.

            – It’s true. We have a big house and I could use some help until I get my amputations and then you would be in charge of things until you find your replacement and undergo whatever alterations you might like. Would you like to become an amputee?

            – Yeah, I would. I’d love to have a peg leg. It’s what I fantasize about at night.

            – Is that all? I reckon a peg leg might be on the cards as soon as you move in. Compared with the other amputees, a peg leg is hardly worth mentioning. Listen, if you’re interested in ditching your art studies and doing something useful in a houseful of amputees, why don’t you call in one day next week and pay us a visit. Then you can decide to join us or not. You can share my room until we rig you up with a room of your own.

            – What about rent and food?

            – All inclusive.

            – And what about income?

            – What do you need money for? New leathers? Just talk to our alpha and he’ll arrange it. You could still go out to work until I’m too disabled to be able to do my duties if you’re worried about not having enough pocket money. We all have an allowance which comes from a trust fund but you have to prove you’re the kind of man who can be trusted, excuse the pun.

            – It sounds like something I could only dream about. I’d love to visit. Where is it?

            – Dulwich. Where do you live?

            – Harlington. Near the airport.

            – Do you ride a bike?

            – Of course I do. It’s outside right now. It’s only a six fifty but I couldn’t afford anything else. What do you ride?

            – A Night Rod. But we came here by taxi because Edge has no arms. A bit difficult to hang on to the driver with three inch stumps.

Edge snorted.

            – I’m going to ask Zero for…

            – … a pair of arms and then I can…

            – … hug you.

            – With your tiny stumps and stubbies balancing on the seat. Yeah, I’d like to see that, Edge.

            – I’d come everywhere with you.

            – I’d be proud if you did, my friend.

Limb hugged the limbless man whose breath whistled in his ear. Otto looked at them, feeling very much apart but huge admiration for the diminutive figure on his tiny steel feet and the handsome self-assured leatherman who was offering him a drastic change of lifestyle. He thought of the following weeks of art theory and the following years of chasing low-paying jobs in advertising agencies and decided there and then to submit to this pair of friends in the hope of finding real meaning to his life. Limb stood up and Otto did likewise. Otto looked at Limb full in the face and Limb admired the handsome sweeping blond moustache.

            – I want to join you.

 

Limb was overjoyed. He had found a prospective new housekeeper, a handsome man to share his room and his bed if he played his cards right, and the possibility of losing his hands in favour of fresh rounded stumps two thirds of the way along his muscular forearms. He would wield hooks for the rest of his life and he could not imagine anything which he had ever wanted more. Limb slowly raised his hands towards Otto’s face and they kissed in the smoky darkness, surrounded by leathermen who recognised that something extreme had happened in their midst. They never showed emotion in public. They were present only to peacock their expensive attire to other men who could appreciate it. Otto took out his phone and his face glowed with reflected light as he entered Limb’s details. He promised to be in contact very soon and went across to some other acquaintances to stand around for another hour until the place became tedious. He rode the ten miles to his rented room and wanked himself to sleep imagining himself with a peg leg surrounded by limbless men like Edge.

 

Zero had an engagement in Vienna. He chose Rage to accompany him. The completely limbless torso had not yet been abroad with Zero and was excited by the opportunity of seeing some of the world beyond Dulwich. He was pleased with the photo of his face in his new one-use passport. Zero was certain that he would be able to push Rage’s wheelchair while wearing his stubbies although airline staff would see to their every need while they were travelling. Zero trusted in the friendly help of strangers to manage for the rest of the visit.

 

It was the first time that Zero faced an orchestra as an amputee. An adapted podium was constructed for him with a series of low steps allowing him to perform at his customary height. News of the internationally acclaimed conductor’s maiming had come as a shock to the organisers and the audience was no less moved. Zero held onto the handrail around his podium and bowed deeply, his penis twitching at the first public appraisal of his leglessness. The audience gradually quieted and Zero turned to silence the orchestra with an upheld baton before launching into an emotional performance of Beethoven’s Ninth. It was his most famous recording and this new Vienna concert would secure Zero’s reputation as one of the greatest conductors of the twenty-first century. The fact that the great man had lost his legs since his last visit only accentuated his renown. Rage sat in a specially converted chair for severely disabled invalids in the front row and was astonished to discover Zero’s profession and the source of the wealth which enabled him and his friends to live in perfect leather limblessness. A personal carer looked at him at the end of the symphony as if to ask ‘Shall I?’ and Rage nodded with an enthusiastic smile. The carer clapped on behalf of Rage who had allowed the music to move him close to tears. He had conducted the orchestra along with Zero, his non-existent arms showing no sign of the violence with which Rage enticed music from the orchestra. The effort was nonetheless overwhelming and Rage felt he had played every instrument and experienced every emotion during the performance. He revelled in his utter limblessness, a secretly over-enthusiastic listener who could enjoy music to its extremes without anyone ever noticing his ecstasy.

 

His carer wheeled him to Zero’s changing room where they hugged in victorious intimacy, two fulfilled amputees showing the world what limblessness could truly mean. Zero wanted to expend his energy in Rage’s body and Rage was already practising invisible calisthenics in expectation that his alpha would shaft him that evening. The couple were wined and dined beforehand at the expense of the Royal Vienna Opera House, with Rage being fed by a beautiful young man who spoke not a word. Rage wanted to fuck him but all too soon the dinner was over and the hosts took their leave, shaking the seated Zero’s hand and bowing deeply to the legless and armless figure in a smart leather jacket. He was carried upright to a taxi and seated in a wheelchair at the Grande Hôtel de Vienne where they spent another two days before returning to Dulwich. Rage promised not to talk about the concert. He had not known about Zero’s fame. He was determined not to spill the beans although it was gratifying to know personally how the house was funded. Zero must be a millionaire at least.

 

Zero was much more than a millionaire. The mere interest on his wealth maintained the Dulwich house and its residents. Now the new boy had found a prospective replacement, it was time to discuss the future with the head-strong boy with a penchant for huge cigars.

 

            – Take a seat, Limb. You can take your hood off, too. Do you know why I’ve asked you here?

            – No, sir. But I suspect it may have something to do with the boy I found who might like to join us.

            – Indeed it is. You’ve been here for a little less than a year and I must admit that I am very pleased—impressed, even—with the way you conduct yourself and tend to your duties. I know that the torsomen trust you and enjoy your presence when you join them in the evening.

            – That’s good to hear, sir. Thank you.

            – It’s unusual for a housekeeper to acquire an apprentice so early in his transition but I understand that this boy Otto, if I am correct, is eminently suitable and enthusiastic about joining us.

            – I would really like him to join our team. He is very keen to find a new direction and I think he would be a good housekeeper. He’s—what’s the word?—muy simpatico.

            – Good. I hear he is also extremely handsome. Edge thought so. Is there any physical attraction between you and Otto?

            – Ah, well, I suppose there is, a little.

            – Nothing wrong with that. I assume you’d like Otto to share your room? It is big enough for two young men, I believe. Two young men with an eye for the other. Well, Limb. I am prepared to see you start your transformation to prosthetist as soon as possible. I have a place at a professional orthopaedic centre where a prosthetist will instruct you in everything you will need to know to manufacture prosthetic limbs here on the premises. The empty room on the second basement floor will be your workspace. I am in the process of ordering a computer system and scanning software and a professional quality three dimensional printer.

            – I’m looking forward to it.

            – I’m sure you are. However, there are two provisos. Otto must prove himself capable and suitable and his education is your responsibility. Secondly, you may start your own studies only as a bilateral hand amputee. What do you have to say?

            – Are you serious? I’ll be wearing hooks by then already? That’s fantastic.

            – The reason is simple. You would be using the equipment here as a double amputee sooner or later and I want to make sure you are capable of operating the equipment with hooks. So it seems logical for you to start your studies as an amputee right at the outset. Do you see the logic?

            – Yes, of course. That’s fantastic.

            – So you said. Next, I want to meet Otto and have a talk with him. Do you have his contact details?

            – Yes, on my phone.

            – Call him and invite him here. Today. This afternoon if possible. This evening at the latest. Tell him to come by taxi and to get a receipt.

            – He might prefer to ride here.

            – As long as he arrives. I want to discover what sort of man he is and then I want you to join us so be available.

            – I will.

            – That’s all for now. I will see you later. Call Otto.

 

Limb left the room and replaced his hood. Otto was in a two hour lecture on The Sfumato Technique when Limb’s message arrived. call urgently. There were still ten minutes of tedium before the break. He finished his drawing of a motorcycle and sat waiting for the tutor to reach some kind of point. Finally!

            – Hi! It’s Otto. What’s up?

            – Nothing bad. I was talking with Zero just now and he wants to meet you. Right now if possible, this evening if not. When can you get here?

            – We’re halfway through a two hour lecture explaining something which should take about three minutes and I’m going mad trying to stay awake. I can skip the second hour and be there in about forty minutes. Is that soon enough?

            – That would be great. Are you wearing leather?

            – Only my jacket.

            – OK, well, wear that. I’ll message you the address.

            – It’s Dulwich, isn’t it? It won’t take me long to get there.

            – See you soon. Ride safe!

 

Limb had finished his chores apart from emptying the washing machine and was talking to Rage and Mane in the torsoroom. Limb had let it be known that the time was fast approaching when he would be able to create prosthetic devices for his leather friends and was interested in knowing what sort of limbs the two quadruple disarts might like trying. Mane had seen Edge and Limb smoking big cigars and admitted that he would like to have some kind of fitting which would allow him to hold a cigar and bring it to his mouth. The only movement he could suggest was hunching and straightening his back. Perhaps that could be converted into an action which would operate a claw enabling him to join the cigar aficionados.

            – You’ll need a different hood. One with a mouth hole.

            – Oh, someone can take this one off for the time it takes to smoke.

            – It’s an interesting problem, though. I should think something like that could be made. I’ll do some drawings and show the tutor, see what he thinks.

 

A short siren sounded throughout the house warning that someone or something had entered the driveway. Limb stood and excused himself. He opened the garage door to see Otto securing his helmet onto his bike’s rack.

            – You were quick.

            – I was desperate to get away. Thank you for rescuing me.

The men hugged.

            – Can you tell me what this is about?

            – Zero wants to interview you before he makes a decision to invite you to join us. So be on your best behaviour. I’ll join you a bit later, and we’ll talk about our future together.

            – Sounds good. Do I go straight in?

            – Yeah. Come on. I’ll show you the way.

The lift rose to the top floor and Limb knocked on the door to Zero’s rooms.

            – Otto is here, sir.

            – Show him in. I’ll call for you later, Limb. Don’t go far.

Otto stepped confidently forward from behind Limb and held out his hand. Zero held it motionless for several seconds, staring intently into the young man’s eyes, taking in his fine features and flamboyant moustache.

            – You are Otto, are you not? How old are you?

            – Yes sir. Otto Grace. I’m nineteen.

            – And you wish to join our community. That much is clear. Sit down, do. What has Limb told you about your position?

Otto repeated the little information about the other leathermen he had been told. It all sounded wonderfully erotic. He loved leather and was looking forward to being able to wear it exclusively, always. And his greatest erotic interest was amputation. He hoped that one day he could also be an amputee, a one-legged man on a long rigid peg leg. Zero listened, his face expressionless, eyes reading the boy’s face and youthful enthusiasm for a new idea.

            – What feelings do you have for Limb?

            – I like him very much. He’s like a friend I’ve always known except that we’ve only known each other for a couple of weeks. I think we trust each other and respect each other.

            – And do you think you could live together with Limb, sharing his living space? Have you seen his apartment?

            – No sir, not yet. I’m sure we would be a good pair of friends, sir.

            – More important is how you come to terms with the amputees. They need a lot of care  washing, dressing, feeding. Are you up to it?

            – I think so, sir. From what I understand, it’s not like tending to young children. The amputees are all adult men who need practical assistance, not pampering.

            – That’s an astute way of explaining it. Very well. I am prepared to take you on as an apprentice housekeeper. Watch everything Limb does and learn from him. How soon can you move in?

            – As soon as I can pack my bags, sir. I live in a furnished house with three others so I only have my clothes and a few bits to bring.

            – How about college?

            – I could drop out right now, sir. I am certain that the course I chose is impractical for anything I choose to do in the future.

            – Your future is here. Bring your possessions as soon as you can and move in with Limb.

Zero pressed a button on his desk and thirty seconds later, Limb knocked and entered in his wheelchair.

            – I have agreed to accept Otto as your apprentice, Limb. Do you accept him as your room-mate?

            – Yes sir, I accept.

            – Good. There is one thing remaining. Otto Grace needs a new name. Suggestions?

            – Nub Steel.

            – The same as your name?

            – I think we’re going to be a pair. I am Limb so this is Nub.

            – Very clever. What do you think about that, Otto? Are you prepared to be known as Nub?

            – Yes sir. I like that.

            – Good. Limb, take Nub and show him your room. Then go and introduce him to the men. And give him one of your hoods.

Limb and Nub thanked Zero and left. Limb put his arm around Nub’s waist and hugged him close. They went to Limb’s room.

            – There’s room here for your books and things if you want to bring them and there’s room in the closet for your leathers. We only wear leather so you don’t need to bring things like shirts or pullovers.

            – I don’t have much anyway.

            – We’ll get you some more. Which of these hoods do you like?

            – I think I’ll have the bag hood. It won’t mess up my moustache too much.

            – OK. You’ll be wearing a hood for most of the time, so make sure it’s comfortable.

Nub turned to Limb and planted a kiss on his lips.

            – I’m glad we’re going to be together.

            – Wait a while and we’ll be having even more fun with our stumps and artificial limbs. Come on. Let’s go and see the others.

 

Nub left an hour later with Limb’s army rucksack and rode home to Harlington. He settled up what he owed for the week’s groceries and made sure his rent was paid to the end of the week. He called his landlady to thank her for allowing him to stay in her warm and comfortable house. She was surprised to hear that he was leaving so early but wished him success in the future. Nub set to packing his underwear, T-shirts and his leatherwear along with toiletries and a few paperbacks.

            – If I’ve left anything behind, you can either keep it or give to some deserving soul.

            – Where are you going, Otto?

            – I’m dropping out of art school and going to a private home to study care for disabled adults. Not old people, they’re just like missing a limb or two.

            – So you’re going to be a nurse or something.

            – A bit like that, I suppose, yeah.

            – Well, that sounds like something worthwhile. Good luck, man.

Nub drove carefully back to Dulwich, imagining himself wearing a peg leg on his right thigh stump and the vibration from his six fifty caused him to ejaculate into his jeans.

 

TRANSITION

 

Nub was quickly accepted by the torsomen. He was more jovial and intimate than Limb, more likely to invent some quip or comment and seemed to revel in handling the limbless men. He enjoyed sitting in the shower while holding a torso on his lap, their genitals gently touching in the shower of warm water. Nub loved holding a masculine body so close, never tiring of seeing the variation in their degrees of limblessness. He took over the ritual of showering with the torsos, freeing Limb to concentrate on household upkeep.

 

Nub had explained how he wanted to use a peg leg and several torsos assured him that he could gain his stump in the near future. It was unusual for there to be two housekeepers neither of whom had undergone an amputation yet. Limb and Nub had worked out how one would care for the other immediately after their procedures and Nub promised his lover that he would care for him and feed him until Limb became proficient with his prosthetic arms. Limb believed he could handle his duties after Nub had gained his stump and was still on crutches. Both of them were impatient for Zero to announce the date for their surgeries.

 

Zero arranged with his prosthetist acquaintance that Limb would commence his education and practical studies on the first of August. It was already mid-March, leaving only a little over four months for Limb to become a proficient hook user. One of the reserved biannual dates for a Dulwich amputation was approaching in early April. Zero booked and paid for the inevitable overheads for two week’s of post-operative care but said nothing about the arrangements to Limb or Nub.

 

Nub felt himself at home and enjoyed his leather time, as he thought of it, with the torsos and skin time with Limb after the others had been settled for the night. They shared the broad futon and each other’s bodies. Both regarded the other as one of the most handsome men they had seen. They were infatuated with the other and waiting impatiently for their passage to disability. On the fourth of April, Zero summoned Limb after supper.

            – Pack a small bag with toiletries and some clean underwear. A taxi will collect you tomorrow at noon and take you to our clinic for your amputations. I am to instruct you not to eat anything tomorrow morning although you can have liquids. Do you understand?

            – You mean I’m having my hands off tomorrow? Getting hooks?

            – Yes, that’s what I mean. You haven’t changed your mind, have you?

            – No! Of course not. It’s just a bit of a surprise, that’s all.

            – I left it late to tell you because I didn’t want it to interfere with your work. Tell Nub that he’ll have double duties for the next few weeks. He’s certainly capable, wouldn’t you say?

            – Yes, he is. Alright, I’ll let him know.

            – And Limb—when your stumps are healed and you have your hooks, I want you to use them as much as possible so you’re proficient by the beginning of August. That’s when your course starts. You’ll have nine months to learn as much as you can about manufacturing prosthetics and after that, you’ll be in charge of making limbs for all of us. Your first project will be my full length artificial legs, so learn well. You might spend your recovery time in the clinic learning the preliminaries. Just ask any of the staff for suitable material and they will certainly lend you a few text books.

            – I understand. Thank you, Zero. I’ve been looking forward to having hooks for a long time.

            – I know. Spend your last twenty-four hours with hands wisely. Tomorrow they will be gone.

Limb’s penis had been growing erect and he twisted his body. Limb interpreted Zero’s silence to be a dismissal and he left to share his news with Nub.

 

Nub was excited for Limb but a little sorry that he would never again enjoy Limb’s caresses.

            – I’ll make it up to you with my stumps. Or caress your body with steel hooks. That will feel fantastic, I reckon.

            – Are you absolutely sure you want to lose your hands? It’s a big step to take. You’ll be using hooks for the rest of your life. There’s no turning back.

            – It’s what I’ve wanted since I was still in short trousers. You know how much you want your peg leg. It’s the same for me getting hooks.

            – Alright. You know I’ll still love you, hands or no hands.

 

Limbs hands were expertly removed four inches above his wrists and the remaining flesh sculpted into identical rounded stumps. The boy slept in artificially induced coma for the next forty-eight hours and woke to find his short forearms encased in thick bandages. Zero sat by his bedside watching him revive.

 

            – Are you in pain? How do you feel?

            – Ah, I feel really weak. Tired.

            – You’re still coming out of the coma. It’ll pass. How about your arms?

Limb lifted his stumps and grinned.

            – It’s done. They’re gone. Gonna have hooks from now on.

            – Yes. It’ll be a couple of weeks before you can start thinking about being fitted for your hooks. Everything went well, so I’m told. You’ll have a fine pair of stumps. Well done, Limb.

            – Can Nub come and see me?

            – He has his hands full, Limb. You know I don’t like the torsomen to be left alone. I’ll see what I can do. Maybe Nub can visit for an hour or so one day. I’ll be back tomorrow. Is there anything you’d like? Books, magazines?

            – No, I don’t think so. I don’t think I could handle them very well just yet. But thank you, Zero.

            – I’ll see you tomorrow. Rest well, my friend.

Limb stared at Zero’s diminutive figure as he departed, thrusting his stubbies towards the exit. He had never called Limb a friend before.

 

Limb’s recovery from his amputations proceeded at pace. Five days after the operation, the bandages were removed and he saw his stumps for the first time. They were squarish and swollen, not at all like the phallic appendages he wanted. A nurse rolled shrinkers onto the stumps to minimize swelling and encourage them to heal in the desired shape. He could now manage a book and took Zero’s advice in requesting some reading matter on amputation and recovery. He studied the illustrations and diagrams first, slowly acquainting himself with the medical terms for various muscles and circulatory arteries inside limbs. He was learning a new subject in the best possible way—through self-interest.

 

Zero visited every evening for half an hour. They discussed the matter of prosthetic arms. A doctor had explained that the stumps still needed to shrink a little before the first test sockets would be made and estimated that Limb’s stumps should be ready after about four weeks. At the end of Zero’s visit on the fourteenth day, the day of Limb’s discharge, both men left together and returned to the Dulwich house by taxi. Zero invited Limb to his quarters and handed over a customised pair of black leather stump sheaths. He carefully placed the rigid leather onto Limb’s arms and fitted retaining straps around his elbows.

            – These will help protect your stumps for a while.

            – Thankyou, Zero. They also look very horny.

            – True. Wait a moment and I’ll summon Nub to take you downstairs.

He pressed the call button and Nub’s pager vibrated. Two minutes later, Nub entered and hugged his lover.

            – I’m so glad you’re back.

            – Nub, take Limb to your room and look after him. It will be your turn soon, young man.

 

The following days were a mixture of luxury and tedium. Nub tended to his friend’s every need and worshipped the fresh stumps. He washed, dressed and fed Limb, helped him drink, fellated him and did everything to ensure that Limb had everything he wanted. Limb spent more time than usual with the torsomen who were intrigued by his long stumps. Only Mylo had anything similar but Mylo’s were shorter, barely an inch or so below his elbows.

            – I want to carry on as a housekeeper once I get my new arms and hooks, so I wanted stumps like this so I can use them better.

            – Wait till you get used to those and start pining for shorter stumps.

            – Really? Do you think that will happen?

            – Oh yeah. I reckon you’ll be one of us in five years. Little nubs at your shoulders, little nubs either side of your balls.

            – Time will tell. Right now I’m just looking forward to having a pair of hooks for the rest of my life.

 

Limb’s stumps were deemed ready for his first sockets. He visited his prosthetist for the first time, the same man who would later be his instructor. Zero had informed him of the situation and the prosthetist, John Ford, was careful to explain everything he was doing and why. Limb listened carefully and asked relevant questions. He was an easy patient, eager to use prosthetic arms, interested in the choice of terminal devices he had available to him and impatient to become as proficient with them as he had been with his natural hands. Ford scanned the stumps and transferred the data to his laptop where artificial intelligence perfected the virtual sockets. The model files were sent on to a printer which would create the sockets from high-impact plastic, ready to be completed with steel wrist attachments and attachment to a nylon harness. Limb had given much thought to his terminals and requested a pair of standard split hooks and a pair of broad rubberised claws which would allow him to ride his Night Rod after a little adaptation. After several hours, Limb was dismissed and told to return three days later. He felt he already had a good understanding of the processes required for the manufacture of arm prostheses like his own and was sure the rest of the procedures would be as logical and easy to understand. John Ford had used a mouse to instruct the computer software to refine the sockets and Limb thought that he would have to work out a different way of operating. His hooks would be useless with a mouse. It was one of the little problems he foresaw which he looked forward to resolving.

 

Nub was excited by Limb’s description of how his stumps had been treated and the ensuing erection was the start of a long session of lovemaking. Limb still wore his protective leather sheaths and was slowly adjusting to not being able to feel with his stumps. He realised, too late, that he had sacrificed not only his hands but his sense of touch. He wanted to run his fingers through Nub’s fine blond hair and touch his stubbled face and the long whiskers of his handsome moustache, to feel the power in his lover’s erect penis and the taut perfection of his scrotum. It was gone forever. The future man would touch but never feel. But he imagined himself as a disabled leatherman, hypermasculine in full leather, with steel hooks replacing his gloved hands and became as erect as his lover. Nub turned his back and Limb gripped his head between his sheaths and fucked Nub until both collapsed onto the futon after powerful orgasms.

 

Limb returned to collect his arms. They were waiting for him on a table, the sockets a glossy carbon black, the cables glinting silver and the wide rubber and steel claws an exciting alternative.

            – Take your jacket off. Leave your T-shirt on. You ought to wear the harness over a shirt or something otherwise it will chafe. You will soon learn that any small discomfort from the harness or the sockets will become very uncomfortable over the course of a day so you need to pay attention to such things. Even something as minor as a crease in a stump sock can end up hurting after twelve hours.

            – OK, I will.

            – First of all I want to check the fit and then I’ll show you the correct way to put your arms on.

            John Ford busied himself with adjusting Limb’s harness. He put three-ply stump socks onto the stumps and slid the pristine sockets over them. Limb was surprised at how tightly they gripped his arms. Ford asked him to duck his head and pulled the black strapping until it lay across Limb’s shoulders. It was obvious that adjustments were required. There needed to be no slack in the harness otherwise the hooks would not be as responsive and the amputee would expend extra energy using them. Gradually Limb began to sense that his new arms were intimate extensions to his body. He loved the unfeeling rigidity and the mechanical precision of his terminal devices.

            – Right. I think you’re set. You know how to operate these, don’t you? Stretch your arms. Both together, then one at a time.

Ford inspected the cable and its movement and checked that the harness kept its position across Limb’s back.

            – Now open the claws one at a time by shrugging the opposite shoulder. Do they feel responsive? Do they open immediately or can you feel some slack?

            – They seem very responsive. They open very easily.

            – Yes, they’re on minimum grip strength for the time being. That design is easy to adjust with this lever. You can preselect four different grip strengths with it. OK, I’m satisfied that you have a working set of prostheses. Take them off and we’ll go through how to don and doff them. Duck your head down for me.

Ford pulled the harness over Limb’s head and eased the sockets off his stumps. He took them over to a table and lay them down.

            – Come and sit down and we’ll go through this a few times. I want you to understand what you’re doing.

Ford taught Limb how to recognise the difference between the left and right arms and how to feed his stumps through the web of straps so the cuffs sat correctly on his upper arms and the harness would lay flat. Limb repeated the action eight times until he assured Ford that he understood his new equipment. Ford then demonstrated the mechanism for altering grip force and had Limb testing the claws and feeling the increasing resistance in his shoulders. Finally, Ford replaced the steel and rubber claws with a pair of split hooks, the devices which Limb had lusted after for many years and would use for the rest of his life.

            – These operate the same way as the claws. Try them!

Limb stood and walked across to a full-length mirror to inspect himself. He had a painfully insistent erection and had nursed it for over an hour. He looked at his reflection and was both shocked and excited to see the familiar figure transformed into a disabled man with hooks instead of hands and the alien appearance of his sockets and straps. He was very close to orgasm. He turned slightly and paid attention to his hooks as he practised opening them singly and simultaneously. Ford watched admiringly, knowing that this handsome young man with his entire future ahead of him had deliberately chosen to be seriously maimed in order to use the prosthetic arms which he now wore. Within months, the man would return to act as his assistant. He was fairly certain that by then the new amputee would be adept at using his hooks for everything.

            – Come and sit down, Kyle. How do the hooks feel?

            – Perfect.

            – Good. I have a series of physical exercises here for you to practise operating the hooks. I think you know what they are.

            – Yes, I know what they are. Putting wooden blocks on top of each other and moving objects from one tray to another.

            – Do you want to do them?

            – Not really.

            – Ha! I’m not surprised. I’ll spare you the agony but do use every opportunity to test your hooks for everything and if you have difficulty, try to work out an alternative way of doing the task.

            – I will. I want to be proficient when the course starts in August.

            – Good. I’ll see you then at the latest but remember that you can always get in touch if you have any problems. That’s what I’m here for. Let me help you with your jacket and I’ll call a taxi. I want you to take this packet of stump socks with you. There are three pairs of three thicknesses. Try them all out and find which ones suit you best. Put on a new pair every day and add more socks as your stumps shrink. Remember those are only starter sockets. You won’t have permanent ones for about a year.

            – Thank you very much, John.

Limb picked up his bag from the floor and dropped the stump socks inside, followed by the detached claws. They shook at the exit and Limb returned to Dulwich.

 

He sat in the taxicab with his hooks resting on his knees. He looked out the window at traffic and back down to his hooks. They were shocking and charismatic, grotesque and beautiful, fearsome and intriguing. They were motionless until he shrugged and one metallic curved finger moved. Everything he would ever do after this would be down to the movement of those few inches of curved steel. He rolled his head back in ecstasy and looked again at his brand new steel hooks. He trembled with excitement and fulfilment. He could sense the pressure from the sockets on his skin confirming the absence of his hands, rigid unforgiving extensions to his stumps. As they pulled up outside his Dulwich home, the driver announced the fare and Limb tried to get his wallet out of his inside jacket pocket. After several attempts, he asked the driver to get it instead and watched as his credit card was swiped. The driver held his reader as Limb concentrated on entering his PIN with the tip of his right hook. He was no longer right-handed. He was right-hooked. He smiled at the incongruity, held open his jacket for the return of his wallet and left the taxi. Half a minute later, Nub opened the garage door and they embraced. Nub felt Limb’s erection and pulled him inside by his right hook.

            – You look absolutely fantastic. I love your hooks.

            – You look fantastic too. I want to fuck you right now. I’ve had a hard-on for three hours. You can undress me as soon as we get in.

            – Can’t wait. Come on!

 

Nub shed his own leathers and ripped Limb’s off. They were wearing their boots and Limb still had his arms and T-shirt. He pulled Nub onto their futon and they writhed in excitement, Limb trying to feel Nub with his sockets and finally allowing his mate to position him for a session of anal sex. Limb gripped his penis with a hook and guided it towards Nub’s anus. The sight of the hook gripping his tool was too much for him and he shot cum onto his lover’s buttocks.

            – I’m sorry, Nub. Couldn’t wait. I’ll get back to you tonight. Wait there and I’ll bring you a towel.

So began Limb’s education of using his hooks instead of hands. He nipped a small towel from the bathroom cupboard, dropped it in a basin and ran warm water onto it. He picked it up with both hooks, shook it and returned to their room. Nub cleaned himself of Limb’s sperm and crumpled the towel.

            – It’s alright. I understand. You’ve been waiting too long to shoot your wad.

            – All morning. I couldn’t wait to have you.

            – Yeah. Listen, I have to get back downstairs to finish up.

            – I’ll come with you. I’m supposed to be using my hooks as much as possible.

            – You can vacuum Minus Two, if you want.

They laughed and jested as Nub dressed his over-enthusiastic lover and they returned to their duties. Limb could help and practise using his hooks.

 

Limb and Nub were inseparable for the next few weeks. Nub learned which jobs he could reasonably leave to the new amputee like stripping beds and taking care of laundry. Nub could concentrate on caring for the torsos and spent more time socialising with them. Their work was finished ahead of the customary time after which Limb went to see if he could help Stub in the kitchen. Limb began to learn the limitations of his hooks but also to anticipate their capabilities. He knew to check their positions before attempting to grab something making them more intuitive and less frustrating. He had no regrets about his stumps. He still thought the hooks looked perfect and enjoyed using them although they gradually began to feel part of himself rather than as separate prosthetic tools. After lunch, Limb had Nub swap the hooks for his claws and spent the rest of the day in his wheelchair. His claws were superbly appropriate for operating the wheelchair’s propulsion levers. Limb was relieved to find that he would still be independently mobile if he became legless. He knew from experiments during visits to the park with Zero that both his hooks and his claws were useless for manoeuvring a wheelchair in the traditional way.

 

Zero was becoming impatient for his new legs. He had told Limb that he intended to be Limb’s first patient. The dark cavern in the basement was refurbished with white walls and shelves and cupboards lined the walls. A sturdy workbench stood beside a glass-walled cabinet which contained the printer and various stools and support frames waited in one corner of the room. Limb would have a scanner at his disposal and a dedicated laptop operated by a tablet and stylus which he could grip. Zero had ordered the components necessary for his prostheses and now waited only for Limb to learn enough to be able to create functional sockets.

 

Limb wanted to ride his Night Rod again. The bike’s handlebar controls would need some conversion work. The claws held firmly and he could operate the throttle to a degree but it was difficult and precarious to brake. Limb joined an American chat group for disabled bikers where he explained his problem and his requirements. He received advice and information about auxiliary parts and upgrades from two friendly bilateral amputees, one of whom had ridden the three thousand six hundred miles last year from Florida to Sturgis and back wearing two Hosmer Fives, the same hooks as he wore. Limb was determined to be back riding his Night Rod before next summer.

 

John Ford was pleased to have Limb’s company. He introduced Limb to many amputees, young and old, veterans and newly limbless, and Limb learned much from them about their experiences and handy tricks for coping with an artificial arm or two. Ford lent Limb all the medical journals which he thought might be useful, from basic anatomy to biochemical characteristics of skin and muscle at the molecular level. Limb read these on the premises, knowing that Nub would distract him at home. He followed the process of scanning a stump and refining the data to produce a sturdy and comfortable virtual socket suitable for printing. After six weeks, Ford suggested that Limb practise with scanning his own left stump and producing a new socket. It was the best way to learn about the potential problems and how to solve them. Limb found an existent file of Captain Hook’s large and curvy hook created for a Halloween costume and incorporated it into one of his trial sockets. The print succeeded and Nub painted the hook with Ultrasilver. Limb wore the immovable but impressive hook during evenings in the torsoroom.

 

The New Year came and went. Limb felt that he already knew enough to be able to manufacture thigh sockets for Zero. One evening, he knocked on Zero’s door and found Zero packing a suitcase. He explained his errand and Zero said that if the scans could be done immediately and quickly, he could allow Limb to begin the process. He revealed that he was about to fly to Boston and would be absent for two weeks. Zero did not mention that he would also be visiting colleagues and leather clubs in New York and Philadelphia. He expected to have a pair of artificial legs waiting for him on his return. He handed over the necessary components to Limb and told him to prepare his equipment. Limb carried the disjointed legs and feet to his lab and fired up the laptop. The scanner was ready instantaneously and produced an accurate test image of Limb’s left hook. Limb deleted it and went back upstairs to inform Zero that everything was ready. Thirty minutes later, Limb had scanned Zero’s stumps and checked the data. Artificial intelligence would optimise the sockets for the addition of Zero’s selected components. All that was left to do then was for a capable prosthetist to adjust the knee and ankle mechanisms to allow the patient to walk safely. His new long legs would be waiting for Zero when he arrived back.

 

Nub was becoming more anxious about becoming an amputee. He was a little jealous of Edge and his minimal stubbies. He felt he wanted to be severely restricted in a healthy body and near total leglessness was what he fantasised about. He knew very well that an initial above knee amputation would allow him to play with his short stump and to wear a long rigid peg leg but he felt he deserved more. He loved the idea of dragging a stumped torso around on his hands and was certain that his handless lover would support him after he explained his desires. They would still be a good team—one man with hands, one with feet. Nub was still too useful for the torsomen to be allowed to disable himself but the time would come when he too might have nothing below his pelvis except his dick. He imagined himself making love to Limb, forcing his chest and belly to compensate for his lack of legs. He could use a wheelchair like Limb’s, but be strapped in to prevent him toppling out on his stumpless backside. Maybe Limb could make him a torso socket  and fit it with short reciprocating stubby legs so he could waddle around inside. He felt light headed with the possibility of being so utterly disabled.

 

Limb set about making Zero’s sockets. The AI generated a curved and comfortable upper rim and a flat surface for the knee mechanism. Limb fed raw plastic solutions into the printer and watched laser light begin to harden the liquid into a smooth thick cone the precise shape of Zero’s stumps. He switched off the lights and left the apparatus to run until morning. The result was a perfect socket complete with threaded holes ready to accept the knee mechanism. Limb topped up the solution and set the machine to print the opposing socket.

 

Limb persuaded Nub to complete Zero’s artificial legs. The components were connected by hexagonal bolts but Limb was unable to use an Allen key effectively. The legs were ready. Nub rested them across Limb’s wheelchair and they rode up to Zero’s apartment. Neither of their keys would operate the lock, so Limb left the legs standing outside Zero’s door. He was unlikely to miss seeing them.

 

Limb continued practising with the new equipment in his lab. He scanned both his stumps and generated several sockets with various attachments. His favourite was a three pronged claw precisely measured to hold two types of his favourite cigars. He made a pair of sockets with non-movable hooks which Nub painted with the high gloss metallic silver paint. The hooks were next to useless but their appearance excited Limb. He loved being able to wear such items for real. Although he was pleased with his stumps and occasionally bared them to please Nub, Limb was very rarely seen without his artificial arms or trial sockets. Handlessness was his identity and as time passed, he forgot having had hands. His hooks were part of him and it was a joy to shrug the handsome prostheses onto his stumps immediately on waking every morning.

 

Edge was Limb’s next volunteer. He suggested that Limb could try making a new taller set of stubbies, perhaps with rocker feet for better stability. Limb collected Edge in his wheelchair the following evening and the two amputees spent an hour joking with each other as Limb scanned Edge’s leg stumps and designed several one-piece artificial legs for him, including a pair of tentacles and a pair of five foot long pirate peg legs. Limb deleted the impractical virtual models and the pair of them settled on a pair of foot long stubbies which narrowed from the stump to the elongated rocker foot. Edge would be able to walk faster and further than with his current four inch legs and Limb was intrigued to see how his own efforts would affect his friend. Mane reminded Limb that he hoped to be able to hold his own cigar with some kind of claw. Limb had to apologise. His knowledge did not yet extend to designing such a complicated mechanism but he would invite Mane for a fitting as soon as he had a working virtual model. 

 

Zero returned from his foreign travels. Everyone knew he was back but he did not appear for several hours. Limb knew what was going on. He was trying out his new legs. At nine o’clock that evening, Zero appeared at the door of the torsoroom standing on two artificial legs and leaning on axillary crutches. Zeal recognised them as his own old pretender pair which he had used when he wore long leg braces. Zero entered the room and gave a short explanation of where he had been and what he had seen in the leather clubs he had visited. He asked Mylo to visit him before midnight. Mylo nodded with pleasure, looking forward to one of the long sensual sessions of amputee lovemaking which Zero had always excelled in. Now the man had stumps of his own, it would be interesting to see how his undoubted superior status played out with his leglessness.

 

Limb explained Mane’s problem to John Ford one afternoon during a break in his training. They had spent the morning fitting prosthetic legs to the thigh stumps of a teenager who had drunk one shot too many and tripped on a railway line and hit his head. He was shortly separated from his legs by a shunter and found only because the driver felt an unusual vibration and climbed down from his cab to check to see if he had hit an animal. The teen was soon in hospital and the new owner of two long thigh stumps. The boy did not seem to be depressed by his loss and asked many questions about his and others’ amputations and what he could expect to achieve on his new legs. Ford fitted the enthusiastic lad with a pair of knees which coincidentally he had also delivered to Zero which were sturdier and more reliable than the traditional design. They were far less likely to collapse unless subjected to extreme pressure. Walking would always be safe, running would not. The youngster left walking on two feet again for the first time in ten weeks albeit with a pair of walking sticks and Ford and Limb sat down in the kitchen for a teabreak.

 

            – It seems to me that Mane has only two possibilities to operate a prosthetic arm. He can move his neck from side to side and lean forwards. In both cases, the range of movement seems too short to be able to lift a forearm, and he has nothing to shrug or nudge to operate a hook or claw. So I’m afraid, Kyle, that your friend will not be able to use any kind of conventional arm. But that wouldn’t stop you from making him an arm with which he could hold a cigar and simply lean forwards to smoke it. Why don’t you take some measurements of his range of motion and bring them in? We’ll take a look and see if we can come up with something useful. I have to say it’s an interesting problem. Many limbless men rely on electronic limbs which they operate from their residual muscles.

            – I don’t think Mane or Zero have the money or inclination to expend thousands on a voluntary amputee who wanted to be utterly limbless just so he can smoke a cigar on his own.

            – Does he join you now when you smoke?

            – No.

            – There’s no reason why he shouldn’t join you, is there? Someone else can help him smoke.

Ask your boyfriend to help.

            – Boyfriend? Who do you mean? Who told you?

            – Oh, sorry. Am I talking out of turn? I mean the young man with the big moustache who wants his right leg amputated mid thigh.

            – Where did you hear that?

            – From Zero, of course. Zero and I go back a long way.

            – Are you a leatherman too?

            – Of course I am. Don’t worry. I won’t spread your friend’s secret. If he wants to be an amputee, he’s more than welcome as far as I’m concerned. I won’t tell anyone. What would be the point?

Limb was surprised but saw the logic of the situation.

            – Do you know about me?

            – How you wanted your hands gone but said you would continue working? Yes, of course.

            – And you don’t find that strange, that someone would want to lose their hands?

            – No, of course not. Amputation as a fetish is as old as the hills. Men have contrived hundreds of ways to become invalids for the pleasure of bearing a stump. After the manufacture of mass produced artificial limbs began in America in the late eighteen hundreds, the number of men losing legs under trains jumped five hundred percent. Men who had hesitated to achieve a stump realised that they would no longer need to rely on crutches. Now they could have a genuine wooden leg and thousands of them got exactly that. Of course, there were quite a few who mistimed things and lost their lives but the stage was set. These days all it takes is a bribe to a crooked surgeon and boom! A new amputee. How do you like your own stumps?

            – I like them fine.

            – There you are. You never expected to wear the hooks you always wanted, did you?

            – No.

            – So don’t be surprised at the small group of leather fetishists who made it possible. Of course we discuss our creations.

            – I don’t understand. How are we Zero’s creations? He would have nothing without us.

            – And the reverse is also true. Zero is unable to achieve orgasm without a male amputee and the more disabled the body, the better he likes it. Kyle, I am surprised. How can you live there and still be so naïve? Do you not see what is going on?

Limb was struck silent. Everything Ford had told him made sense but he had never given any thought to any kind of organisation behind the amputees at Dulwich.

            – But he’s never made any advances towards me.

            – Ha! Kyle, you have two legs and you use hooks. As far as Zero is concerned, you’re still able-bodied. Why do you think he uses the name Zero?

            – Are you serious? He encourages leathermen to shed limbs in order to sleep with them?

            – Yes, of course. Now you’re beginning to understand. He does more than sleep with them, I assume.

            – And so we’re all destined to end up limbless in Zero’s bed as his sex slave. Is that what you’re saying?

            – As far as I can make out, Zero provides you with a home and the opportunity to lose your limbs. He’s never forced anyone to lose a limb against their wishes, has he? Have you ever heard any of the torsomen talking about being pressured into becoming limbless?

            – Well, no.

            – So where’s the problem, Kyle? You have an amazingly generous benefactor who houses and feeds you and organises every amputation and every artificial limb you want to fulfil your obsessions. Stop worrying.

 

Limb was struck silent by Ford’s revelations. He knew very well that the Dulwich house was a unique community of men who had yearned to become disabled, several of whom had taken their obsessions to the uttermost limit. But he had never thought that Zero might be controlling them somehow. It was plain that he was the benefactor but not that he was the instigator. He must wield a very subtle control over his harem of amputees. It was no secret that he chose a different torso every evening which he took to his rooms. None of the torsos ever complained. He was well aware of how he himself had transformed from horny young leatherman to the cripple he was today. But surely he had been the driving force behind acquiring his stumps, not Zero. Although it was true—without Zero, Limb would still have hands. It was disconcerting. An enigma.

 

Limb spoke of his doubts to Nub as they snuggled on the futon that night.

            – Has Zero ever said or done anything to encourage you to want your legs off? You used to want to wear a peg leg, didn’t you? Now you’ve been talking about having them both off really high up.

            – Yeah, it’s true. The longer I work here, the more I see how perfect it is to be legless. I want to be like Edge. Stumps so short that they are almost invisible, only suitable for little stubby legs.

            – So what’s caused you to change your mind?

            – I don’t know that there’s any other reason. Just seeing the others and being inspired by them.

            – So Zero hasn’t said anything to you?

            – No. Why do you ask?

            – I was just wondering. It’s probably nothing. Forget it.

Nub soon forgot it as Limb began toying with his penis. The sensation of two arm stumps was uniquely erotic, unlike anything a fully limbed man could do. Limb’s face was close to his crotch out of necessity. Nub closed his eyes, waiting for Limb’s warm mouth to envelop his straining cock.

 

Zero learned to walk on prosthetic legs without any outside assistance. The man had been familiar with every aspect of amputation and its subsequent prosthetic therapy for many years. He was an intelligent man and understood the theory of using artificial legs. He summoned Limb to his quarters after the evening meal. Limb was helping Stub clear the kitchen when the call came.

            – Zero wants me. Have to go. See you, Stub.

 

            – Ah, Limb!  Good to see you. Sit down. I want to talk to you about new legs.

            – Oh!  I hope there’s no problem with your current pair.

            – They are perfect. I want some different designs. We have the equipment and you have the skill, so I’ll ask you now to make me a peg leg for my left stump. I want it to be rigid with no knee joint. I want it to be an extension of the stump socket, all one piece. Do I make myself clear?

            – Yes, Zero, quite clear. Unfortunately the printer can’t manage shapes as long as your peg leg. I’ll have to design it in pieces and join them together.

            – Very well. I want there to be no movement whatsoever in the peg. It has to be utterly solid and rigid to walk on from top to toe. It also has to be sturdy enough to bear my weight. It may be the case that I wish to ambulate with the one peg leg and crutches.

            – I understand. What sort of shape do you want?

Zero handed him a sheet of paper which showed a well-drawn peg leg. The peg expanded upwards in a smooth curve into the wider column of the socket.

            – How soon can you make it?

            – Is the shape of your current socket alright? If it is, I can get it printed in two days, I reckon. Is it important to maintain the smooth line of the peg leg?

            – Yes and that’s going to be a problem if you need to print it in parts. The end result has to be completely smooth. No obvious joints.

            – OK, leave it with me. I’ll work out a way with the AI. Zero, while I’m here, I’d like to talk about Nub.

            – Really? Go ahead. I hope everything is well between you.

            – It is, thank you. He’s been talking about wanting to lose both legs really high up instead of just half his thigh so he can use a peg leg. Not unlike yours, in fact.

            – I know. I heard through the grapevine that Nub seems to have changed his preferences. However, I very much want him to experience one-leggedness with a peg leg before he progresses to leglessness. I hope I can trust you to guide him. He’s due for his first amputation very soon now that your course is ending. I want you to return to housekeeper duties while Nub is recovering. After that, I have another suggestion for you but I’ll leave that for another time. Is there anything unclear to you?

            – No sir.

            – Good. You may tell Nub that the amputation of his right leg midway up his thigh will proceed within two weeks of the end of your prosthetist’s course.

            – Oh! That is good news. Thank you, Zero.

 

Limb collected his work laptop from the lab and went up to his room. Nub was out, probably with the torsos. Limb drew several profiles of Zero’s peg leg until he found a pleasing shape and generated a virtual solid. He found the file for Zero’s socket and combined the two. He knew the approximate length but decided to leave a couple of extra inches at the tip of the peg in case Zero intended wearing it with thick-soled boots. A rubber ferrule would be added later giving another half inch. Limb applied virtual weight to the peg leg and asked the AI to optimise the shape. The peg thickened slightly and Limb appraised its new shape. It still resembled Zero’s drawing so Limb requested a splice which could be printed separately and combined while maintaining both strength and appearance. Within seconds, the program produced four virtual components and animated them, moving them together to indicate the correct order of assembly and the predicted weighted stress pattern in the final structure. Limb looked at the peg from several angles, checking that the seams were well hidden. Zero would probably order a right peg leg in the near future so he created another file swapping the left socket for the right. The program generated four more components which Limb checked visually. He was satisfied and archived them. The program estimated four print runs of about four hours each. Limb took the laptop down to his lab and the printer was soon sculpting the front top section of Zero’s new peg leg. With any luck, all the pieces would be ready in twenty-four hours, ready for welding together. If it was a successful design and Zero was satisfied, it could be the basic design for all future peg legs, including Nub’s. It was an elegant shape. He would quite like wearing one himself. He checked the print’s progress and left the machine to continue in its ultraviolet glow.

 

Nub was waiting for Limb when he returned.

            – Where have you been?

            – I was in the lab. Zero asked me to design a peg leg for him so I did. The first part is printing right now. I have some news for you which you might find interesting.

            – Oh? What’s that?

            – Well, my course ends in a couple of weeks and after that, Zero wants me back here as a housekeeper

            – I know that.

            – That’s not the news I mean. I mean that very soon afterwards, it’s your turn for an amputation. Zero thinks you should start with the mid-thigh stump rather than the two shorties.

            – Yeah, I guessed he would. It’s alright. Do you think the new peg leg would suit me?

            – I think you’d look fantastic. You’d soon be up and running again. Pegs are easy enough to walk on once you get used to them. If you kept enough stump, you’d be able to whip it off when you need to sit somewhere.

            – It doesn’t bend, then?

            – Zero’s design doesn’t but I dare say I could rustle up something with a hinge in it if you wanted one like that. You don’t seem all that pleased.

            – It’s not that. I am pleased. I was just wondering how long it would be before I get the other amputation I want.

            – Nub, don’t worry about it. You’ll have all the stumps you want but it’s going to take time. Even your first amputation is ahead of time if you think about it. No housekeeper has had one before he’s managed to find his replacement. I don’t know if Zero has changed his policy. Maybe he intends keeping you and me as housekeepers regardless of how many stumps we have. Especially now when it’s much easier to produce a replacement limb.

            – I’ve just been watching Edge and the way he gets around on his long stubbies. He really loves them. That’s the way I want to be.

            – Give it time, Nub. I’m pretty certain you’ll get there, sooner than you think. Shall we talk to Zero about it and find out what he thinks about us finding a new housekeeper?

            – We could, I suppose. Maybe when you deliver his peg leg I could come with you.

            – Let’s do that. Find out what he’s thinking and tell him what you’d like. But get the thigh stump first, OK? I want to see you wearing a peg leg that I designed.

 

Limb discussed Mane’s issue again with John Ford.

            – I looked at the literature to see if there is a mechanism which would convert back movement into something to operate an elbow but I haven’t found anything, I’m afraid. The only thing I can suggest for your friend is a harness with a built-in claw close enough to his face that he can simply lean forward to smoke his cigar. I don’t need to tell you how irregular it would be to go to the expense of designing and making such a prosthesis for something so extremely niche.

            – But with a printer at home, we’re suddenly free to experiment with all sorts of things. There’s a custom-made peg leg in the printer at home right now. That reminds me, I need to tell Nub to take the previous print out soon.

            – Well, if you come up with a practical solution, I and many other prosthetists would be very interested to see the result.

            – I have something else to ask. I need a knee joint for an above knee peg leg. Something which keeps the leg rigid but which can be easily released so the peg can bend.

            – I know what you mean. They come in various sizes.

            – If the size depends on the width of the peg, I need one and a half inches.

            – OK, I’ll order a pair. Is there anything else you might need in the near future?

            – Yeah, sort of. It’s not really necessary but I’ve been thinking about making a new pair of arms for myself. There’s nothing wrong with these but I thought I might have a pair with shorter arms. These could easily be three inches shorter. I could make the socket and the cuff easily enough but I need the rest of the components. You know, cables and the harness and all that.

            – Would it help if I simply reordered the same components again as last time?

            – Yeah but I would need a shorter cable.

            – Alright. It should be possible. I’ll let you know. Shall I charge Zero or you?

            – Better take it from my account just to be safe.

 

Nub removed the second component of Zero’s peg leg soon after it was completed and the printer continued with the third part. Limb was on hand when it was ready and set the last and smallest part to print. In the three hours remaining, he helped prepare dinner with Stub and spent an hour with Nub and the torsos watching a rerun of a cult tv comedy. His alarm sounded and he and Nub went up to the lab. If the last part had printed successfully, Nub could glue the parts together. The adhesive melted the plastic and the resulting bond was permanent. Limb’s hooks were completely unsuited for the task. He was used to his disability and expected to rely on men with hands occasionally. It was not a cause for despondency.

 

Nub watched the virtual peg leg animation so he could see how the pieces were to be assembled. He put them together once to make sure he understood, pulled them apart and then carefully coated the surfaces with adhesive. He had twenty seconds grace to align the parts before the bond became immovable. Limb watched him nervously. He had promised Zero the peg leg would be ready today. Nub joined the socket sections and finally attached the socket to the peg. Close inspection revealed the seams if you knew where to look for them otherwise the peg leg was a handsome piece of glossy black plastic exactly as Zero had drawn two evenings ago.

 

            – Shall we take it up and see what he thinks?

            – Alright. We’ll have to alter the length, I think.

Limb rapped on Zero’s door and listened for the command to enter. The pair stepped inside. Nub held out the peg leg to his benefactor.

            – Here it is, sir. It may be slightly long because I was not certain if you will be wearing it with thick soles. We can shorten the peg very easily.

Zero took the peg and inspected it closely. His face broke into a broad smile. It was very unusual to see any expression of Zero’s face. He sat and removed his leather trousers, exposing his prosthetic legs. He killed the vacuum in the left socket and pulled the high tech leg off. He picked the peg up, aligned it, stood and lifted his stump into the socket. It slowly slipped inside, friction between rubber and plastic slowing its progress. His stump was as deep inside the socket as it would go, leaving a quarter inch of space under the end of the stump.

            – This is about an inch too long. I want to wear this with my motorcycle boots. Bring the right boot over, will you, Limb? Nub, if you would be so kind as to fit it onto my foot, I would be much obliged.

Nub did as asked and Zero tested the peg for length.

            – Measure my leg and then alter the peg so it’s half an inch longer with the ferrule than my right leg.

            – I’ll get the tape measure.

Nub ran down to the lab and looked around for it. He picked up a marker pen too and ran back. Zero was sitting in his armchair with the peg jutting out into the room. It looked magnificent. Nub realised that in a few weeks, he too could look like that. Suddenly he wanted his mid-thigh amputation more than the pseudo disarticulations.

            – Stand up, please sir.

Nub set to work measuring the length of the leg with the boot and that of the peg. There would be a slight difference to compensate for the thickness of the ferrule but he now had enough information to shorten the peg to the required length.

            – Limb, do you want to come with me?

            – Not if you can manage yourself. You know where the ferrules are, don’t you? Second drawer.

Nub waited while Zero eased the peg leg off his stump and took it down to the lab. Limb took the opportunity to speak about what was on his mind.

            – Nub will have his amputation soon, won’t he?

            – He will.

            – He wondered if he could have an identical peg leg to yours. Would you mind?

            – Not at all. It could be the unique Dulwich model which all our peg leggers use.

            – That was something I wanted to talk to you about. After Nub returns to service on his peg, I was wondering if I might be eligible for a similar amputation. Except I’d like to have my left leg off. I want to use a peg leg too.

            – This is rather sudden, Limb. What’s brought this about?

            – Well, I’ve been thinking about losing a leg since I got here but seeing your stumps and knowing that Nub will soon have one made me think about what it would be like to walk on a peg leg. And tonight when we made yours, it seemed so perfect, something so desirable that I just feel I won’t be satisfied until I have a leg stump of my own.

            – I see. Let me tell you something, Limb. You and Nub are the last housekeepers. I don’t care how many stumps you have but you two will have the responsibility of maintaining everything in the house. Cleaning, general maintenance, deliveries, all that. You have already disabled yourself to the degree you asked for. I have nothing against you losing a leg but I want you back in service with your one-legged boyfriend after you recover.

            – So you’re saying I can have a leg off like Nub and use a peg leg?

            – Yes, if that is what you want. But your work duties continue. Do you understand? I can’t and will not permit you to become so disabled that you would be unable to work. You might have one natural leg and three prostheses which you can use and I would like Nub to keep his hands – someone has to have a pair around here, god knows. As for the rest, you can do as you like.

            – I understand. Thank you, Zero. I would like a peg leg before long. It looks very masculine.

            – Have you thought about riding your Night Rod as a triple amputee?

            – Yes sir. I am having some components delivered to convert the handlebars and if I had a peg leg on the right, I could still ride.

            – Are you certain? Have you done research into this? You could ride your bike again with your hooks?

            – Yes sir.

Limb told Zero about his conversations with the American limbless bikers’ club members. Zero was clearly impressed by the news.

            – I want to see you riding your bike again. If the conversion works, I may have to reassess my own situation.

Limb understood his words but not the potential.

            – I’m sure your bike could be altered any way you need it.

            – I hope so. It would be grand to ride from say New York to Sturgis together. Two limbless riders on the adventure of a lifetime.

Limb was stunned by the prospect of travelling with Zero and their bikes anywhere. Sturgis would be an incredible destination.

 

Limb finished his course. John Ford gave him a certificate stating that he had completed Level One of three in prosthetic theory and manufacture. Level Two dealt with electronic prostheses and Level Three was purely theoretical and psychological. To all practical purposes and with the help of artificial intelligence, the double arm amputee was now a prosthetist of professional standard. Ford shook his hook as he left for the last time and handed over a cardboard package.

            – Here are the components for your short arms. I’d be interested to see what you create for yourself. Come and show me when they are ready.

 

Limb was proud of his achievement and new status. He returned home to Dulwich and went straight to Zero’s quarters to show off the new certificate.

            – Congratulations. I am very pleased we have our own prosthetist in residence. I want you to ask everyone for any ideas they have about prosthetics and to create them. I have several designs and you and Nub will need new devices in the near future. So continue practising and use the software as often as possible. The raw materials are inexpensive so experiment as much as you want.

            – Thank you, Zero. I want to print my short arms first.

            – Yes, do that. I want you to specialise in arms because I can think of several people who are going to rely on your skill to be able to function in the next couple of years.

Limb looked at Zero in alarm. There were only four men with any functional vestiges of arms. Apart from Zero himself, Nub was the only man with hands. It was futile to ask Zero for an explanation. His steady stare was signal enough that the conversation was over.

            – Thank you, Zero. Good night.

 

Limb arranged to have his Night Rod adapted for use by a double amputee. Nub was the only man who could physically ride the machine but Limb’s insurance did not allow it. A motorcycle dealership specialising in conversions sent a mechanic with a trailer to collect the bike. Limb handed over the adapted equipment he had ordered from the USA and watched as his monstrous motorcycle disappeared down the road. He wondered whether it would still be possible to ride if he was wearing a peg leg on his right. His left foot was too valuable for shifting. He went back inside, replaced his hood and went to help Stub in the kitchen.

            – I just said goodbye to my bike, for a while at least.

            – Why’s that?

            – I’m having it converted so I can drive it again with these.

He lifted his hooks and opened them. They closed with a snap.

            – That’s good. It’s been a while since you rode it last.

            – Yeah. I used to ride every day but since I’ve lived here, there’s not been the need to travel far and getting stumps made it awkward. I’ll have to learn a new way to ride but I should be able to get out and about again.

            – Limb, I was wondering if it might be possible for me to have a pair of long legs. They don’t have to be anything hi-tech. I’d like to be able to stand at my old height again sometimes. I love my stubbies and wouldn’t want to stop wearing them but a pair of tall legs would be cool.

            – OK, let’s make you a pair. I’ll order a couple of knee joints and we can get started. The lower leg from the knee to the foot will all be one piece. You won’t have a fancy ankle.

            – That’s alright. I like the way old fashioned legs move and the rigid feet. It looks horny.

            – Good! Those are the ones I know how to make. The knee joints are purely mechanical as well. They won’t help you with going downstairs or getting up from a chair but they’re sturdy enough. They won’t let you down. Shall I order a pair right now?

Limb sent a message to John Ford and asked him to invoice Stub. Ford replied that he should receive them within three weeks. It was plenty of time to design and print the legs.

 

Zero in turn insisted that the slot for Dulwich amputations be moved forward in order to accommodate Nub. The boy had been showing signs of frustration and Zero wanted to keep his excellent housekeeper happy. Confirmation of an appointment came and Zero waited until the penultimate evening before summoning Nub and Limb to his quarters.

            – The time has come. Tomorrow your right leg will be amputated three inches above the knee, leaving you with a fine sturdy stump to use with a peg leg. How do you feel about that?

            – Great! This is such a surprise. I didn’t expect it so soon. Thank you, Zero.

            – Don’t mention it. A taxi will collect you tomorrow morning. Have a few things ready in a bag. You can take a pair of crutches with you too if you want to avoid having to return them later.

            – I will.

            – Limb, this means you’ll be back to housekeeping on your own for a few weeks. You can make a temporary peg for Nub as soon as his stump can stand it. I leave that to you.

            – I understand.

            – Do you anticipate any problems?

            – No sir.

            – Good. I want to say how pleased I am that you have adapted to using hooks so well. They not only suit your appearance, they also seem to be a natural extension of your stumps.

            – Thank you, Zero. I don’t feel myself to be disabled when I am wearing them.

            – Good. That is all. Nub, I’ll see you in a few days. Relax into disability. It will make you into the man you need to be.

            – Yes sir. Thank you.

 

            – You don’t need to take much. A couple of T-shirts and your toothbrush. Remember your charger.

            – How long do you think I’ll be away, Limb? I don’t want to be in hospital for weeks.

            – Ten days, tops. As soon as your stump is stable and healing, they’ll let you come home. I can’t wait to see you with a trouser leg pinned up and you on crutches.

            – Will you let me use your wheelchair?

            – Of course I will but don’t get too used to it. As soon as your stump is healed, I’ll make you a peg leg and you’ll finally be one of the gang. And then it will be my turn.

            – What? Are you going to have a leg off?

            – I think so. Especially now that I’ve seen how impressive it is to walk on a peg. I want one of my own. Which leg shall I have off? The right one like you or the left? Think how our stumps would knock against each other when we’re in bed. Yeah, it will have to be the left after all.

 

Nub left in the middle of the next morning. Limb continued cleaning the bathroom on the torsoroom floor. The beds were next. Mane and Rage had obviously had a long session last night. Limb stripped the sheets, spread a fresh one and started on laundry. After lunch, while Limb and Stub were clearing the kitchen, Nub’s amputation began. By dinnertime, the leg had been incinerated and the comatose man slept, his new stump heavily bandaged.

 

Zero was approaching a self-imposed deadline. He had planned to retire at the age of forty-five and spend the rest of his life transforming his body. He had already had his flesh legs removed and was content to walk on a professionally manufactured right prosthesis with Limb’s peg leg. He took up a cane, an tall inch thick walking stick with a Derby handle. It was a temporary solution. If he went ahead with the plans he envisaged, he would be unable to hold a cane.

 

Zero calculated that his future income from royalties and investments would be more than enough to keep him and his harem in comfort for the rest of his life. He would appoint a trustworthy resident as his successor in due course who would inherit the house. There would be one final grand concert, probably in Berlin or Vienna. He would conduct it standing on artificial legs and achieve more notoriety. And on his return, he would shed both arms above the elbow and spend the rest of his life as a quadruple amputee with stumps long enough to accept prostheses. Zero’s fetish needed continual renewal, hence the number and variety of limbless men he created and took as lovers. After retirement, he could finally acquire a pair of sleek artificial arms with the cold steel hooks which never failed to arouse him. He was intensely envious of Limb and the effortless way the boy used his hooks. He was determined to achieve the same for himself.

 

Limb rarely gave his prostheses a thought. He liked their appearance when they were hanging from a hook on the wall, a familiar tangle of strapping, control cables and the shiny black sockets with steel split hooks. He enjoyed the sensation of completeness and potential when his stumps slid deep inside the cool sockets and the harness hugged his shoulders like a familiar friend. Despite the many things he was unable to do, the hooks were more versatile than he had expected. With Nub by his side or with help from Stub and his hooks, he felt confident and fulfilled.

 

The new virtual sockets he had created on his laptop were ready. He was working on the shape of the cuffs which held his sockets securely and directed the control cable. He wanted as much of his upper arm to be covered by the cuff without chafing. He settled on a long half cylinder shape and created slits for straps and raised conduits for the cables. The sockets would be four inches shorter than his first pair with flat ends to accept the steel wrist mechanisms. The hooks would rotate ninety degrees but no other articulation would be possible. Limb liked the irony of disabling his prostheses. His short arms would be basic and challenging.

 

Nub was awake and trying to sense the length of his stump through the pain. He felt his leg was present but injured in some serious way. Nurses checked on him frequently and he obediently ate the mush and swallowed the medicines which they brought him. He had a tv remote and intermittently watched a few minutes until he switched the dross off. He hoped Zero or Limb would visit before long and he could ask for his phone.

 

Zero pulled a few strings and with the help of another notorious leather master, suggested that he was available for the Berlin Bienniale in the summer and received assurances that everything would be done to ensure a grand finale to the maestro’s illustrious career, to a man whose art had captivated millions and who had been struck down in the prime of life resulting in the loss of both legs. A record-breaking audience was certain and the income would match. Zero laughed at the ease with which he had arranged the termination of his career and commencement of his life as a torso.

 

Limb watched the animation of the virtual short arms on his laptop and decided that the prints would be what he needed. They would be ready within a day or two and he would do his best to assemble the components but suspected that someone with hands might be necessary to help with its adjustment. Dare he ask Zero or should he wait for Nub’s return? He decided he could wait for assembly but printed the necessary parts anyway. He tried on the sockets and found them supremely comfortable. He suspected that the new pair of short prostheses might become his everyday arms.

 

Nub was elated with his stump. The bandages were off and a nurse held a mirror so Nub could evaluate the appearance of his leg. The stump was clearly swollen but the front of it was entirely free of sutures. It was going to be beautiful. Its length was perfect. Exactly the proportions for a stump which anyone would be more than proud to display on a beach or at a swimming pool and a stump which would earn the envy of aficionados who appreciated maimed male beauty. Despite his pleasure in a successful amputation, Nub immediately hankered after another to rid his left leg of its unnecessary weight. He wanted matching stumps as soon as possible. That would be his goal in life for the near future. When he was stumping around on stubbies, he would think of other adaptations he might enjoy. It could only mean getting a hook or two. He had a great example in his bed every night. He lay back and closed his eyes, imagining what it might feel like if both Limb and himself were quadruple amputees with long stumps, wrestling passionately at the end of the day, stumps flailing in thwarted attempts to grab and hold their lover closer.

 

Zero summoned Limb for an errand one afternoon. He was to go to Foyles in Charing Cross Road and purchase every book published since the turn of the century about Wagner. He should leave the following morning after his duties and be back by six. He could wear his leathers in public if he wished. Limb took the opportunity to inform Zero that the components for his new arm prostheses were ready but he had no-one with hands who could assemble and adjust them. Zero took the hint and agreed to help. He would gain a closer acquaintance with the mechanisms of artificial arms.

            – Bring it all in here and we’ll fix it.

            – It won’t take long. I think I’ve designed all the parts to fit together.

            – I hope so.

Limb retrieved the freshly printed items and the box containing cables and the new harness.

            – I don’t quite understand this. You’ll have to explain to me.

Limb walked around Zero’s desk and stood behind him. He pointed out the order in which the components should be assembled and Zero admired the way Limb gestured with his hooks, logically, manfully. He understood the project and assembled the apparatus part by part, fitting the socket and cuff several times, admiring Limb’s perfect stumps, wishing to feel them on his body, on his penis, wanking him and teasing his anus. Zero lifted the completed set of prostheses onto Limb’s shoulders and watched patiently as the boy tested them. The short arms looked shocking, the hooks looked enticing. Zero could stand it no longer and fell onto Limb, kissing his face, grabbing the new prostheses and rubbing his face against the hooks. Limb was too surprised to react other than to relax his arms so Zero could move them.

            – Come to my room before midnight. I want you to make love to me with your stumps.

Limb was astounded by the request. Everyone knew that Zero chose a torso every night. They would be concerned that something was wrong if none of them were absent that night. It had been a long time since Zero had ordered a boy named Kyle Byrne into a dark room in a dank cellar. Finally the boy would fuck the master. It was the epitome of leather passion and all because of his arm stumps.

            – I’ll be here.

 

Limb collected his old prostheses, returned to his room and changed his arms. He would play with the short ones later. He ordered a taxi and made his way to Foyles. Only four new editions on Wagner and his works had been published within the past thirty years and the best-selling items were very much older. Limb paid for the four books and asked if there might be anything in the history of prosthetic limbs. He was directed to the relevant department and asked again. The young salesman took in his customer’s hooks and, a little flustered, checked the inventory. There was an edition from the Eighties which contained illustrated descriptions of contemporary prosthetics and their history. Limb bought the thick book after perusing a few pages. It was full of the most extreme and unusual artificial limb variants which had been tried before the present recognisable designs had been perfected. Limb paid the hefty price with pleasure, looking forward to finding inspiration for some interesting prosthetic experiments. On his return, he went to Zero’s room and knocked but there was no answer. He left the four volumes on Wagner outside the door and went to his room.

 

The new short arms waited for him, hanging over the back of a chair. He had forgotten about them while he was in town. He shrugged off the old pair again and pushed his stumps into the cool depths of the black sockets. They fit more intimately than his original pair. He was pleased that he was producing such high quality prints with so little experience. The new arms were four inches shorter than his first pair. He stood in front of the mirror to admire their appearance. The limbs looked even more exceptional. The mere fact of their shortness demanded attention, emphasizing his disability. He decided to wear them as his permanent prostheses until he encountered problems which his longer arms would avoid. He sat down at the table, opened his History of Prosthetic Limbs and began to read. He felt newly disabled, severely restricted with terminal devices so close to his elbows. He had to lean in close to the book to turn a page. It felt so horny.

 

He was intrigued by a set of terminals which were manufactured before the split hook was invented. It comprised a knife, fork and spoon attachment, two pairs of immovable hooks in different sizes, a tennis ball-sized sphere and a ring. These were used together to grip textiles, for example. He could use something like them to change the beds. Finally, there were sculpted copies of a man’s hands, crafted from solid oak. They were functionally useless but were very handsome items. If he could find a file online of a hand, he might be able to adapt it to suit his own sockets. He could cover the fake hands with leather gloves and look like a perfectly normal leatherman. He imagined trying to function at the leathermen’s club, holding a beer between inert hands, trying to manipulate a cigar with hands lacking a functioning grip. It need not be a problem if Zero were with him. Assuming Zero still had hands. Limb had recognised the power of example and persuasion which he believed was the mechanism behind the ever-growing number of amputations for the Dulwich house’s residents. Now Zero was demonstrating a previously stifled desire for arm stumps. Limb knew nothing about Zero’s retirement plans and assumed Zero would keep his flesh hands for the indeterminate future.

 

Zero had donned his long prostheses and succeeded in kicking his bike into action. He drove slowly, trying to maintain the position of his boots on the motorcycle’s footpegs, straining to operate the clutch with a rigid foot. It would be easier if the clutch was converted to a hand control but Zero was already obsessed with gaining two prosthetic arms before the year was out and decided it would be wiser to leave all mechanical adaptations until he was self-sufficient again with a full complement of artificial limbs. After ninety minutes, Zero retraced his route and returned to the house. He found his books and went inside to glance through them. He was hoping for insight on how Wagner was received in the twenty-first century, not trusting his own feelings about the composer’s modern international reputation.

 

Limb helped Stub with getting dinner under way. The short arms required a little more effort to use. Limb had to bend lower to retrieve things from drawers and approach closer to cupboards to lift things down. The weight of the steel hooks felt odd in the middle of where his forearms used to be. If he put his motorcycle jacket on, the hooks would not be visible or usable. He would appear handless—not an entirely erroneous impression. The more he wore them, the more he enjoyed their shortcomings.

 

Nub was also eating, if not enjoying, his evening meal. His doctor had inspected his stump and pronounced himself satisfied with its condition. He referred several times to ‘the stump’ which excited Nub’s imagination. The best news was that he would be discharged the day after tomorrow. He had spent the rest of the afternoon in rehab, learning to use the crutches which he had brought from Dulwich. He stood in front of the full length mirror staring at the one-legged figure, at his face and at the stump, trying to reconcile the two. It was him and he was missing his leg. He was an amputee. He would be disabled for the rest of his life. Exactly how disabled remained to be seen. He leaned on his crutches and tried to imagine having a matching stump on the other side. How would he walk? He would use only one artificial leg and walk with crutches. Or a peg leg and crutches. Nub turned away from the mirror and continued with his trainer’s puerile exercises.

 

Zero was becoming impatient. He had always wanted to explore Limb’s physique and sexuality but had restrained himself for as long as the boy had all his limbs. He was not interested in physical sex with non-amputees. He had watched his former housekeepers and companions reduce themselves limb by limb to hairy, muscular, limbless torsos and provided an environment where they could live their deepest and darkest fetishes. Now the one man he lusted for was due. He could wait no longer. He pressed Limb’s call button.

 

Limb laughed when his phone alerted him with Zero’s call signal. He was watching a porn film streamed from the dark web about three triple amputees who happened to find themselves in the same gym with a horny muscleman who had a fetish for amputees. Limb paused the video to buffer it, struggled to put his hood on with his short arms and hooks and thrust them into his bike jacket. He left his room and made his way up to Zero’s apartment on the top floor.

 

            – It’s good of you to join me. Take your jacket off. I want to see your arms. You have the short pair, I see. Do they work?

            – Yes, thank you, sir.

            – Good. You may wear them until I ask you to remove them. I have some news about Nub. He’ll be back the evening after next. I want you to make sure he heals quickly. His stump will be tender and swollen for several weeks.

            – Yes, I realise that, sir. He’ll have all the time he needs to heal.

            – That means you’ll be on housekeeping duties alone for as long as it takes.

            – I’m quite prepared for that, sir. It’s what I have been expecting.

            – Good. I want you to undress me with your hooks. You need not be careful.

Limb tilted his head so he could see more clearly through his hood’s eyeholes and evaluated Zero. Officer’s cap, leather jacket, leather shirt and tie, leather jodhpurs, knee-high engineer’s boots and whatever underwear he wore, if any.

            – When you have done that, I want you to put this hood on me. Have you used your hooks to tie laces?

            – No sir. Not yet.

            – Then tonight is the night you learn.

            – Yes sir.

 

Rage had been expecting to be invited to Zero’s rooms for the night. Instead, he was left confused not only by not being invited but also by the fact that none of the others had been summoned either. Rage had spent over an hour cleaning himself and sliding back into his leatherwear ready for inspection by his master. Mylo had gone out for the evening, standing tall on his six inch stubbies. There was no-one left with hands or hooks to replace Rage’s eyeless hood. He closed his eyes and leaned against Mane’s prostrate torso, feeling dejected.

 

Mylo went out once a week. He had dared to venture into a run-down public house one evening, just for the sake of it. Before he had gained his stumps, he had often been in public houses with other leather jacketed friends or men from work. He had cash in the back pocket of his shorts, if some friendly man condescended to picking it out so he could get a beer. Mylo was immediately the centre of attention as he thrust his miniature metal legs across the sodden carpet, his artificial arms held at ninety degrees with the hooks pointing forward. Three men standing by the bar had moved aside as the diminutive figure approached and the bartender leaned over to take his order. With some unexpected help of one of the men who placed his pint between his hooks, Mylo looked around for a free seat. Four bald punks with tattooed faces and large lip piercings beckoned to him. They crowded closer together and one placed Mylo’s beer on the table, lifted him onto the empty seat and sat down next to him, blocking his exit. Mylo was initially alarmed to find himself in the company of such an alien clique, nothing like the leathermen he loved, but the disfigured faces introduced themselves in the time-honoured fashion, too quickly and indistinctly, and Mylo soon felt comfortable in their presence. His hooks clattered against his glass as he sought a grip until his neighbour picked the beer up and held it to Mylo’s lips. He lifted his own beer and said ‘Cheers’, his seven thick lip rings clinking against the rim. The spikes in his cheeks pointed upward as he grinned and replaced the beers on the table. The piercings along each of his lips interlocked. It was a fascinating and shocking look. His friends also sported spikes or plates to enhance their tattooed features and one looked at the world through white contact lenses.

            – Haven’t seen you in here before. I reckon I would’ve remembered.

            – Yeah, I suppose I do look a bit out of the ordinary. Come to that, I haven’t seen you before, either. I reckon I would have remembered.

 

Mylo was pumped for information about how he had lost his limbs and what the fuck were those things on his legs and how the fuck did his hooks work. He let them all inspect his stubbies and held out his hooks for everyone to look at and touch. The steel hooks and the steel artefacts of the punks complemented each other. One of the punks with steel eyebrows said he might enjoy having hooks for hands. Mylo recommended it. As the evening progressed, he drank two G&T’s, served in glasses he could handle himself. The punks invited him back at the same time the following week. They were always there on a Thursday night. It was one of the few places locally which would let them in. Mylo promised to return when he could get away from his care home. He made it a regular outing and the punks waited for the short guy with hooks to join them every Thursday. They always bought him a gin and tonic.

 

Zero allowed Limb to explore his leg stumps. They had moved to Zero’s bedroom and onto his wide bed. Limb first ran his cold hooks over the still muscular leg stumps and watched as Zero arched his back and strained his penis to its full potential.

            – Use your stumps!

Limb shed his arms and caressed the tips of Zero’s stumps with his own. He trailed along their length and grasped Zero’s penis between the tips of his arm stumps and kneaded it. Zero let an animal howl escape from his throat. He was close to orgasm but he controlled himself, waiting for further, more perfect stimulation. He grabbed limb’s stumps and ran them around his face, into his eye sockets and to his lips. Limb’s own erection was insistent and needed relief. Zero turned onto his belly.

            – Put your stumps around my neck and fuck me. Quickly!

 

Limb checked the condition of Zero’s anus. It was almost hairless and spread wide. He could see it twitching. He tried using his stumps to guide his tool but instead gripped Zero’s head with his truncated forearms. Zero screamed in ecstasy and his thigh stumps pounded against the bed. He was trying to wrap his legs around Limb’s to entrap him and hold him closer but he was legless. He screamed in frustration and flailed his stumps harder. Limb’s rhythmic fucking hit the prostate with every lunge and Zero allowed himself release. He collapsed under Limb and felt his body pumping semen for five seconds of exhilarated triumph. Limb continued fucking for a few seconds until he reached orgasm and fell against Zero’s back. They rolled apart and lay on the bed side by side. Zero’s sperm glistened on the sheet between them.

 

Limb rose and stepped into his underpants. He donned his hooks and asked Zero to move. He stripped the soiled sheet and left the room. He shortly returned with fresh bed linen, spread it over the futon and waited for Zero’s further instruction. Zero stared at him for several seconds and nodded. Limb collected his clothes and left the room.

 

Two days later, Limb was relaxing with the torsos and discussing the possibilities of creating a set of short and rather impractical arm prostheses for Edge. There was general agreement that Limb’s short arms were well horny. Stub also admired their appearance but would not be able to wear anything similar because of the length of his stumps. The siren alarm sounded. Limb pushed himself erect and went upstairs to open the garage door. Nub stood in the middle of the drive, beaming broadly. Limb stood for a moment looking at the one-legged man on crutches, his smile spreading his luxurious moustache even wider. He strode towards Nub and opened his arms to hug. Nub did likewise and the left crutch clattered to the ground. They embraced and kissed.

            – Come on. Let’s go in before the door shuts us out.

Limb crouched and leaned over to hook onto the crutch. Nub took it and they went into the dark interior of the house up to their room.

            – I’m so glad you’re back. How do you feel?

            – I feel grand. Never better.

            – How’s the stump?

            – You’ll see it in a minute. Patience!

Nub strode along behind Limb, the metal cleat on the sole of his boot echoing on the floorboards. Limb pushed their door open and kicked a few items out of the way. Nub leaned on the crutches and looked around.

            – I’ve been thinking about getting back here for three weeks.

He leant the crutches against the work desk, shook off the small back pack containing dirty laundry and took off his jacket. Limb held out a hook to take it.

            – Oh! You’ve got new arms. Are they shorter or am I imagining things?

            – Yup, they’re shorter. I’ve been wearing these now instead of my old ones. For one thing, I want to test the sockets to see if the printer does a decent job of them and second because I like them being so short. It looks good.

            – It looks horny. It makes you look even more disabled. You know, having to use artificial arms because you only have stumps but even the fake arms are mutilated. It looks fantastic.

            – Good. Are you going to show me your stump?

Nub had folded the hem of his right jeans leg under his belt. The leg ended where his knee had been. But the stump was somewhere inside, mysterious and exciting. How long was it? What shape was it? Nub balanced on his left foot as he undid his fly and loosened his belt.

            – Ready? Ta-daa!

He dropped his trousers to reveal a rounded stump halfway down his thigh. It was covered in a tight beige elastic shrinker, immobile, shocking and immediately desirable. Limb stared at it and reached out with a hook as if to touch it.

            – It’s beautiful.

            – I think so too. I have to wear the shrinker for at least another six weeks so we’ll have to take it a bit easy for a while but the doctor is pleased with it and said I can probably start using some kind of leg after that.

            – I’ll make you your peg leg and you’ll look amazing.

            – But I’ll be on crutches until then unless I can use your wheelchair.

            – Of course you can use it. Do you want it now?

            – Yeah, I think I’d like to sit. The crutches aren’t all that comfortable to use.

Limb left the room and fetched his wheelchair from the end of the hallway. Nub spun his body into it and grabbed the propulsion levers.

            – Shall we go and show the torsos? And we ought to let Zero know I’m back.

            – We can do that later. Let’s go downstairs.

Nub sat in the wheelchair dressed in a T-shirt, his jockstrap and a boot. Everyone would be able to inspect the latest stump except for Rage in his self-imposed blindness.

 

Nub received a hearty welcome but no applause. He rose from the wheelchair and sat in the cushioned arena in the middle of the floor where the torsos spent much of their time. The torsos with a modicum of mobility ground their arses against the floor to get a better view of the new stump. Everyone agreed it was a superb shape and congratulated Nub.

            – I don’t know how long I’ll have to wait but I want the other leg off as well. I want another stump the same length as this and I want to walk on stubbies. I can still take care of you men with hands and stubbies, right?

            – I would say so. Even with stubbies, you’re still going to be taller than the rest of us so there’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to change us. Just like up till now. You’ll just be doing it from our level.

            – I can hardly wait. The doctor said I’d have to wait for Zero’s approval and it wouldn’t happen this year anyway but I can look forward to the day when I have two identical leg stumps and shift to using a wheelchair full time. Or crutches and a peg leg. We’ll have to see.

            – A legless man with a peg and crutches. I like the sound of that. I wish I had kept a bit of stump.

            – Don’t think about it, Zeal. You have the most perfect torso stump of all of us. I don’t know why you would want anything to spoil its perfection like a stump.

Zeal looked down at the black leather coated carapace which covered his body up to his armpits and which prevented his almost completely armless torso from toppling. His arm nubs rotated in frustration.

            – Are you OK, Zeal? Do you want to change position? Do you want to lie down?

            – Turn me to face Rage, will you? I want to tell him about your stump.

Rage had heard the conversation with no problem but his hood had no eye openings. He lived as a blind man relying on hearing for his main sense. He could touch nothing. His two inch shoulder nubs were enclosed inside his torso socket by his own request. He might otherwise have been able to use some kind of arm prostheses. He understood the world through conversation with his peers and changes in temperature which he felt through his torso socket.

 

It was time to start the evening meal. Nub declared himself hungry and sat in his wheelchair. Limb helped Stub to balance on his stubbies and the trio went to the kitchen. It was Saturday night, liver and onions and mash. Everything needed cutting and slicing. It was one of the most difficult meals for Stub to make but he was a determined man and had long since learned to use his hooks to prepare food. He used them instead of the tools which other cooks needed. Flipping rashers of bacon in spitting oil needed a steady hand with a spatula from a normal cook. Stub used his hooks and did the job in half the time.

 

PROSTHESES

 

Nub gradually returned to assisting Limb with the housework. He used the wheelchair to move around the house but usually got out of it to work. He could hop easily enough when they were dealing with the torsos. Limb piled laundry on his lap and he wheeled off to the laundry. Limb found himself with a little more leisure time and began designing Stub’s artificial legs. His stumps were sufficiently long for stubbies but Limb suspected that he would not have enough power to operate full-length legs. But the man was willing to try and had already said he was prepared to use crutches or possibly long peg arms. Stub’s knee joints had already been delivered and paid for. One evening they sat together drawing the legs. Stub wanted to appear normal and asked Limb to give him muscular calves narrowing to standard ankles and featureless feet, borrowed from Zero’s previous design. Having drawn the right leg and positioned the knee joint, artificial intelligence connected them virtually and created all necessary joints and seams. The left leg was a mirror copy with the exception of the upper socket.

 

Nub’s stump was healed enough for him to have his first peg leg. He liked the appearance of Zero’s peg and his customised socket was easily substituted on the virtual model. Limb scanned Edge’s arm stumps and ordered a harness, cabling and a pair of light aluminium hooks for Edge’s experimental shorties. Edge wanted rigid arms with hooks which would extend as far as his natural elbows but which would not rotate or articulate in any way. He wanted the sockets to taper to perfect cylinders making it simple to attach the wrist mechanisms. Limb could not imagine what use the prostheses would be to Edge. Assumedly he had his own reasons.

 

With a few day’s worth of virtual models ready, Limb fired up his printer and set about producing the prosthetic components for his housemates. He checked the prints every few hours, repeating one or two which had failed by generating rough surfaces. He wanted his prosthetics to look good as well as being comfortable to wear. Nub’s peg leg was the first to emerge in four pieces. Limb called Nub to assemble them himself and his long slender peg shortly stood against the wall, drying overnight for maximum security. Stub’s long legs were next.

 

            – Good morning, handsome. How are you?

            – Itching to try the peg leg.

            – Wait until after breakfast. Do you want to put my arms on?

            – Sure.

They both rose from the futon and kissed. Nub balanced on his leg and held Limb’s arms while Limb rolled shrinkers onto his stumps. Nub held the harness up so Limb could slide his stumps into the sockets and helped the harness seat itself comfortably across his lover’s shoulders. Limb shrugged and shook his upper body to settle the prostheses and opened his hooks a couple of times to test them. He let Nub dress him in leather trousers, leather shirt, boots and officer’s cap and Nub dressed himself similarly. His leather jeans had had the lower right leg removed from the knee to accommodate his stump. Limb hooked his crutches to him and they went down to the dining room. Stub was busy frying eggs for Edge who liked two of them in half a baguette. Mylo usually fed him. He would shortly join them. Limb ate an omelette and rode his wheelchair downstairs to begin bringing the torsos for their breakfasts.

 

Nub had finished his second cup of coffee and was waiting for Limb to bring Edge, the last of the torsomen. Mylo was feeding them with his hooks between bites of his own ham and cheese baguette. Limb wheeled Edge into the room and helped him onto a chair. Stub said he could manage for now and Nub looked at Limb expectantly.

            – Now?

            – Let’s go.

Nub leapt into the wheelchair and powered himself to the lift. They went downstairs to the lab where Nub’s peg leg had been curing overnight. It should now be a solid unit, sturdy, strong and elegant. Nub scrabbled to release his belt and let his leather jeans slip down. He leaned against a tabletop and kicked them off his leg. Limb brought the peg leg over and held it ready to accept Nub’s stump for the very first time.

            – There’s a dot at the top of the socket which needs to be exactly at the front, see?

Nub gripped the peg and carefully pushed his stump deeper into the socket. It was a perfect fit, resting on his ischial bone, long, slim and elegant. Nub lifted it up.

            – It’s so light! I was expecting it to be heavy.

            – Try taking a couple of steps. You can lean on it. Put your weight on it. It won’t break.

Nub took a few halting steps, making sure he could trust the device. His stump felt very secure. The feeling of support was reassuring. He turned and stepped back toward Limb and hugged him.

            – Thank you. I feel great. Can you give me my jeans?

Limb picked them up off the floor and held them while Nub sat.

            – Lift your leg up so I can get this over your boot. And this goes over your peg. Pull your jeans up and you’re all set. Take a look in the mirror. That’s what you’re going to look like from now on.

            – Until the next time.

            – Yeah, obviously. How would you like it if we both had pegs?

            – Don’t know. I can’t say. Oh man, this looks so right. Just as I’ve always imagined. And it feels fantastic. I’m going to wear it all day.

            – Let’s go back upstairs and show the others.

Limb sat in the wheelchair and propelled himself back to the lift and Nub followed haltingly behind, finding his rhythm. Having a rigid peg from his buttocks to the rubber ferrule was perfection. He had an erection which felt harder than anything before.

 

            – Wow! Look at you! Congratulations, Nub! You look great.

            – Thanks folks!

            – Edge, I’ll be printing your arms this week but I have to get Stub’s legs done first.

            – OK. No rush. But hurry up! I can’t wait.

            – I know.

 

Limb and Nub left the room to start work on cleaning Zero’s rooms. The door was unlocked but Zero was not present. Nub set about changing the bed sheets while Limb dusted shelves and cleaned the surfaces of electronic equipment. It was soon done. Zero himself was conducting the London Symphonic Orchestra in a trial run for their farewell concert in Berlin’s Konzerthalle in early summer. Wagner was very much on the menu and Zero attempted to emphasize the more melodic elements of the works, away from the heavy militarized aspects which had brought the composer into disrepute through no fault of his own. He intended to provide an experience which would throw new light on the composer’s genius and rehabilitate him for the twenty-first century. With any luck, he might also cement his own reputation in the history of classical music before losing his upper limbs and becoming reliant on a pair of artificial arms and hooks hanging from his above-elbow stumps. The thought, never far from his mind, invigorated his fervour for the music and tightened his erection. He altered his stance slightly and persuaded the rim of his left prosthetic leg to push his penis into a more accommodating position.

 

The top halves of Stub’s new legs were ready. They were slightly shorter than his previous flesh versions to compensate for the knee mechanisms. The lower halves were shaped like those of a man who did not miss leg day at the gym but the feet were attached rigidly to the calves with no ankle movement possible. Stub wanted to rock the look of a well-built athletic man who walked like a double amputee. Limb was interested in watching his progress on two artificial legs because he knew Nub would sooner or later be in the same situation. Stub would be the guinea pig. His stumps were shorter than Nub’s single stump and he would need to expend more effort to balance and propel his legs. He intended to walk with crutches but Limb hoped his prostheses would also allow him to walk unaided if necessary. Limb topped up the container with more liquid plastic and started the prints for Stub’s shins.

 

He received a message from the bike dealership in Bedford. They had completed work on his bike and wanted to know whether he would collect it or whether they should deliver it to Dulwich. Limb looked at the price quoted and decided he would fetch it himself. Zero was home at nine in the evening and Limb requested a short audience.

            – My bike is ready and I need to collect it. Actually, they could deliver but I don’t want to pay their fee. It’s much more than when they collected it. So I was wondering if I could take the day off tomorrow and go up to Bedford.

            – How much are they asking?

            – Seven hundred.

            – That is a little steep. I have nothing against you travelling to Bedford. Will Nub be able to complete his duties tomorrow?

            – Yes, of course. He works as well as he ever did.

            – How does he get on with his peg?

            – Fine. As far as his work is concerned, there’s no difference.

            .. Good. Now, I want to warn you that I need you to travel with me in early summer and I will require you to dress appropriately. I want you to be measured for a suit, preferably dark grey, fitted for your longer arms. Do you understand?

            –Yes sir.

            – Go to a good tailor – actually, I will give you an address. Go there. Wear your longer arms. If the tailor asks you for a date, tell him within six weeks. Is that clear?

            – Yes sir, it is.

            – Good. You will be in leather when you are with me except for the short period when you will wear the suit. That is all.

            – Thank you, sir.

Limb returned to his room and packed a backpack with his claws and helmet. He ordered a railway ticket from Thameslink and imagined himself back on his Night Rod after so many months. Perhaps he could persuade Zero to take a longer trip with him, both outfitted in full leather, one man with no hands, the other with no legs. Both wearing and breathing the scent of leather hoods under their mirrored helmets, driving along highways to their next destination of frantic stump play and leather sex. What was the journey Zero had mentioned all about? Limb knew it was pointless to speculate. Zero’s plans were always enigmatic and mysterious.

 

It was an hour’s ride to Bedford and a twenty minute walk to the dealership. Limb was wearing full motorbike leathers and engineer boots with steel cleats fore and aft. He carried his helmet in the crook of his arm, the hook’s fingers pointing upward. He turned into the dealership’s forecourt and approached the showroom. A line of brand new bikes glittered under the lights to the right. Two salesmen, both in sleeveless T-shirts and covered with indistinct tattoos, stood together watching the customer. Both men had noticed the guy’s hooks. How the hell would he be able to ride with those? Limb tore his eyes away from the bikes and walked over to the counter.

            – Help you, mate?

            – Yeah, hi. I’m here to pick up my Night Rod after its conversion work. The name’s Byrne.

The men raised their eyebrows. They had both seen the low slung beauty in the workshop, the first of its kind they had encountered.

            – Can I see your ID, please?

Limb swung his helmet onto the counter and picked some papers out of his inside pocket. He straightened them out with both hooks, conscious that he had an interested audience and spun them around for inspection. He took out his wallet and extracted his driver’s licence. The name matched the face.

            – I’ll let the shop know you’re here.

One of the salesmen walked off. The other stood looking bemused.

            – Can I ask you a favour?

            – Sure. What?

            – I’d like you to take my hooks off and replace them with a pair of rubber claws so I can hold the bike’s handlebars. You think you can do that?

            – I guess.

Limb opened his satchel and took out the two rubber and steel claws which were far better adapted for holding onto a handlebar than his split hooks.

            – What I want you to do is take the cable off each hook, unscrew the hook from the socket and replace it with the other sort. Then you clip the cable back on. But I’m warning you – I have no control over how tight the hooks clamp shut so mind your fingers. Alright?

Limb lifted his left hook up and opened it.

            – Grab the top half and hold it open. Then unclip the silver cable, OK?

The salesman did as asked, surprised at the force needed to hold the hook open. The cable was free and he twisted the hook until it came off in his hands.

            – Thanks. Now screw that bit back in. You’ll have to pull the claw open yourself. I can’t do it until the cable’s back on it. Yeah, that’s the way.

Limb tested the claw. It opened wide and closed smoothly.

            – Now the other one.

It went quicker. The salesman looked at his handiwork as Limb picked up the split hooks and dropped them into his satchel. The broad black rubber claws somehow looked even more alien than the hooks. His colleague returned to the showroom and called Limb over.

            – Everything’s ready. Come and take a look and the shoppie will explain what he’s done.

 

The Night Rod had been professionally cleaned and repointed. It was spotless. Even the tyres looked new. The mechanic held out a hand to shake and Limb held up his right claw. The mechanic took it and held it for inspection.

            – Ah, you have a pair of Jaws. Great! You’re the second customer I’ve done this conversion for and the other guy gave me some pointers after he’d been riding for a couple of days so I made the changes he suggested and he hasn’t been back since so I guess he’s happy. I’ve done the same work on your bike so with any luck you won’t have any of the same problems.

            – Thanks very much.

            – Let’s go out the back and you can have a quick test ride before you sign off for the work, alright?

There was a short test track behind the workshop, about four hundred yards. The mechanic fired up the Night Rod and walked it outside.

            – It’s all yours.

He explained the alterations made to the throttle, clutch and brakes and the new positions for the indicators and horn. The alterations seemed to be what Limb had specified. He grasped his helmet between his claws and leaned forward to put it on his head. He mounted the bike and reached out to clamp his claws onto the handlebar. He moved his forearm down, rotating the claw and the bike revved. He tried the sensitivity of the brakes with his left claw. Both front and rear brakes were automatically applied simultaneously. It was the one major compromise but perfectly acceptable.

            – Stand back!

Limb activated the clutch and twisted the throttle. The bike moved away slowly and the stand retracted. Limb pointed the Night Rod towards the test track and sped up to thirty miles an hour. He tried the brakes and indicators and increased his speed again. Steering was effortless. He had enough range of motion in his low position to twist the controls by about sixty degrees. It was more than enough. His rigid forearms with the rubberised claws were suddenly capable of operating his stunning matte black beauty. He grinned with exhilaration and felt the wind on his face again. He made another circuit and rode back to where the two men stood watching.

            – Good to go. I’ll take her!

            – Great. Come back inside and we can sign the papers.

They went through the paperwork and Limb signed off on the work. He settled the invoice and was invited to get in touch if anything needed further adjustment. He mounted his Night Rod and powered down the motorway back to town. He discovered the sensation of feeling physically part of the bike. Vibration from the bike resonated in his stumps and he loved it.

 

Zero summoned him later.

            – You got your Night Rod back? Are you satisfied with it?

            – Yes sir. It rides very well. The alterations are better than I expected but I think I’ll need to wear these claws when I’m riding. I don’t think hooks would provide as much grip.

Zero was interested because of his intention of riding with prosthetic arms of his own before summer was out. He was in two minds about having his trusty old bike converted or buying a brand new model with the conversions already in place. It could be customised during manufacture at the factory.

            – Good. I’m pleased to hear it. I want to take a look at your bike a bit later. Perhaps we could go for a ride tomorrow. There’s one other thing. I mentioned that you would be travelling with me later in the year. You will need a passport. Do you have one?

            – No sir.

            – Get one before June.

He stared at Limb, expressionless in his leather hood. Limb nodded once and left.

 

The four components of Stub’s lower legs were ready. Limb asked Nub to lend him a hand again to assemble them. Nub worked carefully and placed the thigh sockets and the lower legs to one side to cure overnight. If there was time the next morning, the knee mechanisms could be added and the legs would be ready for fitting after lunch. The next project was a couple of upper arm sockets with hook terminals for Edge. He had ordered the hooks he wanted in addition to the harness and other components. The cables would need shortening. Limb hoped Nub would be able to do it. Otherwise they would have to resort to taking the things to a professional prosthetist. Edge’s sockets would also be ready by the end of the next day and Limb began to wonder what else he could print. He decided to scan one of his hooks to experiment with different shapes. It would be interesting to see if the resulting printed hook was sturdy enough to take the usual amount of punishment.

 

Next morning, Limb checked on the print of Edge’s first arm socket and started the second. Stub’s thigh sockets had dried overnight and gleamed on the workbench. They would have to wait until the chores were done. Limb returned to his wheelchair and powered himself downstairs to the torsoroom to begin the daily ritual of bathing the men and tending to their stumps. Today was the day when everyone got a haircut too. Their hair was kept to a stubble, as were their beards. Zero preferred them that way. By mid-morning, everyone was freshly dressed in clean clothing and wearing either armless black leather jackets or sockets and waistcoats. Limb made sure everyone was positioned as they preferred to sit and that their hoods were as tight as he could manage with his hooks. He had said nothing to Edge about his unique artificial arms yet. Limb had imagined himself with short arm stumps like Edge’s when he spread moisturiser onto them. He would have to relearn how to use artificial arms, long articulated things with two sets of cables and mechanical hinged elbows with much less potential to function efficiently compared with his current set of hooks. In spite of that, long arm prostheses still held their fascination for him. Perhaps one day… but for the time being he was satisfied with keeping his elbows. He left the men to their limbless leisure and joined Stub in the kitchen.

 

            – When we get cleared up here, you can come down to the lab and try your new legs. Nub will have to fit the knee joints first but you can try out the sockets.

            – Oh!  I didn’t realise you were so far along with them. Great!

            – Yeah. It’ll probably take a couple of hours to get them adjusted properly but you’ll be able to wear a pair of long legs again tonight. Have you got any shoes?

            – No. I got rid of all my shoes and boots after I got my stumps.

            –OK. I can lend you a pair of trainers until you buy some.

 

They worked in tandem on the preparations for lunch, two young men both wielding hooks, one on stubbies, the other on flesh legs. Limb thought a lot about his legs lately. He looked at his housemates with their variety of stumps ranging from nothing to nubs and both short and long stumps. No-one had below knee stumps. Limb tried to imagine himself riding the Night Rod with two short prosthetic legs. Maybe that was the way forward. Start short and work up. Long thigh stumps pumping artificial legs at first, then new short stumps kicking a pair of stubbies along. He’d never ride after that but amputation was its own reward. There were other things for an almost legless man to interest himself in especially when paired with a printer which could produce new prosthetic devices overnight.

 

Nub was finished with his chores and sat back in his chair after lunch with his hands behind his head watching Limb and Stub cleaning the kitchen and filling the dishwasher. His peg leg jutted out in their general direction. He was intensely proud of owning such a device and was trying to reason a way to persuade Zero to allow him his second amputation so he could struggle around on two peg legs. He could use a walking stick to help him balance when he was merely standing. What would it be like to live a life restricted not only by leglessness but also by unforgiving rigid peg legs, primitive artificial replacements of the flesh and blood legs he had once used with such unthinking ease? Trying to walk any distance on two pegs would be a challenge, a disturbing struggle by a tragically crippled man trying to deal with his misfortune. Strutting along, leaning on crutches, peg legs twitching aimlessly and providing meagre support for the next lunge of the crutches. No indication that the figure had willed his own disability for the intense pleasure of having perfect stumps instead of legs. Nub imagined himself as a man of Zero’s age, mid-life, always in good black leather, peg legs extending from leather shorts, lurching along, leaning on thick wooden crutches for progress.

            – Finished! Come on, Nub. We need your fingers downstairs.

 

Stub sat on a chair and removed his stubbies. Limb handed him his new sockets and asked him to gently lower himself to the floor so his stumps would sink in as far as possible. There should be no tension on the ends of his stumps. Stub shot his right hook into the air, signalling that everything was fine. Nub continued screwing the knee mechanisms into the lower legs and held them out for the others’ approval.

            – Put my trainers on the feet, will you? Then Stub can stand up. OK. Now it will probably be easier if you take the sockets off, Stub, and Nub can get them on the legs.

Stub made an attempt with his hooks but they simply slid across the smooth surface of the thigh sockets. Nub saw the problem and gently removed them. Stub wiggled his stumps, feeling the weightless freedom of leglessness and the embrace of prosthetic liners. He leaned forward to watch what Nub was doing.

 

His legs were ready. Nub stood and stretched his peg out to the side to lower his body. He pushed the left prosthesis onto Stub’s stump and then the right.

            – I’ll help you stand. Try to work your stumps down as far as you can. That’s right, isn’t it?

            – Yeah. Keep standing and we’ll straighten the legs up.

Limb had enough knowledge of fitting prosthetic legs and the importance of aligning them but he did not have laser measurement equipment. Instead he would rely on what the amputee felt like and Nub’s own skill with Allen keys. In fact, it mattered little whether Stub’s new legs were aligned to the last millimetre. He wanted to stand tall on them, not walk any great distance. Limb asked him to kick his stumps in order to swing his knees and after careful inspection and a couple of adjustments by Nub, pronounced them as good as they would get that evening and invited Stub to stand on them and try balancing. Nub helped Stub rise to his new feet. Stub tried to maintain his balance by flailing his hooks. Laughing at his incompetence, he fell back onto the chair and used his hooks to straighten his thighs.

            – Let’s try again. I know what I was doing wrong.

Nub lifted Stub by the armpits until he felt Stub balance on the plastic feet. Stub leaned forward very slightly and found his new centre of gravity. Slowly he lowered his arm prostheses and stood, beaming at Limb and Nub. He lifted one leg and fell back onto the chair.

            – Shit! I can see this is going to need a bit more practise.

There were no bars in Limb’s lab for a leg amputee to hold onto.

            – Would it help if you had some crutches? Nub, do you know where they are?

            – In the garage, I think. Hang on and I’ll fetch them.

He brought them and handed them to Limb. Stub was ready for a new attempt. Nub helped him up and Limb passed him one crutch at a time. Stub gripped the crutches as best he could with his hooks and tried lifting one of his legs again. It swung forward a few inches and Stub moved the crutches. The opposite leg moved.

            – Do the knees feel secure? They won’t bend until you hit a certain angle so you can put your weight on the legs.

            – It feels fine. It’s great to be standing as tall as you are.

            – Stub, I think we’re going to have to make some additions in here before you can practise walking. We need some parallel bars for gait training. You can keep the legs on but I think it would be better if you don’t try using them just yet. At least until we find a place where you can hold on to something.

            – Oh, OK. Can I use your wheelchair?

            – Yeah, go ahead.

Limb got out of his chair, rolled it behind Stub and held it steady.

            – Ready.

Stub collapsed onto the seat and handed the crutches back. He lifted his unfeeling feet onto the footplates and slotted his hooks onto the wheelchair’s levers. He pushed himself around to face the door. Limb took the crutches, Nub the stubbies and the three of them went to Stub’s room.

            – You can manage now, can’t you? You don’t need help with your stubbies.

            – No, I’ll be fine. Thanks, you two.

            – I’ll give my prosthetist a call in the morning and ask him if you can visit him to practise walking. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if he doesn’t have a patient there.

 

Limb changed his mind about calling. After lunch, Nub changed Limb’s hooks for claws and swapped his hood for his motorcycle helmet. Limb visited John Ford in person. He had no appointment but asked at reception if Ford could spare a couple of minutes.

            – Kyle! Good to see you. Ah! You’re wearing your Jaws.

            – Yeah, I’m on my bike so these are better than Fives. Better grip.

            – You’ve had your bike converted? That must have cost a pretty penny.

            – It wasn’t too bad. It means I’ll have trouble selling the bike now but on the plus side, it’s pretty much theft-proof. But I have something to ask you. One of my housemates has a new pair of AK legs and needs to practise walking with them but we don’t have parallel bars so I was wondering if he could come here instead.

            – I see. I dare say we could work something out. Where did he get his legs from?

            – I made them. The knee joints came from here.

            – Really? In that case, I’m very interested to see what you’ve come up with. Come into my lab and we can check some dates.

They walked along to Ford’s familiar workroom.

            – Do you know where we could buy our own parallel bars? Who sells them?

            – We get ours from a central supplier who’s under government contract. If you need a set, send me the measurements and I’ll place an order.

            – Thanks a lot, John.

Ford looked at his calendar and compared it with his own diary.

            – It looks like your friend could come in for an hour every morning for the next few weeks. Half eight to half nine is free.

            – I’m sure that’s OK. I’ll tell him. Is tomorrow morning OK?

            – Yes, tell him to check in at reception and I’ll come and collect him. What’s his name, by the way?

            – We know him as Stub. Stub King.

            – Right. Well, I look forward to meeting him tomorrow. How are you managing, Kyle?

            – Fine thanks. I have a friend with hands who helps with things I can’t do and I’m used to the idea of being disabled so I don’t worry about it. I reckon I know my hooks well enough by now to know what they can and can’t be expected to do.

            – You have a good attitude. How do you like those claws?

            – They’re great for the bike and holding a beer—not at the same time, though. Otherwise I prefer the Fives. They seem more useful.

            – Yeah, they’re a time-tested design. Do you only have the two pairs?

            – For the time being, yeah. I’ve been looking at designs of old-fashioned hooks and things and sort of trying to work out if they’d be useful somehow.

            – Oh, yes. You have a printer.

            – Yeah. It’s fun designing stuff and then having the real thing the next day. I’m working on a hook at the moment. I want to test how strong it is compared with a steel hook.

            – Sounds like you have your work cut out. OK, Kyle. I need to get back to work. Send Stub along in the morning and I’ll see if I can spare a few minutes with him.

            – Thanks, John. See you.

Ford watched Limb mount his bike, settle his helmet and grip the handlebars with his claws. The bike burst into life and chugged slowly out to the street where it disappeared with a throaty roar.

 

Nub offered to change Limb’s claws for hooks but Limb wanted to keep them on. He would need them again the next day and so he decided to use the claws for his housekeeping work. He had an appointment in town with his tailor the next day. He arranged to take over breakfast duties from Stub the next morning.

 

Edge’s short above-elbow arms were cured. They were as robust as they could be. Nub had spent a frustrating hour shortening the control cables with pliers but the job was finally done. Nub took the arms downstairs when he checked on the torsos. Edge was already asleep in a corner of the futon so Nub quietly placed the new prostheses near his head.

 

Stub donned his new long artificial legs and dressed in a pair of leather shorts, T-shirt and leather motorcycle jacket. He ate an early breakfast and left things out for Limb. He ordered a taxi and waited as the torsomen gradually gathered in the kitchen. His car arrived shortly after eight and Stub used his crutches as best he could to navigate the short distance from the garage door to the street. His hooks were next to useless for gripping the crossbars on his crutches. Limb had suggested he acquire a pair of claws if he intended walking with crutches long term which was a subject he intended raising with John Ford.

 

Limb rode into the town centre that afternoon. His tailor noted his customer’s disability and queried whether the gentleman had been referred by a Mr Hook. Limb agreed that he had. The tailor explained that Hook had advised what kind of suit was required and that he had selected a few alternative cuts and some appropriate cloths. Limb knew next to nothing about gentlemen’s apparel and was content to take the tailor’s advice. His handicap would be taken into account and his suit would have velcro closures rather than buttons, although buttons would be included for decorative purposes. After a pleasurable hour or two, Limb had decided on a double breasted three piece suit in a dark grey worsted which should let him dress with hooks. The tailor also recommended a certain shirt and a bow tie. Since Zero would be paying the bill, Limb accepted the suggestion. He should also buy a pair of black dress shoes. Motorcycle boots were not acceptable footwear with a suit.

 

Ford spent half an hour with Stub appraising his prostheses. Their smooth black surface was spectacular. Limb and Nub had done an adequate job of alignment. Apart from the fact that the ankles and feet were immovable extensions to the lower legs and were therefore not adjustable, he thought that Stub ought to manage well enough with practice. He advised Stub on the optimum way to kick his stumps and left him to walk along the parallel bars, hooks chattering against the metal. Stub improved his gait when he spread his legs and leaned forward slightly. The knee mechanisms held firm. There was no risk of them collapsing due to a misstep. Stub was extremely content to be a double leg amputee. He admired his short firm stumps and loved the way his leglessness was intensified by his difficulty in using his artificial arms to walk on his backside. Suddenly he was standing tall again. He faced several new challenges posed by the prostheses but they were trivial compared to the joy of operating handsome new legs with his stumps. He could sense their brevity inside the sockets and savoured every step.

 

Edge was having the time of his life with his shocking artificial arms. They had a small range of motion but could point to each side, forwards and down. Edge was learning how to move his shoulders to operate the hooks. He rocked around the torsoroom on his minuscule stubbies looking for something practical to turn his hooks to.

 

Limb visited a photographer for his passport photos. The images were sent immediately to the passport office as digital files to await his on-line application. After Limb had left the shop, the photographer rewound the CCTV surveillance recording to watch Limb using his claws. He made a three minutes and twenty seconds long copy and emailed the file to himself. He felt weak-kneed at the prospect of re-watching the tall handless leatherman.

 

Zero worked on revisions to his score. Wagner’s pomp eroded until its crescendo felt joyous rather than nationalistic. Zero was immensely satisfied at achieving one of his life-long ambitions, to rehabilitate a disgraced maestro of modern classical music. Zero conducted the orchestra daily until he was satisfied that they understood his interpretation. The next week was consumed by preparations for the visit to Berlin, Munich and Vienna. Four articulated trucks made their way to the Hook of Holland and onward to Berlin. They would have four days to prepare before Zero’s personal crescendo.

 

FORZA ULTIMA

 

Stub was walking again. Ford found time every morning to spend a few minutes evaluating the man’s gait and gave him professional advice on how to improve. After a week, Stub left his crutches at home and dared to trust his artificial legs. Limb was very proud of his prowess and Stub unwittingly provided impetus for Limb’s own future. He wanted to extend his disability to reflect that of Stub. Prosthetic legs with hooks. If Stub could do it, so could Limb.

 

The great day arrived. It began like any other. Limb and Nub assisted their limbless housemates in the bathroom and dressed them in their leatherwear. After breakfast, they were settled in their room and their hoods tightened over their faces. Limb had packed a suitcase containing his suit, shirts, shoes and claws. Zero had told him to pack for a week. He threw in a change of underwear and a new pack of three white T-shirts. If he needed anything more, he could buy it abroad. At three o’clock, the two leathermen boarded a train bound for Amsterdam. The following morning, they would continue to Berlin.

 

Zero revealed to his housekeeper where and why they were going.

            – Do you know who I am? What I do for a living?

            – I know you as Zero Hook. I know Zero is not your real name.

            – No, but Hook is. I am Sigmund Hook. I see you don’t recognise the name. No matter. I am a musician. I compose music and I also conduct an orchestra. I have a somewhat large fan base, so to speak. We are going to Berlin together because I want you to know who I am. I chose you because I want you to understand.

            – Understand what?

            – Understand that whatever follows, this is the end of my current life. When we return, I am going to join you. My arms will be amputated and I want you to make me my prosthetic limbs. Are you up for it?

            – Yes, of course.

            – Good. I also have another suggestion for you. I have been following you closely over the past two years. Of all the housekeepers I have had, you are the one I want to spend the rest of my days with. I want you to be with me after my amputations. I want you to have leg stumps and to live with me. Two limbless men sharing our home.

            – But I’m not limbless.

            – No, but you want to be. Don’t be surprised. I know very well that you would like to be a DAK. I even know what kind of stumps you want.

            – How can you know that?

            – It is impossible to live together without such things becoming common knowledge. Don’t fret, Limb. I fully approve. In fact, I’ve already made some tentative arrangements. When we return from Berlin, we’ll go to have our double amputations together. I’ll lose my arms and you will lose your legs. We’ll have identical stumps. I hope and believe that Nub will continue to act as our housekeeper. You’ll be able to see your lover every day and I’ll have you every night. So now you understand a little better. This is what I have envisaged for us.

 

He stared at Limb in his uniquely insistent way. There seemed to be no possibility of discussion. It was perfectly true that Limb wanted leg stumps but he had not imagined amputations so soon. It was only a matter of a few weeks. And he had thought he would be sharing his life with Nub, not Zero, although if Zero was being honest, Nub could be with him every day. Did he know? What did Nub have to say about it? The train sped through the dark Belgian countryside and Limb looked at his confused reflection in the window.

 

Nub and Stub got on famously. One handless man on two artificial legs, the other with a peg leg. They worked together feeding the household, cleaning both the torsos and the house, getting to know each other better. Nub invited Stub to spend some time with him in their room after lunch when the place was shipshape. They lay together on the futon and shed their artificial legs. Stub was fascinated by the length of Nub’s stump and ran a cold steel hook along it. His own stumps were only half as long.

            – What’s it like to have so much stump? Do you feel like you still have a leg there?

            – Sometimes. I still have phantoms but not very often. Otherwise I tell myself that I have only one leg and my brain stops playing around. How about you?

            – I went through something similar. But I did exercises to confirm my amputations.

            – What does that mean? What did you do?

            – I could see my stumps but my brain couldn’t, so I had to train it to accept that my legs were missing. I used to massage the ends of my stumps so that my brain learned that that’s where my legs ended. And after a while, it seemed to work. I very rarely get phantom pain these days and I feel that my stumps are my legs now, without shins or feet.

            – That’s great. Your stumps look really good. They’re a very good shape.

Nub and Stub made love to each other. They explored each others stumps and caressed the other’s skin with them. Afternoon turned to night and Stub, limbless with his prostheses strew across the floor and toothless without his dentures, stayed with Nub. He held his handsome moustachioed face between his arm stumps as they cock-fought and Nub teased Stub’s genitals with his long muscular stump.

 

Zero and Limb overnighted in Amsterdam before continuing to Berlin. Zero made a display of his leg stumps for Limb.

            – I want you to have stumps like these. I want to lay beside you and feel your stumps against mine. I want you limbless, with me and beside me. Can you understand?

            – Yes. I think so. Zero, are you in love with me?

            – I love you more than anyone else who I thought I loved. All the torsos. I thought each one of them could be my lover but none of them satisfied me. Now they live with me, reminders of what could have been. I live with them but there is no love.

            – So why do you want me? How do I know I won’t end up with the torsos when you are tired of me?

            – Ha! I could never tire of you. You are by far the most intelligent. You look at me as an equal. You are not but I admire your self-confidence and the way you adapted to being an amputee. The way you use your hooks is admirable and sexually provocative. I want to emulate you. I have never had a lover whom I wish to emulate.

            – So you want me to stay with you? Always?

            – Yes. I have given this a great deal of thought. Two quads together, ruling the roost. Now that you can make us all the prosthetic limbs we could ever need, there is no limit to what we can achieve as two limbless men.

It sounded like desperation to Limb. His benefactor was almost begging him to accept a position as permanent live-in lover, served by the friend he would have to betray.

 

Nub fitted Stub’s legs while he shrugged his hooks on. Nub pushed his stump into his peg and helped Stub onto his feet. They kissed and left together to start breakfast and tending to the torsomen.

 

An hour later, Limb and Zero were preparing for their day. Zero would be away all day going through last-minute arrangements with the orchestra for the following evening’s concert. Limb had the day to himself. He wanted to walk around Kreuzberg and maybe have a beer or two in a gay bar. Zero left shortly after breakfast and Limb went downstairs to chat to the receptionist about what there was to do and see in town. He bought a day pass for the local public transport and left the hotel for the nearest U-bahn station, a handsome leatherman swinging a pair of hooks. He went into the town centre and walked along Kurfürstendamm. He spotted a tobacconist and noticed that it stocked the large cigars he favoured. He bought a dozen. Next he rode on the overground S-bahn out to the Olympic stadium and walked around for a while. The place was lifeless and depressingly ugly and he was getting hungry. He caught a train back to the centre and continued underground to Kreuzberg, which looked like it had seen better days but felt more welcoming. He found a restaurant and ordered schnitzel and chips. He held his hooks up and asked if the schnitzel could be cut into pieces. It could and Limb ate his lunch using his hooks instead of cutlery.

 

He explored the neighbourhood, a little bewildered that such a suburban place had such a reputation. Perhaps it came to life during the evenings. There was no sign of it in the early afternoon. Not sure what to expect but disappointed all the same, he caught an U-bahn to Alexanderplatz and wandered around the square. He saw a bar with a broad front window and a view of the square and entered. He bought a lager and sat down to watch the world go by. He was preoccupied with his possible future with Zero. The man clearly intended that they should both be quadruple amputees. Limb had imagined himself legless many times before but always with double below knee amputations. He would still be able to ride his bike with prosthetic legs in that case. Zero had insinuated that he should have thigh stumps. Nub’s stump was the sort of thing he might agree to. It was good-looking and powerful enough to cope with the rigours of wearing an artificial leg. And Zero looked attractive with his own pair, especially when he wore a peg leg. Limb realised that wearing two above knee fake legs was something he could come to terms with. In fact, it was actually desirable. Zero managed to operate his bike well enough with his artificial legs. Limb would do the same. The most surprising thing was the timetable. Zero had mentioned that their amputations would take place soon after they returned home. He looked down at his leather-clad legs and imagined them being thick black glossy plastic limbs which he had designed and made himself. Yes, he would go through with it. He would be a quad in a few weeks in a new life beside a legless and armless Zero.

 

Limb drank another beer and returned to the hotel. He shook his hooks off and snoozed until Zero arrived.

            – Have you been out?

            – Yeah. I went downtown and looked around. Had a couple of beers and came back here. Oh and I managed to get some cigars.

            – OK. If you want, I’ll take you out this evening. Do you want pizza and a gay club or a good meal in a Michelin-starred restaurant?

 

They dined in style. Both wore formal clothes. Limb alternated between using a spoon and his hooks. Zero watched him closely. Apart from his deviant table manners, completely understandable under the circumstances, Limb behaved as to the manner born. He watched his host and took his cues from Zero. It was a thoroughly enjoyable meal, rounded out with cognac and cigars, but not Limb’s oversized versions. Zero enjoyed seeing Limb holding his cigar with a hook and felt impatient regarding his own prosthetic arms. Seven days hence, both double amputees would become quadruple amputees.

 

Nub asked Edge over dinner how he had coped with his new arms during the day.

            – OK, I suppose. I can use the hooks with a phone, you know, scroll the screen. And I could pull Rage’s hood tighter when he complained it was loose.

            – So you could actually use them for something useful? That’s good. How do they feel? Are they comfortable to wear?

            – They’re fine.

            – It’s a pity you can’t feed yourself with them. Do you want to wear them the rest of the evening?

            – Yes, if that’s alright. I’ll take them off at bedtime.

It was a euphemism. Someone, probably Nub, would remove them for him and then undress him and remove his false teeth for the night.

 

Zero handed a long white envelope to Limb at breakfast the next morning.

            – This is your ticket for this evening. The concert starts at eight so be there by half seven. Wear your suit. If you need help dressing, call for room service. You know where the Konzerthalle is, I assume? Well, you have all day to find out. Don’t drink too much before the concert starts. It’s a long session and leaving during the performance is extremely bad form. Do you understand?

            – Yes, of course.

            – Good. You have a seat in the front row which is traditionally reserved for the disabled. I think you qualify. You can wear hooks or your claws, whichever you think matches your appearance better.

            – I’ll wear the hooks.

            – Very well. Make sure you turn your phone off beforehand. I’ll be watching for you. I’ll be very close by. You’ll have a grand view of me and the orchestra. Something other people would give an arm and a leg for. Haha!

Limb looked at Zero in amazement to see if the man was drunk. It was the first joke he had ever cracked.

            – Otherwise, make yourself comfortable and enjoy the music. I anticipate it being an interesting evening. People are going to be surprised and you may enjoy seeing and hearing their reactions.

            – Why? What are you going to do?

            – Wait and find out. Don’t look like that. It’s nothing undignified.

Zero aimed his stare at Limb as so often before but this time he was smiling.

 

Stub and Nub had spent another night together. It was less frenzied than the previous night. Nub was fascinated by Stub’s short below elbow stumps. They were much shorter than Limb’s who still had recognizable forearms. Stub’s prostheses were adapted to take the lack of muscle control into account. The elbows were hinged and lockable. Nub had not noticed before and was shocked that his friend was considerably more disabled than he had realised. Stub’s arm stumps were two inch long rounded nubs below his elbows and did not resemble forearms in any way. Nub had fallen asleep with an arm around Stub, feeling the leg stumps settling against his groin.

 

Zero disappeared after breakfast. He was wearing his leathers and rocked along in the distinctive manner of a double leg amputee. Limb watched him step into a black limousine and sat back with a copy of What’s On, trying to think of a non-tiring way to spend the day. He shrugged his leather jacket on and wandered along to the U-bahn, simply hoping for inspiration on the way somewhere. He found an exhibition of kinetic art and paid a few euros to enter. Some of the works were motorised, others relied on mere breaths of air current to move and rearrange themselves. Limb realised that his printer could easily reproduce something similar and decided to look deeper into the subject. He bought an expensive copy of a book detailing the exhibition’s works hoping to find inspiration. After he left the museum, he strolled as far as the huge glass-domed central railway station and went inside for coffee. An armless beggar outside the entrance called out to him and Limb spread his arms out. The beggar sniggered.

 

Zero was holding interviews with the press from several countries. He revealed the shocking news that this would be his very last performance. He would be retiring for health reasons, which he refused to specify. He was also close-lipped about the evening’s concert, stating merely that he had repurposed the great composer’s epos. After an hour of intrigue and bafflement, he begged his leave and went to his private room in the Konzerthalle for further discussion and confirmation of his personal requirements for the evening with the venue’s organisers. He was unexpectedly visited by his German leather colleague, his co-conspirator who had succeeded in organising the event. His friend, who already wore one artificial leg, confided that he had arranged for an additional amputation and intended to use a wheelchair as a legless leatherman. Zero was impressed that his own preference for limbless men had had such a profound influence. He had personally encouraged the German’s interest in stumps and artificial limbs a decade ago. Zero removed his leather trousers and his prostheses to allow his friend to touch and appraise his elegant stumps. Zero admitted that his greatest fetish was for prosthetic arms and that his lover was a double arm amputee who used hooks and was soon to use two prothetic legs. His colleague was suitably impressed and soon left, assuring Zero that he would be present that evening in the disabled area at the front of the auditorium.

 

Limb sat in a café with a cup of coffee and a pastry watching a never-ending succession of colourful trains arriving and departing. A voice spoke to him in German and he glanced around. A long-haired man in a black hoodie was indicating the empty chair opposite Limb with a hook.

            – Bitte.

The man nodded his thanks and sat. He was carrying his coffee in another hook and busied himself with opening a sachet of sugar. Limb watched in astonishment. He was sure the man had not sought him out because they shared something in common. His hooks had been in his lap. The sugar was in his coffee and the newcomer swirled the cup. Limb watched him raise it to his mouth and sip. The man lowered the cup and glanced at Limb with a brief smile. Limb raised his arms and rested his hooks on the table.

            – O mei’ Gott! Du auch! ‘Ch wisst nich’!

            – I’m sorry. I don’t speak German.

            – Ah, I mean I did not know you are amputiert also. Hello! My name is Rudi Schwarz. Are you a visitor in Berlin?

            – Yes. I am here for the Wagner concert tonight at the Concert Hall.

            – Oh, that is wonderful. It was in the newspaper that Sigmund Hook will make his new work tonight. But you also have the hooks. It is so strange to meet another man with the hooks.

            – Yes. You are the first man I have met in public with hooks. There are not many of us.

            – You are correct. It is a very big strange thing. I am very happy to meet you. What is your name?

            – Limb Steel. No! You can call me Kyle. That is my real name. Kyle.

Rudi lifted his right hook to shake and Limb took it. They shook hooks over their coffees.

            – What do you do by profession?

Limb thought for a few moments.

            – I am a caretaker. I take care of other invalids.

            – Oh, that is very good. I am a translator. I work setting Polish into German. So I am not so good with English.

            – I understand you very well. Ich spreche nur ein wenig deutsch.

            – Oh but you speak it very beautifully. Like someone from Bremen. In Berlin we have a bad accent. The other Germans laugh at us and make jokes.

            – It’s like in London. People hate the London accent.

            – I did not know that. How interesting. Perhaps people are just, you know, angry at the people who live in the capital city.

            – No, I don’t think so. The London accent really is horrible.

            – Ha! Also for Berlin! Say, what are you doing for today? Have you a programme to visit?

            – No. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what there is to see.

            – Oh, so I think if you want I can take you for a tour of Berlin. I know the town well so if you want to go together, two men with Hakenprotesen, let me show you Berlin.

            – Yes. Thank you, Rudi. Let’s go when you are ready.

 

Rudi and Limb set out together away from the direction Limb had arrived from. Rudi put a prosthetic arm across Limb’s back and guided him towards the Reichstag and the modern white marble buildings of the German government. They walked through the park until they spotted the Oyster, the Konzerthalle to which Limb would return later. They bypassed it and walked along a broad avenue towards the infamous archway topped by the Quadriga, the four horses pulling a chariot. They walked through it and onto Unter den Linden.

            – Now we are in the old East Berlin. But you see the old buildings here are like the ones before the bombs. In west Berlin they make new houses. In the east, they make the old ones again.

            – Yes, I understand. Actually, I think they did the same in London. In the town centre, they rebuilt the old buildings but in the east, they just made new stuff. That’s where the poor people lived.

            – It’s strange how much the same we are. Let us go here. I will show you Checkpoint Charlie. It is where world war three was to start seventy years ago. Stupid Russians were still here. They always make things bad for everyone.

Recent events confirmed Rudi’s words. Wherever Russia spread its influence, people suffered.

 

Limb thanked his new friend for his companionship and excellent tour of the capital city. They exchanged contact details and both promised to stay in touch. Outside the Potsdamerplatz U-bahn, they hugged and said farewell before Limb disappeared down into the station and back to the hotel to prepare for the already notorious concert.

 

There was enough time for a snooze before he had to leave. It was five o’clock. He could sleep for two hours and set his phone’s alarm. He felt drowsy after walking several kilometres but on second thoughts, perhaps it was better to stay awake. Limb slowly disrobed, washed his face and began the process of dressing himself in the dress shirt, bow tie and double-breasted suit which he had acquired specifically for this evening. He managed everything except for the two topmost buttons of his shirt. He would ask the blond guy in reception to help him on his way out. He glanced at himself in the mirror before leaving his room and laughed at the image he projected. He thought he looked like a businessman about to close on a deal with a bank manager. Only his steel hooks hinted at the real Kyle, the real Limb. He pulled the door shut and went to the lobby to perfect his attire and order a taxi.

 

The taxi left him outside the Konzerthalle and he walked carefully up the annoyingly shallow steps to the main entrance. The illuminated fountain had been cleaned and serviced for the occasion and, thanks to the windless evening, did not spray wet fog onto arriving guests. Limb stood at the top outside the entrance and tried to see what he should do next. He had his ticket in his trouser pocket where he could reasonably easily grip it with a hook. He followed a couple inside, the woman wearing a white fox stole, her companion orange with fake tan. He offered his ticket.

            – Ein Moment, bitte. Please wait, sir.

The security guard raised a finger to a woman dressed in a glittering skin-tight dress. She approached on a pair of stiletto-heeled shoes so extreme that Limb thought she must be wearing prosthetic legs.

            – Good evening, Mr Steel. Please come with me. We have everything arranged for you.

She strode purposefully across the broad lobby, glancing to see that the young man was following. How lucky the maestro was to have such a handsome and tragically disabled young companion. She opened the door to the green room, where a throng of important people stood around with cocktails.

            – Please help yourself to food and drink, sir. Welcome.

 

Limb stood by the door and looked around. Groups of people, dressed very much like himself, chatted amongst themselves. Suddenly, a young man about his own age appeared and welcomed him.

            – Do come with me, sir. Please help yourself to the buffet and the bar. Are you expecting anyone?

            – No, I’m not. I’m just here by myself. I don’t really know what to do.

            – Please relax. You are welcome. What would you like to drink?

            – Ah, a gin and tonic, please.

            – Good! Come with me.

Limb was served with a G&T. It was one of the drinks which he knew would be served in a straight glass which he knew he could grasp in his hooks. He was led toward the buffet which held a spectacular selection of seafood and salad, as well as a variety of sturdy sausages and potato salad.

            – I would really like to taste some of those shrimp but as you see, I am disabled.

            – What would you like with the shrimp?

The young man looked at Limb and smiled.

            – You can have anything you like. If you would like me to stay with you to help you, I will. Please choose.

 

Limb felt like crying with gratitude. For the first time in his life, he was being treated like royalty or the elite. His disability had been taken into account but ignored and he had an attentive handsome young man whose only purpose in life seemed to be making sure he felt himself welcome. The pair walked steadily around the buffet and the attendant arranged a plate of scallops, cockles and squid with yellow peppers and a spoonful of guacamole. As with all disabled guests, the attendant stood by, neutral and unobtrusive. If their ward, the guest, asked for any assistance, they could tackle everything from opening a small tub of honey to prising open an oyster. He discretely watched Limb devouring the shrimp with his hooks, followed by globs of potato salad wrapped in lettuce. Englishmen were satisfied with so little. Limb picked up a serviette with both hooks and wiped it across his mouth.

            – Thank you. I don’t know your name but you have been very kind.

            – Don’t mention it, sir. You are most welcome. Would you like me to show you to your seat?

            – Oh, yes please. I don't know where I’m supposed to go.

            – Don’t worry. Just follow me, please.

 

The assistant walked calmly with Limb beside him into the vast hall and down a gentle slope to the very edge of the orchestra. Several other invalids were already present, craning their necks when possible to see the new arrival and to judge his disability. There was fierce competition among those eligible to the best seats and they were supicious of newcomers. The young man’s shining hooks reassured them and they returned to their programmes.

 

Limb sat back and looked at his own. It was trilingual. Limb read the description of the work he was about to hear. Who had written it, when it was first performed and where, how it was received, how it had been appropriated and how great music had been degraded. Limb did not recognise the name of the work itself but assumed he would know it when he heard it. He glanced at the legless woman to his left, bedecked in jewels and at the man on his right in an evening suit from which no arms extended at all. He was thankful to be normal, with only a pair of hooks.

 

The compère entered, bowed and announced the evening’s proceedings in four languages. They would hear the infamous work by Wagner, a new arrangement, led by the world famous conductor and composer Sigmund Hook, whose farewell work this was. A spotlight shone on Zero as he entered from the sidelines, a famous figure admired worldwide, now struck down by disability but determined to continue with his new arrangement of the great German composer, whose reputation deserved resurrecting. Zero lurched across to the podium on his artificial legs and made an unnecessarily elaborate display of the difficulty in going up steps. Limb choked back a laugh. Zero looked back towards his audience and raised his arms. He looked around and saw his leatherman friend and bowed and then Limb himself. Zero placed one arm across his chest and bowed deeply toward him. Eyes all over the vast concert hall strained to see who received such admiration and acclaim from the maestro. Visitors determined to rush to the front of the hall as soon as possible to see who Hook was favouring. Someone with short-cropped hair, that much was clear.

 

Zero stood erect, staring at the audience. He raised his arms and commanded silence. He slowly rocked himself around to face the orchestra, bowed deeply once more and held up his arms. With the slightest hint from his baton, the first notes rang out, pure and true. Limb listened for several seconds and recognised the piece. It had been used so many times in war films and in video games. Zero was whipping the orchestra into greater volume, building pressure towards a burst of emotion, held strong until a crescendo of power rose and gradually quietened. The tune which Limb knew from video games continued but he could suddenly hear murmuring from the audience behind him. Zero flung his arms about, silencing a whole section and encouraging another into action. The audience began to hiss as patrons stood in protest, in surprise, in shock.

            –  Sitzt du!

From a hundred seats, it sounded like ‘Ssss’. Limb looked at Zero and twisted around to see men standing and their wives gesticulating at them. Zero continued with his work, gradually quietening the volume where the original had been the opposite. The entire atmosphere of the work changed. String instruments turned to wind instruments, lightening the atmosphere. The triumphant tone of the work turned to something neutral, far from the normal bombastic arrangement. Men stood and shouted Nein! and walked out. Zero continued with the underlying melody, emphasising what had always been present but hidden. He led his orchestra through the work, so well known and beloved by all aficionados of the master, into a mood, not of assertive triumph, but of tranquillity. By this time, almost the entire hall was on its feet for one reason or another. Invalids in the front alongside Limb twisted themselves around to watch the pandemonium in the hall. No-one seemed to remain in their seats. Zero paid no attention to the chaos behind him and conducted the orchestra towards the finale in a completely different key, joyous in the hope for peace and equality, as Zero envisioned. He rocked his prosthetic limbs around to face the audience, now in complete disarray, already arguing amongst itself. Limb sat open-mouthed in the front row. He lifted his arms to indicate incomprehension. The lights caught his hooks making them momentarily glitter. Zero saw the effect and began to ejaculate. His professional apex combined with Limb’s shiny hooks was too much for him to resist. His audience departed without a call for an encore. Zero waited quietly, watching them and stumped down from the podium. He rocked across to Limb in the front seat. Limb rose to his feet and the two amputees hugged each other without a word while press photographers took shots of them with the hall behind them where a few shocked members of the audience still sat in their seats. Zero cupped Limb’s face in his hands.

            – Come with me. Let’s get away from this mayhem.

Zero forced his legs to cope with the sloping floor, holding on to his boy’s shoulders. He guided Limb away from the crowd toward a concealed door behind the auditorium and they entered a well-lit corridor crowded with musicians talking in several languages about what had just transpired. Most of them congratulated Zero and smiled at Limb although a few acknowledged him with a quick glance and looked away. They went into Zero’s changing room.

 

            – What just happened?

            – I have upset a lot of traditionalists. I don’t think they approve of my new arrangement.

            – It sounded perfectly fine to me.

            – Ah, Limb! You are delightfully naïve but thank you for saying so. I’m afraid the next few hours and days are going to be a frenzy of interviews and media attention. I hope you will stand by me as I do battle.

            – Yes sir. Would you like me to bare my prostheses?

            – I would. They are among your best features. I would be proud to be seen with you beside me displaying your hooks.

            – Are you going to be in trouble, sir?

            – No, no. Nothing like that. I have turned a famous piece of music which has been seen as warlike into something which is more hopeful, more peaceful. Some people will say I have spoiled it but I anticipate that over time, my arrangement will come to be seen as a viable alternative.

There was a knock on the door.

            – See who that is.

Limb scrabbled with the door handle and placed a foot to prevent the door opening too far.

            – Guten abend. ZDF. Wir möchten…

            – Sorry, I don’t understand.

            – Ah, we are from German ZDF tv. We would like to interview maestro Hook.

            – Bitte kommen Sie herein! It’s alright, Limb. Let them in. Guten Abend!

The interviewer entered with a cameraman and a sound engineer. They greeted Zero and Limb. The interviewer introduced himself and asked for a few minutes of Zero’s time. Zero agreed to a short interview and winked at Limb. He lifted his head in an almost imperceptible gesture which Limb understood. He moved beside the seated Zero and stood with his hooks linked. The interviewer switched back to German and asked several perceptive questions which Zero was delighted to answer in that language. The interview was as short as had been promised. It would be shown on ZDF Nachrichten in ninety minutes. On their way out, Swiss Radio asked permission to enter. Zero agreed and explained his ideas and inspiration behind transmuting the intransmutable. He was more open with his words to the neutral Swiss media who did not have quite so much emotional baggage which had been severely shaken that evening. Zero’s beautiful Parisian French, slow but succinct, helped to emphasize the message of peace he wanted to convey. The interviewer thanked him profusely and left after only seven minutes. It was wonderful to work with professionals.

            – No more this evening. Help me change into my leathers and we’ll try to get back to the hotel without being noticed.

 

The ZDF interview was broadcast with an insert of the concert and the audience’s unprecedented reaction. Limb featured in wide shots, hooks at his side, looking down at his master, the Maestro.

 

The London Symphony packed and departed for the second venue on their tour, Munich in Bavaria. Zero had originally planned to present his arrangement there but thought better of it. Old prejudices still flowed below the surface in Bavaria. It was a deeply conservative area so Zero had chosen Berlin for his première. They departed on a morning train to the Hook of Holland, from which they caught a ferry to Harwich where they spent the night in a hotel.

 

Zero spent much of the next week answering hundreds of emails and invitations to further interviews. When he tired of repeating himself, he retired to his rooms in Dulwich and satisfied his triumph with a different torso every night. Limb tended to the resultant dirty laundry.

 

On Friday night, Zero took Limb for dinner in a fine restaurant. They were wearing their smart suits and Limb was on his best behaviour.

            – Tomorrow we go for our amputations. Everything is arranged. There is no backing down now. By this time tomorrow, we will both have the bodies we want.

            – I’ll be legless?

            – Yes. That is what you want, is it not? You want to be a man reliant on prosthetic limbs, do you not? You already have your hooks. Now you will achieve your leg stumps. You will soon be walking on prosthetic legs, or in a wheelchair. The choice is yours. But you will have leg stumps. You can choose their length. Talk to your surgeon.

            – And you’re going to have your hands off?

            – More than that. I have given this much thought. I have watched you carefully and seen how you use your hooks. Sometimes I think you are hardly disabled at all. I want to feel more disabled. I want to be limbless but not so much that my stumps are completely useless. I like my artificial limbs too much to want to lose the opportunity to wear them. No, tomorrow I will have my upper arms sliced in half. I have decided on stumps about ten centimetres long. I will have short arm stumps and I will learn to use long prosthetic arms which you will manufacture for me.

            – Oh Zero! I don’t know how the elbow mechanisms work!

            – Then it is time you learned. I am going to be completely crippled without your prowess at making us limbs. You will be making legs for yourself too, don’t forget. Talk to John Ford if you need some guidance. I don’t want to go back to him although he is a good man. I want you to make all the prostheses we want. See to it.

            – I will. Can I still use my wheelchair or do you want me on artificial legs all the time?

            – I want to see you as disabled as I am. You can wear shorts and sit in your chair if I can see your stumps. Or shorts and stubbies or full-length legs. You have the software. Design yourself legs which make you two metres tall. You already have a pair of short arms. What would they look like paired with really long legs?

            – Let’s both have long legs. Not two metres though. Hundred and ninety tall, you and me. Bilateral hooked men in leather shorts, leather jackets with the arms cut short.

            – And officer’s caps smoking your One-Oh-Fives in the leather club.

            – I don’t have an officer’s cap.

            – You can have one of mine. You’ve earned it.

 

FIVE YEARS LATER

 

Zero became accustomed to his prosthetic arms. Limb studied the necessary mechanisms which were ordered from outside and made the sockets for Zero. Zero had three sets of arms. One was standard for a bilateral above elbow amputee, the second featured shortened forearms and the third had both shortened upper sockets and short forearms. They made Zero look almost insectile but he could still feed himself. He was unable to urinate without assistance. Nub tended to him. Nub had adopted a conventional artificial leg although he still wore his peg whenever he and Stub went out in public together. They were married shortly after Limb and Zero returned as quadruple amputees.

 

Limb had chosen thighs about two thirds as long as his natural ones. He could wear and use prosthetic legs with ease and found it much easier than he had expected. Perhaps he simply had a good sense of balance and rhythm. He made many lower legs for himself. His favourite unconventional pair were cylindrical, about eight centimetres in diameter. They looked like fat peg legs. Limb wore them almost exclusively when he was not in his wheelchair.

 

Zero tired of his own prosthetic legs. The man seemed to harbour a desire to be ever more disabled. After a brief absence, he returned to Dulwich in his wheelchair with bandaged leg stumps only ten centimetres long. He had lost his long leg stumps and would never wear full-length prosthetic legs again. After a couple of months, Limb designed and printed a pair of stubbies for his lover. They married in a civil service in Dulwich Town Hall, accompanied by Nub, Stub and Mylo who were still able to move on stubbies under their own power. With the lack of fingers for wedding rings, the two men placed cock rings onto the epaulets of each other’s leather motorcycle jackets and pressed the studs closed with their hooks.

 

EXTENSION