The Way Forward

 

THE WAY FORWARD

 

Inspirational fiction by strzeka (07/23)

 

Jack Hill had a double disadvantage from birth. He was born two months prematurely, compromising his heart and lungs, and with malformed legs. His knees were undeveloped and a nightmare of anatomy terminated in two toeless club feet. The child was whisked away to an incubator in which his development continued, resulting in a beautiful son for the Hills, a young couple who had envisaged frolicking through parkland holding their firstborn by the hands, running together into a yellow sunset. Instead, they were confronted with the immediate prospect of a legless newborn with leg stumps so short that it would never walk. Medical staff reassured them but the parents were initially inconsolable. They went back to a childless flat in West London to grieve. They understood their son’s amputations had proceeded as well as had been expected. The infant was legless but some femoral bone had been retained to allow the opportunity to sit and balance. The malleable flesh of a newborn healed quickly and some weeks later, Fred and Zarah Hill brought the torso home. It cried and demanded attention like any other baby. Zarah breastfed the legless boy, relaxing in the peace she felt, her growing love for the beautiful child melting her heart. The barely visible stumps at his hips no longer distressed her.

 

Jack developed as any other child. His appetite was healthy. He learned to crawl on schedule and shortly learned to push himself erect with his tiny stumps spread as wide as possible. By the age of three, Jack was adept at swinging his torso along on his hands. His father fashioned a leather carapace with a broad flat base, held on to Jack’s shoulders by suspenders. Jack pretended it was a suit of armour and referred to it as such.

 

The Hills were anxious that Jack should have as normal a childhood as possible. They realised that the biggest problem was other people’s perception of Jack’s disability. Jack was perfectly content to wear his armour and swing himself along but his parents reasoned that a set of legs would ease the boy’s acceptance into the wider world. They spoke with a prosthetist, recommended by the hospital where Jack was born, describing their thoughts. The technician, Lewis Mills, was receptive to an unusual request and interested in helping the legless lad find his feet.

 

He was impressed by Jack on their first meeting. The boy had adopted handles screwed into curved blocks of wood which he used to handwalk in his armour. Mills noted the boy’s liveliness and curiosity about his surroundings. He anticipated that Jack would be a receptive candidate of some experimental work which he had long wanted to offer the right patient. He discussed his ideas with the Hills, proposing a series of prosthetic solutions which would gradually increase the boy’s height until he was able to ambulate at his potential natural height on prostheses, appearing to all intents and purposes as a young man on crutches.

 

Fred Hill could appreciate the prosthetist’s ideas. He was an amateur handyman and had already designed and made Jack’s armour, which had impressed Mills. The small room where he had his workbench and kept his tools was now Jack’s bedroom. If Fred had any say in the matter, it would also be Jack’s prosthetic playground, where they could design and make all kinds of wild ideas which a professional prosthetist would hardly consider.

 

Jack’s first legs would be fifteen centimetre long steel pegs attached to the base of a custom‑made carbon fibre shell into which Jack could climb. It would strap on over the boy’s shoulders much as his armour already did. Jack would be equipped with his first crutches and, it was hoped, would soon learn to heave his peg legs along. They would extend his range as well as his height. Wearing his new armour with the peg legs, Jack might well be prepared to explore places on crutches inaccessible with the old leather armour.

 

An appointment for Jack’s casting was made and the family made their way home, Jack full of excitement at getting pirate peg legs and a pair of crutches. He swung his armoured torso ahead with increased gusto, slapping his wooden handles onto the ground.

 

Fred Hill wanted to experiment with various prosthetic ideas he had but was deterred by the growth of his son. Any rigid socket would be impractical after only a few months as the toddler grew. It was far easier to leave such matters to a prosthetist. The recurrent visits were an inconvenience but gladly borne. However, there was one solution which might work. Fred looked into the durability and resilience of the material and explained his idea to Jack.

 

Hill would make some more armour from plaster of Paris and shape some kind of leg below his son’s hips. When he had received his crutches, Jack would be able to ambulate wearing his plaster armour with a variety of different pegs. Perhaps two pegs, or one central peg, whatever the boy might like to try. Hill sketched a version with a single peg which narrowed sharply from the full width of the armour to a cylindrical central foot. He showed the drawing to Jack, who giggled at the idea of balancing on a thick peg leg and hauling himself around on a pair of crutches. Convinced that Jack would actually wear armour with a thick peg, Fred Hill ordered a large amount of plaster bandage.

 

Lewis Mills received his newest patient and interviewed the boy. Jack was fully aware that he was soon going to be taller on peg legs and was looking forward to it. He had never used crutches before but solemnly stated that he was sure he would be able to use them. His dad had shown him videos of other boys using crutches on the computer at home and it looked quite easy. Mills smiled and invited Jack to climb up onto his red leather bench and take his trousers off. Jack giggled again. He had never worn trousers, only his armour. He shrugged it off and lifted his stump out of the leather.

 

Mills lifted the lad into a harness hanging from a steel frame. Jack would have to be suspended for the time it took to wrap his torso in plaster and for it to dry. Mills would use the cast later to fashion a mould for the carbon fibre armour. Two steel components and their fittings were on order from central and would be attached to the base of the new rigid armour. Jack’s new crutches had already arrived and Mills showed them to the boy, explaining that they were too long to try out at the moment but that next visit, when he came to try out his peg legs, they would be ready and waiting. Mills removed the dried cast and washed his young patient’s torso. He cupped the boy’s stumps carefully and probed in an attempt to feel how much femur the boy had left. There was far too little for the lad to ever use stubbies. But all was not lost. The new armour would open up a new dimension for the boy. As he learned to trust his crutches and his arms grew stronger, he could wear ever longer peg legs. By the time he was a teenager, Jack might be as tall on two peg legs as his other classmates. It was a goal worth aiming for.

 

Fred Hill watched his son’s casting and learned several procedures which had not occurred to him. Unfortunately, he had no steel frame from which to suspend his son while working on the armour but they might arrange something with Jack holding himself up on the broad armrests of two adjacent armchairs. Fred discussed the process later with Zarah who begged him to be careful with the plaster. She knew it went everywhere and how difficult it was to remove.

 

Jack saw a news report of a ceremony outside the palace. The soldiers were marching along wearing kilts. Jack immediately deduced that his new peg legs would allow him to wear a kilt and he badgered his parents into buying him one. His father found a company which manufactured children’s kilts and showed Jack. If he had long peg legs, longer than the length of the kilt, he could wear it and crutch about. Fred Hill knew his son’s first professionally manufactured peg leg armour would not be suitable so he took note of the kilt’s dimensions and ordered not only a kilt but also its matching jacket and frilly shirt. He prepared to create the armour with a wide central peg from plaster.

 

Zarah was relieved by the care her husband took to ensure that Jack’s casting went as smoothly as it did. There was no mess thanks to the entire living room floor being covered in newspaper and advertising circulars. Fred lifted Jack out of his new armour and carried him to the shower where Jack cleaned himself. He made a rough form for the peg from corrugated cardboard and covered it in thick layers of plaster of Paris. Before it was completely dry, he repeated the process. The final result was two centimetres thick. It was heavy but that was to prove advantageous. Jack waited impatiently for his new armour to dry so he could wear his kilt for the first time and feel what it was like to walk on crutches in his new long suit of armour.

 

The armour was practically an extension of Jack’s legless torso. It tapered from the full width of Jack’s hips down to a five centimeter point on which Jack could stand, supported by his crutches. Before he could try it out, his parents took him to visit doctor Lewis again. His other new armour was ready. He had to lie on the red bench again and wriggle into the armour. There were two short metal pylons each side with black rubber ferrules. It was harder to sit up now. He had to hold on to the bench and slide down so the little legs could reach the floor. Doctor Lewis brought him a pair of brand new crutches. They had rings each side to put his arms through and then he could hold onto the crossbars. Doctor Lewis made sure they were exactly the right length. It was fun to be taller. Now he had his first legs. The doctor picked him up and took him to the exercise bars. He had to stand, holding onto the bars and then he had to lift himself up with his arms. Next he had to swing his new legs and walk along the bars. It felt strange but it was not difficult. After doing the exercises, he could try them again with the crutches. It was almost the same, lifting himself up and swinging his legs. The crutches made a noise, clicking every time he swung himself forward.

 

Doctor Lewis asked him if he was tired. He shook his head but the doctor picked him up again and took him back to the red bench to lie down. The doctor spoke to his mum and dad, explaining things. Then they all came over and wanted to know if Jack wanted to wear his new armour with crutches or if he wanted to change back into the leather armour and use his handles. Of course he wanted to wear the new armour. He twisted himself around and lowered his peg legs over the edge of the bench. His dad helped him down and handed him his crutches. His mum put the old armour and handles into her shopping bag and they said goodbye to the doctor.

 

Lewis Mills watched the legless toddler with satisfaction. Thanks to having learned to use his handles, Jack was used to the idea of lifting his torso to move. The pegs gave him a little extra height and would introduce him to the concept of removing the carapace when he wished to sit and slipping back into it to walk. It was impossible for the boy to use his meagre natural stumps to sit while wearing the carapace. A more advanced model could be created later with hip joints but there remained the problem of the rigid peg legs. That too had a solution. But the time was not now.

 

Zarah took his crutches, lifted Jack into their car and stood him on his pegs. She told him he should hold on tightly going around the bends. Jack felt safe in his armour and now he could see out the front window.

 

Jack knew his legs were only metal tubes but he longed to move them the same way he could move his tiny stumps. He was frustrated by their solid rigidity. He tried walking by twisting the armour from side to side but it did not help much. Even so, it was great to see himself in the hall mirror with two little steel peg legs at last. The big rubber bits at the ends looked strong and helped him walk by not slipping.

 

At last, his dad said the new plaster armour was ready. Fred had sanded the rough bits and painted the entire carapace with three coats of black enamel. Broad elastic braces would hold it firmly to his son’s torso. The central peg was longer than Jack’s steel peg legs and it was an opportunity to let the boy wear his Scottish attire for the first time. Fred had made sure the peg extended further than the kilt. Only the boy’s crutches need be adjusted.

 

The new armour was quite different from the one with peg legs. It was a lot thicker and it weighed more. His dad lifted him into it and told him to hold on tight while he lengthened the crutches. There was just enough leeway to allow the boy to test his new armour. His dad put the kilt around Jack’s waist and attached it to the carapace with duct tape and then helped him try on the jacket. Jack giggled with the novelty of it all. He could feel the difference in the armour. This one had only one peg leg right in the middle, but it was long, much longer than the little steel peg legs. Instead of a rubber ferrule, this one had a bit cut out of an old car tyre on the bottom. It was curved, just a little, to make it easier to walk.

 

Jack let his dad place the long crutches onto his arms and stood leaning on them in his tripod stance. His peg leg supported him and felt secure, holding him up taller than he had ever been. He leaned on his crutches and heaved himself up and forward. The old car tyre cleared the floor and let him swing forward into the next step. It was not the same as walking on the steel peg legs. This was a lot easier. It was easier to swing, easier to use the long crutches and it was great to be tall. He wanted to see himself in his kilt and single peg leg so he turned towards the hallway and his dad came with him to turn the light on. He looked at himself in his smart black jacket and his red kilt. He could see his peg leg, barely, under the kilt. He laughed at the odd image and crutched towards the mirror, seeing how his peg leg was sometimes visible, sometimes hidden. It was a good way to walk.

 

Thus began the controversy between the Hills and Lewis Mills. It was unheard of for a patient to be provided with a carapace featuring only one peg leg. Jack arrived swinging himself along on one. Fred wanted to reshape the lower section to provide more height for his son and had called to see if a new longer pair of crutches might be available. Lewis Mills was openly disappointed to see that his patient was not wearing the prosthesis which he had spent many hours designing and manufacturing. Apparently the pair of peg legs did not offer the same kind of security which the plaster carapace did. Mills admitted to himself that Fred had done a good job on the prosthesis. It was robust and obviously practical. He found it odd that the boy preferred to walk on one peg rather than two but reluctantly acknowledged that, in this case, the customer was always right. It was true that the central peg provided more lateral movement than two rigid pegs. The boy’s future carapaces would be manufactured with a single peg leg.

 

Fred’s ingenuity was tested time and time again as his son grew and the plaster armour required ever more width and height. It needed renewing every few months and gradually, the peg leg lengthened. The young man approved its curved foot. He claimed it made him flow. Watching the rigid little body swinging along on crutches, turning to look at this or that, stopping to spin himself around to tell his parents to hurry up, always dressed in his kilt but usually with a T‑shirt or pullover on. Outsiders saw only a boy on crutches. Few noticed the unnatural single peg.

 

It was time for Jack to start school. He had learned to read and write already and his dad had shown him how to draw things on the computer. After some serious discussion about accepting a disabled child into a normal school, the headmistress requested a meeting with young Jack Hill and his mother. Jack swung in on a single peg and carefully positioned his crutches so he could shake the old lady’s hand. Seeing the Scottish attire, including a new frilly shirt bought especially for the occasion, Mrs McDonald’s heart melted. Jack had a new plaster armour with a much slimmer peg leg. It was actually wood, the upper half fortified with many layers of plaster. For the first time, it was fitted with a large ferrule designed specifically for peg legs. On the five year old boy, it looked enormous. It provided great traction and Jack loved the look of his narrow peg leg with the huge rubber tip.

 

Mrs McDonald expressed her concerns that Jack’s disability would prevent him from joining in the activities of the class. Zarah was quick to point out that the boy could already read and write and there was nothing wrong with his brain. To prove her point, she asked Jack to sit on the empty chair at the headmistress’s desk. Jack shucked his crutches and lowered himself to the floor, holding on to the edge of the chair. He wriggled out of his armour and pulled himself up onto the chair. Mrs McDonald was satisfied and signed the papers which admitted Jack to Garden Lane Infants’ School from the first of September. She extended her hand across her desk to shake with the little boy and was smitten with his open smile and intelligent eyes. Looking around at the grown‑ups for permission, Jack leapt onto the floor, slipped into his armour and pulled himself up onto his peg leg holding onto the chair. His mum handed him his crutches and they left the administrator’s office, Jack’s wooden peg thumping on the floorboards.

 

It was a surprise for Jack’s classmates when he crutched into the school playground on his first day. All the boys came across and surrounded him to see how he was walking. Jack was wearing a black kilt with big pockets on it each side. It let his peg move freely. His unique way of walking was what attracted the other boys’ curiosity. They clambered to know what it was like to swing along on crutches. One or two had even had a broken leg and remembered using crutches themselves. It looked really cool to have a wooden peg leg. Everyone slapped him on the shoulders and told him their names while Jack stood in his tripod stance and smiled at his new friends.

 

His teacher came to collect her children. She had been warned beforehand that there would be an invalid joining her class and to prepare herself for duties beyond her remit. She was astonished to see Jack swinging himself along, surrounded by other boys interfering with his progress, all of whom wanted to try out his crutches or see his peg leg or his stumps. She showed her children into the classroom, where she calmly guided her young wards into their seats while Jack fell to the floor, shucked his armour and hauled his stumps up onto a chair. The teacher looked around for the invalid, expecting to have to lift him and tend to him at every moment. Jack balanced on his minuscule stumps, palms down on his desktop, looking at his confused teacher. Some of the other boys knew what she was doing and started giggling. Jack looked around at them and smiled back. Before the register was taken, Jack was the centre of a group of friends fascinated by his peg leg. They would literally support him for the next fifteen years.

 

He was always quick to slide into his armour after classes were over. The black carbon fibre carapace with its central peg leg was completely ordinary in the classroom. Jack had no legs and so he had to get around on his peg leg. All the children knew that and so did all of the teachers. Jack was quite used to lying on the floor to slip out of his armour before launching himself up onto a chair between classes. His crutches had long since been silenced. Teachers learned to wait for the few extra seconds it took for Jack to heave himself up onto his chair before the lesson could begin.

 

Fred and Jack always showered together. They had done so ever since the legless baby fit between Fred’s crossed legs. It was a biweekly game, squirting water at each other and having fun. As Jack grew, their bathtimes became a time for Jack to speak plainly about matters which concerned him, most of them relating to his leglessness. He tried to describe to his father what it would be like to have a peg leg which was only about ten centimetres long. Then it would connect to a wide bar, as wide as his kilt, and then he would have two peg legs at each side. His father imagined such an arrangement and suggested that instead of using peg legs, they should try to find artificial legs, fake calves. Then he could wear proper shoes or boots on the legs, and it would look like he had artificial legs under his kilt. The twelve year old Jack was excited at the idea of having artificial legs which actually looked like legs. In addition, if he had prosthetic legs and feet, he could start choosing shoes and boots for himself. He would love to be tall on a peg leg with it dividing into two lower sections wearing boots.

 

Fred noticed that his son was maturing. He would shortly need another carapace from Doctor Mills and some kind of adjustment to his plaster armour with the short wide peg. Fred judged that, as if to compensate for his other shortcomings, Jack was going to be doubly well‑endowed. His armour would have to take his impressive manhood into consideration. Jack knew and understood what was happening to his body. He had been amused to see pubic hair sprouting between his stumps and in his armpits. His stumps were getting hairy too. Jack had also discovered the simple joys of toying with his penis. He liked to make it reach towards his belly button when he put armour on. If he tensed his muscles, he could squeeze it between his belly and the shell. It was fun to do and it felt good.

 

He was shortly due for another official bit of armour. He talked with his father about some changes he wanted, not least of which was some kind of codpiece for his ever more impressive junk. There was the other matter too. It was great to use a peg leg and he was OK with crawling in and out of his armour several times a day at school but it would be more dignified if he could sit while wearing it. He suggested something which had not occurred to the Hills or to his prosthetist—a socket like a pair of shorts with attached stubby legs and a detachable codpiece. Fred was curious to know where Jack had found the word and Jack’s answer satisfied him. He had looked up many variations of armour online and seen all the nomenclature. He had never found any armour which looked like his own. Over several evenings, Jack and Fred sat together and designed a pair of carbon fibre shorts whose legs were actually stubbies. They would have a loose hinge at the hips, held securely by two vertical locks. The stubby legs would point ahead when Jack sat on the enveloping base of his armoured shorts, with a detachable codpiece in front. Fred finally had a design which looked practical and respectable when Jack was seated and standing. Jack wanted long stubbies, long enough to allow him to continue wearing his kilts, but Fred pointed out that the new rigid shorts should allow him to go without a kilt or trousers. They would be his armour and his streetwear, his school uniform shorts, all in one. Jack smirked at the idea of walking around with the large codpiece on display. He would never be allowed to display it at school, he knew that. Fred generated a 3D virtual model of their design and copied it to a thumb drive. They could go through their ideas with Lewis Mills when they met.

 

Since it was a preliminary meeting, not requiring any imminent practical work, they had a late appointment. Fred sat, Jack waited in his tripod pose. They could hear voices from Mills’ workshop, laughter, the slow rhythmic beat of prosthetic limbs on floorboards. A few minutes after their appointed time, the door opened, held by Mills, and a young man swung himself out on crutches. Jack looked at him, fascinated. It was as if he was seeing a version of his future self. The guy was wearing shorts and two long conical stubbies which he held together between his crutches. He noticed Jack staring at him and took in the single peg leg. He too was fascinated by something so simple. He had never thought of walking on one peg leg, although there was nothing to stop him. He gave a wonky smile and greeted the two waiting clients.

            – We have something in common. We should get together and compare notes.

Jack was enchanted with the idea of talking about his armour and his torso stump with someone a bit older than himself. He felt proud that the older man had even bothered looking at him. Jack has already begun to feel that he respected boys more than girls. The girls in his class were all nice and always helped him if he asked but he enjoyed being with the boys more, one or two especially who helped him sometimes in special ways.

 

The older man said he really ought to go but could he leave his phone number. Fred was already on his phone and took down the boy’s dictation. The number was in memory. Jack could call Thomas later. Thomas grinned and gave two thumbs up. He lifted himself and swung his stubbies out the automatic door, the simultaneous clack of his crutches followed by syncopated thumps from his long stubbies, and was shortly lost from sight. Mills welcomed the Hills into his room and closed the door.

 

            – That was a young man with a similar problem, Jack. He has very short stumps and has learned to walk on stubbies, although he cannot control them with his stumps. I shouldn’t really be telling you another patient’s situation but I noticed that you took Reno’s number and I would actually recommend getting in touch.

            – Why do you call him Reno? I thought he was Thomas.

            – Oh, his surname is Reynolds. I’ve always known him as Reno. But enough about that. What can I do for you?

Fred handed over the memory stick with the virtual model of Jack’s shorts. Lewis was impressed.

            – I believe you may have actually made prosthetic history. This is quite remarkable. And Jack! Are you prepared to go back to wearing two legs again? I’m sure you remember how vehement you were about having a central peg.

            – I sort of need these for school. We always have to go to another classroom for an new lesson and it would be easier if I didn’t have to get into my armour every time.

            – Do your classmates help you?

            – Of course they do.

Mills looked at Jack in surprise. The reports he had read recently about the situation in schools would have led him to believe that Jack would have been bullied and ignored. Obviously there were exceptions.

            – Well, I am happy to use this blueprint to continue. Are the measurements accurate, Mr Hill?

            – Yes, measured about two weeks ago. We haven’t spoken about the addition.

            – You mean the codpiece?

            – I do. You see, I’m not sure how to state this, Jack has developed rather more fully than most other boys and I’m amazed that he’s tolerated the situation for this long. This codpiece may look over‑large but I assure you that it is necessary.

            – I see. Jack, it won’t be the first time I see you naked but might I see you again so I can get an idea of how to design your codpiece?

Jack crutched over to the familiar red couch and lay down. He pushed his armour off and waited for Dr Mills to give his appraisal.

            – Oh Jesus Christ! Sorry! Excuse me. Jack, you can’t possibly be comfortable in your sockets. Why haven’t you applied for a revision before?

Mills stared at the boy’s flaccid penis, twenty‑seven centimetres long, and the accompanying ball sac the size of a tennis ball.

            – How old are you, Jack?

            – Fourteen and a half, sir.

            – Well, all I can say is that you are very well developed. What do your classmates say to you?

            – I don’t know. They never see me naked. I don’t do sports with them.

            – So you don’t know what they look like either.

            – No sir.

            – Oh my lord. Well, there’s nothing for it.

Lewis picked Jack’s armour up and helped the boy lower his peg leg to the floor. They returned to discuss matters with Fred. Jack leaned on his crutches and listened.

            – I suggest we make a start on the shorts first. If you’re satisfied with them, I’ll adapt the socket you’re currently wearing, Jack, and add some kind of codpiece. I was thinking of using press-studs to hold it on. Would that be OK?

            – I suppose so.

            – Do you still use plaster sockets too?

            – Yes, we’re working on one now which will have plaster casts for legs—you know, it’ll look like I’ve broken my legs.

            – That sounds interesting. I’d like to see that when it’s ready.

Jack omitted to mention that the plaster legs would be mere shins attached to a single peg. The legs would be complete with feet and Fred was looking around for rubber heels. The casts might look quite convincing when Jack was in a kilt.

            – There was one other idea I was thinking about. If the shorts are successful, I mean if I can sit in them, I wonder if it might be possible to get a long peg leg with a joint at the knee. Then it wouldn’t stick out.

            – I don’t see why not. I assume that would be on a separate socket with a bending hip joint. We’ll look into it later when you’re due that socket.

Jack put his kilt on, an olive green one with big pockets. The urban kilt he owned was far more practical than the traditional Scottish version, although the traditional ones looked much smarter. He liked the look of his steel peg extending from a Scottish kilt which had a lot of empty space to swing from side to side. There was also room for his dick under a kilt and that was the main advantage. Fred held the door open for his son and they left Lewis Mills to start manufacturing Jack’s most ambitious prosthesis yet, his glossy black shorts.

 

Still traumatised by the teenager’s manhood, Mills set to converting the file Fred had provided into a version which could be used as a mould on which to construct the other components. He was most concerned about the hinge. It had to be sturdy enough to bear Jack’s weight and easy enough to move through ninety degrees so he could sit. The base of his socket needed to be flat and the front should remain rigid after it was cut away to provide room for Jack’s tackle. He had the daring idea of providing several different codpieces, from an ordinary voluminous version to something conical and pointed. Or, God forbid, a thirty centimetre long hollow carbon phallus curving upwards into which the boy could feed his penis. Enough! He was letting his imagination get ahead of him.

 

Jack was impatient to get home. The new armour with plaster cast legs should be dry enough for testing. Fred had made sure the central peg’s joint with the upper socket would take the pressure. The legs were separate and were held onto the socket with many layers of plaster. This was Jack’s heaviest armour but, if successful, it might become his favourite. Fred had taken care with the lower legs and made the feet as natural as possible. They did indeed look like feet encased in plaster casts. Their bases were curved in all directions. Jack had stipulated that he did not want to be able to stand independently on his plaster feet. His self-image was of a crutch user and his casted legs should always require him to balance on his crutches.

 

After arriving home, Zarah began making supper. Fred checked on the armour and Jack changed, swapping his pegleg for his latest leather armour. He found his handles and scooted to his bedroom to join his father who was sanding the left calf.

            – Are you going to want these to look like plaster casts, Jack, or shall we paint them? I think we should. They’ll last a lot longer if they’re weatherproofed a bit.

            – We could paint them white. That would be alright, wouldn’t it?

            – I should imagine so. Do you want the top half white as well?

            – Yeah, I think so. Dad, can I ask you something? The doc looked at my cock and balls and said Jesus Christ! Why did he say that? Is there something wrong with me?

Fred was surprised at Jack’s naïveté. Surely he must have seen naked men before and seen what penises usually looked like. Or perhaps not.

            – Jack, I don’t know whether you realise it but your junk is much longer than most men have and you’re only fourteen and a bit. You haven’t stopped developing yet. You’re junk is going to get even bigger. Don’t ask me how much, but men usually stop developing when they’re about twenty. So you have another five years of puberty in front of you, and you’ll be growing all the time.

            – So how big is my thing gonna get?

            – I don’t know, Jack. Nobody knows. But you know that they say the bigger, the better, don’t you? Most men have penises only about a quarter of what you have. And they are always jealous of big men. It looks to me that what you lack in legs, you’ll make up in the size of your junk. Don’t knock it, Jack. Many men would kill to have what you do. So don’t worry about it. You’ll always have your codpieces from now on and no-one need ever know the size of your thing unless you tell them.

Jack thought about what his father had said. He would continue growing for five years! Other men would be jealous! And he could always hide his secret penis in his codpieces. It was great having armour.

            – Can I try on the plaster casts now?

            – Let’s wait until after supper, Jack. You can practise better then.

            – OK.

Jack spun around, lifting himself with his handles, and scooted along to the kitchen.

            – How long, mum?

            – Give me ten minutes. Go and sit down. It’ll soon be ready.

 

Supper was delicious. Lamb chops and fried onions. Fred washed the dishes and joined Jack, who had spent ten minutes drawing another carapace for himself. Jack’s designs could no longer honestly be called armour. They were surrogate extensions, not even legs, for something which did not exist. Fred realised as well as Jack that his son needed only some kind of base on which to rest his weight, something which kept his arse out of the mud. It was irrelevant if it had one or two legs, one or two pegs, or no pegs at all. Jack’s latest drawing was of one such example.

            – What do you think of this? Just some kind of egg shape?

            – Where would you wear that?

            – Just around.

Fred noticed the wide gap in the egg for Jack’s tackle. It would need some kind of removable cover. Obviously the boy thought that he could get by with letting everything simply hang inside the egg.

            – Jack mate, we can make something like this but you’ll still need some kind of support for your junk. Do you understand? You can’t let your balls swing around inside this because after half an hour, it’ll start to get really uncomfortable.

            – Oh, OK. I suppose I could wear jockeys.

            – More like a jockstrap, I reckon. Let’s look into it. I’m sorry we’ve left it all this long, excuse the pun.

Over a year had passed since Fred had last showered with Jack, who was already then showing signs of advanced puberty. Fred suspected it was something to do with a normal amount of testosterone swirling around inside a teenage body with much less body mass than normal. The extra testosterone had to go somewhere. Jack was also developing body hair and ought to start shaving regularly. Fred decided to make it a day out. They could go to a shopping centre, just the two of them, and get Jack kitted out for young adulthood with a razor and his own gels, and then drop by a sports shop to see of they stocked jockstraps big enough for Jack. It was not surprising that Jack preferred wearing kilts but things were progressing to the stage that not even a kilt would be enough to hide Jack’s tool. What a conundrum! A dick the size of your arm and no legs whatsoever. It was going to be interesting to see what sort of codpiece Mills came up with. Whatever its shape, it was going to be eye‑catching.

 

Fred took Jack’s drawing and turned his laptop on. Jack watched to see if his dad started the modelling app. He did. Jack pushed a chair next to his dad’s and pulled himself onto it.

            – Why do you want something this shape?

            – I just thought it would be fun to wear.

            – It’s not unlike your first wide peg leg, is it? Do you remember that one? You’d been made armour with two short pegs either side and you didn’t like the way they didn’t let you move from side to side. So we made the first armour out of plaster. And this new one is more or less the same idea.

            – But the base is a lot wider and curves down and round like an egg.

            – Do you want the fat end of the egg or the narrow end?

            – The narrow end pointing down. I just want to balance on the round end.

            – You love doing that, don’t you? I don’t know why you insist on always using your crutches. It would make life easier if you could have your hands free while you’re resting on a flat base.

            – Like now.

            – Well, yeah. Alright, I get your point. Do you want this egg to be long enough to wear with a kilt or is it just something you want to wear here at home?

            – Mmm, not sure yet. We’ll have to see what it feels like.

Fred and Jack worked for two hours experimenting with various shapes, some of which were worth saving. The next problem would be constructing an egg-shaped framework over which plaster bandages could be wrapped. The egg which Jack decided he wanted to try first would be long enough for him to use with a kilt.

Fred switched his computer off and they joined Zarah in the living room. Fred took his phone out.

            – Oh, I forgot about this. Do you want me to send you Thomas’s number?

            – Yes please.

            – Who’s Thomas?

            – He’s a guy we saw at the clinic. He’s older than me, about sixteen or seventeen. He’s legless too but he was wearing stubbies. He couldn’t walk on them properly with his stumps so he was on crutches. He said I could get in touch with him if I wanted.

            – I see. Well, instead of messaging each other all the time, why don’t you invite him around after school one Friday? Where does he live?

            – Don’t know, mum. But he can’t live far away if he goes to Dr Mills as well.

            – No, I suppose not. Well, ask him if he’d like to call in and chat one evening.

            – Alright, I will. Thanks mum.

 

Jack spent much of the evening texting Thomas, who insisted on the name Reno. He was interested in Jack’s peg leg. Jack explained why he liked having a single peg and mentioned the plaster armour he and his dad made, including the latest egg idea still hatching. Reno was overjoyed at the opportunity to spend a few hours with Jack one Friday. He lived in Harrow which was quite a way but he had a new electric scooter and could easily drop by. After confirming their plans with his parents, Jack invited Reno for the following Friday afternoon. It was great to finally have a mate who was legless too.

 

Thomas Reno Reynolds was also a congenital amputee. His mother had been a drug addict and, although she tried to stay clean for her pregnancy, friends plied her with various highs and once or twice slipped something into her drink. Her child was born with deformed feet extending from his undeveloped thighs and shins. His legs were amputated at six weeks, leaving him with four centimeter nubs. Now at seventeen, Reno nubs were hemispherical extensions which made sitting possible. They were eight centimetres long, much of which was soft tissue. As Dr Mills had discovered, there was precious little to work with but the young man had asked for stubbies and the prosthetist had done his best. The stubbies at least provided him a little height.

 

Jack’s egg gradually took shape. Fred bought some balsa wood from a model railway shop and instead of crafting it into miniature railway buildings, used it to fashion his son’s improbable prosthesis. The egg might show the construction unless he wound enough plaster over it. But it didn’t take long to sand the rough bits off at the end. Plaster was easy enough to work with.

 

Dr Mills was having the opposite problem. He was discovering why carbon fibre prosthetic shorts were not in more common use. He had sourced a practical lockable hinge and was working on how to incorporate it into the prosthesis without it impinging on Jack’s hips. The legs would need to be reinforced at the rear because the legs had to be unimpeded at the front to allow them to bend and leave access to the codpiece. This was causing another headache. He had some experience of providing such novel additions but had never been confronted with a problem the size of Jack’s. How on earth might life be to be encumbered with complete leglessness and exceptionally large genitals? Ideally, Mills would have liked to discuss his design with Jack but he was too embarrassed. Maybe Jack preferred his tool to be curled when flaccid but what must it be like to become erect inside a rigid carapace with no way to manually adjust the tool’s position? It must be uncomfortable for the boy. Or man. Jack was becoming a man ahead of time. Mills had noticed that Jack’s body was becoming hirsute. He was going to present quite an image of extreme masculinity when he was a little older. Too bad about his legs. Mills continued his work, ensuring the mechanisms to lock the hip joints were aligned correctly.

 

Friday arrived. Jack could hardly concentrate at school. He was looking forward to the evening too much. Reno had texted him to say he would probably be there about six. Reno was also at school, in the first year of college and had sat through double maths, physics and done his own studying in the library while his mates were outside kicking a ball around. Sometimes he went with them and sat in his shell, as he called his carapace, on the edge of the field. Once the ball had rolled directly towards him. He lifted his stump and swung it to hit the ball back. It was the only time he had ever participated in a game of football and he would remember it for as long as he lived. He thought about changing into his new stubbies after he got home but decided against it. They weren’t exactly a great success. They were ok for a couple of hours or if he knew he could sit somewhere for most of the time. But his comfortable extended carapace with the rubber base would be safer on the escooter and he could show Jack what he normally wore. Jack had already seen his peg legs.

 

Jack had not changed after he got home. He had eaten his supper standing, leaning against the wall as he so often did. Reno had mentioned Jack’s peg leg often enough for him to know it was what Reno wanted to talk about and he did not want to disappoint his new friend. At seven minutes to six, the bell rang. Zarah and Fred glanced at each other and watched Jack spring into action, grabbing his crutches and swinging wildly towards the front door. They heard Jack exclaim and wondered what had happened. They were about to get up to investigate but the friendly excited comments reassured them that everything was well.

            – Come and meet my parents. Mum, dad, this is Reno. His proper name is Thomas but no‑one calls him that.

            – Except Dr Mills. Hello! Thank you for inviting me. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.

Zarah and Fred took in the sight of a good-looking older version of their own son. He was wearing a yellow hoodie and instead of legs, he had an extended body socket with a rubber base. He used wooden handles to propel himself to rest in front of the adults and shook hands with them.

            – Pleased to meet you. Hello, ma’am, pleased to meet you.

            – Oh, you don’t need to call me ma’am. We’re Zarah and Fred.

Zarah was perhaps forgetting how junior the young man was but his green eyes and full black eyebrows were colouring her judgment.

            – We’re going in my bedroom so I can show Reno my gear. Is that alright?

            – Of course. Go ahead.

Jack, towering over Reno, pegged into his room, followed by Reno who spun himself around on his handles and swung himself trailing Jack.

            – Well, I never expected to see another young man wearing that sort of armour.

            – I think it’s more or less standard issue for the completely legless, love. Jack would be walking like that if he didn’t insist on his peg legs.

            – It’s good they’ve found each other, isn’t it? There can’t be many young men like them.

            – Well, lets hope so. They probably have a lot of practical things to learn from each other, if nothing else. Let’s give them an hour together and then have a drink and something to eat. We can find out more about Reno then.

            – Alright. Let’s do that.

 

Jack was already finding out more about Reno. As soon as Jack pushed his door shut, Reno toppled onto the floor and opened the clasps which held his carapace against his body. He wriggled his torso out and leapt onto Jack’s bed. He was wearing jockeys from which his stumps peeped. He grabbed them and squeezed them so Jack could see how useless they were. But Jack thought they looked great.

            – You can see why I have to still use crutches, can’t you? There’s not much I can use them for.

            – Why didn’t you use the stubbies tonight? I was hoping you would. I didn’t know you had armour too.

            – Is that what you call it? I call it my shell. I have a few different ones. My favourite one has short pegs either side so I can sort of stand upright on them. But I still need crutches to walk. Is that what you do?

            – Oh yeah. I’m always on crutches. People ask me if I would rather not have them but, I don’t know, it’s like they’re so much part of me, I can’t imagine being without them. That’s why my dad and me always design my armour with only one peg leg. Except for the new one. It’s shaped like an egg when you see it from the front.

            – Wow! Where are you going to wear that?

            – Well, I always wear a kilt, see, so the egg will be hidden with only the bottom of it visible.

            – What other armour have you got?

            – There’s one with a very short peg, but it’s wide. More like a bump, really. There’s a pair with leg casts which look like I’ve got broken legs. Then I’ve got another pair being made which looks like a pair of shorts and the new egg. But this is my favourite.

            – The single peg leg. Is that a carbon fibre shell?

            – Yeah. Would you like to see it? I can take it off.

Jack leaned back and pulled his kilt off. He undid his suspenders and chest belt and pulled his torso out of the socket. His enormous package caught Reno’s attention. Jack cradled his armour and peg in his arms and offered it to Reno for closer inspection. Reno was impressed by how light it was. He inspected the joint which held the peg in place and looked down the forty centimetre long shaft at the fat rubber ferrule.

            – I like this. I’d like to have one like it too but I’ve never walked on only one peg.

            – And I’ve almost never walked on anything else. My plaster casts are the only double legs I have right now.

            – Can I see them too? They sound very unusual.

Jack bounced down from his bed and swung across to his closet. All his current armour was stacked inside. Armour he did not wear regularly was in his parent’s bedroom, along with old sockets he had outgrown. He dislodged the much heavier plaster armour and dragged it back to his bed. He lifted it for Reno, who had replaced his shell in the interim, and hauled himself onto his bed.

            – Wow! This is fantastic! I’ve never imagined anything like this. One central peg like on the other one which splits into two plaster feet. But you can’t stand on this, can you?

            – Nope. I always need crutches otherwise I’d topple over.

            – Don’t you mind? Wouldn’t you like to stand unsupported?

            – No. I love my crutches. They make me feel whole. I love the way my arms and crutches sort of become one and the strength they give me to move forward.

            – Do you wear this in public?

            – I have done, a few times. Always with a kilt, of course. I don’t have any trousers, you see.

            – No, I only have a pair of sports shorts. Do you use a wheelchair?

            – Only when I go to hospital for a check‑up. But otherwise I always use crutches.

            – Interesting.

Reno was also interested in knowing more about the wondrous package inside Jack’s pants but realised that it was inappropriate to ask anything in the present situation. He was happy enough with the way his own tool had developed and enjoyed chafing his erections inside his carapace.

            – Would you like to see my gear? Help yourself. Go ahead!

 

Reno was already ‘naked’ from the waist down. He looked at Jack’s face as the young man reached out to touch the double row of clasps which held the front and rear sections together. Unseen, the base folded comfortably under his buttocks with a lateral bulge across the lower front to accommodate his useless stumps and his genitals. A cover attached by studs hid access to his penis. The exterior shell extended for an extra fifteen centimetres to give Reno a little extra height and to make it possible to add accessories such as stubbie feet or short peg legs. Reno was already thinking about having a single central peg leg but it would have to be easily detachable. He would have to talk to Dr Mills about it. Jack appraised the shell. It was altogether more robust than his own and covered more of Reno’s body than any of Jack’s armour, which was held on with suspenders and chest belts. With no clothes on, Reno was a glossy black shell with a head and arms. Reno smiled at Jack and rotated his shell so the rear was visible. There was a slight curve along the spine conforming to Reno’s back. Jack thought it looked nice, as attractive as a sleek curve on a sports car.

            – It looks very strong. How often do you get a new one?

            – This one is strong. It’s meant to last me eighteen months. I’ve only had it for about six weeks. The old ones were basically the same but they were only as long as me. This is the first one I’ve had with an extension.

            – Reno, can I ask you something? Do you mind being legless? Would you like a pair of proper legs if you could have them?

            – Hmm. I don’t really know. I’ll tell you something silly. I really like shoes. I like the way they look and the way they smell. But I’ll never have a pair myself. It would be nice to have a pair to sniff sometimes but it would look funny if I went into a shoe shop, wouldn’t it? So I just look at other people’s shoes.

            – Do you know what we should do? You and me? We should have them make us artificial legs, proper ones, which we could walk on with crutches and then you could buy as many pairs of shoes as you want.

            – Would you have legs if I got them?

            – Well, I could try. Reno, are we going to be friends and see each other?

            – I hope so.

Jack was so excited at the idea of seeing Reno regularly that he bounced across to his new friend and hugged his carapace. It unbalanced Reno and the entwined pair of legless juveniles toppled sideways and they laughed, confirming their joy at finding each other and their mutual pride in their leglessness.

 

They calmed themselves and released each other. Jack hopped down to retrieve his leather armour and handles from his closet and wiggled into it. Reno pushed himself erect and put his hoodie on. There was a knock at the door and Fred’s voice called out.

            – Come in, dad!

            – Your mum has made some finger food, although she calls them hors d’ouevres. Horse doovers I call them. So if you don’t mind, come into the lounge. Are you OK in your armour, Jack?

            – Yep. I just thought that Reno is using handles so I would too.

            – Oh, OK. See you in a bit.

 

Fred and Zarah sat in opposing armchairs around the coffee table which was piled with little open sandwiches. There was boiled egg with anchovies, prawn and tomato, or grapes and horseradish. Jack and Reno sat on both sides of a corner of the table. Reno was almost a head taller than Jack thanks to his new rigid carapace.

            – Help yourselves, boys. There’s orange juice or iced tea. How old are you, Reno?

            – I’m seventeen and a half.

            – Oh. Jack is coming up to fifteen. It would be nice to have a glass of wine but not just yet. Reno, did you say you came from Harrow on an electric scooter? Sorry if this sounds silly, but I don’t understand how you stay upright when you’re stopped at lights or something.

            – Oh, that’s no problem. I have a walking stick which I hang over the handlebars and when I stop, I hold the walking stick so I don’t fall over. And then when we move off, it goes back on the handlebars.

Zarah looked at Reno in amazement. It was such a simple solution to such an improbable problem. She wanted to ask all kinds of questions about Reno’s armour since it was obviously different from what Jack wore and appeared to make him far more independent. But decorum prevented her. She hoped Jack had asked. Perhaps he could tell her later. The two boys tucked into the food, trying one of each sort. Reno was interrogated about his past and his present. He explained about being born with severely deformed legs and growing up with foster parents who had two children of their own. And how he had to keep up with the family despite not having legs, so he got used to wearing a rigid casing, his shell, and scooting along with the others using wooden handles like Jack had. He went to a normal school and had just started college, specialising in maths and physics.

 

Fred especially was impressed. Jack learned things he had not thought to ask. He had not realised that Reno was some kind of orphan. It was fun seeing how Reno changed his position according to which of his parents he was speaking to. He heaved himself up with his handles and rotated his shell a bit, just like anyone else might just turn their head. It showed how natural leglessness was for him and how easily he compensated for it. Jack admired him very much.

 

Jack was falling in love and the older Reno was falling in lust. He could see that Jack was mature far beyond his age. Jack was hairy all over and had a fuzzy beard with a dark moustache. And Reno had never seen anyone with junk the size of Jack’s, although Jack was quite nonchalant about exposing his package clad in underwear to Reno. Might he have been trying to send some kind of message, an invitation? No, surely not. Jack seemed too innocent for the sort of things Reno was thinking of. Reno was unsure of himself too. He had no hope of ever finding a girlfriend so he mostly ignored them. He had his mates who sometimes let him swing along with them. But mostly he wanted a companion. And he thought Jack was his peer.

 

Reno thanked his hosts for their hospitality and promised Jack that they would keep in touch. They watched Reno rocking his handles to swing his shell forward. The hollow base made it resonate in the empty hallway. Reno descended to the lobby and skirted the building to where he had left his scooter in the backyard. He prised his walking stick from the handlebar and lifted his shell onto the scooter’s broad footplate. He started the motor, carefully checked his precarious balance and moved off, quickly hooking the stick back over the handlebar. He felt safe as long as he was in motion. Ideally, he wanted a four‑wheeler, something with a roof. Maybe when he was earning some money. His disability pension brought in some pocket money but it was nowhere near the amount needed to afford anything like a electric quad bike. Reno drove carefully along darkened pavements from Willesden to Harrow and arrived home after ninety minutes. He spent the rest of the evening with his step‑parents and his step‑brother, describing his new friend’s amazing armour and peg legs. They were pleased for him, happy that against all odds he had found another legless youngster for company. His mum suggested that perhaps he might like to invite young Jack to visit one day soon. They would like to meet this new friend with a peg leg.

 

Jack’s father made the finishing touches to the egg. It occurred to him that it was a similar design to Reno’s shell except that instead of extending to a flat base, on which Reno managed to balance extremely well, leaving his hands free, it had a hemispherical base which Jack insisted on so he needed to balance with crutches at all times. The egg was long enough to allow Jack to wear a kilt again. It would hold him about fifteen centimetres off the ground and would be visible under his kilt. He called to his son.

            – It’s ready for your final fitting, Jack. Come and test it.

Jack was leaning on his peg in the corner of his bedroom, his favoured position when reading. He slid his arms into his crutches and swung across to see his new egg. It was white, with three coats of enamel paint on it and its base was covered with a circular pad of rubber about ten centimetres in diameter. Jack placed his crutches at the end of his bed and allowed himself to fall backwards onto it. He unbelted his armour and his dad moved it to one side. The egg was easily as long as his peg leg armour. It was going to look spectacular. His dad had fitted black leather straps with silver buckles.

            – OK. Scoot up a bit.

 

Fred helped his son into the new prosthesis. Jack wriggled his torso, finding the correct alignment  and pressure points. The egg rested against his ribcage, like all his plaster armour. When the buckles were secure, Jack began pushing himself towards the end of his bed. When he thought enough of the egg had passed the foot of his bed, he tried pushing himself up with his arms. The egg slid a little and its tip hit the floor. Jack reached for his crutches and forced himself erect. The egg felt heavy and supremely comfortable. His crutches might need adjusting a little but he swung his surreal new prosthesis towards the door and into the hallway. He stood admiring himself in the full‑length mirror on the far wall. He twisted sideways to judge his profile. The egg was slim but its shape was perfectly regular below his waist. It tapered like…like an egg. It was fantastic. Jack swung himself down the hall, spun and swung back. There was a pleasing heft to it. It felt really satisfying to wear. Also, the front was rubbing against his cock and he was becoming erect. He stood quite still and gyrated his stumps. In a moment or two, he could usually make his penis drop out of his underwear. The egg had a brilliant amount of room inside for him to let his cock free. He could have an erection and move it about inside the egg without anyone else knowing what he was doing. It was why Jack had wanted the egg.

 

Jack’s libido was developing as quickly as his body. He was still as sexually naïve as any other fifteen year old but he had an adult male’s sexual urge to match his hirsute body and his over‑developed genitals. It was difficult to talk about and he had no idea that his urges were premature. He could have spoken with his father who was well aware of his extraordinary development but he had no-one with whom to discuss his feelings. Jack spun himself around on the base of his egg and swung back into his bedroom.

            – How do you like that? You feel secure in it?

            – Dad, it’s everything I expected and more. Thanks so much. I can’t wait to see what it looks like with the kilt.

            – Save that for another day. Are the straps alright?

            – Yeah. They don’t slip and they’re not too tight.

            – Good. Now we can start planning your next one.

            – Haha! I haven’t thought about the next one.

            – Oh, but I have, Jack. I have. I was watching Reno and how he can stand on his shell without his handles. He can use his hands if he wants to. You know, to gesticulate, wave his hands around.

Jack was alarmed at the idea of not having his crutches.

            – But I want to have my crutches, dad. That’s me. I can’t help being legless but I can decide about the way I walk and I don’t want to be without crutches.

            – OK, don’t get excited. I just thought that maybe the next armour we make could have a flat base for you to stand on.

            – No! Sorry, dad. I’m not interested.

 

The conversation was unexpected but decisive. Fred no longer suggested new armour for his son, not quite understanding the emotional importance of crutches to Jack, who often leaned forward on them, resting on his peg leg, unobtrusively gyrating his penis inside his prosthesis. His crutches allowed him to increase or decrease the pressure on his tool by leaning forward to varying degrees and Jack had already firmly associated his crutches with masturbation. He was not going to be parted from them for the ability to stand motionless. That held no attraction for him.

 

Four months later, Jack was due a new prosthesis. He requested another shell with a central peg leg, a full‑length one this time. He wanted to stand as tall as his schoolmates when they went out. Otherwise he was content to wear his carbon shorts to school.  They were a bit tight these days but they had enough space at the front for him to masturbate inside them when everyone was studying geography. He sat at his desk with his short carbon legs stretched in front of him, squirming slightly, keeping an eye on where the teacher was looking. His cock had grown another two centimetres since he started wearing his shorts. He had to be careful about it slipping around too much otherwise it could get caught at an awkward angle when he tried to stand up again.

 

Reno was a regular guest at the Hill’s home. He had bought himself a handsome full‑face helmet, chrome‑plated with a mirrored visor. He looked like an alien when he arrived wearing it, with just a leather motorcycle jacket over his shell. Jack was increasingly infatuated with his legless mate and seeing Reno looking so mechanical and handsome was almost too much for him. His penis was becoming problematic and his balls were keeping pace. They were not much of a problem. It was amazing to see how much they had grown under his thick bush of pubic hair. Jack’s dick was thirty-one centimetres long at rest the last time he measured it and when it was erect, it was thirty-four. He began to feel uncomfortable inside all his armour. He needed new codpieces for all his armour and, unknown to his parents, called Dr Mills to ask about a solution.

 

Mills was completely aware that his young patient might enquire about his growth. Jack complained about a lack of room and feeling pinched and uncomfortable. It wasn’t so much a problem with his armour, more with the fact that his codpieces were no longer big enough. Jack thought that his current carbon armour, one with the long peg leg and the other with a short hemispherical stubbie, might be better if there was more room at the front. Mills forced the boy to specify what he meant and was excited by the news that Jack’s tool had lengthened six centimetres since he had last inspected it. He made an appointment for Jack and his father.

 

Reno announced that he had been accepted for a place at uni to study applied botany. If he got a degree, it would allow him to work in research into gene-therapy, allowing food plants to survive drought and higher temperatures. It would be well‑paid work if he could get a position with a reputable company. The only downside was that he could no longer realistically expect to be taken seriously, either on campus or professionally, if he continued to swing himself along in his shell. A monopod was too unusual. Wheelchair users were far more accepted. Reluctantly, he adopted a manual wheelchair for mobility and tried his best to adapt to the loss of his scooter.

 

Jack had reached the age when his final ‘juvenile’ prosthesis would be made. It was assumed that the youth had reached his final adult size and that the final fitting would suffice for several years, until the normal duration for a prosthesis was reached. Jack negotiated with Dr Mills for several weeks over the design of an almost all‑encompassing carbon fibre shell, fixed to his body by a series of clasps, with an attachment on its flat base for a removable central peg leg. This would allow him to rest on the base without crutches or to allow him the freedom to attach short or long peg legs to swing himself along at pace with his normal–bodied colleagues. The flat base also allowed him to use a wheelchair while wearing the armour, since he was at the height of an ordinary sitting person. And then there was the main problem.

 

            – I need new codpieces for all my armour. It’s just too uncomfortable to crush my cock into a space too small for it. The only thing I have which is comfortable to wear is my plaster egg which my dad made, and that’s only because I can let my dick hang free.

            – I’m sorry to hear that you’ve had that sort of trouble, Jack. You know you can always turn to us if you need some kind of adjustment, don’t you?

            – It’s not so much an adjustment that I want, you see. I need to be able to let my tool relax somehow.

            – I’ve expected you to ask for something like this, Jack. You are a very unusual man, as I’m sure you know. You know, too, that society has its own expectations, so it’s difficult to design a prosthesis for you which both allows you to tend to your own needs easily without appearing, shall we say extravagant, to the outside world.

            – That’s one of the reasons why I wear what I call my egg. I don’t care if people can see that what is underneath my kilt is not a pair of legs. The egg lets my penis hang without being tied up in underwear and it has room for when I get stiff, if you see what I mean.

            – Yes, I see what you mean. Jack, when you get stiff, how high does your penis rise? Straight out from your body or can you get it higher?

            – Straight out.

            – OK, I think I have an answer. For as long as you use your armour, I can provide you with codpieces which take your genitals into consideration. You already have two sets of armour with compatible codpieces. I don’t know if you have noticed but the codpiece which fits on your new flat‑based armour also fits on the armour with the peg leg.

            –Yes, I knew that.

            – OK, good. Now, what I envisage is a new set of armour with a wide base which will have room for your manhood to expand.

            – But you don’t understand! I need my erections to be straight ahead! I can’t keep having them shoved to one side inside my armour. It hurts.

Mills looked at the handsomely moustachioed, muscular youth opposite him. He was himself suffering from an erection which was caught awkwardly in his underwear. He longed to stand and squirm until it could spring to its full length inside his trousers.

            – I have a couple of ideas but I have no idea how they might help you in everyday life. I want to make you new codpieces which will accommodate your length but do not expect them to be inconspicuous.

            – Alright. What are you thinking of?

            – I will make you a codpiece like a balloon which should be comfortable in most situations. A second codpiece will curve upwards to support your penis when it is flaccid. And another which is straight and as long as you want, wide enough to hold your penis when erect. These will all be interchangeable with your present codpieces.

            – I like the idea of having a straight one to hide my erections. Sounds ironic, doesn’t it?

            – So shall we go ahead? What about the other one which curls upwards? Would you like one like that?

            – Yes, I think that might be good too. For when I am not erect. My tool could be inside it curving upwards. That would be very comfortable.

            – That’s what I imagined. Shall I make a start on these three codpieces? Are your prostheses comfortable?

            – You mean my armour? Yes, they’re fine.

            – Very well. I will text you when you can collect your new codpieces.

 

Jack’s nineteen birthday was only a week away. Jack had moved with Reno into a subsidised accessible apartment shortly after leaving school but his parents hoped they would both visit for a birthday celebration. It was an hour’s drive from the boys’ apartment in Hitchin to Willesden in their car. Reno had applied for a grant through his university for disabled students and received a stipend which allowed him to buy a roofed quadricycle with room for two. Both men learned to drive it, resting their shells on the raised mound which replaced the seats, strapped in securely by belts which held their prostheses in place. Jack had laughed with Reno about having to behave himself nicely and not get erect while they were visiting. Reno now regarded Zarah and Fred not only as Jack’s parents but as genuine adult friends. At twenty-one, he was a young adult himself, perfectly au fait with talking about adult matters with other adults. His first experiences of working life were positive. His colleagues accepted him as a legless man in a wheelchair and he felt himself one of the team. Jack was still studying and refused to use a wheelchair, regardless of Reno’s exhortations. Just as at school, Jack wore his full‑length peg leg armour and lay on the floor to extricate himself from it before launching himself up onto a bench or chair. All his lecturers had learned to wait the extra seconds for Jack’s magnificently bearded face to appear before beginning a lecture.

 

At home, he changed his standard codpiece for one of the pair of extraordinary codpieces Dr Mills had made at the same time as the bulbous one. It was easiest for him to squirm around on their futon, feeding his penis into the thirty-five centimetre long curving codpiece which he favoured. The straight one, longer and thicker, was only for foreplay with Reno, who was averse to penetration but who loved to be assaulted by Jack’s prosthetic phallus. Both codpieces allowed him to become erect and the curved version was better for masturbation. Balancing on his peg, with Reno already naked, stumps shuddering in anticipation, Jack’s prosthetic tool offered everything Reno had ever fantasised. Jack fell onto the bed, unscrewed his peg and began poking every part of Reno’s torso with his erection, urging it powerfully inside its black carbon sheath, shoving it over Reno. Jack’s newest full‑length armour, with the rows of clasps like Reno wore, allowed him only to rock from side to side on top of his boyfriend, his prosthetic penis hitting either Reno’s pliant stumps or his anus. Jack had no idea what his prosthesis was touching but his penis swelled and urged him towards more, trapped in his disability, climaxing through his prosthetic sexuality. After twenty minutes of legless lovemaking, the men held each other, loving each other’s sweat and odour. Jack’s prosthetic penis curved around to touch Reno’s lower spine.

 

Their routine normalised as time passed. It was always Jack who wore the prosthetic devices they designed for their sex games. Both had experimented with dildos but neither enjoyed the sensation. They discussed how to improve their prosthetic love‑making after one or the other had done something which felt unusually good. It was odd to still discover new aspects of their sexuality. Jack had always slept naked, arranging his penis across the sheets below Reno’s stumps. When he moved or changed sides, he automatically gripped his glans and guided it to a more comfortable position. Jack did not regard himself as disabled but the inconvenience of dealing with a thirty-four centimetre cock which went to thirty-eight when erect would have made any normal man regard it as a bigger liability than being legless. Every man wanted to be bigger, but enough was enough. Jack inserted his gargantuan penis into an voluminous codpiece and continued as normal.

 

Jack had moved in with Reno soon after he was granted the apartment. It was designed specifically for wheelchair users. The bathroom was spacious and equipped with chrome railings for support everywhere. The floor was heated. They slept on two futons pushed together. A walk-in closet in the hallway held a variety of the men’s armour and shells. Jack could still use his egg but he had outgrown his armour with the plaster cast legs. At home, Jack wore old armour with a mound at the base and rocked around using handles or his full‑body carapace with a twenty centimetre peg leg. He had other pegs for it, forty and sixty centimetres long.

 

He had dropped out of college. His heart was not in it and he was initially disappointed. He might apply for a vocational course somewhere close to home. His meagre disability pension was sufficient for a simple life. There was actually nothing which Jack needed an income for. He currently paid no rent, although the men shared the other bills. Jack would have liked to have his own little car or a trike for more independence. Hitchin was well connected by public transport to the city and other areas across outer London but it was difficult to use buses and trains for a man encased in a peg leg’s socket. Almost inevitably, Jack decided to cash in on his distinguishing assets—his complete leglessness and his surreal cock and balls. He was prepared to perform in pornographic video productions which were streamed on pay‑per‑view. He discussed his ideas with Reno who supported him fully and gave him suggestions about how and where to apply for a job as a hirsute bearded sex stud.

 

Reno spent an enjoyable Saturday afternoon shooting promotional photography for Jack’s application. He took video of them playing together on a futon, both of them wearing full armour. Jack was wearing his ‘forty’, the codpiece which allowed him full erections pointing straight out from his groin. After clashing against Reno’s carapace for a minute or two, Reno changed the camera’s viewpoint to concentrate on the money shot. Jack unclipped his codpiece and removed it slowly to reveal his incredible cock, slimy with precum and glistening sperm, making his tool twitch and ending with a close-up of the glans, as big as a boy’s fist. Jack’s leglessness was obvious but his minimal stumps remained unseen inside the armour. Both of them achieved new erections when they looked at the material. Jack had orgasmed earlier inside his forty. He was unable to eject sperm from his penis. When he ejaculated, his cum slowed halfway along his penis and later drained for up to an hour. He had learned about his deviant ejaculation when he had experimented with blow jobs. He could fellate himself easily. His glans fit into his mouth with a little persuasion and he could tongue himself to climax. He could feel his balls pumping spunk for anything up to ten seconds but it was only after he replaced his codpiece and waited for the fluid to drain that his masturbation was complete.

 

Jack composed an email offering his services as an amputee porn actor. Reno read it through and fully approved. They spent some time extracting still frames from their video, once again becoming aroused in the process. The two men sat next to each other, Jack in leather armour, Reno in his underwear. He had enough stump to allow him to sit independently, barely, but he preferred wearing his full carapace with its flat base in solidarity with Jack who was never without his. Jack removed it only to sleep and sometimes not even then if they fell asleep immediately after their carbon fibre sex games.

 

Jack sent his email including ten still photos to three producers of erotic video in England, the Netherlands and Germany. Several days later, replies arrived. The English studio apologised, saying they had no market for amputee actors. The Hamburg studio was enthusiastic and requested an interview, either in Hamburg itself at their studio or in London when next a representative visited. The Dutch seemed ambivalent but complimented Jack on his endowment and said they would be in contact later, if that was agreeable. Jack was pleased with the responses. He swung his short peg leg to the bedroom and changed his bulbous codpiece for his forty. It would be another taxing time waiting for another session with Reno.

 

The German studio came to a financial agreement with Jack. He would initially feature in two productions, one heterosexual, one homosexual and an algorithm would judge his popularity. The studio demonstrated its willing accommodation for Jack by sending a personal assistant to his home with a wheelchair, not realising that Jack was mobile on a peg leg. The young assistant, Peter Bingen, was obviously gay and a devotee and reined in his urge to throw the legless man to the floor and engorge himself on whatever lay hidden behind the obscenely large bulbous codpiece. Jack dressed in a hoodie and kilt, screwed his mid‑length peg into his full armour and allowed himself to be escorted to the train station two hundred metres away. Peter unscrewed the peg leg and insisted that Jack complete the journey in the wheelchair. He had been instructed to deliver the potential new star to the Hamburg studio in tip‑top condition and he intended to ensure it. To his mind, swinging along the street on a single peg leg was far too dangerous. He carried Jack’s luggage which included his forty, the curved codpiece, a short peg leg and a change of clothing.

 

He was treated like royalty by his hosts. His hotel was opulent, modern and well‑equipped. There was a guided tour in an old Mercedes the next day, followed by a siesta in his hotel and a slap-up meal in a hotel restaurant. He was introduced to several young women and members of the production team and his peg leg was removed to allow him to sit at a beautifully laid table. He had no idea that he was already being shot. The premise of the film was that he was a film star in his own rite, and was surrounded by expensive hookers. Gradually, Jack’s leglessness would be revealed, driving the women wild and they would rip off his codpiece to discover something none of them had ever imagined. They would strip Jack down to his carapace, lift him onto the table among the foodstuffs and throw themselves on his protruding penis. The more Jack protested, the better the end result would be. Such a severely disabled man had no chance of resisting the determination of three horny women. The evening ended after two hours of frenzy when the plot was revealed to Jack, who had enjoyed being pampered so thoroughly after recovering from his initial confusion. There was obviously more to come later, probably some kind of bedroom scene where he would be naked and the emphasis would be on his tool and balls, formidable items themselves in a heavy and hairy scrotum.

 

The next day was spent in the company of the three women who had accosted him the previous evening. They were undeniably beautiful, intelligent and desirable. The studio rep explained to them what would happen during the following day’s shoot. Jack’s initial alarm had been an essential part of the story. The rest of the production would be fun among friends. Jack answered dozens of questions about his amputations, his armour and codpieces, how he had found a non‑sexual legless partner in England and what life was like with such a huge dick and such short stumps. All the women complimented him on maintaining his body in a trim condition. They were intrigued but not disturbed by Jack’s unique method of walking. They had made love to amputees before, but never by someone so completely legless and never by someone who seemed to relish his legless status so blatantly. They all thought they had seen everything and done everything, but seeing Jack encased in black carbon manipulating his licentious curving codpiece to extract his massive tool came as a surprise and delight to the actresses who knew exactly how to approach such a member.

 

The two first productions netted seventy percent more than the studio had expected. Jack had already banked a generous fee for six day’s work and began to receive royalties. Algorithms revealed that the deviant hetero production had already passed into the realm of amputee devotees who were keenest to see shots of Jack’s minimal stumps. An edited version without the women turned up on YouTube for three weeks before being taken down, but copies had been made and Jack’s first encounter with women who caressed his carapace and codpiece became a regularly repeated meme on TikTok and Google Shorts. His face was rarely visible and even then at an angle from below. His identity was preserved for the time being.

 

Reno and Jack watched the video productions. Reno was not jealous but asked if Jack had enjoyed having his tool so thoroughly mangled by the three women. Jack was unsure. Reno offered to give Jack the same treatment later in bed. They both laughed. They both knew they preferred to wear their prostheses and knock against each other in a pretence of normal love. With his curved codpiece, Jack could cuddle Reno’s casing and stab his carbon penis against Reno’s shell until both men ejaculated inside their prostheses. It was an act which deserved preservation by a video team but there were no spectacular ejaculations to see. The two men hugged each other’s shells and slept.

 

The Dutch production company made contact again. They admitted their interest after seeing the two German videos. They congratulated Jack on his realistic performances and wished to propose a series of gay and disabled videos. Understandably the audience was smaller than for heteroporn but there was a niche market with a steady demand and a good return on investment. They offered Jack a contract for six video productions with a variety of young amputee stars. Jack showed the email to Reno who was astounded at the amount offered.

            – And there are the residuals, too. I get a few cents every time the video is downloaded.

            – I hate the idea of all those other guys having fun with you but if you want to do it, I think you should. You won’t quite be set for life but you could get that car you were after. Shit! You’ll be able to get a fleet of them.

 

Jack sent an email stating that he was interested in signing a contract for six videos. Three weeks later, a personal assistant arrived to collect the legless star. He was a two metre tall body builder with a mohawk and an eyepatch who introduced himself as Boos. There was no wheelchair in sight. He was there to help if needed, to show the way, to answer questions. Jack screwed his longest peg into his armour, grabbed his longest crutches and the pair strolled slowly down the street side by side to the station. He already felt that the Amsterdam gigs were going to be more fun than the Hamburg ones.

 

They arrived in Amsterdam late at night. Boos and Jack caught a taxi to an outlying hotel which catered for the disabled. Boos carried Jack to a bench outside the hotel and replaced his peg leg for the fifth or sixth time that day. Jack checked in and was directed up to a third floor room. Boos came with him, made sure Jack had everything he needed and unscrewed the peg leg once more. Jack could manage well enough on his hands. Boos wished him good night and promised to collect him from his room the next day at ten thirty.

 

The studio was a ten minute ride away. Boos mentioned that there was no point in replacing the peg just yet as there was to be a preliminary meeting first and Jack would be seated for the rest of the morning. He carried Jack under one arm and Jack’s crutches and peg under the other. It was slightly undignified but Jack felt safe in the giant’s care. He had been nothing but considerate and mindful of his legless charge’s needs all the way from Hitchin. He placed Jack carefully onto a armchair in the lobby and alerted the studio chief. Shortly another tall bearded man strode in, wearing shorts to expose his own steel peg leg. He welcomed Jack, introducing himself as the director, and spoke to Boos in Dutch. Boos nodded and said good bye.

            – It’s great you could come, Jack. I’m head of production, and you can call me Joop. We will have a short meeting this morning and you can see who you will be working with. Then later we can either go into town or we will have a few drinks here. It depends on the majority vote. If you are ready to meet the other stars, we can go now. Do you want your peg leg?

            – No, it’s fine, thanks. If you take it and the crutches, I can walk just fine.

Joop gathered the devices and watched Jack swing himself down from the chair. He was obviously encased in a prosthesis. Joop had heard that this Englishman was otherwise unremarkable, with a nice body and a handsome face, except for his penis which was truly monstrous. The carapace he was in gave no hint. Jack followed Joop into a conference room, half of which was taken by a large round table and the rest of the space by low seating which ran in a semicircle around the walls. There were several others already present, suddenly alert and watching the new arrival closely. Joop left the peg leg and crutches near the door and ensured Jack was comfortable. He was.

            – Thank you everyone for coming. As you know, we have a series of six videos planned. We have made scripts so four of you will be in each production. Your partners will vary. You will all be working together so I hope you will introduce yourselves now and tell us where you have worked before.

There were six men seated on the low sofa. Jack looked along the line and spotted another legless guy, blond, bearded. There were three arm amputees with hooks and a fourth with naked shoulders. He had an artificial leg too. The fifth was a double amputee, missing both limbs on his right. His long stumps were both visible. Everyone seemed relaxed and completely comfortable with the situation, everyone knowing that they would shortly be performing intimate acts with each other.

            – Jack! Last come, first served! Please tell us something about yourself.

Jack was surprised. He had not expected to be first. He cleared his throat.

            – Hello everyone. I am Jack Hill from England. I am a bilateral leg amputee but my stumps are very short so I use a body socket to get around on a peg leg. I’m twenty-one years old and I’ve been in two videos for a company in Germany called Noch Einmal! and Beinlos zu Bleiben.

There was an audible intake of breath from two of his listeners who knew the films.

            – And I suppose I should mention that my penis is thirty-four centimetres long.

            – Thank you Jack. Stefan, introduce yourself, please.

            – Guten Tag! I am Stefan from Stuttgart, Germany and I am also beinlos like Jack.

They glanced at each other and grinned.

            – So I am thinking we are very good together, ja?

            – We’ll see, Stefan.

Joop chuckled.

            – Roman! How about you?

            – Yes, I am Roman from Slovenia. I lost my arm and leg four years ago in a motorbike accident and I have learned to walk on artificial legs and also peg legs. I have many artificial arms and hooks but I like to use my stumps in the films.

            – Your stumps are very handsome, Roman.

Everyone introduced themselves. It was an international bunch. The armless triple was Italian, another motorbike accident victim. It was difficult to imagine him ever riding a bike again. It was too bad. But he looked happy enough.

 

The room was shortly converted into a dining room. The amputees were invited to go outside for a smoke or simply get to know each other. Lunch would be served at one, after which the schedules would be explained. Stefan worked his way to the floor, put a pair of workman’s gloves on and heaved himself towards the door. Jack wanted a word with him and followed. They went out to the forecourt where several of the amps were smoking. Jack sidled up to Stefan, who expected Jack to speak with him.

            – Have you any stumps, Stefan?

            – None. Just my arse bone.

            – I have about fifteen mil. Totally useless.

            – You like to have a socket?

            – I love it! I always use my socket and crutches.

            – You cannot stand on your socket, I am thinking.

            – No. I need short crutches, really.

            – I have learned always to use Handschuhe.

He waggled his gloved hands.

            – It’s good. I have handles. I don’t like to use my hands. It hurts my fingers,

            – Yes, I understand. I think we are going to be together, Jack. I know about your big dick. I also have a big dick but yours is much longer. Can you imagine if we are together, no legs but just two big dicks? I think we will be the top stars.

Jack looked at Stefan with his bright blue eyes and perfect features. Would they really be making love together? He hoped so. He had recently begun to shaft Reno after years of prosthetic pretence. He rarely used the forty any longer. It was au naturel now.

 

Work started the next morning. There was a tight schedule. Most of the props were rented and had to be returned. As Stefan had guessed, they were paired in two of the productions. The storylines were as contrived and weak as with most porn but were great fun to act in. The first featured Jack arriving for a job interview. He had been dressed in a dark suit with his peg in one trouser leg and the other folded up neatly into his waistband. He knocked on the door and entered to be interviewed by Stefan, who sat behind a desk. Jack crutched over to shake hands and they pretended to be boss and potential employee. Stefan gestured at Jack’s peg. Jack fell back onto a sofa and unscrewed his peg in order to sit. Stefan came from behind his desk in a wheelchair, in black leather armour. Stefan transferred onto the sofa where the men fondled each other’s beards, felt each other’s prosthetic coverings and stripped each other naked to expose them. Jack was wearing his large bulbous codpiece. They fell on each other and made amorous advances almost exactly as Jack was used to doing with Reno. Stefan’s codpiece knocked against Jack’s and they both showed frustration at not being able to access their dicks.

 

That afternoon, they were teamed up again. Jack was a chauffeur and Stefan was an affluent businessman with a fat cigar. A limousine adapted for a legless driver was on loan for forty-eight hours. Jack would not actually drive it—he had no licence—but he sat in the driver’s seat wearing his forty in a white shirt and tie with a chauffeur’s cap. Jack was genuinely surprised to see Stefan approaching the car on crutches wearing artificial legs. Much fuss was made about getting Stefan, looking arrogant with his Bazuka cigar stretching his mouth, seated inside the car with his fake legs, taking pains not to scratch the car’s paintwork. Many shots from different angles followed, establishing that the businessman’s legs were prosthetic. When the director was satisfied with the material, the next scene was Stefan leaning forward to give driving instructions to his chauffeur. He then notices the chauffeur’s legless status and the enormous carbon phallus jutting out from the carapace. Before long, they were both at it again in the back seat after shedding Stefan’s trousers and artificial legs. Much attention was paid to the visual similarity of Stefan’s enormous cigar and Jack’s enormous cock sheath. After two hours of games, the director called it a day. Four Bazukas had been purchased for the shot and there were two left untouched. The director handed them to Stefan, who gave one to Jack. Jack protested, saying he did not smoke or know how to handle such a big cigar. Stefan sucked on his half-smoked cigar and mumbled that he would show Jack later. Jack thought that Stefan made cigar smoking look almost obscene. He definitely wanted to try it. Stefan screwed Jack’s peg leg back into the socket for him, the director handed him his crutches and he carefully exited the limo, careful of the paintwork.

            – Jack, I want to talk to you. Can you come to my office?

            – Yes of course.

He gave his Bazuka back to Stefan for safekeeping and followed the peglegged director into the one-storey studio building.

            – I want to cast you in a production we are planning for next year. It is a longer film. You will play a disabled man but the idea is that we discover your disabilities slowly, and then of course your magnificent cock. But I want you to have legs. Do you use prostheses?

            – No, sorry. I don’t. I can’t use them. My stumps are almost non‑existent.

            – That is too bad. I guess we could use a body double for some shots. But you use a peg leg! Can you not have two long pegs which have ordinary plastic feet?

            – I suppose so.

Jack had an old socket somewhere which had accepted two short peg legs. He had not enjoyed using it but there was no reason he could not have a new set made with two built‑in rigid legs. He would heave himself along on crutches or even stand independently on his booted pegs.

            – Would it be OK if I have rigid legs which don’t bend? I want the rigidity, you see, for security. And then I could walk on two legs with crutches.

The director looked at Jack pensively and fingered his beard. He was a natural actor and the two shoots today had taken half the expected time because of the sensible professionalism. Jack and Stefan were two naturals and he wanted to exploit their extreme disability for their mutual benefit.

            – So you would be rigid from head to toe. You couldn’t sit, could you?

            – No, but I would have legs and I would walk with crutches.

            – OK, I think that might be good enough. If I offer you the role provisionally, will you get yourself two legs by next April or May?

            – Yes, I can do that.

Now he could afford new prostheses, new armour, as often as he wanted—as often as his director wanted.

            – That is very good, Jack. I think you have a great future in our productions, for the two main reasons—your legless body and your penis. And of course the rest of you too!

 

The next day, work continued. Jack took part in an orgy with the three arm amputees. He was filmed arriving at their boudoir, naked, heaving his torso slowly along a corridor, pausing at each ‘step’ to move his cock in front of him so as not to squash it. It felt ridiculous but the director insisted that after editing, it would look polished and erotic. Next they were shot exploring each other’s stumps. The guy with long forearm stumps held Jack’s cock between them. It felt insanely good. He was gentle and enjoying himself too. Jack’s cock extended far beyond the rounded tips of the stumps. Jack was well aware of the phallic potential of forearm stumps on noticing that his dick was as thick as the bilateral amputee’s arms. It had not occurred to him before. He could not get the idea out of his mind. They broke for lunch and everyone replaced their prostheses. Unusually, Jack had a helping ‘hand’ up, being lifted onto his peg by a sturdy pair of artificial arms with hooks. They ate together and Jack watched his companions using their hooks as naturally as he used his hands. His enormous cock was fully erect inside his straight codpiece which he wore around the studio at the request of Stefan and Angelo, the Italian bike victim. They said it inspired them.

 

Later that night, Jack thought about the erotic arm stumps he had seen and the hyper-masculine appearance of the prostheses and hooks. He had never considered losing his hands before but had to admit that in his present career, the more stumps he had, the more work he would get, assuming of course that he did not disable himself so much that he was incapable. He knew his chief selling point was his dick. It hardly mattered if he had natural hands or not. He was already completely legless and that presented no barrier. He would discuss things with Reno.

 

He saw the director at breakfast. He crutched over and wished him Good morning.

            – Good morning Jack. Is everything ok?

            – Everything’s fine. Listen. If I were even more disabled, would you still have me? I was thinking last night that if I had hooks, perhaps you could use me for shots where I masturbate with stumps.

            – Wow! That would be fantastic. But how would you walk? You will find it difficult to walk on crutches if you have hooks.

            – I know but there are other ways to get around. I could use an electric two wheeler or an ordinary electric wheelchair.

            – Well, if you are sure, OK, go ahead. But I want you on legs next year, don’t forget. I don’t care if you have hands or not. But if you have stumps, I am sure we can find something interesting to use them for.

            – The only problem is, I don’t know how to get voluntary amputations.

            – Oh, that’s no problem, Jack. If you want them, I can arrange it. Keep it a secret please.

            – Really? That’s wonderful. OK, I’ll let you know soon.

            – There’s no hurry, Jack. Just don’t have your cock amputated.

            – Ha! No, I won’t.

 

The director lifted his peg onto a chair and put his natural leg on top of it. He tried to imagine life with no legs and two hooks. It held so much promise for erotic video. He would encourage Jack to go ahead if he showed signs of changing his mind. The same guy in Poland was still working, still turning out voluntary amputees at twenty thousand per amp, the same guy who had removed his own leg so he could wear a steel peg. He ran his foot up and down its shaft and shifted slightly to move his solid erection to a more enjoyable position.

 

Production continued for another ten days. The other scenes with Stefan for the two productions in which they starred were completed and the two legless men spent time together befriending each other, becoming genuine friends. Jack mentioned his desire to use hooks and Stefan was shocked.

            – I can’t imagine having leglessness and arm stumps! It’s fantastic. Perfect!

 

Stefan’s reaction confirmed Jack’s desires. He sought out the director and they quietly discussed a schedule and a fee with the Polish surgeon. Jack’s hands would be amputated in mid‑January and his prostheses would be fitted before the April‑May production. The director instructed Jack to get a pair of artificial hands. It was not important if they were operational or not.

 

Reno was nonplussed when they lay together in their carapaces on Jack’s return home. Jack was tired after the long train journey from Amsterdam and did not feel up to giving a long explanation. He merely stated that he could earn more money and be featured in more productions if he replaced his hands with hooks, with stumps as fat as his cock. Reno hugged him closer and Jack reached down to rearrange his flaccid dick to accommodate its new angle.

 

The amputations were performed in Wrocław, Poland on January fifteenth. Jack’s hands were removed eight centimetres above his wrists leaving powerful stumps. He would recover for three weeks, bed‑bound for only four days, until he was fitted with prosthetic arms. A young assistant named Zdzisław never left his side. They toured the city by tram, Jack’s stumps protected from knocks by plaster of Paris stump sheaths. Zdzisław pointed out various significant buildings as he pushed his quadruple amputee ward along the streets. After three weeks of recovery and several fittings, Jack received a starter pair of hooks on pink sockets and a pair of handsome artificial hands on forearm sockets which looked realistic but which were totally inert. They were only for appearances. Jack was now too disabled to move by himself. He saw no way of returning home under his own power and wracked his brain for a solution. He could hardly ask Reno to travel to Poland to pick him up. Then he remembered—Stefan lived in Berlin.

 

Stefan was astounded to receive Jack’s message. He was incredulous and excited that Jack had actually had his hands amputated. Jack had seemed so level‑headed. Losing both hands in favour of a pair of hooks was a huge lifestyle change. He remembered a conversation with Jack about this exact matter. He still thought hooks were horny. If he remembered correctly, he had told Jack his body would be ‘perfect’. He felt some responsibility for English friend’s plight and, as he had no work in the offing, decided to rescue the newly limbless amputee with the amazing cock.

 

Stefan booked a train ticket and guided his electric wheelchair to the Hauptbahnhof. Jack could return in the wheelchair, while Stefan was content to swing along beside him on crutches. The taxi took a convoluted route from Wrocław station to Jack’s clinic until Stefan protested. The driver removed Stefan’s chair from the boot and held out his hand. Stefan had already paid him by credit card. The driver wanted a tip. He found a twenty euro note in his wallet and the driver left him with his chair by the side of the road.

 

Zdzisław had carefully balanced Jack on a chair in reception. He was wearing a hoodie over his armour, fitted with the balloon codpiece. His small wheelie suitcase stood nearby. He had spent the previous three hours talking to the security guard receptionist when there were no other clients. He had perfected his story about overwhelming nerve pain in his hands which had driven him to amputation as a cure. It would be his explanation whenever someone asked about his injuries. The doors slid open and an electric wheelchair entered, operated by Stefan. He stopped, acknowledged the receptionist, said Dobry dzien and pointed at Jack. The receptionist nodded and Stefan wheeled over towards Jack, stopping a couple of meters away to look at his sexy friend. Stefan stared at the steel hooks peeking from Jack’s sleeves. He had really done it. What a glorious fool.

 

            – Here I am. How can I help?

Stefan grinned at Jack and burst out laughing.

            – You look so sad. Don’t be sad, Jack. You have two new stumps. I want to see them.

Jack looked at his irrepressibly upbeat friend and his forlorn mood improved. Stefan would know what to do.

            – Thank you for coming. I couldn’t think of what to do to get home.

            – You were not wise. It is not easy to have two new stumps. How can you walk now? How can you use a wheelchair?

            – I know, I know. How am I going to get out of here?

            – Oh, that is no problem. You use my wheelchair with your hook. You sit here and I walk. We will go to the station first. The train goes to Berlin in five hours. We will talk of the future. But first I need my legs. Is there someone who can help us?

            – My assistant will come if I call him.

            – Yes, call him. Is he a stud? You had sex with him?

            – No! I mean yes he is a stud. No we have not had sex.

            – OK Jack. I believe you. Call him and we can get out of here.

Jack concentrated hard on opening a hook to pick his phone up. His stumps were still very tender although the surgeon had given his foreign patient permission to be fitted on condition that Jack operate his hooks as little as possible for the next few weeks. He would know when his stumps were healed enough to take the strain. Jack pressed the call button app’s icon and waited.

 

Zdzisław already had a new ward, a young motorcyclist who had lost both arms near the shoulder in a horrific motorway crash. He had held out his arms to protect himself and the top edge of a safety barrier had sliced through flesh and bone at two hundred kilometres an hour. Zdzisław’s time was spent reassuring the youth that his motorcycling days could continue with artificial arms. His phone beeped with Jack’s ringtone. Zdzisław apologised and hurried to reception.

            – Jizz, can you help? This is my friend Stefan. We need to swap places. To change places.

            – Dobry dzien! Jack must use my chair, I think. I can walk if you give me my stubby legs and short crutches. But I am thinking we must find a place to change.

Zdzisław was impressed by Stefan. He was extremely good looking with the sort of multicoloured blond beard that he loved. He looked at the two friends, both legless, and assumed that they were lovers.

            – It doesn’t matter. We can do it here. Where are your stubby legs?

            – Oh, OK. In the bag on the back of the wheelchair. Two black round legs. And the crutches are there too.

Zdzisław detached the bag and handed it to Stefan. Stefan found what he needed and set them on an adjacent chair. He assembled his short crutches and leant them against the chair.

            – If you can connect the legs to my socket, please.

Stefan leant forward and toppled out of his chair onto his hands. He swung his body erect and came to rest on the base of his carapace. He threw his arms in the air and twisted his body simultaneously, turning to face the others. It was an astonishing trick.

            – They screw in to the bottom. You can understand, I think.

            – Yes. Go back, please.

The broken English was amusing but effective. Stefan lay on his back and Zdzisław attached his fifteen centimetre stubbies, one at each side of Stefan’s socket. He pulled Stefan erect and handed him his crutches. Stefan walked around the wheelchair, lifting himself and swinging the rigid immovable stubbies ahead of him. He would have to stand on his stubbies in the taxi but the train conductor could unscrew his legs to let him sit on a seat in the Berlin train. If not, it was much the same. It felt no different.

 

Zdzisław lifted Jack into Stefan’s wheelchair. There was a safety belt. Zdzisław lifted Jack’s right hook and twisted it to a position where it could operate the short joystick to control the chair. Stefan gave instructions on how to move it and Jack made a slow tour around the reception area. Zdzisław and Stefan beamed at each other over Jack’s prowess. Everything was going to be OK.

 

Zdzisław excused himself and returned to the motorcyclist. The receptionist called a taxi and assisted the driver in placing the legless men into the car. The driver asked many questions about life as an amputee during the drive. He had worked in London for five years and had an unlikely East London accent. Jack felt himself in good hands. His mate standing next to him on stubbies, swapping suggestive euphemisms with the driver, nursing his fresh stumps hidden from view by his bilateral hooks, his libido began to return and he felt his penis beginning to strain against the confines of the balloon. His forty was in his bag. Maybe Stefan could swap them over on the train or preferably before. He did not mind sitting in the chair with his forty poking out in front of him. It was his only remaining limb. He sniggered.

 

It was an inconvenient wait at the station for Stefan. He heaved his carapace around seemingly without effort—indeed, he was well used to manoeuvring his rigid body. His stubbies had curved bases so he was unable to balance without crutches. Jack had similarly always preferred to support himself on crutches. Jack took advantage of quiet periods to practise wheeling himself around the station concourse. He stopped at every shop to examine their wares, touching things with a hook for closer examination. Stefan remained standing, pleased to help his friend. They had felt mutual attraction when they made love to each other in Amsterdam. The same feeling welled up now in Stefan watching Jack using his new hooks. He would do anything for his friend who had sculpted his body as Stefan had suggested.

 

The first of their trains pulled in and the amputees found comfortable spots. Stefan’s outward journey had been direct but the return required four changes, and in Berlin there was quite a way to Stefan’s apartment. Jack was quite good at boarding. His right hook fit over the control stick very well and he could follow Stefan easily at a snail’s pace, admiring the way Stefan heaved his short cylindrical legs ahead. Stefan was as restricted as Jack and Reno. But somehow he moved more quickly, changed direction without faltering and in general seemed more used to using crutches to get around. He was a great role model. No-one could ever have imagined that they were both successful actors, their success due almost entirely to their utter leglessness and their sexual specialities. Their disabilities were the key to their income. Jack’s new stumps would definitely bring him greater popularity and more work.

 

They left the S-bahn at Olympia Stadion. It was past three in the morning. Both men had managed to snooze for an hour or so on the long journey across the border on a regional train which seemed to stop at every hedge. Both men were fitted with catheters. It would be a permanent way of life for Jack from now on. When he learned to manipulate his hooks, it would be easier for him to insert the catheter once a day rather than continually remove his balloon codpiece. Stefan had worn a catheter since losing his legs under a train when he was fourteen. It had been deliberate and he had never regretted gaining his miniature stumps. They had become his passport to success in addition to his phenomenal cock.

 

Stefan crutched alongside Jack on the trek from the station to his home. It was in a huge block of flats standing almost isolated in open countryside. Stefan poked in the entry code and the lock clicked open. He leaned back holding the door open to allow Jack to enter and crutched inside. He summoned the lift. They rose to the seventh floor. There was a long corridor stretching out on each side, almost like a street. Jack followed Stefan, watching the stubbies regularly hit the ground. Stefan stopped and opened a wide door, indicating by raising a crutch that Jack should enter.

 

At four o’clock in the morning, stripped of all prosthetic equipment, the two men who had made love together before lay together again in Stefan’s low queen size bed. Jack lay back, his thigh stumps twitching as his lover serviced his penis, Stefan’s own impressive tool poking at his belly. It was too exhausting. Jack held his new stumps in front of him and waited for his lover to quieten before falling asleep. He dreamed he was with Reno and reached out to put a hand around Reno’s neck to pull him closer. Jack’s handless stump slid uselessly across Stefan’s neck. He did not awaken.

 

Stefan was a thoughtful host. He insisted that Jack should not wear his hooks. The stumps needed to heal properly. They were not sore but tender. Stefan assured Jack that he had made the right decision. When he was healed and had learned to manipulate his hooks, he would feel himself to be the perfect prosthetic man, completely legless and handless. Stefan showed Jack his collection of trollies and skateboards which he had used over the years for mobility. He lifted Jack onto a trolley with four wheels at the corners.

            – If you had crutches, you could move quite easily. I think we must get you some peg arms.

            – Peg arms? What are they?

            – Oh Jack. You can not use crutches with your hooks. You must take off your hooks and put your stumps into long cylinders. Do you understand? The cylinders are like sockets but they go to the ground and you can use them like crutches.

            – So my arms would be inside the crutches? They would just be crutches?

            – Yes.

It was an idea which Jack had never thought of. It was intensely erotic. He threw his head back and howled while his balls pumped ejaculate into his forty. Stefan smirked and waited until Jack calmed himself.

            – So I would be completely limbless with crutches for arms.

            – Yes.

            – OK! Let’s do it!

            – Jack, listen. We have to get you home first. You have things to organise before we can be together. You do want to stay with me, is it not true?

 

It was true. Jack would have to leave Reno and his comfortable flat in Hitchin and start life over with Stefan in an admittedly superior flat. It was more spacious and it felt better than Reno’s apartment. Stefan had lived there longer and had furnished it to suit his physical needs. It was a perfect home for a quad. There were other advantages. If Jack could move to Berlin, it would be much easier to travel to continental studios for work and he would have Stefan for company. They would make a remarkable pair of stars, horny legless studs who never failed to find the opportunity to shag each other. It would be the same at home. Stefan was far more sexually adventurous than Reno. As much as Jack loved Reno, and was grateful to him for helping him over his transition from unemployed amputee to legless porn star, there was no denying the fact that life with Stefan would be a lot more fun.

 

Later in the week, Stefan reminded Jack that he had a mobility problem.

            – You must get to England, Jack. You can not stay here now. You are English and there are problems if you stay too long.

            – I know. What shall I do? What shall we do? Do you want me back?

            – Of course I want you back. You are the most perfect man for me, I am thinking.

            – I’m thinking the same. I want to be with you, Stefan. I want to hold you with my stumps and never let go.

            – And I want to see your cock and stumps every day. And for maybe ten years we will make the best amputee porn in the world and then we will live together in peace when we are too old. Is it what you want?

            – Stefan, it’s the best thing I can imagine. Let me go to England to arrange my affairs and then I’ll come back to Berlin and we can be together.

            – Yes. That is best. But first we must get you some wheels.

 

Stefan fitted artificial legs to his carapace and heaved himself around the apartment on crutches to find his balance. Jack sat on Stefan’s old trolley. Stefan pushed him by his shoulders out onto the balcony, from which the wide flat expanse of the countryside was visible towards Potsdam. Stefan leaned on his crutches.

            – We go today to the shop in Berlin centrum to buy you an electric wheelchair. The same as mine. Don’t worry about the money. I will buy it. It will let you go to Hitching.

            – Hitchin. Yes, thank you, Stefan. I will pay you back when I return.

            – I know. Shall we go? Please put your hooks on today.

 

Jack donned his artificial arms and slowly replaced his forty with the bulbous codpiece. Stefan pressed the tight studs home, holding the codpiece in place. It was probably something Jack would never be able to do again for himself. His penis was slimy with pre-cum. Stefan would wash the forty before replacing it when they returned. They left the apartment. Stefan used his crutches to swing his prostheses ahead of him. They were useful in the sense that they gave him height and enabled him to crutch more quickly. Jack sat belted into Stefan’s electric wheelchair, rigid and upright. It was a new sensation to sit in a wheelchair in public. They caught a train into the town centre and changed before emerging on the other side of town at Stefan’s prosthetist’s clinic. Stefan lifted himself inside and waited for Jack to manoeuvre his chair through the doorway.

            – Hello! We want to buy a wheelchair, the same model as this.

            – Certainly. Please sit.

 

It was something Stefan was not prepared to do. It was too difficult to get up. The saleswoman ordered the wheelchair to be brought from storage and it was expertly assembled before the customer’s eyes. Seeing that the client used hooks, the control knob’s sensitivity was increased to make life a little easier. The battery pack was plugged in to charge, reminding Jack that he ought to buy a plug converter if he wanted to charge it in Hitchin. Jack was respectfully lifted into the chair to ensure its height, breadth and seat angle were optimal. The battery charge would take ninety minutes so the amputees were invited to make their way to the clinic’s cafe where they could drink dark brew coffee to their hearts’ content. There were also delicious pastries on offer as well as the ubiquitous Berlin currywurst. Stefan bought two pastries overflowing with sweet cream and sat back to watch Jack trying to eat his with his hooks. He made a mess. His hooks nipped the pastry with too much force, Stefan laughed at Jack’s attempts. There was no malice. Jack himself understood another aspect of using his hooks. After several minutes of fun, Stefan fed the remains of Jack’s pastry—most of it—with a fork. It was delicious. He lifted Jack’s coffee to his lips, carefully watching how much he sipped. Their eyes met. Their wordless love for each other reflected in each other’s eyes. Stefan wiped Jack’s hooks clean of whipped cream and they relaxed, held rigid and upright in their carbon fibre shells. They both had erections, caused by the eroticism in one feeding the other. Jack’s penis was bathing in cum. He was turned on by watching Stefan’s artificial legs, knowing they were a complete fake. He made them look so convincing. Jack’s own interests lay in another direction. He wanted to be a prosthetic man. He had already tried Stefan’s trolley and the idea of exchanging his hooks for peg arms excited him further. He wanted to change out of his bulbous codpiece for his forty. It was frustrating.

 

The saleswoman found them and announced that there was enough charge in the battery to last for about ten kilometres. They went back to the showroom where Jack was helped to transfer from one wheelchair to another and Stefan slotted his crutches into their holder on his own chair and lowered himself into it. Stefan watched Jack shift his arm to a position from which he could operate the chair’s control knob and they were ready. The saleswoman wished them well and the sliding doors closed behind them.

 

On the way from Olympiastadion station, Stefan mentioned that the block of flats he lived in was quite famous. It was designed by a famous architect, Le Corbusier, and it was intended to be almost a village. It was massive but also humane. They looked up at the multicoloured balconies and could make out the various sections. It was like four or five tower blocks had been blended together. Stefan and Jack rolled along the seventh floor street and entered Stefan’s apartment.

 

            – How do you like using a wheelchair? It is new for you, I think. You will always have a chair now, Jack. You can not use your crutches.

            – I hope I will, Stefan. I’m interested in using the peg arms you talked about.

            – OK, that is for later. Now we must get you home. When do you want to leave?

            – I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here with you, Stefan. I want to be your stump boy.

            – And I want you to be here. I know one way to make it easy for you. I know English people have problems now coming to Europe. But I have an idea.

            – Tell me.

            – We get married. Will you marry me, Jack? Will you be my husband?

Jack was astounded and flattered. The possibility had never entered his head. He made a quick decision and thrust his stumps into the air.

            – Let’s do it!

 

Stefan found a pastor willing to perform a service on the following Saturday. He invited a few of his amputee friends to attend the ceremony. Neither man was religious but the pastor lived in hope that the young men would look kindly upon his parish. The proceedings were held in accordance with Protestant traditions. They were asked if they took this man to be their lawful wedded husband. They intoned I do. The congregation, comprised of a dozen amputees, rose to their artificial legs and applauded by striking their arm sockets together. Jack’s future with his legless lover was assured. He would be back with Stefan in Le Corbusier’s monumental building in short order.

 

The newly-weds planned Jack’s return journey carefully. There should be as few changes of train as possible, the trains needed to be accessible and his arrival in Hitchin should be late afternoon or early evening when Reno would be home. Jack had his door key with him but was unable to use it. It was too small for his hook to grip. Jack promised to return as soon as possible. The two men, strapped securely into electric wheelchairs, gestured towards each other on the platform beside Jack’s first connection to Brussels. Jack trundled onto the express and found a space for his chair. Before he lost his hands, he would have travelled with the other passengers. Now it was too difficult to manoeuvre inside a train without assistance. On the other hand, encased in his armour, it felt much the same where he sat. He had one small bag with him, hanging on the back of the wheelchair. He had left his curved codpiece and the forty behind at Stefan’s, and he had only his hooks. The cosmetic hands were standing together in Stefan’s bookcase. Objets d’art.

 

Reno opened the door to find a totally changed Jack. He was surprised to see the wheelchair and shocked by the bilateral hooks. Jack looked at Reno in trepidation, unsure of what his friend’s reaction would be. Reno, naked except for his shell, moved aside to let Jack into the flat.

            – What kept you? You’ve been away for two months. I’ve really missed you, Jack. Don’t go away again for so long.

Jack’s heart dropped. He was letting Reno down badly. If only he had thought things through before. But how could he have known he would fall in love with Stefan? The fact that most of his difficulties were caused by losing his hands never entered his mind.

            – Help me out of this chair, will you?

Jack explained how the safety belt held him. Reno reached up and loosened it. Jack trundled across to the sofa and launched himself onto it. His newest carapace had a flat bottom. He was able to adjust his position with his hooks and watched Reno handwalking to join him.

            – Reno, there’s something I have to tell you right now before we go any further. I’ve come home to settle my affairs in this country. I’m moving to Berlin.

            – Oh! I suppose I should have expected this. If you’re working abroad, it makes sense to live there and cut down on the travel.

            – Yes! That’s exactly the reason. It makes life much easier, especially now that I am a quad.

            – How do you like your new stumps? Are they what you wanted?

            – The stumps are fine. Still a bit delicate. It’s not been long since the operation.

            – How do you like the hooks?

            – They’re OK. I learn something new about how to use them every day. It’s not been easy. Not having hands is the main reason I’m in a wheelchair now. I can’t use crutches with my hooks Reno. I’ll never be able to swing myself along like I used to.

            – Do your parents know that you’ve lost your hands?

            – No! I dare not tell them. They’d go crazy. They don’t know what I do for a living either. I want to get things in order here and then go back to Berlin without seeing them. I know it sounds rotten.

            – I understand. I’m guessing that you’ve had more job offers.

            – Yup. I’ve been working for the people in Amsterdam. There is a group of amps and we all make out with each other in various scenarios. You know how porn films always have some ridiculous story line. I was assured that there would be even more work for me if I was an arm amputee. So I had my hands off. I’ll fit in just fine now with the other guys. And my mate loves them.

            – Oh? Who’s that?

Jack had not intended to bring Stefan into the story.

            – His name’s Stefan. He’s legless like you—tiny stumps—and he uses armour to get around but he likes to use skateboards and trollies. Not like us with our peg legs and crutches.

            – And have you been staying with this Stefan? Is that why you came back so late?

            – Reno, I can’t keep lying to you. I married Stefan. We’re a married couple. I’m moving to Berlin to live, permanently. Oh, it doesn’t mean we won’t see each other again. I’ll be back.

For the first time in many years, Reno hid his face in his hands and wept. His shoulders shook. His face was that of a man who would have slumped in grief but Reno was held erect in his shell. Jack looked at his friend in horror. Slowly Reno regained his composure. He apologised and swiped a sleeve across his eyes.

            – I was going to ask you to marry me. It felt so good, us together.

Jack was even more confused. He wanted to hold Reno, to cradle his head in his hands and pull him close, wiping his tears with the ball of his thumb. He looked down at his hooks and stared at them with an overwhelming sense of loss. He had lost his mate, lost the chance to live with him as his husband, and he had lost his hands. He thought back to Stefan’s farewell the previous day, at how matter‑of‑fact he had been, how unemotionally he regarded Jack’s latest amputations. His arm stumps were mere toys to Stefan. Against all better judgment, Jack leant against Reno and placed his artificial arms around Reno’s carapace. The men sobbed together quietly, devastated emotionally. They were drained of emotion.

 

But Jack felt ashamed. He had not only let Reno down, he had let himself down. He knew they would have been happy together. They had always enjoyed each other’s bodies. Their unique way of physical sex was safe and fun and both enjoyed it. Reno made an evening snack later and they ate it in silence. They slept apart, Reno in their bed, Jack on the sofa.

 

In the morning, Reno woke first. It was a work day. He put on a pair of underpants, transferred into his manual wheelchair and went to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, Jack still showed no sign of waking. Reno rolled to the kitchen and set about making breakfast. The noise from the epresso machine roused Jack. He called out.

            – Reno! Are you up?

            – Yep. Come and have breakfast.

            – I need the loo first.

            – OK. Do you want some help?

            – No thanks. I can manage.

Reno wheeled to face into the lounge. Jack was arranging his harness on the sofa. Reno looked at the new stumps. They were fairly long, quite a good shape. Jack shoved them into his sockets and lifted his arms to get the harness over his shoulders. He worked himself towards his wheelchair and carefully transferred onto its seat. He was naked and had a semi. His dick rested on the seat and extended beyond its front edge. He moved his chair slowly towards the door and saw Reno watching him.

            – You managed that well enough. Just give a shout if you need a hand.

Jack looked at Reno’s expression to see if he was joking. He was smiling. Thoughtful, intelligent, kind. He returned to the kitchen and Jack rolled past into the bathroom.

 

Reno had finished his toast when Jack joined him. There was still a cupful of expresso left.

            – Would you like a cup? Don’t worry. I’ll hold it for you. Jack, I’m not angry at you. I’m disappointed, I can’t deny it. But I’m not angry. You’ve turned your life around without me knowing so it’s been a bit of a shock. You can stay for as long as you like until you’re ready to leave. I hope we can still be friends.

            – Thanks, Reno. It’s more than I deserve. I should have let you know beforehand.

            – Agreed. Alright. Do you want sugar in this?

            – One please.

Reno lifted the coffee to Jack’s lips. He wiped a few drops from Jack’s moustache and Jack reversed his chair and went to the lounge to dress. Reno tidied the kitchen table and rolled across to the hallway and put his jacket on. He lifted a satchel and placed it on the front of his seat.

            – I’ll see you tonight about six, Jack. Have to go. Be good!

Jack was left on his own. He already felt emotionally drained again. Reno’s forgiveness and generosity were not what he had expected.

 

He dressed himself in a T-shirt and threw the back half of his armour onto the floor. He crawled onto it, heaving his torso with his hooks. The front section was awkward to grasp. The hooks slid around on the shiny carbon material and it was impossible to hold between his rigid arm sockets. After several minutes, it was in position. The clamps needed to be locked, another otherwise easy task which took too long with steel hooks. Jack looked at his pink prosthetic arms and compared them to his sleek black armour. His next pair would definitely be the same material and black. He pushed himself erect and began the strenuous process of lifting himself onto the sofa and transferring into his wheelchair. He wished he had brought his forty with him. He could remove his codpiece with a little effort if his cock became too squashed inside the balloon but it might be a challenge to replace it.

 

Having donned his prostheses and seated securely in his new wheelchair, he appraised himself in front of the hall mirror. His arm sockets stole his attention. They looked out of place. But Jack once again found pleasure in his increased disability. His leglessness was as shocking as always, compensated by the all-encompassing torso socket holding him firm and erect with his enormous penis hidden from view by his bulging bulbous codpiece, the most demure of the three he owned. And inside the ugly arm sockets he could feel his handless stumps, the phallic replacements for his hands which would soon wield a pair of hooks with as much skill and as naturally as the other guys managed. His arm stumps combined with his tool would lead to amazingly erotic shots in future productions. He knew Joop would want to feature them, masturbating his cock with the rounded tips of the stumps. His first erection of the day started inside the balloon where it would soon be bent out of shape. He stopped thinking about his prosthetic future and started thinking about what he needed to do to transfer his life from Hitchin to Berlin. He imagined the enormous block of flats where Stefan lived—where his husband lived—and the indoor street leading to the wide front door, as if designed for legless men in wheelchairs. Stefan, erect and handsome in his armour with a lust for life. Sexually active and adventurous. Jack thought of his handsome blond beard and his easy smile, his warm hands and his miniscule stumps which he used to kick at Jack. Jack kicked back. It felt wonderful to have a legless lover, a legless husband and to feel his stumps in the flesh. The time when he satisfied himself with swiping his forty against Reno’s armour was over. Of course he had made the right decision. He phoned his bank and enquired about the process required to transfer his money to a German bank account. Next was the phone company. He wanted his account closed at the end of the month. Yes, he was completely satisfied with the service. He was emigrating. That was the reason. Why was it necessary to justify yourself to the blasted phone company?

 

Jack had been advised to open a German bank account before any money could be transferred. He googled and found a suitable bank near Liverpool Street station. He phoned it and was invited to call by to open an account. He thanked the person and imagined himself attempting to travel from Hitchin to Liverpool Street unassisted. It would be an adventure. But not for today. He had been told that he would need to sign a few papers. He lifted his hooks up and stared at them. He was grateful for having them. They looked handsome, masculine. He could feel his stumps inside the sockets and feel his hands but see the hooks. It was a perfect sensation. All he had to do now was relearn how to write.

 

Fortunately his old signature had been a series of conjoined uprights finalised with a horizontal slash. JHill. |||i||. He rolled around the flat until he found a pen and took a sheet of paper from Reno’s printer. He sat at the table, trying to hold the pen so that pressure did not displace it and began practising his signature. Ten times, a hundred times. He discovered the elbow movement which produced the best version. He practised it again and again until he thought he could repeat it on demand. He dropped the pen and picked it up again, using the left hook to position the pen in his right so it was held firmly. And once again, the stylish semi-legible signature, exactly what he needed. He was pleased with his efforts. The paper was almost blue with ink, hundreds of signatures. Jack had imagined seeing himself through another’s eyes, holding onto the sheet with one hook, signing away with the other. He felt accomplished and proud of himself. His dick began to erect again and he pried open the press-studs holding his balloon onto the armour. His cock sprung into a semi-erect position and continue to stretch to its full length. It was slimed with precum. Jack reached forward with both hooks and cradled his glans between steel hooks. It was too much. He began to ejaculate and waited for the orgasm to end before wheeling himself to the bathroom. His cock would start draining at any minute. His wheelchair faced the toilet bowl and his cock hung over the U-bend. He used his hooks in an attempt to squeeze as much jizz along the shaft as possible.

 

Reno arrived home on Friday evening a little later than usual. He had been to a supermarket on the way home and bought several bottles of the hard stuff. He would have preferred beer but it was difficult for a legless wheelchair user to carry enough. Six bottles of booze hung from the back of his wheelchair in a canvas bag. He shouted a hello to Jack, who dragged himself toward the hallway on the flat base of his armour.

            – Oh! You’re not in your chair. I remember you saying how you didn’t like having a flat base because you liked using your crutches. I suppose losing your hands changed that.

            – Yup. What’s that in the bag?

            – Booze. We’re having a party.

            – Wow! When?

            – Now. Tonight. I’ve asked a few old friends round. And you can think of it as your farewell party. I’ve not told any of the others that you’re leaving. You can tell them if you want to. But this is for you, Jack. Your last chance to have fun with your old mates before you go back to Berlin and your new ones.

Jack was speechless. He had not mentioned when he was going back. He had made no plans. Was Reno trying to suggest that it was time? Surely not. He would not be so crass. All the same, there would be a party tonight. It was both exciting and daunting. What to wear? Once again he wished his had his forty.

 

Jack had met only one of Reno’s friends before. They had met at uni. He was a tall, dark-skinned guy with a twinkle in his eye, a deep basso voice and an infectious laugh. He was a double amputee since early childhood when a road accident left him legless with one knee. Jack struggled to remember his name. Who else might be coming? He rolled to the bedroom and sorted through his T-shirts. That was no good. There was a decent motorcycle jacket in the closet. He could wear that over his armour and it would hide his pink sockets. He called to Reno for help. He could not reach his jacket nor lift it from the railing.

            – I want to wear my jacket, Reno.

            – Good choice. It will look good with your hooks.

            – That’s what I was thinking.

            – They look good on you, Jack. I’m sorry you had to lose your hands but I like the way you flash your hooks. They suit you. You’re going to be an impressive guy when you learn to use them. You know that, don’t you?

            – Thanks for saying so. I hope so. I had them amputated so I could be impressive.

            – You’ll get there, mate. Let’s see what kind of impression you make on our guests tonight.

            – Who’s coming?

            – Half a dozen of my amputee mates. Relax! You’ll be in good company, Jack.

Reno picked up a pole with a hook on the end and effortlessly lifted Jack’s motorcyclist’s jacket down.

            – Is this all you’re wearing?

            – Yeah, I think so.

            – Great. I love it when you show off your armour. Especially with that big codpiece. It looks really impressive, Jack. The other ones are just you showing off.

 

Within an hour, six amputees had arrived. Two in wheelchairs, two on artificial legs, two with artificial arms and hooks. Jack shook with all of them, introducing himself as Reno’s flatmate. They all knew Jack was much more than that but no-one enquired any further. Jack was unsure whether to remain in his chair or whether to drop to the floor and use his hooks for mobility. He decided not to stress his stumps and remained seated. He rolled over to the leg guy he had met before and greeted him.

            – It’s good to see you again. Welcome to our humble abode.

            – I see you have some new spare parts for us, man. What you do to get them vicious hooks?

            – I just asked them to cut them off and kerpow! They were gone.

            – Ha! The usual way. I like that, my man. Any chance of a drink round here?

Jack raised his hooks, opened and closed them. It was a gesture much like a shrug.

            – I like you, Jack. Don’t ever change.

The two hook users circulated, delivering a vodka shot to everyone and returning to collect their own. Reno made a short speech, half humourous, half serious, stating that the amps got together far too seldom and something needed to be done about it. Then he announced that Jack had found a brilliant job on the continent and was moving to Berlin in short order. The amputees were intrigued. They had never had the opportunity to travel due to disability or finances and were fascinated to learn that Jack had already found a home with another bearded legless man in Berlin. Jack stroked his beard with a hook, pondering whether to reveal that he had a husband. He decided against it. The others admired the contrast between his dark beard and the steel hook.

            – How did you lose your hands, Jack?

One of the bilaterals thrust his hooks in Jack’s general direction to indicate what he was talking about. Jack tapped the control knob on his wheelchair to face the speaker.

            – This was voluntary. I wanted my hands gone and someone I knew, someone I know, organised it in Poland for a few thousand euro.

Everyone stared open‑mouthed. None of the guests had lost limbs voluntarily. They knew that such a phenomenon existed but none of them had ever met anyone who admitted to going through with a voluntary amputation, least of all bilateral arms. The bilateral arm amputees glanced at each other and leaned forward on their sockets, expecting more.

            – So I’ve had stumps for two months and I’m still learning to use my hooks.

            – You’re doing very well, Jack. Here’s a tip to let you drink.

He was told how to grasp a wine glass. He could open his hook slightly and let the glass rest in the opening. If he then lifted the glass towards his lips he could lean back and drink. He could use the same glass for everything, except maybe if he wanted to drink shots. If a drop of wine got mixed in with beer, it was nothing to worry about.

 

The two wheelchair guests had long leg stumps. One wore a pair of jeans with the ends folded under his stumps. The other wore short shorts with his stumps exposed. Both the bilateral arm amps exposed their prostheses in their entirety, both with almost identical arms, both wearing a five on the left and a symmetrical on the right. Useful for handling cylindrical objects like glasses of beer. As the evening progressed, the noise level increased. Reno and the bilateral arm amps kept everyone supplied with drink. Jack glanced at the clock. Half past one. He stared at his hook holding an empty shot glass and called across to Reno, who ignored him. His tall dark mate, Gerald, plucked the glass from his hook and took it to the kitchen. He returned, gave Jack his last vodka of the night, and pulled a chair up to sit facing the barely conscious quad.

            – You gonna need a lot of help, bro. You ain’t got no limbs, man. What you gonna do? You sure look like a fine man. You got a nice face. For a white man, knowmsayin? Haha!

            – I do films, bro. I got a place with my man and we f*ck each other on camera. It’s porn, man. I do porn.

            – Wow! You sure can porn around with your stumps, that’s for sure. Good luck man.

Jack passed out in his wheelchair. Gerald returned to his chair and shucked his legs. The two bilaterals looked at each other and laid their prostheses on the coffee table. The remaining two guests sat in the far corner of the room, sipping red wine. The hosts had passed out. It was a wholly successful evening. The booze had not run out and everyone had learned something new.

 

Jack washed his hoodies and T-shirts and set about arranging his return to Stefan. He already knew the route and it was simple enough to adjust connections so he would arrive in Berlin at a reasonable time. He would depart the following Thursday after his interview in the German bank’s office on Tuesday. He asked Reno if he could borrow a pair of cut-off jeans to hide his codpiece. Reno offered a pair of cut-off black ‘office’ trousers which would look much better. The tiny legs draped over Jack’s non-existent stumps. Wearing his leather jacket in an attempt to disguise his codpiece, he made his way to the station and into town. Stating that his income was from film work as a stunt-man, an account was opened. His money would be transferred and his transactions would be valid two days hence. He was set to leave for Berlin.

 

Reno was calm and generous at breakfast on Thursday morning. They would not meet again for a while. How long, nobody knew. Reno said there was always a place for him if he wanted to return. He began to say that he would never forget him but that sounded trite so he shut up and looked at Jack’s handsome black beard which filled the gap between his carapace and his chin. Jack’s moustache whiskers spread wide. It was remarkable to see the way a bilateral amputee managed to keep his beard looking so full and handsome. Reno ran his hands through Jack’s beard for the last time and gently lifted his face before kissing him fully on his lips.

            – See you again.

            – Yes.

Reno left, negotiating the wheelchair through an inward opening door. Jack waited until Reno was gone before sobbing with regret. He checked that he had everything he needed and left his old home.

 

His mood improved on the journey south. Part of the reason was simply being out and about, seeing people, being active. The rest was probably due to the fact that he felt horny. There had been no sex with Reno. His attempts at masturbation had been less than successful. His hooks could not provide enough skin contact to satisfy nor could his penis be manipulated with his stumps. Its weight had to be supported as well as stroked. Seeing his new stumps struggling to control his tool was intensely erotic and only increased the urge to wank to climax. He was looking forward to being with Stefan again. With two stumps and Stefan’s hands to tame his cock, he might find satisfaction. By the time he arrived in Cologne, he was hungry and impatient to get home. He checked into a Gasthaus near the station, bought two meat pasties and a can of Kölsch. He crawled out of his armour as soon as he reached his room. The codpiece was dripping with precum. Jack pried the press studs open and washed it in the bathroom. He wetted a hand towel and swiped his tool clean. He dragged his torso back to his room, his cock chafing along the floor. The bed was high. Jack heaved himself up, clawing onto the duvet with his hooks. He doffed his prostheses and laid them further down the bed. He lay back and inspected his arm stumps. They were healing well. They rarely pained him, usually at the end of a long day when he had actually used his hooks for something. The pressure from operating the control cables was enough to irritate his wounds after a few minutes. Most of the time, his prostheses were merely protective sheaths. There was no effort in using his wheelchair. He might have been able to use a stump on the joystick but it was a little too far for his stump to reach when he was strapped into the chair and held rigid in his armour. He pushed himself onto his right side, placed his stumps by his face and closed his eyes.

 

Jack texted Stefan as the train left Magdeburg. He would arrive at the Hbf at five to four. Stefan texted back to say he would be on the platform to meet him. It was more than Jack expected. It was a slow tedious trip on the U-bahn from Olympiastadion, a journey which Stefan had made hundreds of times. It would be great to get off the train and find a familiar face waiting for him. The sexy handsome face with the big blond beard, the legless man he had promised his life to.

 

Stefan was not wearing his armour. He was strapped into his chair but leaned forward with outstretched arms as soon as Jack’s wheelchair trundled off the train. Jack was overcome with emotion once again, relieved at having one of his life’s most difficult confrontations behind him. The couple hugged each other as best they could. Stefan had missed seeing Jack’s artificial arms. He had fetishised bilateral hook users for many years and thought it was one of Jack’s most attractive features. He picked up the hooks and held them as if Jack could feel them.

            – Welcome home! Do you want to stay in town or shall we go home?

            – Oh, Stefan. I am too tired to do anything. Let’s go home.

 

Stefan held the door to let Jack enter first. The apartment looked a little different. Stefan had bought new furniture. It was all low with fat cushions. He had refurnished his entire apartment for two legless men. They would be comfortable at home. No more compromises for their occasional guests where they needed to expend effort to climb up onto a normal sofa. Their guests could now sit almost on the floor with them.

            – Come into the bedroom!

There was a wide futon on a ten centimetre high base. Stefan had bought new duvets, new sheets and duvet covers with black and white abstract patterns. There would be no more discomfort from the inevitable gap between two smaller duvets.

            – This is beautiful. It must have cost a fortune.

            – Mmm, not so much. I want you to be comfortable. This is our home and you are disabled, Jack. Things must be easy for you—and for me, of course. I am also a little disabled.

Jack looked at Stefan and they both laughed.

            – Come on. Get out of that chair. Come with me and we will test our futon.

 

Jack wheeled into the bedroom and loosened his belts. Stefan held him when he lowered himself onto the futon, wary of the arm stumps inside the sockets. Jack fell onto Stefan’s belly. Stefan balanced him and kissed his face. He pulled him closer and rolled to one side. Stefan was on top of Jack.

            – Let me open you. I take your clothes off.

            – Take yours off, too!

            – Yes. I will.

Stefan pulled Jack’s hoodie up over his prostheses and flung it onto a chair. He tugged at the retaining ring in the middle of Jack’s harness. Jack relaxed, allowing his artificial arms to be removed. Stefan placed them on the floor next to them, respecting them as if they were delicate china. He took Jack’s stumps into his hands and brought them to his face. He ran them over his face, caressed his beard with them. He licked them, tasting the old salty sweat on Jack’s stumps. Jack’s penis erected and grew steadily along his belly, reaching and passing his nipples. Stefan pulled his T-shirt off and jumped out of his shorts. His erection sprang free, twenty-six centimetres of urgent cock seeking relief. Stefan had been faithful to Jack while he had been away. There were two occasions when he might otherwise have indulged in a sex session with a good friend but restrained himself. Stefan rolled back to face Jack and they initiated a cockfight, straining their tools against the other’s belly, hugging and kissing, kicking their bodies closer with non‑existent legs, their stumps flailing. Stefan’s stumps actually moved. Loose flesh flicked back and forth. Jack’s nubs merely showed internal movement as the remaining tips of his femurs rotated in their sockets.

 

Stefan was generous and allowed Jack to relieve himself first. Stefan grasped the glans and pulled it as far up as possible before hugging Jack again. Jack arched his back and began copulating. He thrust his tool with all the pent-up frustration he had borne for weeks, stiffening it further until the glans began to move in response to his efforts. It slid against his chest hair and that of Stefan, who did his best to ensure that his husband’s penis remained trapped in the gap at the top of their ribcages. Stefan felt the enormous cock moving between their bodies, a sensation he had never experienced. After considerable effort, Jack ejaculated. His minuscule stumps thumped against Stefan’s torso while his balls emptied. He was quiet for a moment, eyes shut, enjoying the release. He looked down at Stefan and chuckled.

            – Your turn.

Stefan held him tightly with one arm while using the other to swap their positions. Now Stefan was on top. Jack put his stumps across Stefan’s back. Stefan began to pump, finding a nook between Jack’s dick and his belly. He f*cked it and changed position to another gap higher up. Their body hair chafed his glans, exciting him further. He lasted two minutes until his orgasm released a pool of sperm onto Jack’s chest. They relaxed together, drenched in cum now that Jack’s cock had begun to drain. Stefan grabbed a towel, clean, unused, and wiped them clean. They would dry overnight. Stefan put a hand around Jack’s neck and the other around the base of his penis and they slept facing each other, two bearded faces nuzzling each other, their six stumps hidden beneath the duvet.

 

The first thing Jack did after waking was to ask Stefan to change his codpiece. He wanted his forty. He had missed it. It felt such a relief to have his cock supported along its entire length inside the enormous carbon phallus.

 

Stefan was full of surprises. He handed Jack a letter from Joop in Holland.

            – Are you ready for this, Jack? Or shall we tell them you need more time to recover after your amputations?

            – My arms are OK. Do you want to do it?

            – Yeah, I think we should. I don’t want Joop to find another couple of amps.

It was an invitation to participate in a new film which Joop had mentioned to Jack before he lost his hands. The premise was simple. There was a gay club dedicated only to amputees. Once inside, use of prosthetic limbs was forbidden. Members were allowed to wear rubber or leather only. Joop envisaged Jack being cock of the roost, some kind of leader, a limbless figurehead worshipped by everyone else because of the phenomenal size of his cock. Shooting would begin in mid-April and was estimated to take ten to fifteen days.

            – Are you interested, Jack?

            – It sounds fantastic. Of course I’m interested. It sounds like I’m going to be the star of the show.

            – I think you will. We must think of a new name for you. Something which people will remember if they see you in the cast of a video. Something special.

Jack opened his hooks and interlocked them. He raised them and placed them onto the tabletop in front of him.

            – Something to do with my hooks, I suppose.

            – That’s too obvious, and for most of the time, you don’t wear your hooks. I think something to do with fisting would be better.

            – I’ve never fisted anyone.

            – Oh, that can change. Think of a name. My English is not good.

            – Your English is brilliant, Stefan and you know it. How about Fister Hill?

            – Fister Hill, mmm. Ja! I think that is brilliant. You are Fister Hill. I shall call you Fister now always.

Jack and Stefan laughed with the relief of continued work and the simple joy of being together. Jack had managed to eat breakfast without Stefan’s assistance, using the new crockery and glasses which Stefan had bought in Jack’s absence for use by a bilateral arm amputee.

 

They wheeled into the broad living room and further onto the balcony. The trees were bare, revealing details invisible earlier in the autumn. From seven storeys in the sky, they could look out on the flat countryside, stretching before them for hundreds of miles. Stefan suddenly reversed in his wheelchair and disappeared inside. He returned with a letter bearing the logo of an international company famous for its pioneering work in prosthetics and orthotics.

            – When you were in England, I asked if you could have new arms and a new wheelchair. I have not opened the letter, Jack. I hope it’s OK.

Jack opened a hook and slit the letter open. It was an invitation to the Berlin centre of the company, to meet a prosthetist and discuss his prosthetic needs.

            – I also asked him if he can make you things which are not in their catalogue.

            – What do you mean?

            – You remember my trolley? If you had crutches, you could use it, yes?

            – Yes, I suppose so.

            – They will make you crutches which go over your stumps so you can use the trolley, Jack. Or maybe we can make a new trolley. Small wheels like on a skateboard. And you with crutch arms. I would be so hot to see you with crutch arms, Jack. I hope you will say yes to them.

Jack reread the letter. It was clear enough. He need only make an appointment and arrive at the prosthetist’s workplace.

 

It was a simple procedure. Bengt Schmidt, his prosthetist, appraised his leg stumps while pretending not to be shocked and fascinated by the size of his new patient’s penis.

            – I think we can make sockets for your wheelchair and for a new trolley, if you want.

            – What sockets do you mean?

            – You now have a full prosthesis for your torso stump, do you not? I believe it is unnecessary. If we make you a socket to replace the seat in your wheelchair, something permanent, you will sit in the socket and use your wheels. Ja? It sounds good, ja? And the same for your trolley. We use the same socket with small wheels on a frame and give you peg arms like crutches. You can go anywhere and later change your pegs for your prostheses. I think you can quickly change your prostheses, is it not so?

            – Yes, of course. It doesn’t take long.

            – Good. So do you agree we make a socket for your wheelchair and a new socket with wheels and peg arms?

            – Yes, I think that would be useful.

            – So! Let us begin.

            – There is one problem.

            – What is that?

            – My penis. I need a codpiece on the new sockets. It would be good if you could design them so my current codpieces will fit. They all connect the same way. Like on this socket.

            – I understand. Let me take the measurements.

Schmidt detached the bulbous codpiece Jack was wearing and photographed it. He took note of its dimensions and the placement of the studs. Before reattaching it, he pressed a sheet of paper against the studs, ensuring correct registration.

Jacks stumps and torso were scanned and measured. A virtual replication appeared on Schmidt’s laptop screen almost in real time. He already had models of various trolleys designed for other legless patients and he was able to show what Jack’s potential trolley would look like. Someone would either have to lift him into it or he would have to tip it onto its side and crawl in that way. But his torso would be held firmly with wheels under him. Schmidt showed photographs of other patients wearing short peg arms, others wearing long peg arms up to their shoulders.

            – Do you know, Bengt, I like the idea of having my entire arms inside these peg arms?

            – It is very good. There is a lot of padding inside the elbow and you can hold on to the crutches very well with it. We will make the peg arms to exact the right length so it is best for you to push along. You want black or white peg arms?

            – I think white is better.

            – Schön! I will make them for you and you will come to see me again in two weeks, ja? The day thirty-one.

            – Great. Thank you, Doctor Schmidt. Auf wiedersehen.

 

It was a lucrative visit for the company. The young man might become a permanent client and with his severe limblessness, the company would do well. The temporary starter pink arm prostheses looked unprofessional. It would shortly be necessary to create new sockets, although the patient would probably wish to retain his harness and hooks. It could all be arranged. Schmidt shook hand to hook with the young Einwanderer and tried to imagine who on earth had invited such a severely disabled invalid to Germany. He knew of only one other completely legless male and wracked his brains for the name. A quick search revealed that they shared the same address. Everything became clear!

 

Schmidt was familiar with the wheelchair Jack had arrived in. It was a well-known brand, reliable and in common use. It was not difficult to remove the seat and back and replace them with a carbon fibre hull. Schmidt would manufacture Jack’s hull in two sections. The back and base would be permanently fixed to the chair. Jack would seat himself on it and attach the front section with its codpiece. Schmidt considered the alternatives for the closure mechanisms and decided that Jack’s hooks would fare best with the same kind of clasps used by Alpine skiers on their boots. He redesigned the virtual model he had scanned and sent the files to be manufactured.

 

Stefan and Fister began to acquaint themselves with each other. Stefan showed Fister photographs of his childhood. He played with his brother and sister, older than himself or stood facing the camera, legs splayed, hands on his hips. Then there were photos taken in a hospital showing a ten year old boy wrapped in bandages. Legless.

            – I was playing on the railway. My friend was hurt too. He lost an arm. It was not a good day for our mothers and fathers, I am thinking.

Stefan slapped his stumps.

            – But I got sexy stumps. How did you lose your legs, Fister?

            – I was born deformed. My mother took drugs and I suppose that messed me up. I’ve never had legs.

            – That is the best way, yes? So you have always used a wheelchair?

            – No! I have always worn armour. That’s what we call it in my family. A leather or carbon fibre socket from the hospital or when I was a teenager, my dad made me armour from plaster of Paris bandages. I used to walk about with wooden handles until I got my first peg leg. Then I started to use crutches. And then when I was about fourteen, my problem started.

Echoing Stefan, Jack slapped his codpiece.

            – It is a very big problem. I can understand that it is difficult for you, Fister. But I will always help you with it.

            – Good. You can help me now.

            – How? Just tell me.

            – Please fetch my long straight codpiece from the bedroom and change the one I am wearing.

Stefan grinned and spun his chair. With one hefty push, he guided his chair to the closet where Fister’s meagre possessions were stashed. The two codpieces stood upright on their bases, each looking more erotic than the other. He put the long one on his seat and rolled back to Fister.

            – Tell me what to do.

            – OK. Pull my balloon off first.

            – Balloon?

            – Yes. The codpieces have special names. This one is the balloon because it is big and round. My cock can fit in there and it is comfortable if I don’t have an erection. But when I do have an erection…

            – …then you need this long one.

            – Yup. I call it my forty. It’s forty centimetres long. And my dick is thirty-eight so there is room at the end for my jizz.

            – I am learning new words. It is good. Are you going to learn German, Fister? It will make things easier for you, I think. It is not hard and I can help.

            – Yes, I must learn some. So many new things to learn in a new country.

            – It’s true.

Stefan placed the balloon on the floor. Its interior was wet and Fister’s penis was slimy. Stefan guided it carefully into the forty and snapped the press studs home. The forty extended past the edge of the wheelchair’s seat and poked ahead.

            – Thank you, Stefan. It feels much better now. When I have an erection, the codpiece is almost full.

            – It’s wonderful. I love to see it, Fister.

            – When I get my new sockets, these will also fit on them. I will have a new little trolley with a socket attached and I can change the codpieces. Or you can change them. Would you like to change them for me?

            – Of course. I will always change your codpieces. Perhaps we should ask if I can also have codpieces.

            – Why not? You are big enough.

            – OK, I will.

            – And when I am in my trolley, I can change my hooks for peg arms. That is also your job.

            – Did you ask for peg arms?

            – Yes. He said there is no problem. They will be long, up to my shoulder.

            – Fister, you are going to be very disabled. No legs, no arms. Just peg arms.

            – I know.

Fister threw his head back and enjoyed the sensation of his erection pushing powerfully along his forty. He could choose to be limbless whenever he wanted. Perhaps Joop would agree to shoot them making love while he was wearing his peg arms. Trying to jerk his forty in Stefan’s direction, anxious to strike against Stefan’s carapace with his carbon fibre phallus. Fister’s balls began pumping jizz. He relaxed inside his armour, held rigid, helpless and ecstatic.

 

Jack was reliant on his wheelchair. His detachable peg legs and crutches were still in Hitchin. Perhaps Reno would send them on if he asked. It was an inconvenience. After several days, Jack began to miss his peg legs. He wanted to experience the instability and insecurity again. Now he knew that Stefan would always help him. He could have a series of peg arms made of different lengths, all customised for use with short and long peg legs. For the first time since arriving back in Berlin, Jack slowly tapped out an email to Reno explaining what he needed.

 

Reno had seen all the prosthetic components which Jack had left behind and wondered at the new husband’s influence in persuading Jack to adopt a wheelchair. He had never seen Jack in a wheelchair before he returned from Poland after his hand amputations. He understood well enough why a chair was necessary. Unlike Reno himself, who still preferred two stubbies and short crutches when not working, Jack would find it difficult to manipulate crutches with hooks. He could imagine Jack wearing artificial hands with which to grip a pair of crutches. But it was up to Jack himself how he solved his difficulties. It was not Reno’s problem any longer. He messaged back saying he would look around for a big enough cardboard box and send peg legs, stubbies and crutches, everything which Jack had left. Jack replied, thanking him and promising to compensate Reno’s expenses and efforts.

 

Stefan fixed artificial legs to the base of his socket and demonstrated them to Fister. They were attached to the very front of Stefan’s armour. The thighs folded up out of the way when he sat, allowing him to balance on the flat base. The knees had been adjusted so they remained rigid unless manually released. Stefan crutched around in the lounge, lifting himself with his crutches and persuading the long legs to swing forward.

            – Do you feel safe on them, Stefan? I don’t like the idea of legs which can collapse. I like a good solid peg leg. I hope Reno can post mine soon.

            – You want to wear your peg legs here? Is it not easier to use the wheelchair?

            – I have always walked on pegs. Don’t you remember the first time we met? I had a forty centimetre peg leg.

            – Yes, of course I remember. You looked amazing after you put it on. I have never seen a man with only one peg leg before.

            – Have you worn peg legs, Stefan? Would you like to feel rigid?

            – It is an idea. I must think about it.

 

Neither partner was keen on adopting the other’s method. Stefan was keen to acquire his own codpieces, however. When Fister’s new sockets were ready, he intended asking if his carapace could be adapted to accept the same kind of attachments which Fister wore. His penis was a mere twenty-six centimetres long when erect and it rose to a sharp angle. He imagine himself wearing a codpiece thirty centimetres long, angled at sixty degrees. And perhaps another one which merely extended horizontally in front of his crotch, like Fister’s forty. He began to get an erection now merely from thinking about it. His penis was inside his armour, connected to a catheter. If he wore codpieces, he could leave the catheter behind.

 

Jack’s packet arrived before the new prosthetic equipment was ready. It had been opened by customs and passed without surcharge. It would have been fun to see the expressions on the customs officials’ faces as they examined the contents. At last Fister had crutches! He made an effort to grip the crossbars with hooks but there was no strength in them and the hooks opened precariously when any weight was applied. Fister would have to wait until he had new peg arms before demonstrating to Stefan how he walked on his selection of long and short peg legs.

 

Jack had no kilts with him. He had travelled from Hitchin wearing a pair of Reno’s shorts in an effort to disguise his balloon. It might be a little odd to continue wearing a kilt in Germany. Perhaps he could buy some shorts and adapt them for use with his codpieces. He wanted a complete change of outfit. The smaller armour on his new wheelchair and trolley might allow him to wear something other than T-shirts. They would have to go into the town centre, maybe find a tailor who could make bespoke shorts.

 

Stefan and Fister indulged in their version of sex every evening. Stefan was still wearing his artificial legs and Fister was wearing his curved codpiece.

            – Keep your arms on, Fister. I want you to make love to me with your hooks.

Stefan reclined on the futon, naked except for his prosthetics. Fister balanced on his armour with his codpiece restraining his growing erection. The curve was not the most comfortable alternative with a stiffie. He grunted and pushed himself around in Stefan’s direction. The phallus struck Stefan’s carapace.

            – Keep doing that!

It was strenuous work. The tip of the codpiece rotated in the air as Fister made futile attempts to use it to sexually assault his husband.

            – Wait. Let me take it off. I want to see your cock.

It was a relief. Fister’s cock immediately lengthened another five centimetres and stiffened. Stefan watched Fister’s efforts and erected inside his own armour. It was incredibly erotic for the two sets of armour to clash. Fister picked up his penis with a hook and slapped Stefan’s armour. He changed his position and allowed his penis to lay across Stefan’s carbon fibre chest. Fister ran his hooks around Stefan’s face and through the blond beard. Stefan grabbed hold of Fister trapping the enormous tool between their armour and rocked them both onto their sides.

            – F*ck me, Fister!

Fister adjusted his angle of attack. He was almost completely erect now. He began copulating but was held rigid by his carapace. Every urge to thrust was thwarted. It was intensely erotic. Pre-cum had begun to leak onto Stefan’s carapace. The penis remained in the same position, almost motionless except for its pulse. Fister strained in ecstasy against his confinement and Stefan watched his performance feeling nothing except the suggestion of extra weight on his carapace. His own penis was fully erect, twisted to the left inside his shell with the tube of his cath inside his urethra. Fister continued his copulation until he grunted again and allowed his head to fall against Stefan’s. It had been another excellent session, unusual in that both men had worn their prosthetic limbs throughout. Perhaps they added a little extra spice to the proceedings.

 

Prosthetist Bengt Schmidt ensured he had all the necessary tools to replace an electric wheelchair’s seating with the carbon fibre shell he had designed. He had the afternoon free of patients and messaged Jack to announce that his new equipment was ready and waiting. He suggested that afternoon as a suitable time to test it all. Neither Jack nor Stefan had anything else to do. Jack asked Stefan to replace the forty with his balloon and he was ready. An hour later they wheeled their way to the U-bahn. He would soon have new peg arms for use with his new trolley, so he hoped. He also wanted two more pairs for use with his peg legs. They all needed to be different lengths, naturally enough. It was possible to design an adjustable peg arm but Jack was certain that he wanted completely rigid immutable peg arms made of one sturdy piece.

 

They arrived just before one o’clock. Schmidt had eaten lunch and was waiting for them in the lobby, reading. The automatic door swung open and the two amputees rolled inside.

            – Hallo Jack! Welcome. And Stefan! We have not met for many months. I’m pleased to meet you both. Let us go to the lab.

 

            – So, how are you, Jack? How do you like Berlin?

            – I’m fine and I like Berlin very much. It’s easy for me to visit places when there is a lift everywhere which actually works.

            – I am glad to hear it. And you, Stefan. How is life?

            – I have a new husband and I am very happy.

Schmidt and Jack smiled at him. He had shaped his beard before they left home and it looked superbly handsome. Schmidt idly thought that except for his complete leglessness, he would make a successful model or film star.

            – Very well, Jack. I have the components for your wheelchair but first you must get out so I can work on it. Would you like to try the trolley first with the peg arms?

The idea excited Jack. He began to erect inside the balloon.

            – Yes please, Dr Bengt.

Jack rolled over to the couch and transferred. It had intermediate seats at one end making it easy to lower himself to the floor. He carefully leant his weight onto his hooks and pulled himself back to where Schmidt waited with his new trolley. It looked like a skateboard with a seat but it was made entirely of carbon fibre. The seat back and frame were one piece. The wheels were the same as used on skateboards and the front two could turn freely in any direction.

            – Let me help, Jack. Lie down.

Schmidt knelt beside Jack and unfastened the clasps which held the halves of Jack’s carapace together. He carefully lifted his patient onto the trolley and placed the front of the new shell onto Jack’s front. It had the same kind of clasps but there were only four. The top of the shell rested just under Jack’s chest muscles. In less than a minute, Jack was equipped with wheels.

            – Can you take your arms off, please? Let us try the peg arms. Let me help.

Schmidt gently lifted the prostheses off Jack’s stumps by the central ring in the centre of his back. He carried them across to the bench and fetched a pair of long white cylinders fitted with fat rubber ferrules at their tips.

            – I’m afraid you will always need outside assistance with these peg arms, Jack.

            – That’s fine, Doctor. I am always with Jack.

            – It’s a very good arrangement, I think, when you can help each other. Now put your stump into the peg. Push against the floor when you can. You can feel the foam rubber around the elbow, yes?  That is what keeps the pegs in place. OK, now the other one.

Jack was seated on his new trolley with short white peg arms. The front of his carapace was open and he was becoming erect.

            – Stefan, get my balloon!

Stefan realised immediately what was happening. He had a semi himself. He quickly pushed the balloon into place and watched while Fister squirmed until his penis had entered the voluminous space. Jack’s modesty was preserved. Schmidt watched too.

            – I’m sorry, Jack. I should have thought of that.

            – It’s OK, Dr Bengt. It’s an everyday problem. Can I try moving now?

            – Yes, of course.

The peg arms felt incredible. So solid, so rigid. The fact that they were white, unlike any other prosthetic gear he currently owned, looked quite shocking. He rowed himself across the room and slowly pushed himself around with one peg to face in the opposite direction. The wheels rotated silently. His stumps felt secure. He understood why there was so much padding at the elbows. They needed support and this was the most comfortable method. He swung around to face Stefan sitting far above him in his wheelchair and stared at him with a huge grin.

            – This is fun. You should get one like this.

            – No, I have other trolleys at home, Fister. I like those better.

Schmidt had begun removing the seats on Jack’s wheelchair. It was on its side for better access. He screwed the new seat and back section into place and righted the chair.

            – Are you ready to try this, Jack?

            – Dr Schmidt, may I help?

            – Of course. It’s a good idea for you to learn.

Fister lifted his peg arms. Stefan carefully pulled at the right peg until it began to slide along Fister’s stump. He put it on the floor and took hold of the other peg. It soon joined the other. He unclasped the front section of the trolley and removed it.

            – Jack, I will lift you into the wheelchair.

            – OK.

Jack raised his stumps to clasp Schmidt, who lifted the torso and carried it two or three steps to the waiting wheelchair. The new seat was extremely comfortable, being custom made precisely for Jack’s dimensions. It held him tightly even without the front panel. Schmidt secured it into place and closed the clamps . It reached as high as Jack’s chest in the same way as the front panel on his trolley. Stefan had removed the codpiece from it, lifted Fister’s cock into the balloon and pressed the assembly home. Schmidt had done an excellent job of positioning the male studs. The balloon fit perfectly. He could hardly wait to see Fister clamped into his wheelchair wearing the forty.

 

            – Will you bring me my hooks, Stefan?

Schmidt appraised his handiwork. The shell was narrower than the chair. The patient sat erect, in supreme control, held secure in all circumstances. The chair was devoid of footplates. Jack appeared to be suspended in space. The obscene bulge at the base of the shell extended beyond its profile. Stefan held Fister’s sockets while he slid his stumps into them and arranged the harness over his husband’s shoulders. Fister shrugged to settle his prostheses and settled his right hook on the control knob. He jerked himself into motion and spun in a wide circle around the lab.

            – Perfect! Thank you, Dr Bengt.

Schmidt nodded and smiled.

            – Doctor, there’s something I wanted to ask.

            – What is it, Stefan?

            – You have seen my husband’s codpieces to protect his penis. I do not have such a big problem but I would like to wear similar codpieces. Is it possible to cut an opening in my shell and fit it with a codpiece? Actually, I want more than one. My husband has three.

            – Really? That’s interesting. Yes Stefan, it is quite possible. I have your shell’s dimensions on file so it is not difficult to create a series of covers.

            – Perhaps if the opening is a fifteen centimetre hole?

            – Yes, that would maintain structural integrity of your shell. Have you thought about the shape of the codpieces?

            – I have. I want a rounded version like my husband is wearing right now, another which lies straight and a third which is as big as my erection. I want it thirty centimetres long at a sixty degree angle.

Schmidt knew that Stefan had a large endowment. He had seen him naked several times. He had met several leg amputees who were initially embarrassed by their over-large penises. Schmidt ensured that their sockets were free of protrusions to avoid irritating the members.

            – Very well, Stefan. Will you be satisfied if the shafts are all perfectly cylindrical or do you want something more ergonomic?

            – Oh, cylindrical is fine.

            – Good. I think it looks less provocative. You need to make an appointment for me to make the opening in your shell. It is not a long process but it needs a little planning. Is later this week suitable?

            – Yes, any time.

            – Friday morning. Nine o’clock.

            – Fine.

            – And doctor, I have a question too.

            – Yes, Jack.

            – I have some old shells to which I attach peg legs to use with crutches. Now that I have lost my hands, I can no longer use crutches. I would like you to make two more pairs of peg arms.

            – Of course. Do you know the length?

            – Not yet, but I could come with Stefan on Friday with my peg legs and you could estimate how long the peg arms should be.

A patient who deferred to his expertise! He was going to get along with this quadruple amputee.

 

            – How are we going to get the equipment home?

            – Don’t worry about that, Stefan. Jack, will you remain in your chair for the journey home?

            – Yes. This feels fine. It’s OK, isn’t it, Stefan?

            – It’s more than fine. You look wonderful.

            – In that case, we will deliver the old seat and the new trolley with the peg arms later this evening. Where do you live?

            – Corbusierhaus.

            – Oh really? Wonderful. Between six and seven.

            – Thank you, Dr Bengt.

            – Please. I’ll see you again on Friday. Wiederseh’n.

 

Stefan and Fister sat on the U-bahn being thrown from side to side with the movement of the train. They said nothing but stared at each other with growing lust. Stefan wore a leather motorcycle jacket over his naked shell. Fister wore a hoodie which covered both his body and the shell built into the wheelchair. His balloon was obvious to Stefan, knowing what lay curled inside it. It was not offensive to any other passenger who would have no familiarity with the usual construction of torso sockets. As soon as they got home, Fister intended asking Stefan to swap his balloon for the forty. Stefan was thinking about changing the bulbous codpiece for the big curved one.

 

Supper was quick. Stefan put four bratwurst into the airfryer and heated some sauerkraut in the micro. They ate it with fresh bread. Stefan was too impatient to cook. He wanted Fister on his trolley wearing the forty trundling around with his peg arms. He had never seen anyone so utterly disabled and desirable in his life. If he could choose, he would keep Fister as disabled as possible. He wanted to care for him totally, to carry him around, to live his life for Fister. He had never been so much in love and it felt wonderful. With Fister using his peg legs and peg arms, Stefan would insist that Fister live his life that way. He had not spoken of it to Fister but saw no reason to. He was quite sure that a legless man who would willingly lose his hands would rejoice at the chance to be completely disabled.

 

The delivery arrived at the agreed time. Stefan ripped the box open and withdrew the trolley and its front cover, the old seat and back from Fister’s chair and the white peg arms. Schmidt had also included a catalogue of the company’s latest accessories but nowhere were codpieces mentioned.

 

Fister scrabbled at his clasps, poking them open. He was anxious to get onto his trolley. It was the only way he could use peg arms until Schmidt had made the others. Stefan did all the work. He had swung out of his chair when they returned home and was using handles to heave himself around the apartment. His enthusiasm for seeing Fister completely disabled reminded him that he too could also experience some of what Fister felt. The flat base of his shell was broad and good at balancing on. Not so good for walking with. He lifted himself on his handles and turned to face Fister.

            – You want the trolley, ja?

            – Yes, of course.

Stefan helped Fister onto the trolley and closed the front panel. He removed the artificial arms and looked at his husband, legless on wheels, handless, helpless.

            – I give you the peg arms.

It was obvious from the angle at which they curved which was the left and which the right. Stefan slid first one then the other onto his lover’s arm stumps. Fister lifted them in the air, to display how disabled he had become. He lowered the thick black ferrules to the floor and rowed forwards. The trolley moved effortlessly across the floor. He was one with the trolley. He had skateboard wheels instead of a peg leg. It felt enormously liberating but at the same time he realised that his arms were now only crutches and he had no way of removing them without outside help. He had become completely limbless. His penis crept forward.

            – Bring me my forty, Stefan, please.

Stefan held the codpiece under one arm and swung himself to Fister. He took hold of the engorged glans and fed it and the following flesh into the codpiece. He locked it onto Fister’s shell and admired the end result. A legless man with an enormous phallus showing the way forward. His head dropped onto his shell and he began to ejaculate. Fister tried to touch his codpiece with his peg arms but they could not reach. He tried repositioning himself in their lounge, learning the delicate movements he would have to master in order to negotiate the world with peg arms. Stefan looked like he was spent. Fister guessed.

            – Did you just come?

            – Yes. Forgive me.

            – Ha! Nothing to forgive. What did it? My peg arms?

            – Yes. I have never seen anything sexier in my life.

 

Stefan asked Fister if his peg arms were comfortable. They were. That night, Stefan removed the codpiece and the front panel but did not remove Fister’s peg arms. It was the first night of many when Fister slept in all his prosthetics. Trapped inside his full-height armour and wearing peg arms, he was completely at Stefan’s command. When Stefan received his own carbon fibre phalluses, their sex games would become competitions between two legless men in torso sockets trying to swing their codpieces against each other. Sated with sex, they fell against each other, kissing and hugging each other’s carapaces until they fell asleep, their beards intertwining in their passion.

 

Fister spent the rest of the week in the trolley wearing his peg arms. Stefan was committed to whatever Fister wanted to do. They ate their meals on the floor so Stefan could feed Fister. When Fister wanted to text Reno to ask his bank account number, Fister dictated and Stefan typed. Fister also wanted to know if there was any chance of Reno sending his motorcycle jacket by courier. He was envious of Stefan’s jacket, admiring the way it transformed him from a hopeless cripple into someone vaguely threatening, a stud cut down. Fister could easily afford a new jacket but the old one was worn in and comfortable—not that comfort was such an issue any longer. His peg arms would also look even more arresting if they extended from the leather sleeves of a motorcycle jacket.

 

Bengt Schmidt announced that Stefan’s codpieces had arrived. Would he collect them in person or should a courier deliver them?

            – Do you want to visit Schmidt and discuss your longer peg arms, Fister? We can take your peg legs so he can measure them.

            – Oh! That means I have to wear my tall armour and walk.

            – Why? Can you not go as you are?

            – With my peg arms? In public?

            – Fister! Why did you get them if you are not going to use them in public? I will take your armour and peg legs in the Ikea bag. What codpiece do you want?

Fister was already wearing the forty.

            – The balloon, I suppose.

            

Fister had realised too late that he could no longer wear his full-length armour in his wheelchair. He had to be almost naked inside the wheelchair’s shell. It was as much a part of the wheelchair as the combined armour and wheels were his trolley. When he wore his big armour, he was restricted to hauling himself around on his hooks. Stefan had once removed his artificial arms while he was wearing it and he was left completely incapable of movement. The tips of his stumps did not reach the floor. It was fascinating for Stefan, who left him halfway through in order to wank in the bathroom. On his return, he insisted that Fister wear the inert cosmetic hands. They were a handsome shape and the ebony black surface matched Fister’s armour much better than the pink prostheses.

            – You should wear those hands more often, Fister. They look very good and you don’t need your hooks except when I want to see them.

            – Alright, I will. I wanted to lose my hands and these do nothing except look pretty.

            – They look fantastic.

The glossy black hands would also look stunning with his leather jacket and he could use them to operate his wheelchair.

 

For the first time, Fister used his trolley in public. He put considerable effort into maintaining a decent pace. It was irritating for Stefan to drive his wheelchair so slowly. He was used to rushing ahead at twice normal walking speed. But he was compensated by the sight of Fister struggling. The peg arms were a shocking sight coupled with Fister’s leglessness. He was wearing a white hoodie which covered his built-in harness. The balloon was visible for anyone to see. Fister rowed into the U-bahn station, watched closely by Stefan following in his wheelchair. Other waiting passengers were agog at seeing Fister’s situation. Rarely was anyone so completely crippled seen in public. Fister had an erection which curled around inside the balloon. It was strenuous to use peg arms to get to the station but he felt like he had just won a marathon.

 

There was a problem boarding the train. Gaps were as common in Berlin as they were in London. At Olympiastadion station, Fister could enter a carriage diagonally. Stefan was unlikely to help. He was also severely disabled and unable to lift Fister.

 

Schmidt welcomed the amputees again and invited them through to the lab where he asked Stefan to remove his armour. Stefan sat balancing on the red leather bench wearing only a T-shirt. His long tool was semi-erect.

            – He didn’t say anything about me being in my trolley, Stefan!

            – He made it for you so you could use it. I told you this.

Fister was genuinely disappointed. He spun himself around aimlessly, enjoying the ease with which he could do so. Schmidt made several holes in Stefan’s carapace. One large hole to allow access to the codpieces and six other smaller holes into which he would insert twelve millimetre male press-studs. He took the carapace to a grinding machine to smooth the edges around the central hole and polished the result with fine emery paper. The studs were connected on the hydraulic press. The holes all had a small tolerance. The studs could be moved slightly if they did not coincide exactly with the codpieces. He brought the three attachments and tested them all. They all fit and felt solid, immovable. He returned to the lab where Stefan lay horizontally on the bench with his genitals on display and Fister sat quietly in his trolley, his peg arms crossed in front of him.

 

            – Try this, Stefan.

Stefan lifted himself into the back half of his armour and attached the altered front. He pulled his cock out of the new hole and Schmidt handed him his new balloon. It was smaller than Fister’s but no less arresting. It actually bulged more, with sharper curves. It looked excellent. Next was the straight cylinder, eight centimetres in diameter, twenty-six centimetres long. Stefan slipped his erection into it easily. His glans hit the end.

            – Give the long one!

He fed his erection along its length and fixed it onto the armour. His carbon fibre phallus stood proud, pointing skywards. Stefan had asked for thirty centimetres but he got thirty-two. Schmidt had altered the order to make sure the client would be satisfied. Stefan leaned back on his elbows and admired his carapace with its new codpiece. It was one of the most erotic things he had ever seen and it felt incredible to know that his penis almost filled it. The codpiece was cylindrical and tipped with a perfect half sphere. It was both unnatural and mechanical, and intensely erotic and provocative. Fister had rowed over to watch the proceedings.

            – Are you satisfied, Stefan? Are there any other designs you have been thinking of?

            – No, not yet. Thank you for these.

            – Very well. Now Jack. Did you bring your peg legs?

            – Yes. I brought everything. Or Stefan brought them with my long armour. It’s all in the Ikea bag. We didn’t bring the crutches, though.

            – No, we have no use for the old crutches. Would you like some help to transfer to the other carapace?

It was a fatuous question. Fister would not only like help, he needed it. He was completely helpless, as his solid thirty-eight centimetre erection would shortly prove. Schmidt carefully removed the short white peg arms and opened the clasps holding Fister into his trolley. Fister raised his stumps and Schmidt lifted him from his trolley to the red bench. His penis remained horizontal throughout. It was the best erection he could manage with its weight. The glans glistened with precum.

 

Stefan had thoughtfully brought the enormous Ikea bag containing Fister’s full-length shell and his peg legs to the bench. Schmidt helped Fister onto the back panel, holding an arm stump for support. He latched the front section on and turned to the steel peg legs. Fister had packed his forty and sixty centimetre versions, knowing that his existing peg arms were suitable for use with the short peg legs. Schmidt screwed the forty into the base and stood back to appraise the limbless man. He would need full-length peg arms again. He had the dimensions of the patient’s stumps on record. He needed only to estimate the lengths of the peg arms.

            – You know how you move with your new peg arms, Jack. I want you to hold your arms in that position. I take it that it is comfortable for you?

            – Yes, the peg arms for my trolley are fine.

            – Good.

Schmidt took several measurements. He jotted them down and removed the peg. He repeated the process with Jack’s longest peg leg and smiled.

            – This is clear. I guess you can have your peg arms in two weeks. Oh, would you like white again?

            – May I have them black, please? It would look better with my leather jacket.

            – Yes, I agree. Very good. Two pairs of black peg arms. Is there anything else you would like?

Fister was quiet for a moment.

            – There is one thing.

            – Yes?

            – I liked the way Stefan’s long codpiece points up. I would like one like that too.

Stefan grinned. If Fister had a codpiece set at an angle, it would look absolutely amazing.

            – What angle, Jack? And how long?

Fister thought quickly. Now was his chance.

            – Sixty degrees like Stefan’s and forty-five centimetres. And ten centimetres in diameter.

Schmidt and Stefan both stared at Fister. It was blatant exaggeration. Exhibitionism to the utmost degree.

            – With the hemispherical tip?

            – Yes please. It looks best, don’t you think?

Schmidt was speechless. He stared at Jack’s amused face, the glossy beautiful beard and the dark green eyes.

            – Yes, I think the hemisphere looks well.

He added Fister’s order to the existing list and assisted Fister to return to his trolley. Stefan fitted the peg arms.

 

It was already late March. Joop had mentioned wanting to start shooting the gay bar film in mid‑April. They were both anxious about whether Fister would have his new peg arms before they left for Amsterdam. He did not want to travel in a wheelchair. The trolley was better because it looked so pitiful but Fister mostly wanted to stride in on a peg leg, supported by two new black peg arms. Stefan could carry his artificial arms in case he needed them for something. Fister strode around in his full‑length armour with his shortest peg leg, using his white peg arms. They were a little shorter than he would have liked, but if he kept them close to his body, he was able to lift himself enough to swing his armour and peg forward. Stefan watched him practising in the lounge. The peg leg was intensely fascinating. Such an unusual item. He did not believe that any of his countrymen who lost a leg would even consider using one. They waited impatiently for notice about their next job. It was also financially significant. They were down to their last hundred thousand and codpieces and peg arms did not come cheap. At last, a letter with a Dutch postmark dropped through the letterbox.

 

Joop set out his timetable when he wanted his stars. Fister from April twentieth to May seventh. Stefan from April twenty-fifth to May third. Joop mentioned that Jack was no longer required to bring long leg prostheses. Fister was obviously going to be the star of the show. It would be the first production in which he would be billed as Fister Hill. Stefan hoped that he would really get to do some honest fisting. Fister’s stumps were the perfect size for fisting an anus which had already been stretched. Stefan had taken some hefty cocks up his arse when he was starting out but it was painful and he preferred not to indulge in penetrative sex. Knocking carbon fibre phalluses was erotic for a dedicated legless devotee like Stefan. He dared not reveal how much he enjoyed seeing amputees for fear that Fister would not submit later to even more amputation. Stefan envisaged Fister with nubs at his shoulders, struggling to use prosthetic arms for anything. Fister would never fist again.

 

Fister was relieved that Joop did not need him to wear leg prostheses after all. He had forgotten them in his excitement about getting new wheels and peg arms. There might still have been time for Schmidt to produce a pair of cosmetic legs before late April but Fister could forget them. He had never wanted artificial legs anyway.

 

Fister decided he would use his wheelchair rather than his trolley for the journey. Stefan insisted he learn to operate it with his cosmetic hands. Stefan was infatuated with them. They were prostheses but their shape was entirely organic. Whosever hands they were modelled on was a lucky man. Stefan had also changed his appearance. He wore the erect codpiece, the thirty‑two, on his armour. It looked imposing, not too long to be completely unnatural. Fister kept his forty connected. It was inconvenient to keep asking Stefan to change his codpieces for him. He ought to learn how to do it for himself. The new fifty was going to be spectacular.

 

It was delivered by courier two days later along with two pairs of jet black peg arms. Stefan opened the package and took the codpiece out first. Fister was in his trolley, wearing the white peg arms. The forty pointed the way ahead. Stefan held the cylinder of black carbon fibre in both hands for Fister to admire. It looked simultaneously mechanical and inorganic, as well as obscene and erotic. The mere sight of it was causing Fister to become erect. He could feel his cock expandng along the forty.

            – Wait a minute. I’m getting an erection.

Stefan grinned. Fister’s cock was a stunning sight when it was at its full length.

            – OK, now.

Stefan unstrapped his safety belt and rolled over to the sofa from which it was easier and safer to get to floor level. He put the fifty under one arm and swung over to Fister, his torso socket clunking on the hard floor with each step. Fister raised his prostheses to accept the fifty and held it while Stefan removed the forty as gently as possible so as not to chafe the glans. For the first time, he inserted Fister’s penis into the ten centimetre diameter codpiece which held the monster cock at sixty degrees, the same as Stefan’s favourite codpiece. He lifted it with one hand and used the other to attach it to Fister’s socket.

 

Stefan rocked himself back from Fister’s trolley to gauge the effect. Fister stared at the column in front of him and felt the unusual angle of his penis. His erection tightened. He threw his head back and gripped the column with his glossy hands. He automatically ran the hands up and down the shaft in a prosthetic version of masturbation. He felt nothing. Stefan watched and handwalked to the bathroom to wank. He ripped his thirty-two off and grabbed his tool, slimy with precum, twitching for urgent relief. Fister tried moving himself around the lounge. The codpiece dominated his view. It was astounding. Unnatural and impractical, it could never be seen in public. It could only be used in the privacy of their home. He listened to Stefan’s grunts from the bathroom. It certainly seemed to hold a lot of promise. His groin pulsed and he ejaculated into his penis.

 

Stefan fed him lunch on the floor and Fister suggested it was time to try out the new peg arms. Stefan would need to remove him from the trolley, place him into his full-length armour, attach a peg leg to it, replace his hands with peg arms and help him stand. It was a lot to ask. Stefan seemed to prefer Fister to be as helpless as possible, and in his trolley, he was. The merest doubt of Stefan’s motives entered Fister’s mind. It was not really a relationship between two equal legless partners. Stefan always suggested that Fister adopted the configuration which turned Stefan on. He rarely sat in his wheelchair, for example. He wondered if his perceived freedom of mobility on peg legs would be to Stefan’s taste.

            – OK, Fister. We can do that.

Stefan collected the components needed to fit Fister with a peg leg. He had first needed to climb up into his wheelchair and then dismount again. He released Fister from the trolley and helped him to the floor. He dragged the back panel of Fister’s torso socket next to him. Fister scrabbled with his slippery cosmetic hands as Stefan lowered him into it. Next came the front section, already fitted with the balloon.

            – Which one do you want first?

            – Let’s try the forty centimetre one first.

Stefan screwed it into the base of Fister’s armour. The metal gleamed. The fat rubber ferrule protected the floor. Stefan removed Fister’s artificial hands and fed the shorter peg arms onto Fister’s stumps. Once again, he was completely disabled. He was on his back in a rigid carapace with his arm stumps inside a surreal pair of crutches. He needed to stand. He flailed his peg arms against the floor and worked his way across to the sofa. Stefan watched what he would do.

            – Stefan, can you take my pegs off again? I can use my elbows to get up.

Stefan handwalked across and took hold of the peg arms. Fister withdrew his stumps. He lifted his arms onto the sofa cushions for support and succeeded in lifting himself. He pulled against the friction of the rubber ferrule and lay at an angle, half on, half off the sofa. He waved his stumps back and forth for purchase but was unable to find any. There was no way he could imagine to force himself more erect onto his peg leg. Even that would be precarious until Stefan fitted his peg arms.

            – I can’t do it, Stefan. I can’t get up.

Stefan was silent. He liked the look of Fister with a central rigid peg leg, waving his arm stumps uselessly. He was the perfect man. Totally disabled and trapped in a torso socket with a peg leg. He moved closer, his thirty-two poking suggestively at Fister.

            – I do not know what to do. I do not think it is possible for you to walk on your peg leg.

Reluctantly, Fister agreed. He would not be able to rise onto the peg even if he had his hooks or the glossy hands. He pushed with an elbow and fell back onto the sofa, horizontal and distraught at being so disabled. Stefan let him lie there for several hours until Fister called for help. He placed Fister back into his trolley and fitted the short white peg arms before feeding him. Fister was dejected. Even with Stefan’s increasingly reluctant help, it was impossible to raise himself.

 

Fister began to demand that Stefan help him into his wheelchair each morning. He wore his forty rather than the flamboyantly angled fifty and insisted that he wear his hooks rather than the glossy hands which Stefan liked. It was the combination where Fister felt most in control of himself and his environment. He knew that Stefan would prefer him to be as helpless as possible. Merely placing him into his full-length armour with a peg leg would prevent him from moving and it would be impossible for him to prevent Stefan from removing his hooks and replacing them with the longest new peg arms. It would render him totally incapable but Stefan had not tried that particular trick. Not yet. It was unfortunate that once the peg arms were on his stumps, he was unable to remove them himself. They locked onto his arms around his elbows and considerable pressure was necessary to remove them.

 

They began their preparations for the journey to Amsterdam. Stefan booked their tickets. First a fast train to Hamburg, then a slower intercity via Osnabrück to Amsterdam. They packed everything they might need into the large Ikea bag—Stefan’s codpieces, Fister’s codpieces and full-length armour, two sets of peg arms and the longest peg leg as well as stump socks and Fister’s liners. The bag hung from the handles on the back of Stefan’s chair.

 

They left home on the nineteenth. Production was due to begin the next day. They knew that they would be staying in the same accessible hostel where they had stayed before. They were both in wheelchairs, both wearing leather motorcycle jackets over their carapaces which were otherwise naked. Reno had come through for Jack once again and couriered his jacket and a couple of hoodies to him. The balloon codpieces were on public view but both assumed that no-one would recognise them as such. Fister intended to wear the fifty in Amsterdam, modesty be damned. It might even be advantageous to assert his phallic superiority amongst the group of cast members. The fifty was a stupendous object obscuring Fister’s vision. His tool felt magnificent inside its spacious confines. Stefan was not to be outdone and wore his own thirty-two, pointing up at an aggressive angle.

 

They checked in at the studio at seven in the evening. Joop was finessing details with the construction crew in the studio when they arrived. He crutched out to greet them, one trouser leg tucked up neatly into his waist. He walked smoothly and evenly on his axillary crutches, the gait of an amputee who had long experience of them.

            – Good to see you again. Ask at reception for your hotel vouchers. There’s a meeting tomorrow at nine in the conference room, so please be there. Jack, do you have anything else for mobility than your chair?

            – Yes! I brought my longest peg leg and peg arms.

            – That sounds horny. Good. The peg leg is even better than the leg prostheses I suggested last year. OK. I’ll let you go now. See you tomorrow.

He spun on his foot and made his way back to the studio. Stefan collected their vouchers and they trundled along to the hostel, where they were received like old friends.

 

Fister was determined to start as he meant to continue. He wanted his peg leg and forty to discover how it was to walk with peg arms up to his shoulders. Anyone from the hostel staff would be willing assist. Stefan was too disabled to help, although he might never admit it. He rolled back to reception and asked if there were any volunteers to get him onto his peg. The receptionist called the studio on the intercom and spoke in Dutch. A tall tattooed Dutchman appeared and spoke to Fister.

            – What can I do for you?

            – I’d like you to help me out of this wheelchair and onto my peg leg.

            – That sounds easy enough. OK. Let’s go to your room.

Stefan was unpacking the Ikea bag. He had placed a row of prosthetic equipment onto Fister’s bed.

            – Ah, you have a friend here. Good evening. I’m Piet. We’re going to change your friend’s outfit, OK?

            – Fine.

Fister unclipped his clasps with his hooks and allowed the front panel of the wheelchair’s socket to fall to the floor. His penis drooped, slimy from several erections on the long journey.

            – Can you take my hooks off first, please? Just lift the ring on my harness and they’ll come off.

Piet was familiar with prosthetic equipment after working with Joop for two years. He laid the arms on Fister’s bed taking care not to tangle the straps. Fister rubbed his sweaty stumps and indicated the back section of his full-length armour.

            – Lift me onto that, please, Piet. Then the front section clips onto it.

Piet immediately understood how the torso socket fitted together. He was a keen alpine skier and the clasps were the same kind as on his skiboots.

            – If you look at the base, you can see a hole. My peg leg screws into it.

            – This one?

            – Yeah.

Piet held the peg horizontal and attached it to the socket.

            – Now I need my crutches. That’s these long tubes. Just put them onto my stumps and push as far as you can.

Fister looked to see which peg arm Piet took and lifted the relevant stump. The black peg arm transformed Fister from an amputee into a cyborg. The other completed the impression.

            – Now comes the hard part. You have to lift me up to balance on my peg leg.

Piet made sure there was room and lifted Fister by his armpits into the air until his torso and peg arms hung vertically. He swung the load through a hundred and eighty degrees and lowered Fister to the floor, not letting go of his grip. It was the first time he had ever seen a man wearing a central solitary peg leg and the first time he had seen bilateral peg arms. Fister concentrated on feeling his balance and testing the fit of his peg arms with weight on them.

            – OK, thanks Piet. I think I’m OK now.

Piet released his hold and watched warily, ready to grab Fister if he should falter. He had never seen anyone so completely crippled.

 

Fister was familiar with the rigidity of his armour. The peg was longer than he had usually worn but it seemed secure enough. He moved the ferrules around on the floor, seeking the perfect centre of balance. Stefan watched him closely. He looked incredible, far more disabled than when he was sitting in his wheelchair. Perhaps they should think about getting Fister a hoist at home so he could wear a peg.

            – There’s one more thing, Piet. You see that long straight tube on my bed? That goes onto my cock. If you can slide my cock into it and fix it over the hole, it would be good.

Piet grinned. He could see the press stud attachment system clearly enough. He gently allowed Fister’s penis to fill the forty to the hilt, raised it to its horizontal position and snapped the studs into place. Fister beamed at seeing his forty obscuring his view of the peg leg. Piet stood back and watched Fister admiring himself. Piet was envious of the man. He not only had a world-beating cock, he also had one of the most fabulous beards he had ever seen. Almost black, long and rounded, hiding his neck and with an impressive moustache.

 

Fister took a step forward, careful to place the tip of his peg leg between the tips of the crutches. Another. It felt secure. The crutches had not slipped. He could hold them tighter by bending his elbows slightly. The end result felt very similar to the old way be used crutches before his amputations. He tried a longer step and maintained the momentum. He approached the door. Piet sprang into action and opened it for him. Fister grinned and swung past him into the corridor. The peg leg swung regularly, its ferrule biting into the floor at each step, secure and trustworthy. The codpiece pointed rigidly ahead. He was completely limbless, swinging forward at a normal walking pace, as tall as most other men. Stefan swung his torso socket to join Piet at the doorway looking at Fister’s progress. He had not seen Fister on crutches since the last time they were here in this same hostel. Fister exchanged a few words with the receptionist and they laughed at something. Fister spun around and crutched back and stood facing the other two.

            – Not bad, eh? This feels so good. I don’t care if I have no hands. If my arms are just crutches. It’s so good being back on my peg. This is the way I want to be. Not in a wheelchair.

Stefan understood and reluctantly approved. Fister would still be at least as crippled as in his wheelchair, enclosed in its socket. He would be armless but Stefan could replace the peg arms with hooks or glossy hands whenever he wanted to see them.

 

Fister thanked Piet for his assistance. He returned to the studio to continue putting the finishing touches to Joop’s first set. He thought Fister looked imposing. Stefan thought he looked extremely disabled. He approved.

 

Fister stood for the rest of the evening. Stefan ordered a takeaway a little later and fed Fister from his wheelchair. Both men wore impressive codpieces and Stefan was becoming horny. That night, Fister slept wearing his armour and peg leg with the peg arms still on his stumps. Their prosthetic clash of codpieces continued for longer than usual, ending only when the legless Stefan tired of repositioning himself so that his husband could strike him. Fister eventually positioned a peg arm between them. It passed between Stefan’s stumps and he swiped his penis at it.

 

Fister and Stefan were both in their wheelchairs for breakfast. Fister wore his hooks and needed no help from Stefan to eat a couple of cheese croissants and drink a glass of coffee. Fister detoured via their room to change his balloon for his fifty. He had learned how to manipulate his hooks to hold all of his codpieces in place so he could attach them through sheer violence, hitting the studs into place with an arm socket. He left the hostel with his half meter long thick black codpiece obscuring his face. It was less than half a kilometre to the studio. Stefan rolled alongside Fister, wearing his own impressive thirty-two. Passers-by looked away demurely, not wanting to stare at two wheelchair-bound legless amputees. They rolled into the studio building and found the conference room almost full with the cast. There were one or two familiar faces. The triple Italian waved a hook. Roman, the motorcyclist without right limbs grinned. He had possibly taken inspiration from Fister and grown an impressively generous beard over the past six months. The others sported a variety of prosthetic arms, some for above elbow amputations, most for below elbow cases. Being seated, their leg count was yet to be determined. Everyone stared in wonder at Fister. No-one had seen anything so blatantly exhibitionist and so incredibly provocative. The spherical tip of the codpiece caught the lights from the ceiling and shone brightly. Fister urged his chair as close to the table as possible. He placed his elbows on the wheelchair’s armrests, opened his hooks and clasped the ten centimetre diameter cylinder in front of him. Joop entered with an assistant and closed the door.

 

            – Good morning, everyone. Thank you for making time for us. I’m sure most of you have had to leave your jobs and careers on hold for the following weeks. This morning I want to give you an idea about the production and I will explain the timetables. I want to be clear first that no-one will be wearing prosthetic gear unless they need it to sit. I think Stefan and Jack here will wear theirs. Stefan raised a hand.

            – I can sit without mine, Joop.

            – Great. That leaves only Jack and his impressive codpiece.

Fister grinned and ran his hooks up and down the shaft suggestively.

            – Time enough for that, Jack. Right. Here’s the basic idea. We have a gay bar or club where the members all have to be amputees. We have one or two here missing only one limb but almost everyone else is at least bilateral. As you well know, our audience wants to see stumps. You will be wearing either rubber or leather. But the general idea is no artificial limbs. Is everyone OK with that?

People looked around and nodded agreement.

            – The stage is made up to look like a bar and you can actually get mineral water or cola from the barman but be patient because he uses two hooks.

People laughed.

            – The club is for amputees only. I want to see you crawling on the floor, dragging yourselves and behaving in a way which is derogatory and demeaning. Exactly what we do not do in public, thanks to our prostheses. You know, the way we are at home.

More laughter.

            – So there will be much flirting, much admiration of others’ stumps, much physical contact. As a unique point, the owner of the club, the Grand Master, sits above us, judging and evaluating. Directing lonely newcomers to hook up with other lonely men. The owner sits on a revolving pedestal in the centre of the club and directs carnal action with his peg arms and his enormous codpiece. It’s not the one you see Jack wearing. It’s straight and horizontal. Jack will use it to direct his guests in the direction he wants them to go.

            – Joop, are you saying I’m going to be the owner?

            – Oh yes. Is it not clear? Who else could possibly use their penis to direct traffic?

Now the entire group of limbless men laughed at Joop’s outrageous plot which everyone thought was so over the top that it was quite plausible. Fister grinned back and repeated his suggestive gesture of running his hooks up and down his codpiece, much exaggerated this time. It looked obscene and would excite any devotee. Joop decided to include it somehow in the production although he had originally planned on Jack’s stumps being enclosed in rubber sheaths.

 

Someone spoke up.

            – You said we should wear rubber or leather. Do you have gear for us to wear or can we wear our own?

            – We can get anything from town which we don’t already have. But as far as leather is concerned, if you have a good-looking leather jacket, you can wear that.

            – Great!

            – You said we’re not to have any prostheses with us. How do you expect us to get around when we’re not on camera?

            – You can leave your legs with any of the crew. They’ll be perfectly safe. Just accept that you’re going to be legless for a few hours, OK? If you need any help, ask. Any of the crew is willing to help, including the cameramen. I have a schedule for the scenes where each of you appears, so you need to take your prossies off only once.

            – OK, I see.

            – In fact, let’s get down to business. I want to start this morning with various close-up shots so I will need Jack, Roman, Pjotr and Jean-Paul. The rest of you are free to leave now. You can go into town if you want but stay sober, please. Stay away from the coffee shops!

Half a dozen amputees left the room. Joop, back on his peg leg today, called two cameramen and the studio hands for a quick pre-shoot meeting.

            – Jack, is it possible to screw your torso socket to the revolving pedestal?

            – I don’t think so. Not this one but you could take the socket off my wheelchair. That’s bolted on and it’s simple to remove.

            – Very good. And your other codpiece fits on it? Do you have it with you?

Fister nodded.

            – Good. I don’t want you falling off the pedestal when we turn you. There’s one other thing, or two actually. You will be wearing a leather hangman’s mask, Jack. And there is one scene where you will need to wear contact lenses.

            – Oh! I’ve never worn contacts.

            – Nothing to it, Jack. It’ll be for a couple of hours only. The make-up artist will put them in for you. She knows all about that sort of thing.

            – Good. I can hardly do it myself.

            – For the rest, you can wear the leather or rubber you brought with you. If it’s rubber, I want it glossy. One of the stage hands can spray you with polish if you ask. At this stage, you can either bare your stumps or cover them with clothing or sheaths. Remember what you wear so we don’t have problems with continuity later. So! If you’re ready, I suggest you go to make-up. We can start when Jack is clamped onto the pedestal.

 

The stage hand set to attaching Fister’s wheelchair socket firmly to the pedestal’s seat. The pedestal revolved by the magic of a stage hand turning it slowly with a long dowel slotted into the bottom of the seat. Fister was carried into make-up. His face was matted and his hair and beard were brushed and set in place with fixer. His leather jacket was returned to him. Fister’s stumps felt fine inside his jacket. Ordinarily he would feel vulnerable without his prostheses but he was comfortable, enjoying all the attention and pampering, knowing that he had something which was appreciated and sought after.

 

The cast followed Joop back into the studio. Fister was carried and placed carefully into his socket. The front was clamped on, followed by his long peg arms. His leather jacket was fed up his pegs and over his shoulders and the sinister hangman’s mask placed over his head. Its open bottom prevented it from hiding Fister’s beard. Finally, Fister’s forty was fed onto his penis and attached to the socket. It looked astonishingly obscene.

 

Two scenes were shot during the following hour, both involving the arrival of new leather amputees. On both occasions, Fister was turned to face the newcomer, moving his peg arms and jerking his head as if to view the man from every angle and pointing at him with his codpiece. A slow pan from close-up to mid-shot along the codpiece made its rôle clear. It was to skewer the attention of the arrival and direct him to where he was to sit and join the crowd of other amputee members. The cameraman and Fister became very familiar with each other during the several takes required to satisfy Joop watching each take on a video screen. The next scene was from the opposite viewpoint. The new arrival noted the codpiece and waited for it to point to where he was to go. The first actor had his own legs and walked in. The second was a bilateral above knee amputee and handwalked in. The cameraman concentrated on producing several takes of the legless newcomer fisting his way along, taking directions from the angle of Fister’s codpiece. Two arrivals would be enough to explain the system. Fister would certainly turn many times to guide new arrivals but later shots would concentrate on the motion of his codpiece as shorthand for what was happening.

 

They broke for lunch, remaining in the studio. Those with hands fed themselves, those without were fed. It was a takeaway from an Indonesian restaurant which the studio favoured because of the quality of their food and the punctuality of their deliveries. Fister had not tasted Indonesian food before and was impressed by its sharply contrasting flavours and pleasant textures. He remained sitting on his pedestal without his forty. The studio assistant feeding him did his best to ignore the enormous penis drooping between his legs.

 

Work began in earnest after lunch. The morning had been a preliminary warm-up in comparison. Fister’s jacket was removed revealing his stumps and the guy with two legs, Pjotr, a Polish guy, was guided over to him by Joop.

            – In this scene, Jack, Pjotr will remove one of your peg arms and you insert your stump into Pjotr’s anus. Don’t do anything else yet. Just push it in. OK?

Fister was surprised. It seemed an extreme way to get into things. But Joop knew what he was doing. He needed to get the scenes done as economically as possible. This scene was probably on page fifty or something.

            – Do I have any lube?

            – Pjotr, do you want lube?

            – No, it’s OK. It won’t be the first stump I’ve had up my arse.

            – OK. The cameraman will want several takes from four angles. Remember, Jack, you just push your stump inside. Don’t do anything else and try to do it from the same angle and the same speed each time.

            – Yes, I understand.

Pjotr doffed his arms to reveal two shapely long above elbow stumps. He windmilled them and grinned at Fister.

            – Be gentle.

            – I will.

 

They waited for the cameraman to adjust his equipment and for the lights to be shaded. The first take was the most awkward, from underneath. It would start from Pjotr’s stumps and across his body, doubled over to expose his anus to Fister. It would then reverse direction and follow Fister’s stump moving across to enter Pjotr. Fister was dubious about how it would look. He had never fisted anyone before, not even when he had his own hands. But he had always realised the phallic potential of his stumps. Now he would discover what fisting actually meant. It seemed less problematic to use a stump for fisting rather than a hand.

 

The cameraman lay on the floor. His camera focussed on an arm stump. Pjotr was directed to swing his body around slowly so Fister had better access. The light across Pjotr’s midriff emphasised his arm stump and revealed the shape of his trim body and buttocks. Joop was satisfied with the first take. The second was from a different angle, intended to show Fister’s stump. He pushed it forward a few times until Joop shouted cut. The third was the same movement from above. The fourth was the money shot. The camera was partially under Fister’s pedestal pointing directly towards Pjotr’s hole. The stump approached and pushed in. Pjotr had enjoyed fisting for several years and his anus was voluminous and pliable. Fister was surprised by the ease with which his stump disappeared inside his partner. Joop called for two more takes, a little deeper if Fister could reach that far. He said he could. He did. The second take satisfied the director. Fister’s stump approached Pjotr’s arse at exactly the right speed and angle and it entered the hole without resistance. It looked perfect.

 

Joop pegged over to the men and explained that he wanted a fisting session of two to three minutes. The action would be shot by two cameras, one static, one hand‑held. Fister was to use his stump to service Pjotr firmly and rhythmically but at the same time, carefully. The shot could be speeded up in post‑production if necessary but only a little. Twenty minutes later, Joop called an end. Pjotr was showing signs of discomfort and Fister’s technique looked professional.

 

            

 

They broke for coffee and cake. The two amputees with hands helped the two without. Joop sat on the floor with them, his steel peg leg swung out to one side.

            – This is going better than I expected. We’re already ahead of schedule thanks to Jack and Pjotr. There’s one more solitary shot I need of Jack but I want you to wear the enormous codpiece you had yesterday.

            – My fifty?

            – Is that what you call it? Is it fifty centimetres?

            – Yup. I can bring it tomorrow.

            – Actually, Jack, I don’t need you tomorrow. I’m doing stuff where you’re not needed so you can take a couple of days off. But next time you come, bring the forty and the fifty, OK? That’s when we do the takes with the contact lenses, so be ready for that. We’ll be quick. It’s the last shot in the whole film and I want you with the fifty, without a jacket showing your stumps and body socket and taking your hood off. You can reach up to do that, can’t you?

            – Take the hood off? Yeah, that would be easy.

            – Good.

 

Shots were taken of Pjotr using his stumps to remove Fister’s jacket and right peg arm. It was shot twice from two angles and Joop said it was good enough. They were only one or two second long shots in the final cut, before the fisting sequence.

 

The last session of the day involved the two amputees who had not yet featured. They were both legless. One had symmetrical stumps, mid thigh, and he could walk on them. The other had one long, one short. They were both dressed in gleaming rubber, baring their stumps, with rubber sheaths over their cocks. Fister remained on his pedestal with the two DAKs below him, turning his head from side to side and up and down as if to peer more closely through the eyeholes in his ominous mask, turning himself slightly with his grotesque peg arms. The amputees ground their hairy stumps against each other’s in a grotesque facsimile of erogenous skin contact. Their movements were suggestive, erotic and masculine. Joop was satisfied. The day ended and he opened two bottles of champagne for the stars and the production crew. From now on, there would be too large a crowd to toast with champagne but the sparkles crowned a successful day’s work. The as yet unnamed video was well under way.

 

The cast was invited to shower before leaving. The studio’s adapted bathroom had every possible piece of equipment necessary for any disabled user. An assistant wearing bathing trunks and a bathrobe stood by to provide assistance if necessary. Pjotr and Fister showered together, Fister at Pjotr’s feet. They admired each other’s arm stumps. The assistant helped both handless men dry themselves and brushed their hair. The assistant lifted Fister into his armour and ratcheted the front panel on. Fister replaced his hooks and watched Pjotr do the same. His artificial arms were black carbon. The assistant fed their prostheses into the sleeves of their leather jackets. Finally, Fister’s forty was fixed in place after a thorough wash in hot water. The two amputees thanked the assistant and made their way out into the dusk. They exchanged a few words about the production on the way to the hostel but there was no great rapport. Fister thought Pjotr was rather a cold fish and Pjotr was too perturbed by Fister’s limblessness to know what to say to him.

 

Stefan was relieved to have Fister back. He had remained in their room all day, aimlessly scrolling through his favourite sites, ogling at amputee beefcake and reading amputee fiction. Tomorrow he would do the same. So he thought until Fister announced he was not needed for the next two days. They were free to go into town and look around. Stefan’s first scheduled role was in another four days.

            – Stefan, I saw a lot of rubber today. Are you interested in wearing rubber? Shall we get some rubber gear for ourselves?

            – OK. I’d like a rubber T-shirt. And maybe a rubber hood. Let’s go and see what they have.

It was as good an excuse to get out of the hostel as any.

 

Stefan had made himself horny during the day. He had worn his thirty-two for most of the time, knowing that if he had free access to his cock he would have masturbated it raw. It ought to be in perfect condition for his shoot. It was something porn actors knew, much to their occasional frustration. That night, they both slept in their full-length armour, both wearing their biggest codpieces. Seeing themselves so crippled and so virile was a never‑ending source of pleasure. Fister pushed a stump under Stefan’s neck and pulled him closer. Their armour collided and their codpieces prevented face‑to‑face interaction. In their disabled nirvana, they were at the highest point of their happiness with each other, both accepting and enjoying each other’s maimed body.

 

Both men wore their balloons and motorcycle jackets over their armour. Jack’s hooks were a perfect match for his aluminium wheelchair. They enquired at reception about where to buy tram tickets and were sold a couple of one-day tourist tickets on the spot. They were each provided with free maps of the city centre and a brochure of venues which accepted the ticket as part payment.

            – Are we going to be able to get on a tram?

            – You mean in a wheelchair? Yes, of course. Everything is accessible in Amsterdam. You know where to go, don’t you? To the end of this road and all the trams go to the centre.

            – We want to buy some rubber gear, you know, hoods.

            – Oh yes. You want to go here.

The receptionist circled a block near the centre on Stefan’s map.

            – It’s the biggest in town and they have some interesting stuff.

            – Do you shop there yourself?

            – I am not going to tell you!

            – Ha! That sounds like you recommend it. Thanks. See you later.

 

The legless amputees made their way along the street to the trams. Rush hour was almost over. There was space at the back of their tram for them and they enjoyed the passing scenery. Everywhere they looked, cyclists on a dozen varieties of bikes made their way through town, separate from other traffic, safe and quick. Stefan remembered his own bike which his younger brother had inherited. Fister had no idea what legs felt like. Still, it seemed fun to be on a bike. A musical tone with the name of the next stop announced their destination.

            – Shall we go to the shop first?

            – Yes and then if we buy something horny, we can wear it in town.

            – Good idea!

 

Stefan had to ring the doorbell for the door to be opened. The shop worker immediately placed a wooden ramp in front of the low door step and held the door open for both customers. They entered a dungeon of black rubber with its associated smell.

            – Hello! What can I do for you?

            – I think I would like a T-shirt and maybe a rubber hood.

            – OK, fine. And for you, sir?

            – I’d like to see the hoods too.

            – Come with me.

They followed the assistant, himself glistening in tight rubber, to one section of the store where styrofoam heads wore a huge variety of rubber masks and hoods. Some of them had human features to resemble faces. Some had openings for the mouth or eyes or both or neither. Stefan was attracted to two skintight hoods, one with mouth and eye holes, one with only a mouth hole. It might be interesting to be sightless in rubber.

            – These are great, Stefan, but I cant put any of them on. My hooks will tear them and they don’t fit over my beard.

            – I will always put yours on first, Fister, but you’re right. A mask would not go over your beard.

            – I’d like to have rubber stumps. But I don’t think they have things like that.

            – Do you want rubber sheaths for your stumps? We have stuff for amputees. Come with me.

They followed to another section where various limbless models displayed stump sheaths.

            – I’d like a pair of these.

Fister raised a hook to indicate a pair of stump sheaths suitable for an arm amputee.

            – Would you also like a T-shirt?

Fister looked at Stefan.

            – Yes, he would. The same size as mine. Do you want a hood, Fister? Get one with holes and one without eyes. That’s what I am going to buy.

The shop assistant absented himself for a minute or two and collected the gear from the back of the shop. He laid them out on the glass‑topped counter.

            – One pair of arm stump sheaths, one hood with eyes and mouth, one mouth only, two T‑shirts. Would you like anything else?

            – Do you do anything for big penises?

            – Yes, there is a choice of sizes. What do you need?

            – Give me another one meant for arm stumps. Long ones.

The salesman was clearly amused. He fetched a sheath for a wrist disarticulate and laid it on the counter.

            – That’s everything, thanks.

The items took up surprisingly little space at the bottom of a paper bag. Stefan put it in his satchel and they wheeled out onto the street.

            – Where next? What do you want to see?

            – It’s fun to just watch people. There are so many bikes! Why don’t we just sit on a tram and go sightseeing? We can get off if we see something interesting.

 

It was a cheap and easy way to explore the centre of town. Stefan was used to travelling by tram after their reintroduction to western Berlin but they were novel to Fister. There was an enjoyable atmosphere in a vehicle which was a cross between a train and a bus. It was also enjoyable to be out in public as an amputee, seeing people’s reactions when they noticed his hooks, being stared at by young children who whispered their shock to their mothers. The pair undeniably presented a vaguely threatening appearance, legless with hyper-masculine motorcycle jackets open to reveal a plastic body. Stefan was clearly seated in his wheelchair. Fister was held by its socket, hardly visible, and appeared to be suspended in air between the wheels with his hooks resting on the armrests.

 

They arrived home and impatiently set about testing their rubber gear. Stefan rolled rubber sheaths onto Fister’s naked arm stumps. They blended superbly well with his armour but he was then unable to reach the control stick on his chair. The T-shirts could wait until later. Fister changed his balloon for his forty, anxious for its freedom and support. Stefan tried one of his masks on and found Fister’s prediction that it would muss up a beard to be accurate.

 

Mid-week and Fister was back in the studio. He brought all his codpieces and the full‑length armour just in case Joop decided on shooting unscheduled sequences. His make‑up artist tended to his face and kept him occupied with some intriguing anecdotes about the production so far while a stagehand transferred Fister’s socket from his chair to the pedestal. A few minutes later, he returned to carry Fister into the studio. He was again in place, the Grand Master. Today he was fitted with his long peg arms and a chrome-rimmed officer’s cap with a high crown and a low visor. His eyes were hidden. He looked menacing. Joop came by to greet him and explained briefly what shots he would need during the morning.

            – Can you smoke cigars, Jack? I have an idea that one of the guys with forearm stumps holds a fat cigar for you while you watch the action on the floor.

            – I don’t smoke, Joop, sorry. Stefan promised to teach me after you gave him the big cigars last year but we never did it.

            – How about a pipe? You could hold a pipe in your teeth.

            – Yes, I could do that.

            – Great! It looks extra masculine.

Joop spoke to the stagehand in Dutch. He returned with an enormous black pipe with a wide mouthpiece. The pipe curved down sharply before turning in the opposite direction into an enormous straight cylindrical bowl fifteen centimetres high. It was an abomination of a pipe. The stagehand placed it carefully between Fister’s teeth, where it rested against his carapace. Joop twisted his head around to get a general impression of the Grand Master smoking the monster Oom Paul.

            – Jack, if you can just hold the pipe in your teeth, it will be good enough.

            – OK, that’s fine. I have to admit that a pipe like this is ideal for someone without hands. It just rests in my mouth. If someone else fills it with tobacco and lights it, I could smoke a pipe.

            – That’s good to know. Perhaps you could learn to smoke a pipe for real, Jack. It would be useful in some other production too. It is a horny idea for a master to smoke but be reliant on his slaves to help him.

            – Yeah, I agree. OK, I’ll do it.

 

Filming continued on schedule. Stefan was included on Friday, giving impressive performances featuring his useless stumps hurrying towards his lover who held out his arm stumps to grab him. Stefan’s overlarge penis was featured several times in conjunction with his ultrashort hairy stumps flailing uselessly in ecstasy as his arse was pounded by amputee after amputee, all controlled by

Fister, the Grand Master sitting on his pedestal directing the action with his surreal peg arms. The actors were professional and Joop got all the sequences he wanted after two or, at the most, three takes. Fister, seeing almost nothing thanks to the visor on his officer’s cap spent several hours with nothing to do, a limbless figure in the background of the action on the floor in front of him. He could see enough to ensure his tool filled his forty almost to its tip. He tried to imagine what it would be like to have legs to help thrust his penis into a mate’s arse. He had no idea.

 

Shooting finished ahead of schedule, as Joop had expected it would. It was great to work with professionals who not only understood what they were expected to do but also understood the time limits for any production. The final day of shooting concentrated on Fister. He was to be shot from a hundred angles in all his outfits, always emphasising his leglessness or his arm stumps as they were fitted with peg arms by some other hunky amputee.

 

The morning shoot was finished after three hours. Long close-up shots of his amazing codpiece in varying lighting conditions. Close-ups of his arm stumps. Panorama shots up his peg arms. Close‑ups of his beard and lips below the officer’s cap. After lunch, the cosmetician called Fister into the make‑up room.

            – Time for the contacts, Jack. You’ll feel a little vulnerable for a couple of hours but we’ll take good care of you, don’t worry.

            – I know. Go ahead.

The cosmetician knew what she was doing. She put eye drops into Jack’s eyes first which numbed sensation. Then she skilfully placed both contacts onto Jack’s eyes. He was initially alarmed.

            – Hey! No-one told me about this!

            – It’s OK, Jack. I know it seems alarming but it is the best way. Don’t worry. You’re safe.

 

For the last time, Fister was placed gently into his torso socket on the pedestal. The base was covered in black velvet and black curtains surrounded him. Two cameras focussed on him, one following his movement, the other his face. He heard Joop’s voice directing him—how he should tilt his head, when he should keep still. The officer’s cap was placed on his head for a few takes and then removed. Finally, the cameraman followed his body from the tip of his fifty down to his crotch and up over his torso socket, past his beard and up to his face for the final shot.

 

Joop was fascinated by the prosthetic perfection of his Grand Master. The lighting was changed twice, allowing for similar shots to be colour coordinated with various earlier scenarios. Fister lifted his peg arms many times for the light effects to travel along them, reflections which highlighted the absolute disablement of the Master.

 

The last shot of the day was the killer. Fister was wearing his hangman’s hood. His stumps were free of his peg arms and wore the rubber sheaths they had bought earlier in the week. He lifted his stumps slowly to his mask and pushed it off. Joop insisted on several more shots. It was difficult for Fister to manipulate his stumps with the reduced sensation through the rubber but finally the perfect shot was taken. A slow pan up to Fister’s face with his rubber stumps removing his mask and the camera slowly zooming into his eyes, his white eyeballs, sightless, senseless. The Grand Master was blind.

 

It was to be the closing sequence. The end titles would roll across Fister’s sightless eyes. Joop was grateful to Fister for tolerating his imposed blindness for so long.

            – We could have given you transparent contacts but we wanted the facial expressions of a man without sight. You looked great. Thanks Jack.

            – It’s nothing. I wanted to ask about my screen name. Instead of being billed as Jack Hill, can I be Fister Hill from now on?

            – Fister? Ha! Very apt. Yes, of course. I’ll make sure of it.

 

Friends and co-stars gradually left the hostel during the final week to return home. Fister was recalled to the studio for several additional short takes as the editor and direction collaborated on assembling the first off-line version of the production. The cameraman took his time over sequences where Fister was equipped with peg arms and his fifty, dressed in his motorcycle jacket and officer’s peaked cap. Fister entered the empty set several times, hauling his rigid torso along, his upper face hidden by the cap’s visor. He was rotated on the pedestal several times from left to right and back again while using the peg arms. Joop was interested in the play of light along the enormous codpiece and across Fister’s armour. He looked handsome with the military cap obscuring his eyes, emphasising his luxuriant black beard.

 

Production was completed on schedule. On the third of May, Joop thanked his studio team and the remaining actors, promising a celebratory dinner the next time they met. Fister and Stefan collected their belongings and took their leave of the hostel. It had been a comfortable home for a couple of weeks in enjoyable company. They returned to Germany the following morning with a stopover in Cologne. Fister had arranged an appointment with a prosthetist in a local company. He wanted to acquire a pair of prehensile rubber claws, hoping that they would allow him to use ordinary short crutches again. The peg arms were comfortable and striking but also disabling and Stefan was frequently reluctant to remove them. Fister had come to terms with Stefan’s apparent sadism. Even when Fister was completely helpless, Stefan never refused to assist him in anything. Stefan was a loving husband but he seemed to want Fister to be utterly disabled as often as possible. Fister wanted them to be equals, enclosed in their armour with peg legs and short crutches.

 

The prosthetist had sought out a suitable pair of claws which would fit Fister’s sockets. He demonstrated how the grip could be adjusted and how they could be used even without a cable. They were nearly a thousand euro each but both amputees were feeling flush after being paid by the studio. Fister left wearing them, hardly able to keep his eyes off the chunky metal and rubber claws. They checked into a hotel near the station where Fister had stayed before and spent a relaxing evening in and around Cologne town centre.

 

They were back home in Corbusierhaus the following evening. They both felt horny. There was much to discuss about their sexual experiences with other virile young amputees and neither had felt comfortable talking about the subject in public. Stefan had enjoyed mutual fellatio with a legless Dutchman. Fister was not averse to Stefan attempting to do the same with him but doubted that the head of his cock would leave much room in Stefan’s mouth for a satisfying performance. Fister himself was not interested in fellating Stefan. Fister had been fascinated by Pjotr’s reactions to being fisted by a stump and would have liked to see how Stefan liked it but there was no interest. Stefan did not enjoy anal and rarely allowed entry. Fortunately both men were excited by prosthetic sex. It was slow, deliberate and never quite sated the sexual urge. Both men enjoyed attempting to f*ck the other with a variety of enormous codpieces before removing their carapaces and lying together in their truncated warmth. Stefan toyed with Fister’s tool and Fister explored Stefan’s body with his stumps.

 

Fister tested his new claws with short crutches. They gripped the crossbars tenaciously, far more securely than standard hooks or even natural hands. The biggest problem for Fister was getting up onto his peg legs but once erect, he was mobile again under his own power. The two legless lovers frequented a couple of gay bars in Kreuzberg several times a month and became familiar faces. Fister wore his claws almost exclusively when out and about. They were not only perfect for his crutches but also excellent for grasping bottles and glasses. They travelled into town by U‑bahn wearing their balloons, carrying their preferred codpieces in Stefan’s rucksack. Fister wore his fifty only once and stuck with his forty afterwards. The fifty was inconveniently long in a public place, although it attracted stunned comments from admirers who always loved to see Fister simulating masturbation with his rubber claws. Stefan watched enviously, his own thirty‑two an impressive but second‑rate alternative.

 

Four months after completing work on the previous production, they were invited to Amsterdam again for discussions about a new one, tentatively called Down Boy! Joop warned them clearly—it was a story about sadism and enforced amputation. Both men were ideal candidates for the second half of the story and Joop hoped that they would agree to be naked for much of the time spent shooting. Neither amputee had any objection to nudity. Both had learned to walk on their buttocks holding their cocks off the floor with hands and stumps but they always preferred to wear armour and codpieces. They were rarely naked at home, where they could indulge their prosthetic urges all day, every day.

 

Joop’s earlier production was online for subscribers and was the most successful production by far. The film had been titled The Way Forward and its publicity, minimal though it was, showed Fister, eyes hidden by the officer’s cap, sitting on the pedestal with his enormous, incredible fifty pointing into infinity.

 

THE WAY FORWARD