BONE SPURS II

 

BONE SPURS II

Five years on, an update

Fiction by strzeka (12/23)

 

P R O L O G U E

 

Buck Cloutier and Mason Tinsley had been body‑building enthusiasts, leather lovers and successful wannabe amputees until they were reduced to almost complete limblessness by the floriantes barbarosa epidemic of 2035 which compelled the disarticulation of recently amputated limbs due to the uncontrollable growth on bone spurs from the severed bone. Functioning stumps were forfeit. Long legless, Cloutier lost his sole arm stump, leaving him no vestige of arms with two short leg stumps and Tinsley became a bilateral hook user with a torso stump.

 

 

            – I want to be blind, boy.

Derek the houseboy was about to change the torsos’ bed sheets after a virile sex session when Buck called for assistance.

            – Yes sir.

Derek doused his hands in disinfectant gel and fetched the glass vial containing Buck’s opaque white contact lenses. Blindness was his latest fetish. He had been warned by his optician to wear contacts for no longer than twelve hours at a stretch but had never tolerated loss of his sight for so long. He was determined to accustom himself to sightlessness in addition to all his other disabilities. It seemed like a logical progression. If he were not so enamoured of his long wooden stubbies, he would be almost entirely helpless. As a blind man, Buck rarely moved from wherever he sat, his stubbies echoing the bilateral knee disarticulations he had lost in the voluntary amputation craze earlier in the decade.

            – Please tilt your head back, sir.

 

Derek was gentle with both his masters. He realised soon after moving in as a permanent carer that Buck’s bark was much worse than his bite. Mason was much more relaxed about status but more concerned with apparel and appearance. Buck’s facial features were already destroyed by repeated unsuccessful tattoos. He had recently given up wearing his leather hoods at home. Buck leaned back slightly and looked up at the ceiling. Derek pulled the tattooed eyelids wider apart and placed the white contacts onto Buck’s brown eyes. Now Buck was blind until someone removed them. Mason watched the procedure from the other side of the room and decided to take advantage of Derek’s presence and Buck’s imminent quietude.

            – Derek, while you’re here, would you put me by the laptop?

 

Mason had asked to wear his plastic torso socket, a sure sign that he planned to sit stationary rather than move around. His supple leather ‘shoe’ allowed his stumpless buttocks to enable slow progress around the apartment. He preferred manoeuvring around the apartment on his stump rather than use his wheelchair which was relegated to Derek’s room.

 

Mason wanted to try out a few prompts he had been mentally refining. Derek carried the rigid torso to his work desk and positioned the laptop and other equipment conveniently within range of Mason’s large semicircular hooks. Denied the opportunity to progress deeper into physical disability through fear of another bout with bone spurs, Mason found satisfaction in creating scenarios for virtual amputees. He and Buck, together with fellow landlord Harlan Trent and his lover Heath, had started a small video production company, ostensibly as a distraction from their new and unwanted disabilities. After the positive response to the first three uploads, Harlan created a pay‑per‑view and Mason spent many hours each week both prompting the AI bot to create ten to fifteen second scenes of severely disabled amputee leathermen living their lives and exploiting their stumps to the best of their abilities. Buck occasionally provided inspiration for new scenarios after spending hours blind and immobile. Mason enjoyed the freedom to live vicariously through one of the characters he had created which was based on his own limblessness, a legless bilateral hook user who ruled the roost in a commune inhabited solely by triple and quadruple amputees. The series was called Our House and each new episode immediately attracted over a quarter of a million views at twenty‑five quid per view. The episodes lasted three quarters of an hour and accrued many repeat views from subscribers at a discounted price of ten pounds. Mason’s only complaint was the exasperating literalness of the AI engine. Every scene had to be described in exhaustive detail to maintain continuity. Like most prompters, Mason had accrued a collection of cut‑and‑paste commands and descriptions to speed production but was frequently surprised to see video product from the engine featuring limbs or clothing which had long since been discarded. The prompts had to be rewritten and rechecked. Mason was ideal as a prompter thanks to his degree in English literature. A decade ago it had been derided as useless. Now a large vocabulary and concise command of grammar produced lucrative scenes of homosexual amputee raunch.

 

Derek moved around the apartment quietly, continuing with his housekeeping work. The men’s sheets had been changed, an almost daily occurrence. Buck’s queen‑size bed was more than adequate for two torsos. Buck slept at one end, Mason at the other. Their love‑making usually took place in the middle where pools of drying semen and saliva would not discomfort the sleeping torsos. Mason’s leglessness guaranteed that he would not feel the wet spot and Buck’s leg stumps were too short to reach it. Mason often changed position during the night. Having lost only half his forearms, he was perfectly able to push himself onto his left or right side. Buck was condemned to sleeping on his front or back and had to announce to Derek which he preferred before being lowered onto his bed. Derek had come to expect that Buck would masturbate his inch long cock by gyrating it against the bed sheet if he slept on his front. Derek did not begrudge the leathermen their sexual games despite the extra work it gave him. Buck refused to sleep in soiled sheets although he tolerated a considerable amount of dried body fluids on his leathers.

 

Derek himself had undergone a change in attitude since arriving from the remedial care centre in which he had lived between the ages of sixteen and twenty. He had been found guilty of shoplifting for the second time and removed from society. All he wanted was a pair of red thirty‑holer boots with shiny external toecaps. They cost four hundred and seventy which he would never be able to afford. He spent the next years wearing recycled paper flip‑flops and yellow prison trousers and tops. When he was released in response to the sudden urgent need for young four‑limbed assistants to the freshly amputated, he had been cowered into submission, wanting nothing and getting it. He was placed with Buck and Mason and immediately felt at home under the armless Buck’s relentless demands. The leatherman lurched back and forth on short black cylindrical legs, swinging his motorcyclist’s jacket sleeves to emphasise a point. Derek had feared him for his dominating manner and his impatience but gradually his trust in both quadruple amputees grew, especially after Buck spent time with him asking about his past and his intentions for the future. Derek said he wanted to be a skinhead, not because he wanted to join a gang but because he liked the look of the clothes they wore and the big leather boots. Buck was no stranger to the desire to wear big black boots and gave Derek a thousand pounds to be used only for clothes. Derek bought the boots he had been caught stealing and all the other things a true skinhead needed for street cred. He kept his head and face shaved and shaved the heads of Buck and Mason in a ritual of mutual respect.

 

Derek influenced the amputees too. He was not a handsome boy but had adopted the looks of a piercing fanatic. His eyebrows both held three consecutive rings, his septum was pierced and held a wide curling rod of steel, not dissimilar to a buffalo’s horns. His latest addition was a broad labret under his lower lip. The flesh had been sculpted in order to insert it and its presence pushed his lower lip into a sneer. Derek also had his first facial tattoo, a simple black rectangle extending from the outline of his lower lip to his neck. The steel labret contrasted brilliantly with the black ink. Much as he hated to copy the houseboy’s fetish, Buck also lusted after facial piercings as a departure from amputation as a statement of status. He had removed his previous fashionable facial piercings after his first tattoos. Resting in his chair now, blind to his surroundings, he explored the wilder extremes of facial piercing. He pictured himself with grotesquely extended earlobes, the sides of his nose holding expansion rings and his lower lip pierced and stretched to allow a frontal view of his steel dentures. He gripped his micropenis between his leather stubbies and ground his stumps slowly, imagining himself with a rictus forced by facial piercing. All his facial jewellery would be chrome steel. His face would glitter with unnatural additions and his old features would be destroyed as thoroughly as his tattoos had destroyed his skin. He should have his entire head re‑tattooed. Blackwork all over. It was the future.

 

Mason had no doubt that his tattoos, which Buck had insisted on, had influenced Derek. He had long since become used to seeing his drastically altered face with its diagonal stripes and the matching designs around his head and neck. He remembered his tattooed legs and regretted the fact that he had never thought of photographing them. Now his lower body tattoos were lost to time, along with his lower body. It was too bad. Buck had not spoken of his latest inspiration but it was something which Mason would support fully. Mason had unknowingly influenced Derek in another way too. His prosthetic arms with the big curved hooks fascinated the young skinhead, who frequently imagined himself going about his daily chores using a similar pair of hooks. He held the opinion that steel hooks would match his facial piercings. Only the fact that he needed natural fingers to see to things like Buck’s contact lenses prevented him from exploring the notion of handlessness further.

 

Mason worked regularly on the next episode of Our House. Buck reviewed output before Mason was allowed to continue. Derek linked Mason’s laptop to the widescreen tv and the two torsos reviewed and discussed how the storyline should continue. They allowed him to watch if he promised to be silent. He also watched the torsos in their continually varying combinations of leatherwear, torso sockets and prosthetic limbs. Tonight Buck was wearing his cosmetic arms, muscular facsimiles of a bodybuilder’s arms terminating in balled fists. They were connected to a yoke which Derek simply dropped over Buck’s head. The sculpted forearms bent forward at sixty degrees. The fists rested uselessly beside Buck’s leather‑clad stubbies.

            – Replay that last scene. I don’t understand how the blond guy can be on the bed without being lifted onto it. Where’s the servant with the hooks?

            – I don’t see the need, Buck. Viewers will know the guy will have been lifted onto the bed. I mean, how else can he get up there? His leg nubs are too short and so are his arm stumps. I don’t think you need to show every tiny detail every single time.

            – No, you may be right. I like the way you’ve captured the effort he has to make to turn himself. The facial expressions are realistic even through all that beard. Are there going to be situations when he walks on his four nubs?

            – Do you think he could? His leg stumps are too short for stubbies. His dick and balls would drag along the floor even if they were stuffed into a codpiece. I don’t really see how it would be feasible, Buck. Let him enjoy the freedom of his stumps.

            – Alright. I concur this time. This bit is good where he drags himself forward with his arm stumps. It’s horny.

 

Mason wondered what was going through Buck’s mind. He was obviously keenly interested in the virtual blond’s method of propulsion. He might have enjoyed trying something similar himself but he was too disabled for such locomotion. Buck shrugged his shoulders and his rigid cosmetic arms changed position slightly. Mason interpreted the gesture as a request to review the next sequence. Derek was enjoying a short period of relaxation, imagining himself limbless and as virile as the bearded blond adonis on screen which Mason’s fantasy had created. He was as different from Derek’s skinhead persona as it was possible to be.

 

Buck decided the time was ripe to begin his next transformation. He wanted his facial tattoos obliterated by a new layer of blackwork which would transform his features entirely. He wanted his pale skin covered, hidden, negated. Then his reconfiguration with extreme facial piercing could begin. He contacted his tattooist, Zen Bergman, an artisan with thirty years’ experience, a man who had stood on two wooden legs for forty years. Florrie had not affected him in any way. His truncated femurs had healed decades ago and his stumps had become perfect examples of the genre. His amputations were the result of a road accident and hints of scandal occasionally resurfaced on the web referring to the genuine cause of the trauma. The man had already been in a relationship with a legless lover. It was highly improbable that a random accident would result in a similar disability. Bergman had longer stumps and enthusiastically adopted a pair of thick heavy wooden legs which had been refurbished over the decades but which he continued to wear.

            – How are you, old friend? What can I do for you?

            – I need some blackwork done. Face and head, down to my chest.

            – That’s fine, Buck. Drop in on Saturday morning about nine and we’ll get started. How are you doing these days? Still running that bike?

            – No more biking for me, mate. I had florrie. I’m limbless.

            – So it goes. Well, come by at the weekend and we’ll talk about what you want done.

He imagined that Buck had fresh leg stumps, maybe his sturdy thighs had been reduced to hemispherical nubs or similar. He had no idea of the prosthetic torso he was due to meet.

 

Buck placed a call to Peg Leg Heath.

            – Saturday morning? Sure, if Harlan doesn’t need me for anything I can drop you off. I can’t promise that I’ll be able to pick you up though, Buck, so don’t get your hopes up. But it’s probably OK if it’s late afternoon or early evening. Will you be wearing legs?

            – I always wear my legs, Heath. I don’t want to lay around like some kind of invalid.

            – Quite. Well, see you Saturday. Say hello to Mason from me.

Heath terminated the call and wondered what on earth Buck intended to have tattooed.

 

Buck was surprised when Heath turned up. Derek let him in, a tall handsome man with a trouser leg neatly tucked into his waistband, outlining a long thigh stump. Heath stared at Derek’s impressive curling septum piercing and crutched inside on wooden axillary crutches to greet Buck and Mason.

            – Where’s your peg?

            – I snapped it. It caught in a drain and broke. I’m having a new one made, bigger and better than ever. I’ve decided to get one which looks like the old style of peg leg, you know, thick all the way down to where the peg starts, and the peg itself is going to look like it came off an old dining chair, all fluted and carved. And the ferrule is gonna be big enough not to catch in a drain.

            – Wow! That’ll look good on you. Rigid, is it?

            – Oh yeah, of course. No point in having a peg leg unless you go all the way and have it all one piece from stump to stop.

            – Good. I’m ready when Derek puts my jacket on.

            – Do you want your arms, sir?

            – Not today. The jacket is enough.

Derek dropped it over Buck’s head and empty shoulders. It was semi‑permanently zipped up. Even with empty sleeves, Buck immediately resembled the old version of himself, although his stubbies were much shorter now. He rocked himself into motion and Heath crutched slowly behind him as the wooden stubbies struck a hollow rhythm on the concrete floor leading to the lift. Heath manhandled the torso into his electric car, threw his crutches into the back and ordered the car to Bergman’s tattoo parlour.

 

Heath rapped on the door and waited until Bergman rocked over to open it. He stood back as Buck lowered himself onto the threshold and flailed his stubbies, twisting himself inside the shop and gyrating his body until he was able to regain balance on his short legs.

            – Let me know later if you can pick me up, Heath. Thanks for the lift.

Bergman nodded a farewell to the good‑looking man, locked the door and fussed around Buck, who had been one of his best customers at one time and who had then worn a leather hood for years to hide his, Bergman’s, handiwork. Inspecting the irregular chaotic patterns covering Buck’s features, it was not difficult to see why a man might prefer to live hidden from the world.

 

            – It’s quite simple. I want you to cover my head and face and neck with blackwork and the sooner you can do it, the better.

Bergman had done similar work before, including half heads where either the top half of the head from the nose upwards or the left or right side of the head was covered entirely.

            – I understand. I can make a start right now, Buck. I’m not sure how long it will take or whether it will need a second application, but if you’re ready, I can probably do your face and head today.

            – Let’s get started then. Take my jacket off, Zen. Just pull it up over my head.

Bergman did as requested and revealed Buck’s naked shoulders. The sutures had healed smooth. The unfamiliar shape of an armless shoulder was fascinating. Buck sported two. His torso was still trim and muscular despite his lack of arms. The chest was broad and enviable.

            – How far down do you want the blackwork to extend?

            – I thought maybe far enough to make sure that my head and neck is entirely black when I’m wearing a T.

            – Gotcha. Do you want to start now? Shall I do your face first?

            – Let’s get started.

Bergman managed to lift the torso onto his tattooing couch and adjusted its height to make for easier access. He sat on a kitchen stool which had served him well for many years. He spread his wooden legs to each side and began the tedious task of covering Buck’s entire face, from the forehead down, with monotone black ink, an expensive import which was described as thicker and denser, guaranteeing perfect coverage with the first application. Buck lay motionless except for the minuscule movements he made with his leg stumps inside the stubbies as he tried to persuade his inch long erect penis into such a position where he could chafe it with the top edges of his artificial legs. His sexual compulsion to feel excitement and orgasm associated with disfigurement and dismemberment was still as strong as ever and his complete lack of arms emphasized his helplessness. He reached a mental state of nirvana, where all the absent muscles in his non‑existent limbs were firing in futile attempts to excite the stump of his once magnificent penis. Bergman’s tattoo gun gradually darkened the ruined mess of Buck’s previous tattoos while his customer’s penis leaked precum onto Bergman’s couch.

 

            – How are you doing, Buck? Can you stand another couple of hours? I should be able to finish your face by then.

            – I’m OK. I ought to tell the guy on crutches to collect me.

            – Where’s your phone? I’ll dial it for you if you like.

            – In my jacket pocket. It should be unlocked. Just search for Heath.

Heath was heard calling to Harlan that Buck would be ready around six.

            – Just fetch him, mate. I’ll be fine.

Harlan was in a better situation than Buck. He had longer leg stumps with longer stubbies and had retained an arm stump which let him use a functioning arm prosthesis when an artificial stump was attached to his empty left shoulder. It held his prosthesis in place and served no other function than to even out Harlan’s shoulders.

 

            – Do you want your lips tattooed, Buck? You’re going to look odd with black skin and pink lips.

            – Just tattoo them black and have done with it.

Twenty minutes later, the job was done. Buck had completely black lips. More than anything else, they altered his appearance. Not even the darkest skinned African had black lips. Buck was imagining himself after his piercing project was complete. Black lips would be the icing on the cake. That reminded him.

            – Zen, I want some piercings. I want my nose stretched both sides, earlobes stretched and lower lip stretched. Do you know anyone who can do it?

            – Course I do. So these are not your usual decorative rings you’re thinking of?

            – No. I want my face stretched to fuck. I want my nose spread across my face. I want my lip to fall forward with the weight of the jewellery. And I want my earlobes stretched as far as they can go. Great big rings holding the lobes open.

            – I see. Well, as a matter of fact, I’ve recently started a collaboration of sorts with a very successful artist who just came back from Brazil after a very successful visit. His name is Lucien Lamour and he is one of the country’s leading artists when it comes to stretching. He’s been studying the methods the Brazilians use which they have learned from their indigenous people who have practised things like lip stretching for centuries.

            – He sounds like the sort of guy I want to talk to.

            – In that case, Buck, I suggest we give you a three week period to heal from today’s session and when we meet next time, I’ll do your neck and chest and you can get started with Luc.

 

Mason and Derek had spent a considerable amount of time discussing a matter which Derek was reticent to talk about especially in the presence of Buck, whom he regarded as disabled beyond any reasonable limit. Derek’s main interest was Mason’s artificial arms. He was fascinated by the wide hooks which Mason used to type and feed himself. Even though Mason’s body ended at his dick and he needed a plastic corset with a flat base in order to sit upright, Derek thought of Mason as being far less disabled than Buck and gradually he began to accept that artificial arms were merely an alternate way of being, of getting things done. To his mind, a set of artificial arms with a decent pair of hooks would let him experience some of what his masters experienced and become closer to the two men who had taken him in, turned him into a genuine skinhead and reliable servant. He made a couple of lattes late in the morning and broached the subject with Mason.

            – Can I ask you, what would you say if I had hooks like you?

            – I would say who the hell is going to do the work around here. Why? What are you thinking of?

            – Well, I’ve been watching the way you can do most things when I put you down somewhere and I was wondering what it would be like for me to do it wearing a pair of hooks. I really like the look of them, see? I just don’t know how to go about getting a pair now everything has been closed down.

            – I see. What’s to become of me and Buck while you’re recovering from your amputations?

            – I don’t know. That’s what makes it so difficult, see?

            – I dare say we could get Heath around most days, to tell the truth. He took care of us at one stage when Harlan had something going on with Buck. He lent Heath out every morning. Of course we weren’t quite so limbless in those days. Buck still had wooden legs and I still had real ones. But that was then and this is now. So you want your hands off, is that it?

            – Yes, I think so. I’d like to use artificial arms with hooks. And I’d still carry on doing everything around here—you know, the laundry and making the beds. That sort of thing.

            – And you think you’d be able to do all that with hooks?

            –Well, I’ve watched all the things you can do, sir, and I’m sure I’d soon learn if you help me.

            – You know they only do disarts these days, don’t you? It’s to prevent florrie from attacking severed bones. So you could lose your hands at the wrist or your entire forearms from the elbow. Then you’d have a pair of artificial arms like Buck’s old ones. Christ, he used to bitch about them. Not having elbows makes life a whole lot more difficult, see? I can easily get my hooks exactly where I want them and don’t have to think about how to move my elbows to reach something. I just reach out and grab. Buck couldn’t do that. He had to plan how to position his arms and jerk around to get his elbows to lock before he could operate his hooks. He used to get so frustrated. I’m not surprised he’s calmed down recently now he has no arms whatsoever. He doesn't have the same kind of frustration, not since you arrived and he can ask you for everything.

            – Yeah, I understand. Maybe if I had my hands off at the wrist I could still have long stumps to do everything with.

            – I bet you could, too. But Derek, you know who’s the boss around here. You’re gonna have to talk about all this with Buck and see what he thinks. I wouldn’t be surprised if he lets you go ahead, though, but don’t quote me on that, alright?

            – Alright. Thanks, Mason. I appreciate it. I’d love to be a skinhead with hooks. I’d feel like a man.

            – You would look magnificent.

 

Heath was astonished by Buck’s appearance. In place of the familiar blurry chaos of successive tattoos, the man sported a glistening coat of black ink on his face. It was as if he had put his head into a bucket of black paint. Even his lips were black. Buck’s eyes looked at Heath’s expression, reading his thoughts, divining his opinion.

            – Stunning! Buck, you should have had this done years ago. You can say goodbye to that hood now for good.

            – I still want a hood for outings. People expect to see me covered entirely.

            – Let’s go if you’re ready. I’ll get your jacket.

            – Careful! Don’t let it touch my head!

 

Mason and Derek were no less intrigued by Buck’s appearance. His freshly tattooed skin had already begun to ooze fluid as it attempted to heal millions of pinpricks. It would be several days before the scabbing healed enough for a thorough hot shower to remove excess dried ink and emanations. Buck knew from experience that his face would look revolting for at least a week and determined not to see his companions’ curious looks. He would be blind for the next days.

 

It was a frustrating time for the entire household. Immediately after breakfast, Buck demanded his opaque contacts. Derek was impressed at the extreme contrast between his master’s jet black skin, streaked with pus or something, and the unseeing white eyeballs. He would ask permission to take a photograph to show Buck later. He also wanted to discuss his arm amputations. But Buck was already showing signs of impatience and dissatisfaction. Derek asked if Buck was comfortable, if he wanted to wear his stubbies while seated, if he wanted water.

            – No! I’ll let you know if I want something, boy.

Derek had no doubt that he would. He continued with his house duties and spent considerable time in the men’s bedroom, where he had discovered Buck’s superfluous artificial arms in a cardboard box. He had progressed from looking at them to touching them, from handling them to rubbing them against his crotch. The steel hooks would be vicious replacements for his soft feminine hands and he wanted a pair more than anything else.

 

Mason was content to generate more disabled characters for sex scenarios with the four‑stumped adonis. He worked on a detailed description of another quad amputee who boasted four disarts of his knees and elbows. He wore long rigid peg legs and even longer peg arms. He walked on all fours wearing a black leather helmet which almost covered his eyes and which featured tall steel spikes like a metallic mohawk. He positioned his adonis onto the quadruped’s back and created a harness which allowed the rider to bugger him. Their ball sacs knocked against each other in a provocative manner and Mason prompted a fifteen second close‑up of the jostling bollocks. His own penis maintained an uncomfortable erection inside his torso socket and he called out to Derek for assistance. Derek quickly returned Buck’s artificial right arm to its box and hurried to see what the trouble was.

            – I need you to open my socket, mate. My dick is caught at an uncomfortable angle.

Derek carried Mason to the bedroom and lowered him onto the bed. He unlocked the fastenings and removed the front section allowing Mason’s handsome swollen cock to erect to its full height. Without any hint of warning, Derek engulfed Mason’s impressive tool with his mouth and performed one of his best blowjobs to date. His own tool had been leaking precum for a quarter of an hour and he lost control, ejaculating into his bleachers. The wet warm mess soaked its way down his thigh and he would later appreciate how Buck tolerated wearing his soiled clothes and leathers and why other men were attracted. Derek swallowed Mason’s hot cum and still the piquant scent of sex remained. It came from his sodden bleachers.

 

Mason was more than satisfied and asked Derek to carefully replace the front section of his torso socket, ensuring that his penis had freedom to move and to return him to his work desk. Within the hour, the virtual adonis was fellating the quadruped, who lay on his back with all four peg limbs waving in the air. Ejaculate dripped from adonis’s blond beard. Buck called out.

            – Yes sir?

            – I want some coffee, boy. Make an expresso. And after that, I need to piss.

Buck caught the scent of sex from Derek.

            – Have you just cum, boy?

            – Er, yes sir. I came in my bleachers.

            – Why? What were you doing?

            – I saw what Mason is working on and I just came in my pants, sir.

            – Interesting. Off you go.

 

Buck had been imagining ways to alter his physical appearance in the very few ways available to him. He had a longer pair of beautifully tapering stubbies in the closet which he could wear more often. He wanted to brandish cosmetic arms more often although they were functionally useless. He had been imagining a long rigid waistcoat device with two arms permanently attached but was unable to decide between having cosmetic hands or prosthetic hooks. Maybe some kind of interchangeable system would work. And although he was always conscious of his micropenis, he would enjoy visiting the leather club boasting a huge codpiece. Something exaggerated, something conspicuous. Derek arrived back with his espresso and lifted it carefully to Buck’s chapped black lips. They were encrusted with scabs and coffee escaped from his mouth and dribbled down his chin. He grinned, cracking the scabs on his cheeks. Derek misinterpreted it and begged permission to talk to Buck about a personal matter.

            – Is this something to do with you cumming in your trousers, boy?

            – Er, yes sir.

Buck had no interest in listening to Derek fighting to find the words to describe what he wanted to say.

            – I’ll talk to you about it later. Work out what you want to ask, do you understand? Be concise.

Derek was not sure what concise meant but understood Buck’s tone.

            – Yes sir. Maybe later.

Derek returned the dirty espresso cup to the kitchen. Buck leaned back into his chair, blind, amused by the foulness of his boy’s trousers and excited by the inability to move his tattooed lips enough to drink without drooling. He clamped his steel teeth together and gyrated his pelvis in an attempt to find a surface against which to chafe his micropenis.

 

Once again Heath ferried the torso to Bergman’s tattoo parlour for the rest of his blackwork. This time, he was met by both Bergman and his new piercing specialist colleague.

            – I took the liberty of inviting Lucien along. You mentioned wanting some piercing work done last time and I thought you could discuss it with Luc while I work on your neck and chest. I hope that’s alright.

            – Perfect. Pleased to meet you, Luc. Excuse me for not shaking your hand.

Lamour nodded but remained silent. His face and shaved head were covered in an irregular pattern of Amazonian swirls, his earlobes stretched to a painful degree and his lower lip was stretched around a cylinder which extended down his chin and held his lip horizontal. Lamour preferred silence to his distorted speech. The lip extension prevented him from pronouncing labial sounds. He had discovered that those Amazon tribes which traditionally wore them spoke languages without labials. Their speech remained intelligible even with lower and upper lips stretched to hold wooden inserts. Buck was immediately attracted by the device in the man’s face, the like of which he had not seen before nor imagined. He decided then and there that he would have a lip insert like the one Lamour wore. It looked like the cap off a bottle of fabric softener but that was of no import.

 

            – I’m going to take your jacket off, Buck. Lean forwards a little. I see you’re wearing your long legs today.

            – It was time to give them an airing. I’ve been using the short ones for so long, I almost forgot I have these. I might have a longer pair made if I can get used to these. It’s a question of balance.

            – You should have a pair of fake arms, sir.

Lamour spoke for the first time. A ‘hare of wake arms’? Buck stared and suddenly understood.

            – You mean ‘a pair of fake arms’?

Lamour smiled in a rictus and nodded. Buck looked at him, fascinated. He was delighted with the man’s facial deformity and wondered why it had never occurred to him to mutilate his own mouth? Now he had the chance and Lamour was the very man to do it with the other modifications.

 

Bergman suggested an idea he had—that the blackwork on Buck’s back and chest would be rectangular rather than conforming to some imaginary curve reminiscent of a classic photographic portrait. Buck agreed immediately. He had never seen anything like it before and was keen to be a trailblazer once again. He had persuaded many friends and acquaintances to become amputees, some of whom still had their original stumps despite florrie, and now he saw himself showing the way forward again not only with his total head and face blackout but also with the extreme piercings and stretchings he would force himself to endure to enjoy the greatest possible degree of disability. He imagined himself five years hence, stumping along to the leather club on tall peg legs operated by his meagre stumps, wielding cosmetic arms terminating in large steel hooks, his upper body naked under his motorcycle jacket in order to display his rectangular blackwork from his chest to his back, looking around him with a single eye, appraising the gazes of leathermen intrigued by his appearance, not least of which would be his extreme facial piercings. They had hooks and peg legs, cosmetic arms and artificial stumps but none of them had yet disabled their speech with a heavy ceramic cylinder. A cacophony of ideas and intentions! Lamour sat back to watch the limbless leather master as Bergman’s tattoo gun buzzed into action and Buck underwent another major modification.

 

Firstly Bergman tattooed the outline of the shape to be inked, for which he used his broadest set of needles. There were three rows of seven needles on his tattoo gun and they vibrated at fifteen times a second. A square inch of skin was covered every minute. Buck closed his eyes against the insistent discomfort and the ratcheting noise of the gun. He was thinking about a new set of artificial arms. Assumedly Earl was still in business. He produced good quality leather work. He might have a few ideas of his own about fitting empty shoulders with new cosmetic limbs. Buck also wanted to advance to a longer pair of stubbies. He genuinely missed standing a head taller than other men on his old rigid wooden legs. They were at the back of the closet, never to be used again. They were designed to be worn over his previously long thigh stumps, not the pathetic nubs he had unwisely demanded at the height of the amputation craze. Regardless of the erotic pleasure to be gained by owning and using ultrashort stubbies, he would cut an impressive figure if he stood tall again.

 

Lamour had already acquired the starter jewellery which Buck had mentioned to Bergman on his first visit. In order to save months of painful stretching, he intended to remove disks of flesh into which he would insert the first steel retainers. Every six weeks or so, a slightly bigger retainer could be inserted until the piercing reached the desired size. There would be a long uncomfortable period at the beginning before the flesh became accustomed to being stretched but one grew used to it. He himself was due to advance to the next size of labret, making his lower lip imperceptibly wider. It was a fine feeling to sense the plug resting on his chin knowing the end result. It may take a couple of years but all the stages along the way would be milestones. There was never cause for impatience for a dedicated stretcher.

 

The hapless Heath returned at the end of Buck’s session. That morning he was still peacocking on crutches. The man who entered the tattoo parlour stood on a large wooden peg leg, stained to resemble oak. It extended up to his crotch in one solid piece, narrowing below Heath’s stump to a fluted peg terminating in a hefty ferrule. He spread his legs, crossed his arms and waited for comments. The silent looks on the others’ faces were comment enough. Heath not only looked superb, the prosthesis itself was a wondrous size, thick and smooth. It was unusual not only for its sheer bulk but also because of the craftsmanship which had produced it. Buck determined that whoever had made it would also make his longer stubbies.

 

 They left with Lamour’s assurance that he would visit Buck’s address two weeks hence to administer the initial surgical proceedings. Buck rocked along to Heath’s car, acutely aware of his jacket’s lining clinging to the assaulted skin on his chest and back. Heath pulled his peg leg off and stashed it in the car and the two amputees discussed Heath’s peg leg and its maker while the car navigated its way back.

 

Buck wanted to return to self‑imposed blindness but he was unable to simply relax in a chair. He had to keep upright to allow his blackened skin to heal and lack of vision tended to unbalance him. Derek was especially attentive, saying nothing but approaching his master every thirty minutes or so in case something was required.

 

Several days later when his tattoos had stopped weeping ichor, Buck summoned Derek for a tête‑à-tête.

            – I hear you’ve been discussing amputations with Mason. That’s alright. I’m not surprised. I understand you want to lose your hands.

            – Yes sir. I would like to have two hooks like Mason. Not the same type, sir. I’d prefer to have two of the normal kind of hook.

            – Yes, I know the kind. You do realise that amputations are different now from what they were before florrie, don’t you? You can only have amputations through a joint. Which leads to the question—which joint? Have you thought about it?

            – Yes sir, very much. I would like to have my hands amputated at the wrists, sir. Mason says it would be the quickest way to recover, sir.

            – Does he? I’m thinking you would prefer to have stumps like Mason’s, halfway up your arms, nicely rounded.

            – Er, yes sir. Mason’s stumps are very nice. But Mason says they don’t do those sorts of amputations any more.

            – No, they don’t. So I suggest a compromise. And if you agree, I will pay for your amputations and artificial arms with the hooks you want on one condition. On two conditions.

            – What’s that, sir?

            – One that you promise to remain here working for Mason and me after you become disabled. I don’t want to give you hooks only to see you flee to some other devotee master.

            – Oh sir! There’s no‑one I know like that, sir. I’d love to stay here to serve you two masters.

            – Good. I’m glad to hear it. The other condition is that you’ll have one disarticulation of a wrist and one disarticulation of an elbow. You can choose which arm you want to have the long stump. I suggest your left. I want you to experience the challenge of operating a hook with an artificial elbow and since you’re right‑handed, I believe you’d be more likely to learn to use such a limb if you had merely a long upper arm stump. Do you understand, boy?

            – Yes sir. Thank you sir. The arms which you used were the same type, weren’t they sir? With the special elbows?

            – They were.

            – Then I’d like one of those, sir.

It was the most surreal attempt at flattery Buck had every heard and he exposed his steel teeth in a rictus of a smile.

            – You are a good boy. You shall lose your hands. I’ll let you know when your amputations are.

Derek bowed his head in gratitude and went to the men’s bedroom. He pulled Buck’s old prostheses out of their box and wanked until he finally shot spunk into a socket. All the time he fantasised about wanking with hooks. If Buck really meant it, he was going to have hooks.

 

Buck’s skin healed enough for him to relax leaning back in a chair. Derek blinded him almost daily for many hours and wondered who would do it after he had gained his stumps. Surely Buck realised it was unlikely that he would be wearing contacts after Derek lost his hands. Buck had indeed thought about the situation when the entire household was comprised of bilateral arm amputees. His lust for blindness would be satisfied by the loss of an eye. He wanted the eyeball removed and for the empty socket to remain puckered. He knew someone who understood such matters, a notorious leather sadist who had served prison time for what he did to one of his slaves but that was a while back. Buck intended to have a selection of leather eye patches for both eyes. When he wanted to see, he would wear a patch over the missing eye. When he wanted to be blind, another patch would cover his eye. It was all perfectly logical. Perfectly acceptable and desirable. He had contacted the ex‑con and been assured that success was guaranteed. Removal of an eye would take only twenty minutes. The disadvantage was that the Yorkshireman was also a legless torso thanks to florrie and required his customers to attend his ‘clinic’ in person. He no longer travelled. It would make for an entertaining day out for Buck and his houseboy, who would attend to him on the journey.

 

Lamour arrived on the agreed day at the agreed time and explained that he needed about two hours for his procedures. Mason was perfectly content to be placed at his work desk with his back to the kitchen for the rest of the morning. Derek said he would be busy with other things. He had laundry to do but intended to spend at least half an hour with Buck’s old hooks. Derek lifted Buck onto a chair and made sure he was comfortable and watered before disappearing. Lamour washed his hands and disinfected them with hand gel and positioned Buck to make the removal of a chunk of flesh from Buck’s left earlobe possible.

            – There will he hlood, I’ng ahraid. I will anaesthetise the harts I will he cutting so you won’t heel any hain.

            – Thank you, Luc. I understand.

Lamour set to his work. Buck wished he was blind. He should have asked Derek for his contact lenses. Lamour injected a couple of millilitres of anaesthetic into both of Buck’s earlobes and waited with a scalpel in his hand for a couple of minutes. Soon, both starter retainers were in place. Blood dripped from between the steel rings and soon stopped.

 

Two hours later, Buck had steel plugs on both sides of his nose and one under his lower lip. All the piercings bled for a few minutes until the pressure from the steel inserts persuaded blood to coagulate.

            – This is all, Uck. Let’s give it hive weeks and we’ll see awout the next size.

            – Thank you, Lucien. Derek! Mr Lamour is leaving.

Derek appeared from the bathroom where he had been emptying the washing machine and saw the piercer out. He wished he could have a big pierced lip too. It looked really horny. But he already had his extravagant septum tusks. Maybe a labret would be overkill in addition to his blackwork tattoo.

 

Buck was pleased with his new appearance. His earlobes felt sore but there seemed to be little sensation from the steel rings stretching his nose. Maybe there were fewer nerve endings there. The labret felt taut. Buck could already sense that his speech would be altered as he expanded he piercing. With any luck, by this time next year he would be wearing a cylinder like Lucien’s and be well on the way to reaching his goal.

 

Mason completed his video production. He had created a scenario centred around his bearded limbless adonis who entertained a variety of men variously disabled and assisted by fantastic prostheses, the least of which were the long peg limbs worn by the quadruped lover. The artificial intelligence engine produced images indistinguishable from reality. Only the absence of actor credits at the end hinted at the production’s origin. With Buck’s approval and Derek’s admiration, Mason uploaded the work to the pay‑per‑view channel and bookmarked the page revealing viewing statistics.

 

Derek became anxious about the timetable for his amputations but dared not remind Buck. He need not have worried. Buck had been in contact with an old acquaintance in Gravesend who owned a small private clinic where he had undertaken many voluntary amputations. The man was in Buck’s debt for a favour extended several years previously and agreed to disarticulate the left hand and right forearm of a healthy young man in Buck’s employ. He recommended a two month gap between operations, or alternatively a few weeks after the boy was fitted with his first hook. Buck was now waiting on Heath to confirm a pair of consecutive dates which also suited the surgeon in Gravesend. Derek knew nothing about the machinations going on behind the scenes and ejaculated frequently onto Buck’s old hooks in frustration.

 

Heath came through and reported a free weekend at the end of the month. He would take Derek for his amputation, return home and collect the boy the following day. Buck promised to make it up to him somehow, reminding Heath that the situation would repeat itself a few weeks later when the second amputation was due. Derek’s prostheses might present another series of inconvenient excursions unless a prosthetist closer to home could be found. He could think of only one. Earl.

 

            – How are you doing, my friend? It’s been a while.

            – Yeah, I know. Sorry about that. No new amputations, you see. Until now.

            – Really? What are you having done? I thought you were already limbless, man.

            – I am. Armless, two short leg stumps wearing your stubbies. No, it’s not for me. Our houseboy is about to need artificial arms with Hosmers. I wondered if you’d be interested in making them.

            – Sure, I’m interested. He’s a DBE, I guess.

            – Left below, right above, Earl. Disarts at the wrist and elbow.

            – Ah, I getcha. I reckon I could whip up a pair of hooks for him. What were you thinking of paying?

            – The going price, Earl. What have you been charging lately?

            – Thousand five hundred for leather sockets and hooks. The hooks have to be imported, see?

            – Actually, I have a pair of Hosmers on my old arms you could use. Maybe you could reuse some of the other components as well.

            – Good idea. I’ll take a look at them.

            – Does that alter the price?

            – How does twelve hundred each sound?

            – It’s a deal. And leather sockets, right? They sound cool.

            – Can’t beat leather for a reliable fit, man.

            – I’ll get back to you nearer the date. It won’t be long, Earl. About six weeks.

            – OK. Talk to you later.

 

Harlan called shortly after six o’clock.

            – What are you two doing tonight? Anything planned? How about joining me at the leather club? You’ve not been out for weeks.

Buck knew Harlan would not venture out on his own. He was not reluctant to be seen in public as a quadruple amputee but the leather club could be unruly and Harlan was vulnerable with only a single artificial arm.

            – OK. We’ll need Heath to pick us up.

            – Goes without saying. Shall we say nine?

            – Nine is fine. See you.

 

Prompt as always, Heath called with a few minutes to spare. Derek buzzed him in and listened out for the sound of irregular footsteps approaching before opening the apartment door. Heath stepped inside and saw Buck and Mason in their best leather jackets, Mason sitting upright in his HoldMe torso socket with his oversized hooks linked in front of him and Buck wearing cosmetic arms with balled fists and his longest leather‑clad stubbies.

            – Derek, bring my hood.

            – What’s all that on your face? Have you had piercings done, Buck?

            – Yup.

Buck stared at Heath, waiting for some comment. Heath remained silent but focussed on the small disk under Buck’s mouth. It awakened one of Heath’s fantasies which he had ignored since his teenage years. Derek placed the hood onto his master’s head, tightened the laces and placed Buck’s muir cap over the hood, adjusting the visor to obscure Buck’s line of sight.

            – Ready!

Buck stumped towards the door, the rigid arms swinging unnaturally, followed by Mason in Derek’s arms. Heath pushed off on his heavy peg leg and closed the door after ensuring Derek had his keys. Harlan greeted his fellow leathermen while Heath removed his peg and placed it into the space available on the passenger side. Mason had no need of leg room.

 

Heath carried Mason into the club.

            – Just put me on the floor, Heath. Someone will pick me up soon enough, I reckon.

            – I’ll be waiting outside at closing time, if that’s OK.

            – That’s fine, Heath. Have a good evening.

Heath looked around the musty cellar and took in the leathermen daddies peacocking with huge cigars, one‑legged bikers leaning on crutches holding bottles of beer and a few seated limbless torsos wearing officer’s caps. He wished them the same and went for a beer and pizza in the nearby high street.

 

Buck looked around to see who was present. In the recent past, he had unquestionably ruled the roost. Now there were members whom he had not seen before and familiar faces who merely nodded in recognition. His absences due to losing both arms and Mason’s leglessness worked against him. Leaving Mason and Harlan to fare as best they could, Buck stumped across to a group of five daddies, most of them silent because of the phallic cigars in their jaws. One of them, Chester, removed his with a hook.

            – Hello stranger. Haven’t seen you for a while. What have you been up to?

            – Got caught up in florrie, my man. Lost my arm stumps. How’d you manage to keep your hooks?

            – Disarts. Bilateral disarts. That’s why. Florrie never touched me.

            – I should have done the same but I wanted shorter stumps. Had them too for a few months.

            – You manage OK?

            – I have a lover over there. Guy on the floor with the big hooks.

            – Ah, yeah I see him.

            – And we have a houseboy for chores.

            – Very wise. Well, it sounds like you’re doing well enough, Buck. What happened to your motorbike?

            – Still got it. In storage. I’m unlikely to ever ride it again but I don’t want to part with it. Only the houseboy could ride it but as far as I know he doesn’t have a licence. Plus the fact he’s getting his own disarts soon. Wrist and elbow.

            – Is that your idea?

            – Not really. He wants the amputations. I just decided what he could have.

            – Keep ‘em on a short rein. They get shirty if you start letting them have what they want. Why don’t you wait until he’s got his hooks and then send him on a motorbike course?

 

It was such an unlikely idea that Buck was surprised into silence. Derek riding his eHarley! On the other hand, if they fitted the bike with a sidecar, it might be a useful way of getting about. They would no longer be so reliant on Heath.

            – You know, that’s a good idea. Thanks, Chester.

            – Glad to be of help. Do you still smoke?

            – I can’t handle a cigar these days. I have no arms whatsoever. Can’t even use prosthetics.

            – That’s too bad. These are pretty good.

He lifted a hook to demonstrate the huge cigar gripped in it.

            – I get these at a very reasonable discount from a supplier who wishes to remain anonymous but comes through for me with two dozen every few weeks. I was wondering if you’d be interested in placing an order. I could bring a couple of boxes for you next meeting.

            – Really? How much are they asking?

            – A hundred and fifty for a dozen, one box.

            – At that price, they’re worth it even if you don’t smoke. Alright. Put my name down for two dozen. Three hundred cash, is that right?

            – Yup. I’ll let you have a sample before you leave. I have a box hidden under the counter.

            – Thanks very much.

Chester opened his mouth wide and fitted the cigar back between his teeth. There was no apter way of terminating the conversation. Buck looked around for other familiar faces but returned to where Mason still sat motionless near the bar. Harlan had left him and was standing with two other legless men, a drink in his claw.

            – That was interesting. I’m getting the bike out of storage and taking up cigar smoking again.

            – Wow! How are you going to ride again?

            – Not me. Derek. When he has his hooks, he can get a bike driver’s licence and we’ll have a sidecar fitted. He can drive us around.

This time Mason was too surprised to comment.

 

Harlan rocked back after a while and they spent the rest of the evening talking and watching. Many of those present had Buck’s recommendation to thank for their amputee status. He was one of the first to forego his legs in favour of black leather stubbies and his rollicking gait encouraged other men to have above‑knee amputations. With few exceptions, they now relied on torso sockets. Those with hands could swing themselves about on their body stump. Those, like Mason, with hooks found ambulating difficult and slow. Mason could rock his socket from side to side and twist it forward but it was an exhausting way to move around. Chester remembered he had promised Buck a cigar and handed over a metallic tube, two inches in diameter and thirteen inches long. Mason took it in a hook and inserted it with some difficulty into Buck’s jacket’s inside pocket. His large hooks with a minimum of contact area were not intended to manipulate such objects.

 

The day for Derek’s first disarticulation approached. Buck arranged for Earl to collect his superfluous artificial arms and both men were intrigued to find gobs of what could only be semen both on and in the sockets. Earl found it amusing which persuaded Buck not to interrogate Derek about the matter. It was probably advantageous to maintain Derek’s enthusiasm for prosthetic arms. He would soon have a pair of his own to wank onto as best he could with one stump.

 

Heath arrived on crutches to collect Derek mid‑morning on Friday. Derek was again halfway through washing bedsheets after another session of masturbation. Mason had spent nearly an hour coaxing Buck’s dick head to orgasm with his short arm stumps, simultaneously trying to maintain balance on his torso stump. Buck allowed Mason to copulate between his leg stumps. It was a quick process. They squirmed away from the wet mess in the middle of the bed and fell asleep with cum drying on both their bellies.

            – Hi Derek! All set and ready? Get your jacket and stuff and we can be off.

            – Off where? What do you mean?

Heath knew Buck well enough to realise that he had not told Derek about the imminent amputation.

            – Buck! Will you tell Derek what’s going on?

            – Grab some clean underwear, Derek. Heath is driving you to the clinic for your first amputation. By teatime, you will be a one‑handed amputee.

Derek’s mouth fell open. He looked at Buck and at Heath to see if they were joking and decided they were not. He put a T, socks and underpants into a plastic bag from the kitchen and put his MA‑1 on.

            – Ready.

 

Heath was more communicative on the long drive to Gravesend. He spoke of how he had been a mere fuckboy until he had become an amputee to please Harlan, after which their relationship had matured and become one of peers. Perhaps the same thing would happen with Derek. He mentioned the risk of chronic pain, phantoms and the sensation that the hand was still there. He could still wriggle his toes, for example, even though his leg was removed seven years ago. Derek mentioned how his interest in amputation had grown after watching Buck walking in his stubbies and specially Mason using his hooks to do everything. It looked so cool. When he mentioned wanting an amputation of his own, Buck had talked him into having two hooks. One long stump and one short stump and they were going to be disarts. And one of Buck’s friends was going to make him new arms—at least that was what he had heard from Mason. It was supposed to be a secret.

            – I know the man. You might have seen him yourself. Earl. Tall black man on peg legs. Has a gold tooth.

            – Oh, I know who you mean. I didn’t know he makes hooks.

            – He makes all kinds of artificial limbs, Derek. He made Harlan’s and Buck’s stubbies, as well as his own pegs. You’ll be able to tell him what sort of hook you want and he’ll do his best to make it. Don’t forget you’ll be using a pair of hooks so you’ll want them to be a matching pair, I assume.

            – Yes! A pair of matching hooks.

Derek sat back and stared down at his hands. There was nothing wrong with them. He imagined large hooks like Mason wore poking out of his jacket sleeves and felt the onset of an erection. It was his body’s way of confirming that he was doing the right thing.

 

Heath crutched inside the clinic with a quietened Derek by his side. The surgeon greeted them and after ensuring that he had Heath’s contact details, saw Heath out and took Derek to a small white‑tiled operating theatre. Heath drove back by a different route. He had an appointment with Lucien Lamour.

            – A left hand disarticulation, is that right?

            – Yes sir.

            – Good. It won’t take long. Well under an hour. I don’t think you need a full anaesthetic, do you Derek? I’ll give you a local anaesthetic and you can watch the operation yourself.

            – You mean I’ll be awake the whole time?

            – Yes. Don’t worry. You won’t feel anything. Now, take your clothes off, put this coverall on and come back and sit down.

Derek did as asked. He was naked under the ridiculous paper coverall. The surgeon splashed alcohol onto Derek’s hand and wrist and injected pink liquid into two places on his wrist.

            – We’ll let that take effect for a couple of minutes. You’re the young man due for another disarticulation in a few weeks if I understand correctly.

            – Yes sir. Mr Cloutier wants me to have my right arm amputated at the elbow, sir.

            – Quite so. And how do you feel about that? Becoming a double amputee in such a short time.

            – I think it’s very exciting, sir. I have always wanted to have two hooks, sir, and use them for everything.

            – I see. You do understand that you could have a second wrist disarticulation for the same result, don’t you?

            – Yes sir but Mr Cloutier and me want me to have an artificial arm with a mechanical elbow, sir. And if it is on my right arm, I will learn to use it, sir. That’s what Mr Cloutier said and he had two artificial arms like that, sir.

The surgeon knew very well that Cloutier had been a poor exemplar. He had not learned to use his prostheses and preferred to take advantage of the boy who was shortly to become disabled himself. However, it was no business of his to persuade elective amputees one way or another. He pricked the skin on Derek’s wrist with a probe.

            – Can you feel that, Derek?

            – No sir.

It was odd to see himself being pricked but not feeling anything. The surgeon tightened a tourniquet on his arm, placed his hand onto a block of plastic foam to keep it steady and began to slice around the wrist. Derek stared in amazement and then closed his eyes. He tried not to look at what the surgeon was doing.

            

– Turn your hand over so I can reach the other side. That’s it.

The surgeon changed tools and snipped at the inside of his wrist. Suddenly he sensed that the weight of his hand was gone. The surgeon moved his hand into a small container and covered it. He inspected the gaping wrist and, satisfied, reached for the first of several threaded needles.

            – Hold your stump up for me, Derek.

His stump! He had a stump. He was an amputee like his friends. Now he was one of them. The surgeon sewed a flap of skin which used to be on his palm over the top of his wrist. There was a line of black stitches which looked ugly. The surgeon cleaned the wound site with more alcohol and wrapped it in gauze and bandaged it tight. He took a transparent light blue cylinder with a rounded end and put it over the stump. He loosened the tourniquet and took it off Derek’s arm.

            – Well, young man. You are now an amputee. Congratulations. I want you to rest now. Try to sleep for an hour or so. Your wrist will be sore when you wake up after the anaesthetic has worn off.

The surgeon held Derek’s sound arm as he tottered a few steps to a hospital bed. Derek lay down, holding his fresh stump in the air.

            – You can relax your arm. The incision is safe.

Derek felt light‑headed and was happy to be on a bed. The surgeon pulled a blanket over him and set about clearing the debris of the operation. Derek slept.

 

The car parked itself near to Lamour’s address and announced that Heath was at his destination. He crutched into the apartment block and rang the doorbell. The men had not met previously. Heath was immediately impressed by his host’s stretched labret with its white plastic plug. It was exactly what he had come for. He knew that Buck also intended stretching his own labret. Heath assumed that Buck had no intention of taking it as far as he intended.

            – Cung in, hlease. It’s good to see you. Can I ohher you a drink? Cohhee?

            – Coffee would be nice, thank you.

            – Do sit down. You cung ahout a lahret hiercing, right?

            – Yes. The same as yours.

            – ’Ine is already over a year old. It’s a slow hrocess at first. How har do you want to stretch?

            – A four inch lip plate is what I’m aiming for.

Lamour was surprised. The man sitting at his kitchen table was unusually handsome in a boyishly masculine fashion. It was unusual for a man blessed with such good looks to want to mutilate his features as drastically as Heath professed. His leg amputation was easy to disguise. A lip plate was not.

            – It will he a while hefore you graduate to a hlate, ’ut a cut langret hiercing is the way to start.

 

Heath was fascinated by the man’s inevitable speech impediment which the plug enforced. Even a minor stretch like the one Lamour sported was disabling as far as communication was concerned. He had no doubt that the appearance of a large cylindrical plug in his face would have the same effect socially.

 

They drank coffee and discussed the imminent procedure and the timetable for healing and subsequent stretching. Lamour had a supply of stretchers in black or white which would enlarge the piercing by three millimetres each month. Their size increased gradually from eleven to seventy millimetres in diameter after which the lip would stretch around a genuine lip plate. Some preferred the blocky appearance of the plug. It was a personal choice.

 

Lamour numbed the spot he intended to slice open. He used an adapted piercing gun which would remove a disk of flesh from below Heath’s lip. There would be blood but the tight labret plug would staunch it and the lip should heal sufficiently within a week not to bleed. Heath sensed rather than felt the first of many plugs lock into place. Lamour cleaned his face with alcohol and offered a shaving mirror. Heath grinned at his reflection. The same familiar face but now with a prominent white dot under his lip.

 

Lamour handed him a list of instructions on hygiene and maintenance and assured him that any minor bleeding over the next few days was no cause for alarm. Heath thanked him, placed his wooden crutches under his arms and left for home.

 

Buck and Mason were confronted with considerable problems at home. Mason fared better than Buck. He climbed into his old wheelchair, stored in the bunk room and was able to manoeuvre awkwardly around the apartment. Buck had severe difficulty with toileting and condescended to nakedness under a red silk kimono. Mason determined to replace his impractical broad curved hooks with standard Hosmer versions at the exact same time that Earl had removed Buck’s old pair to reuse for Derek. They struggled through thirty‑six hours without their houseboy who returned on Saturday evening with Heath, holding his stump up in the distinctive manner of the freshly amputated. Derek was welcomed back, his bandaged stump admired, and pressed immediately into service, being charged with ordering two family pizzas and feeding Buck with his one remaining hand. Buck invited Heath to stay after noticing the change in Heath’s face.

 

T H R E E   Y E A R S   L A T E R

 

It was Midsummer, the longest day of the year. They were off for a picnic in Hyde Park, to see and be seen.

 

Derek and Heath collected their vehicles from the shared garage and parked outside the dark and foreboding apartment building which Buck and Harlan jointly owned. The two households had amalgamated into the enormous four bedroom apartment on the top floor which had proved impossible to rent to outsiders for over two years. Derek’s workload was lessened at Harlan’s insistence and a new houseboy, Kieran McCann, took over most of Derek’s duties. It was as Derek had surmised—after becoming an amputee, his status in the tight clique of leather amputees changed. He was not yet a peer, but both Harlan and Heath had persuaded Buck that Derek’s third amputation should allow the man some kind of relief. He was almost thirty and deserved better after years of dedicated toiling for Buck and Mason.

 

Kieran was kept busy while the two men fetched their rides. The three torso men all needed various amounts of preparation for an excursion. Their domestic semi‑nudity was hardly acceptable in public. After feeding Buck and helping Mason, Buck needed help with showering, donning his rocker stubbies, dressing him in black leather and fitting his steel teeth and the white ceramic lip plate into his black face. A white leather eye patch covered his empty eye socket and Buck insisted on being blind while out. Kieran paused in his routine to sterilise his hands and place an opaque contact lens on Buck’s eye. Satisfied, Buck strode away on his new stubbies. He was much more active on the rockers which compensated for his precarious balance without arms.

 

Harlan was more independent. After his shower, Kieran fitted the artificial arm and claw and Harlan was able to don his stubbies and dress himself. Mason could manage his torso socket and don his artificial arms independently, assuming they were placed next to him. One‑legged Derek occasionally showered with Kieran’s help but usually managed with his long arm stump. His right elbow disart was next to useless without a prosthesis.

 

Kieran had been loaned to Buck for a month while Derek recovered from his leg amputation by Chester’s nameless friend who still supplied Buck’s enormous foot‑long cigars every six weeks or so. Due to an unexplained financial catastrophe, Kieran’s return to his former employment was suddenly blocked and he faced imminent homelessness and unemployment. Harlan and Buck reviewed their own finances and agreed to offer the boy a permanent position as housekeeper and general arse wiper. Even Derek occasionally needed assistance with his hefty peg leg when his hooks were insufficient. Kieran liked Derek the most. They were closest in age and admired each other’s appearance. Kieran liked both of the men with peg legs and Derek also had smart hooks. And everyone liked Kieran’s long cock which hung nearly to his knees when relaxed. It was Kieran’s single ticket to fame and fortune. It was no surprise that Buck and Harlan enjoyed a shower every morning with the naked Kieran. Previously once a week had been good enough.

 

Heath and Derek returned to collect their passengers. They were both wearing white shorts and sleeveless T‑shirts and one pair of Nikes. They were in the auspicious position of being able to split a pair of footwear between them. They had the same size feet. Mason wore a peg leg on his left, Derek on his right. They both removed their pegs while driving. Derek stashed his in the sidecar.

 

Mason waited until the last minute before asking Kieran to replace his Hosmers with the rubber blocks turning his arms into crutches which allowed him to swing his torso socket along. Buck and Harlan stumped out together, with Harlan leading and Buck following the sound of hollow footsteps. Buck’s rockers grated on the concrete floor. He felt newly abled again. It was almost impossible now for him to trip and fall. The rocker feet, suggested by and created by Earl, prevented Buck’s torso from falling forward or backward. Watched by Kieran, who was not going anywhere, Mason braced his stumps and stretched his rubber pads ahead. He pulled himself forward and clumped out of the apartment behind Buck. HoldMe torso sockets were not ideal for hand‑walking in but adequate. They offered good back support for the legless who were condemned to a permanent upright position. The drivers checked that everything possibly necessary was packed into a canvas hold‑all and said farewell to Kieran. Heath picked the bag up and carried it down to the car.

 

Hyde Park had become the place to be seen for voluntary amputees and victims of Floriantes barbarosa. Due to the loss of revenue following the demise of central London as a shopping centre, various advertising drives were tried in increasing desperation by the Mayor’s office to attract a greater footfall in the area. The Don’t Hyde!-campaign from 2034 was aimed at the newly disabled, encouraging them not to shut themselves away but to enjoy the broad avenues and luscious foliage in London’s greatest park in the vague hope that some of them would stumble on further towards Oxford Street with their wallets. Almost immediately, the park was full of fashionable young amputees peacocking their artificial limbs or demonstrating their naked stumps. On a Midsummer’s Day as hot as today promised to be, there would be no lack of interesting encounters with even the most outrageously modified visitors. Buck was certainly one of them.

 

 

Earl had adapted Buck’s shortest stubbies in order to make his painfully laborious gait more stable and secure. Taking his inspiration from a nursery rocking horse, Earl designed and made an extension which offered a broad curved base. The armless such as Buck would stump along in the secure knowledge that they simply could not fall. The rockers were still undergoing trials and provided an interesting sight for onlookers. Buck would not be disturbed by them. He felt the sun on his black face. His white eyepatch and white eyeball were shocking details. Buck’s nose spread across his face, stretched and distorted by steel plugs each side. His earlobes strained around steel rings seventy millimetres in diameter, the same as Buck’s lip plate, which in turn forced a permanent view of his lower steel dentures.

 

Buck’s new cosmetic arms, inspired by Derek’s pair of functional limbs, were designed by Buck and Earl together. Buck wanted something which would make him look less helpless but still prosthetic. Earl suggested leather‑clad cosmetic arms which terminated in large curved hooks, thick and heavy. Buck tried to image himself wearing two and thought, astonishingly, that it was overkill. One would be enough. He suggested the other arm should terminate in a steel sphere on a rod, a little smaller than a golf ball. Old‑fashioned shop window dummies for displaying shirts and jackets had often featured arms terminating in brass spheres. They looked dignified and gentlemanly. Earl bellowed laughter and produced a four inch long steel attachment which complemented the opposing steel hook perfectly. The cosmetic arms were easy to slide into Buck’s jackets and were angled so as not to be unnaturally obtrusive. The hook and ball glinted in the sunshine.

 

Derek strode along beside Buck. He no longer identified as a skinhead but as a budding leatherman. His artificial arms outwardly matched, although his right had an artificial elbow. Derek’s left arm stump extended to his wrist but his entire arm was encased inside the long prosthesis. Earl had suggested making the left arm as restrictive as the right. The upper arm cuff was cylindrical and extended up and over the shoulder. Hinges of mirrored steel featured at the elbow, forcing Derek to perform the same calisthenics to operate both his hooks, taken from Buck’s old set of arms. Derek had asked for his prostheses to be covered with the same cherry red leather which was used for Dr Marten’s boots. Earl had a couple of square metres of the material which he had optimistically acquired years earlier but found next to no demand for. After Derek had healed completely from his elbow disarticulation, Earl transferred the left arm to a double harness producing the set Derek now wore. He was an enthusiastic amputee and wore his artificial arms all day. He learned to operate his elbow and hooks patiently without complaining. Buck had anticipated some degree of resistance but none was forthcoming. Derek rose in Buck’s estimation. He remembered well enough how recalcitrant an above‑elbow prosthesis could be.

 

Earl had designed and made Derek’s peg leg too. Derek wanted something very similar to the one Heath wore but Earl was reluctant to repeat unique pieces. Instead, he designed a peg leg with a long smooth socket painted with high gloss black enamel paint which narrowed into a fairly thick peg with a large rubber ferrule. It was easily as bulky as Heath’s which was what attracted Derek. It was held to the stump by the friction between two surfaces of silicon and was superbly comfortable to wear. Like Heath’s peg, it was rigid from top to tip, providing visual appeal when sitting. The peg leg merely protruded directly in front of its wearer.

 

Mason heaved himself along behind on his peg arms. His striped tattooed face, head and chest were obvious, disguising his natural features. He had undergone the fewest alterations of the men in the combined household. He had exchanged his large curved hooks for a pair of standard steel hooks and found them very much more practical. The hooks functioned to operate touch screens, allowing him to use his laptop far more easily. Editing his amputee fantasies was now a pleasure rather than a chore.

 

Heath surprised everyone with his facial modifications. He had always been admired, by both sexes, for his pleasant open features. Now he wore a short steel cylinder in his stretched septum, between his nostrils. It distorted and broadened his nose. Occasionally he had worn a heavy septum ring in the piercing but thought it looked too conventional. More surprising and shocking was his steel lip ring with a diameter of sixty‑five millimetres around which Heath’s lower lip was stretched. Heath usually held it horizontal but it dropped onto his chin when he ate or drank. Losing the use of his lip meant that drinking could become messy, as Buck had also discovered with his lip plate. Both men had the habit of sucking air sharply between their permanently visible teeth to prevent drooling. Heath’s hazel eyes and long eyelashes remained as handsome as ever but no‑one would think that Heath possessed conventional male beauty any longer. He strutted on his flamboyant oaken peg leg, purposely made more hefty to alter his gait and make walking more effort, more masculine and swashbuckling.

 

Harlan’s empty left shoulder was not unpleasantly scarred or malformed and he exposed it unself‑consciously. The hair which once grew from an armpit tufted below the empty shoulder. His right prosthesis was completely visible. Harlan favoured a voluntarily closing claw which he insisted was less effort to operate than the more usual Hosmer hooks. Harlan was severely disabled with only one claw but had recently become more mobile by ditching his flat‑soled cylindrical stubbies in favour of a new pair, longer and elegantly tapered.

 

The group of five made their way to an area which overlooked both the footpath and the lake, somewhere with a little shade from a tree or two. They were met by others, amputees for the most part, demonstrating their skills. One handsome family made their way towards them. The man was dressed in a white linen jacket and shorts, the woman in a white dress and blouse accompanied by young twins of both sexes. The husband strolled on two aluminium prostheses, relying on long peg arms which extended from his sleeves while the wife held her arms so the children could each grab onto a hook. They wished each other a happy Midsummer and continued. Other visitors passed without comment, young men on tin legs making their way with two walking sticks, a pretty young woman on crutches on one patched‑up artificial leg, two naval officers in full regalia, both saluting with steel hooks. Derek was excited to see a gang of skinheads jostling each other, none of them less than triples. One of the five had a natural arm, another had a leg. Despite the hot weather, they were all wearing MA‑1s and bleacher shorts to show off their metal legs fitted with thirty‑hole boots. It was easy to wear boots like that when all you had to do was put your legs on, as the double‑hooked Derek had discovered. They rocked their way around Buck’s group and Derek wished he could have joined them for a while. He would have loved to show off his artificial arms, the same colour as Doc Marten’s thirty‑holers.

 

They found an apt spot and lowered themselves onto the grass. Heath removed Buck’s rocker stubbies. Buck had become a quieter man since he began to indulge his desire for sightlessness. He was more introspected, less extrovert. His lip plate made his speech indistinct but it was the only way he had to communicate. He had no hands with which to gesture. Buck got a vicarious thrill from the lip plate. It was as life‑changing as any of his other modifications and as shocking. Heath looked to Buck for confirmation that another centimetre or so of stretching would allow him to progress from the hollow steel ring to a solid plate. His own speech had altered too. He intended to accustom himself to his new face for a few months before having a second stretcher ring inserted in his upper lip. His goal was to have lip plates in both his upper and lower lips, the upper one a little smaller. It would be a fascinating transformation and a unique experience. His speech would probably become unintelligible.

 

After a suitable pause, Derek unpacked the picnic food and drink. Everyone had four cucumber sandwiches on white bread and a meat pie each. There was bottled water and a thermos of coffee served in paper cups. Heath offered to help anyone who needed it. He was the only man present with hands. Mason and Derek relied on Hosmers, Harlan on his claw. Buck’s large metallic hook was for decoration only. It looked impressive, a throwback to a time before prosthetic devices became common. The same could be said of Heath’s peg leg. Such a primitive device, such a poor replacement for a limb, so desirable, so erotic. Heath glanced at Derek’s version—completely different yet no less impressive.

 

Shadow from the surrounding trees escaped as the afternoon wore on. Gradually it became obvious that it was time to return home. It had been a pleasant outing. It was good to join with other like‑minded voluntary amputees who enjoyed a decorous way of flaunting their artificial limbs for the pleasure of others. Perhaps they could do the same thing again next year.

 

BONE SPURS II