Joes Tattoo Part 6

Author: SkinJameser
Title: Joe's Tattoo Part 6
Date: 13 March 2009

Chapter Six

Joe slowly regained consciousness. It took him a while to start processing thoughts, but he realised he was back in his cell, strung out on the bed again. At first he couldn’t remember how he got there, but the pain coming from his arse jogged his memory.

The machine had been pounding him again, only pausing to select bigger and bigger dildos. After countless hours at its (lack of) mercy, it must have worked its way up to the fist that he’d been shown. Joe had never felt agony like it before as it seemed to tear his ring as it was forced in. Just as he was almost getting used to the massive invader it had started to twist the fist while entering and whilst inside him. Joe, already horned-up beyond reason, had gone wild with lust. After some unknown period every muscle in Joe’s body had simultaneously convulsed and he finally came, shooting cum so forcefully that it had spurted straight forward, far enough for Joe to see even with his lack of movement. He’d howled like an animal, and must have passed out.

Now that he had time to consider the last few weeks alone, he started to cry. He couldn’t believe what these people were doing to him, not just without caring about what he thought about any of it, but the fact that they were enjoying it too. Some holiday; since he’d turned 18 he’d been drugged, kidnapped, had every hair removed from his body permanently except for a stupid mohawk, had every sensitive part of his body pierced, been welded into restraints, permanently held in some form of bondage, and now been repeatedly raped by a machine. And to top things off this was to be his life for ever as there would never be any possibility of being rescued as everyone thought that he was dead.

He wept openly, his sobs muffled by the gag. He wept for his life that was gone, and in fear for what lay ahead for him. He’d been a normal, care-free teenager, enjoying his life, and all of it had been taken away from him.

It was the sound of a key in the lock of the cell door that distracted him from his despair. The door swung open to reveal Leather-clad pushing the wheelchair. As the ball gag was still strapped in place Joe didn’t even bother trying to shout. The fight was definitely draining from him.

Without saying a word, Leather-clad unlocked Joe’s bondage and had him strapped to the wheelchair in moments. Leather-clad wheeled him out of the cell, down the corridor, and into the room where he’d received his shackles. The Blacksmith was there, making some form of restraint which had a collar similar to Joe’s, but this one had wrists cuffs attached rigidly to each side of it with thick bars of iron. He briefly looked up from his work.

“Give me a second to finish this?” he grunted, turning back to the metalwork.

“Sure thing,” Leather-clad replied easily.

After a few moments, the Blacksmith had finished his work, and wandered over to the wheelchair.

“So today’s the day then?” he grinned.

“Yup!” replied Leather-clad cheerfully. “Though I’m afraid he’s going to have to loose his jewellery. Temporarily at least.”

The Blacksmith nodded in mock sympathy. “Don’t worry lad, it’ll be worth it. And you won’t be without them for long!”

Saying that he picked up a large, heavy-duty drill. He stood over Joe in his wheelchair, lined the drill up with the bolt on the boy’s left wrist manackle, and started drilling through it. The vibrations hurt Joe’s arm and shoulder, but he did his best not to move, scared that the drill might slip and rip through the flesh of his naked body. Eventually the drill had gone through the bolt, destroying it. With a tug of the Blacksmith’s huge biceps the wrist cuff opened. Joe flexed his arm and wrist as much as the wheelchair straps would allow, enjoying the sensation of partial freedom.

The Blacksmith did the same to the other manackles, leaving the collar until last. He almost looked regretful when he removed it from the boy’s neck.

“Seems naked without them,” he murmured.

Leather-clad shrugged. “Don’t worry, in a while he’ll never seem naked again!” Joe, stretching the cricks out of his neck, dreaded whatever was putting his captor in such a good mood. But for now he was enjoying the sensation of lightness over his stressed body.

After Leather-clad had bid farewell to the Blacksmith, Joe was wheeled back along the corridor and into the lift, which descended a few floors before opening on yet another bare corridor. Without ceremony he was taken into yet another large room.

A man was sitting on a wheeled stool at a PC. The man had changed clothes since Joe had last seen him; he was now wearing knee-high rangers tightly done up with white laces, a pair of worn combat trousers, and a dark red Lonsdale polo-shirt barely stretching over his muscled, tattooed frame. But Joe instantly recognised him. It was Peter, the tattooist who had started this nightmare. Now Joe knew why Leather-clad was so happy.

Ignoring the ball gag in his mouth, Joe started screaming at Peter for all he was worth, his face twisted in fury. Peter merely grinned, turning off the PC’s monitor which had been showing a 3D image of a body revolving slowly.

“Well, here he is, the lad who wanted to get tattooed!” he said happily, ignoring the protests of the bound boy. “I was just hearing how much you’ve been enjoying your stay here!” He nodded amiably at the Doctor who was standing with his arms crossed next to him.

Joe screamed into the gag until his throat was hoarse as he tried to break free of his restraints. He desperately wanted to smash this arse-hole’s face in.

“Now, is that any way to show your gratitude? I’ve closed my shop just to be here to give you that tattoo you were after!” Peter beamed. “Well, we’ve made a few changes to what you wanted, but y’see it’s not your choice what gets done to you anymore, is it?” Illustrating the point Peter flicked one of Joe’s nipple rings. “The Boss and I spent a long time planning your ink,” he continued, “and thanks to the Doctor’s measurements of you using his laser scanner it’s going to fit you perfectly.”

Joe slumped back as far as his bonds would allow and gave up shouting. Despite himself he could feel his cock start to swell at the prospect of getting tattooed, even if it wasn’t under his control.

“Right, first we just need to get you on the rack, the Doc’ll then do a “minor” surgical procedure on you, then it’s my turn!” Peter continued enthusiastically. Joe didn’t like the way he’d said ‘minor surgery’. ‘What now?’ he thought with resignation.

Leather-clad turned Joe’s wheelchair to reveal a strange contraption bolted to the floor. It was made of large stainless-steel rods, which held thick see-through plastic rings at various points. There were pneumatic hoses and actuators everywhere, and was about the size of a person. Joe thought it looked like some futuristic version of a medical examination table.

“It’s pretty cool, eh?” said Peter proudly. “Designed it myself. Wish I could use it in my shop, but I guess my cover would be blown pretty quickly!”

Leather-clad and Peter started unbuckling Joe from the wheelchair, then quickly lifted him bodily out of it and lowered him into Peter’s ‘rack’. When he was in position Peter nodded at the Doctor, who tapped a command on the PC’s keyboard. Immediately the plastic rings snapped shut, closing tightly over Joe’s body. He found himself secured by his ankles, thighs, upper-back, wrists, biceps, neck and forehead.

Peter sat back down at his PC and typed in some commands. The rack suddenly burst in to life with a hiss of compressed air. Joe felt himself being raised slowly towards the high ceiling, his arms and legs stretching out from his body until he formed an X. When he was at least 10 feet in the air the column attaching the rack to the floor started to rotate ninety degrees, and Joe was suddenly held vertically. It carried him even higher, then swivelled again, so that now he was staring at the floor, dangling horizontally by the restraints. He was utterly terrified, scared that it might drop him face-first onto the hard concrete floor, but it stopped, leaving him securely suspended.

“Clever, yeah?” said Peter, swivelling on his stool to face Joe. “Allows me to get at any part of you with the flick of a switch! Right Doc, you’re up.”

The Doctor picked up a leather medical bag, wheeling another stool over so that he was positioned near the small of Joe’s back. The boy suddenly felt heat as a powerful spotlight was switched on. He tried turning his neck to see what the Doctor was doing to him, but the rack held him rigidly. He screamed into his gag as he felt the Doctor slice through his skin.

Unseen by Joe, the Doctor had taken out a scalpel from his bag, and after wiping the small of his back directly over the boy’s spine with some alcohol, had made a neat incision about two inches long. He removed a small jar from the bag, and using a pair of forceps removed an inch square circuit board, sealed in shiny metal. Delicately, and wiping away the blood from Joe’s wound, he slipped the device under Joe’s skin, leaving it positioned exactly over the boy’s spine. When he was satisfied it was in place, he brought out a needle and suture and expertly closed the incision. He took his time, ensuring that once healed it would leave the merest of scars. He rubbed the area with alcohol again, which caused Joe’s screams to get even louder, then covered the area with a large adhesive bandage.

Joe’s back felt like it was on fire. Through his tears he wondered what the hell they’d done to him. The fire faded, to be replaced by a dull throbbing.

“Up we go,” said Peter, clicking at the keyboard again. The rack repositioned Joe so that he was vertical again, and carried on until he was leaning back at a slight angle. He now had a perfect view of the tattooist, who ruffled Joe’s mohawk playfully as if they were best friends.

“Right lad,” said Peter happily. “I’m about to start your tattoo. But I don’t want you to see it until it’s finished, which is gonna be a few weeks away.”

‘Weeks?!’ thought Joe. ‘What the fuck is he going to put on me?!’

“To keep the surprise,” Peter continued, “the Doc is going to put some drops in your eyes. These will temporarily blind you.” He paused as Joe started whimpering through his ball gag. “Easy mate. I said temporarily. The Doc knows what he’s doing, that’s why the Boss employs him. He just has to give you the antidote and your sight will return. A blind boy is no use to the Boss.” Peter cocked his head slightly as if thinking. “Well, not for what you’re getting ready for anyway.” He grinned. “We could’ve used a blindfold or blacked-out gas mask, but it’s a pain shifting it if I need access, and eating and so on isn’t exactly easy either. No, this way is best.”

Joe tried shaking his head from side to side as the Doctor approached with a small vial which had a dropper attached. But it was no use, the neck and forehead straps kept him immobile. Instinctively he screwed his eyes shut, but the Doctor merely opened each with his thumb and forefinger, quickly depositing a couple of carefully measured doses in each. Joe frantically tried blinking the drops from his eyes, but he could already feel a mild burning sensation developing in them. His vision started to blur, getting fuzzy. Then went completely dark. No matter how hard he blinked, his vision did not return. He started to panic, thrashing at his bonds.

“Calm down lad.” Peter commanded. “If you don’t I’ll get the Doc to give you something to paralyse you, and I’m sure you don’t want that.”

Joe did his best to calm down, the last thing he wanted was to be completely frozen at the mercy of these guys. He tried staring out of his eyes, but they were useless. He could see absolutely nothing. Despite all that had happened to him recently, he’d never felt more vulnerable.

He jumped as he felt a gloved hand rub his mohawk. “I’ll see you later.” That was Leather-clad’s voice. Joe heard him, and someone else, presumably the Doctor, leave the room.

Joe heard some clicks coming from the keyboard, and with a start felt the rack lower him until his trapped feet registered the coolness of the concrete.

“So lad, just you and me now.” Peter’s voice. Joe heard a rustle, and the unmistakable sound of a Zippo being opened and flicked. He felt something touch his lips, and was relieved when he registered it as a cigarette. He inhaled shakily, hearing the Zippo being struck again. He could hear Peter inhaling, then exhaling his own cigarette.

“We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us,” Peter stated. “You’ve probably guessed that you’re getting more than a small piece on your arm.” Joe heard him inhale, and slowly exhale. “The good thing about getting so much done in a oner is that I can work on different parts of you while the other parts heal. Means I can work pretty much constantly.” Another pause, inhale, exhale. “The Doc has whipped up some great cream which’ll speed up the healing time, and ensure that the colours’ll look great.” Inhale, exhale. “Now, I’ve already warned you not to move. This tattoo is going on you no matter what. If you squirm about and wreck it then you’ll be no use to the Boss and you’ll end up in waste recycling. I know you’ve been shown it and I’m guessing you don’t fancy winding up there, do you?”

Joe, sucking at the cigarette, shook his head as much as he could.

“Thought so. The same goes for you yelling or whining all the time. If you carry on distracting me I’ll get the Doc back here and disable your vocal cords. OK?”

Again Joe nodded. What else could he do? He was powerless to let Peter draw whatever he wanted on him, and he sure as hell didn’t want to spend the rest of his life siphoning shit.

“Cool, then we should get going then,” said peter. Joe felt the remains of the cigarette being taken from his lips, and heard it being crushed by the tattooist’s heavy boots.

Joe heard Peter’s stool trundle away and return, then flinched despite his warning as he felt something cold being smeared all over his chest. He could smell alcohol.

“Just cleaning the area lad, no need to panic.” Peter said calmly.

When he’d finished disinfecting Joe’s chest, he heard the stool move away and come back again. He twitched in his bondage as he felt something sharp and cold travel across his bare chest, seeming to leave a trail behind it which cooled quickly.

“Relax lad,” said Peter. “I’m using a pen to draw the part of the tattoo I’m about to work on.”

Joe relaxed a little, feeling the tip of the pen move. He tried concentrating on where it went, trying to work out what he might be wearing for the rest of his life. But he couldn’t begin to guess what it was. Peter could be doing a crossword for all he could tell.

The drawing seemed to take hours. Joe could feel his body begin to ache, suspended as it was in Peter’s rack. Without vision he could do nothing but focus on his tired muscles, and the pen dancing across his flesh. Eventually Peter stopped, and Joe could hear him tossing the pen at the desk with the PC on. He heard the stool scrape the floor as Peter stood up, and guessed that the rustling was Peter stretching. Joe wished he could do the same.

“Right lad,” Peter said, breaking the silence that had descended on the room, “I’m off for a piss before I start on you properly. Do you need to go, I can get One Nut in here,”

Joe shook his head.

“Fair enough, just make sure you don’t interrupt asking for one when I’m tattooing you. Here, have this while I’m away.” Joe tensed a little, but relaxed when he felt a cigarette being pushed into his mouth, and the sound of the Zippo lighting it. “The next few hours will be tough on you, so you’re gonna need this.”

Joe heard Peter’s footsteps disappearing, sucking on the cigarette. He was worried at how much pain he was about to experience, and for how long it would go on. He wasn’t sure that he could take that much on the first go, but knew the punishment he’d earn if he didn’t keep still.

Peter returned, removed the cigarette end from Joe’s lips, and brushed the boy’s cock, causing it to bounce upwards. Joe flushed, he hadn’t realised that he’d been hard.

“Looking forward to your tattoo eh?” Peter asked amiably, laughing.

Joe said nothing, not that he could have if he even wanted to, and heard Peter unclicking what must have been a case. Various noises drifted over, he was obviously setting things up. Joe shuddered as he hard a sharp buzzing noise, but relaxed when he never felt anything. Joe had seen enough documentaries to recognise the sound of a tattoo machine, a metallic rasping buzz. Peter must have been testing it. Joe took a deep breath through his nose, trying to steady his nerves. Soon he would find out what getting tattooed felt like.