Joes Tattoo Part 7

Author: SkinJameser
Title: Joe's Tattoo Part 7
Date: 14 March 2009

Hi! Here's the 2nd last installment. For now at least! ;-)

Chapter 7

Joe trembled in anticipation as he heard the stool being wheeled back over. He felt Peter brush his chest.

“Steady yourself lad,” Peter murmured, and turned the tattoo machine on.

Joe winced as he felt the needle bite into his chest. It felt like a sharp, electric shock. He winced again as it started to crawl across his flesh, like a demented sewing machine. He could feel the thuds of the needle on his breastbone. He tried breathing as shallowly as he could, his face screwed up from the pain. As Peter moved the tattoo machine across his virgin skin, it left hot trails of pain behind it. The machine would stop every so often for Peter to dab it in ink, but the brief pauses only caused his torn chest to start throbbing all the more.

On and on the tattooing went, Joe’s ability to cope with the pain diminishing the more time passed. By the time Peter finally stopped the machine, after several hours Joe reckoned, he was completely spent, his nerves raw and screaming. Joe felt as if his chest had been slashed by a madman’s knife. He desperately wanted to run his hands over it, to soothe his burning skin, but the rack held him firmly. He slumped against his bonds, fighting to control his breathing.

“You did well lad,” Peter commented from somewhere in front of him. Joe shook again when the tattooist started applying a cream to his new tattoo, then sighed as the pain faded to become a mere aching throb.

“One Nut will be here in a while to take care of you. See you bright and early tomorrow!”

Joe heard Peter’s boots heading down the corridor, and he was left alone to deal with his tortured chest.

He had hoped that he’d be let down when One Nut did come in, but no such luck. It seemed that he was to be kept fastened to the rack until his latest ordeal was over, whenever that would be.

He spent an uncomfortable night on the rack, cold, stiff and sore from his marathon tattoo session. When Peter returned the following morning Joe felt dreadful, having slept very little. Peter gave him another cigarette before starting again, this time attacking his stomach, first with the pen, then the tattoo machine.

The routine continued for days, Joe lost count past the sixteenth. He almost came to welcome the times when Peter used the pen, at least it didn’t hurt unlike the tattooing. Each day Peter would start on a new part of Joe’s body, occasionally having to release a single restraint or tilt the rack to move Joe into a different position so that he could continue. With dread Joe realised that his entire body would be covered with Peter’s art. Even if he did manage to escape he could never return to his old life, not without being completely clothed at all times in public.

Even that small hope was denied him though, as one day Peter started using the pen on Peter’s left, then right hand. Joe’s heart sank, he was to be visibly tattooed. The tattooing of Joe’s hands, both the top, fingers and palms until they joined the tattoos already on his wrists and arms, were the most painful yet, and several times he gasped in agony, despite his attempts to keep quiet. Peter obviously knew the pain he was causing the restrained boy, as he made the rare consideration of pausing the tattooing when he’d finished covering one hand by giving Joe a cigarette, before continuing on to the next.

But his hands were easy compared to the day that Peter started on Joe’s neck. His Adam’s apple had been excruciating as the machine had buzzed over it, sending its ink deep into the sensitive skin. Joe could do nothing but grimace in pain as the gun made its way up and over his entire neck, then crawl up to this chin. Mentally he cried; he could never be accepted in society the same as before with this much ink permanently on display.

“Big day tomorrow,” Peter said when at last he’d finished with the boy’s neck. But he wouldn’t elaborate as to what before he’d left the room, leaving Joe shuddering in pain, wondering what he had meant. Judging by the ache coming from all over his body Peter had not missed a spot. Even his feet and ass had been tattooed. Then it occurred to Joe what was left. His head. He started whimpering again. To have his face permanently tattooed would be the end of what was once Joe. He’d loose what most defined him, to himself and everyone else. He didn’t sleep at all that night, too lost in dark despair.

When Peter returned the next day Joe’s fears were confirmed as he started drawing on the teenager’s skull. The scraping of the pen almost felt pleasurable on his bald scalp, if Joe hadn’t realised the significance. When the pen made its way over his face he whimpered again. Peter had to release the forehead strap to continue his work, reiterating the punishment that would befall him should he start moving. Joe didn’t need to be reminded.

The tattooing of his skull was terrible, and he wished he would pass out. Several times he came close to it, but was always brought back around when Peter paused to replenish the ink of the tattoo gun before starting again.

When at last his skull had been covered, Peter moved on to the boy’s face, seeming to cover every square millimetre of it, including his eyelids, his ears and even the insides of his nose. Peter removed the ball gag briefly, but again a reminder of the consequences should he distract his work ensured that Joe did his best to keep quiet. Joe’s whole face felt huge and swollen by the time Peter had finished that night.

Joe had hoped that the tattooing of his face marked the end of his ordeal, but the following day Peter had started working on his chest again, which had only just healed. Joe cursed himself for thinking that the tattooing might have ended. He should’ve realised that the first round was Peter laying down the outlines of his tattoo. Now would come the ‘colouring in’.

This process hurt in a different way. Whilst the outlining had been a sharp and concentrated pain, the filling in was duller but covered every bit of the boy’s skin. And now that Peter didn’t need to do any drawing, the tattooing started first thing in the morning and didn’t stop until he’d finished several hours later. There were frequent pauses as Peter had to refill the ink, or change the colour.

Eventually the day came when Peter once more attacked the boy’s head, and Joe, horrified at his face being covered again, at least hoped that this signalled an end to his time on the rack. The following day Peter had darted his tattoo machine around different parts of Joe, obviously tidying bits, maybe adding finishing touches.

Just when Joe thought the ordeal was over, Peter suddenly grabbed Joe’s cock, pumping it hard. Joe moaned in pleasure, squirming on the rack. It’d been a long time since his cock had received any attention, and it sprang to life instantly. When Peter was satisfied that the boy was as hard as possible, the pen started scratching the length of his manhood. A tug of his foreskin and he felt the pen scraping at the head of his dick too.

Joe dreaded what was to happen next. As the tattoo gun buzzed in to life, Joe couldn’t help but squirm as the shaft of his cock, and especially its head, were ripped by the needle. Peter didn’t comment on this, just twisted and turned the boy’s dick with one hand, while tattooing with the other. When he moved on to boy’s nut sac Joe renewed his screams. Sweat broke out all over his body, and waves of nausea flooded him.

“Well lad, you’re done!” Peter had said enthusiastically when he had finished. Joe could detect the pride in his voice, but could do nothing but hang limply from the rack. He was utterly exhausted, his mind numb due to the constant screaming of his shot nerves.

“A fantastic job, even if I say so myself! We’ll leave you up on the rack for a couple weeks or so until you’ve completely healed. It’ll make sure you heal properly. One Nut will be in every day to apply the cream and service you. You just hang on in there, and I’ll see you when you’re done!”

With an affectionate ruffle of Joe’s mohawk he left, leaving him hanging from his restraints, with only One Nut’s daily visits to break the monotony. With no sight, and no tattooing to break the days up, Joe had nothing to do but consider his fate, and feel the pain that radiated throughout his body.

And wonder what he now looked like.