MORE TASKS, MORE PAIN
Eli hobbled into the shop and collapsed as far as his restraints let him. The men - the attorney and the artist – took off all his gear. Only the cock ring stayed on. For a moment Eli felt massively grateful, then the feeling returned to his nipples and balls and he squirmed uncontrollably, sobbing on the floor.
He was too weak to move. His arms and legs didn't follow his command and he wanted nothing more than sleep.
"I see you failed at the exercise," the attorney said, "There is another mark. Fascinating, it blends in with the one that gives away your identity, adding a list on your back. It's just the right size to be easily readable."
The boy was dragged further into the studio while the man read the latest mark. "The list has the title Things I Love' and it lists eating cum, worshipping feet, servicing dicks, getting spanked, whipped or paddled, having my ass torn and lastly it says anal whoring. Then it finishes by saying Don't Ask For Permission, Just Go For It, Stud'."
Eli groaned. Without the ring gag he was finally able to speak again but he was too tired and his mouth to cramped up. Now that all the gear was gone, he felt terribly naked. Even in his worn out state he had the desire to cover up and avoid further embarrassment.
"So, Eli. The next task doesn't require much. Just hold still." The attorney pulled the butt plug out which made sharp pain shoot up the muscle teen's spine. But the emptiness left behind was also a relieving sign that this part of the trouble was over.
Eli was shoved into doggy style position. He could hardly hold himself up, his hip and his elbows shaking.
A glass of water found its way to his lips and he gulped the liquid down greedily. The attorney said "I put some caffeine pills in there. You didn't seem like you'd be able to stay awake otherwise."
The man had obviously lied. Whatever had been in the water could not have been caffeine pills, because it kicked in almost instantly. Eli didn't have time to ask with what he had just been drugged, before his heart was already racing and his blood pumped into his sore limbs with vigor. His dick pulsed and twitched.
Something lined up with his ass crack.
"Hold still, Eli. You need to make a stranger orgasm through anal stimulation and the tattoo artist has volunteered. From the moment he enters you, you will have exactly one minute to make him cum. Do your best."
He had expected the entering to hurt, but he was well stretched. Only when the fucker's dick was past Eli's prostate and digging deeper into his guts, then the pain set in. The boy was getting stabbed in the inner organs by a sizable tool, but for a minute he would bare it.
Then the drug REALLY kicked in and his fight-flight reflex was triggered with indescribable strength. The teen shivered and fought against his own, animalistic urges that told him to pull away and run, even though he knew his legs wouldn't have been able to carry him.
He heard the fucking man complain that his ass wasn't tight enough anymore and then the pace increased. Eli's body was shaken brutally as if his internal organs were going to be rearranged. But the minute passed and he felt a mark appear.
"Where did you feel it, Eli?" said the man who was observing the events.
"I felt it," the teen said through the thrusts, "inside my throat, I think. No one can see a mark there, right?"
"They're not all visible. I think I know what that one does. Let me try."
The attorney opened his pants and while the artist was still fucking him, Eli got a load of dick in his mouth. "Ah," the man said, "I see. You've lost your gag reflex completely. A great mark. Very useful for later."
Since the man kept face fucking the glistening boy there was no way to ask a question but Eli made an inquisitive sound through the face humps.
As the teen got spit roasted, the attorney explained. "You see, even if you succeed in the next task or the one after that and are therefore spared the last one, you can't go back to a normal life, of course. The best way to keep a steady income will be for you to become a cheap hooker. I can put you in touch with the right people. Anyway, here comes my load."
Strings of gross bodily fluid ran down Eli's esophagus just as the tattoo artist planted his seed in the boy's sore ass. Maybe now he'd finally get a rest and have a chance to work through all these events.
While the boy laid on the hard ground, breathing heavily, the attorney reapplied body oil to him. Eli didn't resist the rough hands working all over his skin, even his face, ass and dick. Of course he flinched whenever the man treated a very sore area like his nipples, but it was over soon.
"Now Eli, you have only four more chances to live. The artist has gratefully let us stay here in his studio but I'm afraid we need to get moving now. The next task has to be done somewhere else. Get up."
Eli groaned. He considered his options. If he just kept laying here he would die in an hour or so. He was hurt in every possible way but he didn't want to die. He wanted to fight. He wanted to show the world that he was a real man and nothing could bring him down. Unfortunately his joints and muscles were so over-strained that they barely listened to his commands.
It took him a full minute to fight his way into a wobbly standing position. In the meantime the attorney had packed all the gear back into his duffle bag. For a moment Eli wondered why the man was helping him at all. If he had never contacted him, Eli would be getting marks without knowing what was happening and then die. Still, his pride didn't permit him to thank the man.
"Alright, boy. Our next stop is two block down. Building number thirteen. See you there. Don't be late."
The tattoo artist said good bye to the attorney, who left through the front door and entered his truck. Eli was led out the backdoor instead.
A few weak steps later he was back on a road just as busy as the one in front. He was still in the commercial district after all. Had he not been covered in oil and felt great pain he would have been cold in the chilly weather.
A naked, bald, outrageously muscular boy with wild tattoos and piercings ran through the crowd. This time he could see their stares, but he wasn't wearing any gear at least. Being able to perceive the shock and disgust was much worse, especially since he still had his cock ring and his huge dick was a veiny, pulsing rod, standing away from his body and slapping his abs with every step, causing an obscene sound.
This motion of his hyper sensitive, continuously aroused penis was his only source of sanity. If he was to horny to think, he wouldn't be able to consider all the possible things that could still go wrong or how fucked he was or that he was likely to die. And so he put his mind into horny-teen-boy mode, fantasizing himself into a scenario where running around naked with a massive erection brought him the attention of all the hottest girls.
Even though his knees gave in every now and then, and he felt the spasms in his tortured muscles built up, Eli eventually made it to the right address.
He almost cried. Any other day in his life, this would have been his sanctuary. A gym. The next task was going to take place in a gym.
He's a bodybuilder so this should be easy for him, right? Oh wait, he's dead tired. Those tasks seem suspiciously badly timed, don't you agree?