MARK SEVEN AND EIGHT
Van was back at the construction site where workers put up all sorts of complex machinery and scaffolding.
He couldn't hold his horniness in any longer. If he was going to be impossibly thirsty and thoroughly humiliated, he'd at least have an orgasm. No matter that he was in the middle of the street, no one was watching him right now anyway. His right hand was stroking his dick under the fabric and he was close to climax when his phone rang.
Without stopping to jerk off, Van answered.
"Did you succeed in task six?"
"No," Van said with a dry throat and heavily breathing.
"Too bad, but at least number seven should be simple. You must masturbate for five minutes without cumming. That will finally be that task that-"
Van tore his hand away from his dick but it was too late. He was cumming, his jizz oozing through the pouches fabric load after load. And because he had stopped touching his dick he wasn't even really orgasming. It was a ruined orgasm that milked him without giving relieve.
It was hard to see what appeared on his back right between the anal whore' tattoo and the fuck slut' tramp stamp. The only way to find out was to take a picture with his phone over his shoulder while standing in front of a glass window. He did so after making sure that no one was looking out that window currently.
He froze in absolute horror at what he saw. This was worse than all the other marks combined. This was his end.
The attorney called. "Van, did you fail? What did you get this time? I fear it is the truly terrible one."
Van answered with his voice shaking and cracking. "It's my full name, my address, my phone number, my email, all my social media and even my student id number and school address. Please tell me this isn't real."
"I'm sorry, Van."
"Now I have to move house and school and change my number... and my name."
The man was still perfectly calm as he spoke. "I'm afraid that won't help. The mark will simply adjust to your new identity and change accordingly."
"What!"
"Regardless, you have to get started on task eight. You're home again, right?"
"No."
"Oh. That's a problem. You won't have time to get back before the task is considered failed. You must begin at once."
"What is it? What do I have to do?"
"Weight training. That's why I was hoping you'd be in your room again. You have to do weight exercises of any kind. The harder the better. I can't give you an exact time but I'll call you when it's certainly over. And you must not fail a single exercise and every one of them has to use some piece of equipment. When you can't do it anymore, move onto the next. If you don't move on fast enough the task is also failed."
"Where can I find weight? I'm in the middle of- Ah, of course!"
The construction site had a variety of equipment.
Van approached the group of workers who were currently on break. He spoke to the one of twelve men who seemed to be the site manager. His voice was barely working through the thirst. "Excuse me Sir, I'm Van and I'm really into freestyle exercise. Can I train using your equipment?"
The man shrugged. "Sure boy, we could use some entertainment and no offence but you look hilarious. Are you a fag?"
Well, that was as good an explanation for the attire as any. "Yes, Sir. And thank you, Sir."
Anticipating the next mark with great dread the boy went to work right away. He hopped up, grabbed onto some scaffolding and did pull ups. The men were staring at him from behind, no doubt noticing the butt plug. A few took pictured of him and especially his newest mark. They promised to come by his place and send friends there, too. They asked about his age and other things.
Van needed them to stay cooperative so he answered everything the way they likely wanted to hear it. All while doing pull ups.
"Yes Sir, I'd love to have you and your friends over sometime. Of course you can send my info to all your friends, that's why I have that back tattoo after all. Yes Sir, I'm of legal age. I've been training for four years now. Yes, I'm wearing a butt plug because I love anal stimulation."
The man noticed that his voice was hoarse and offered him a free drink. There was no reason to say no except he couldn't stop training for even just a moment.
Finally his shoulders were too tired and he had to switch to something else. He picked up a metal girder to do biceps curls and instantly regretted it since the material turned out much heavier than he had anticipated. But the workers admired his dedication and let him drink their beer.
Van had never had beer before, and indeed had never been drunk before either. He couldn't stand the smell of it, honestly. But with his inhuman thirst the cheap beer tasted like the most delicious thing he had ever encountered. As the workers held the bottle to his lips he gulped the drink down so greedily that they gave him a second one. Van didn't complain.
By now he even had another idea for an exercise instead of the way too heavy girder. His legs were a bit sore from the jogging but the refreshment had given him new strength. He put the metal down and picked up a bag of cement. That was also heavier than he had hoped but his biceps had not been able to continue the curls.
With the weight of the bag on his shoulders the oiled up, but very dusty teen did squats. His knees were screaming for mercy from the very get go.
His arms were killing him. His legs were killing him. There was only one thing to do.
Van hopped onto a huge stack of cement bags. As equipment he used a simple, small brick. He scooted forward until he was at the edge of the stack and turned on his back so that his upper body poked over the stack as far as possible without losing balance. He used one bag as weight on his feet.
Holding the brick close to his chest he did crunches. All the way down as far as his spine would allow and fully sitting up. It worked for a while but eventually he had gone over his previous crunch record and was seriously in pain to the point of cramping.
He couldn't think of another exercise fast enough. The tingling set in. On his right arm appeared tribal patterns, framing the letter "I", followed by a `heart', followed by "CUM".
Van jumped off the stack, said good bye to the workers to keep the façade up and walked home, while calling the attorney.
Things are finally pretty bad for our protagonist. But it looks like he'll get a breather at home. We can't let that happen.
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