BDSM Library - Story: Plane Trip, Chapter: Part 2

Plane Trip 2 - Arrival

by Emile

----

Mitch was still clogged with cum when they queued for customs, his chest slick with sweat and cum, tank top clinging to his pecs like a second skin. They pulled him aside for examination, humiliating despite his already trash pig appearance. Ethan hung around just to make sure they didn't deport him. The examination room was a dingy office crowded around by desks filled with leering thugs in uniform, hired for their ability to keep people out, by force or intimidation. Two rough officers, greasy bouncer types, exchanged some quick words with Ethan in Portuguese, and all 3 came in. Whatever he'd said enraged them, and they were quick to make him strip off his flimsy clothing, gesturing him to get up on to a steel bench and kneel facing away from them. They came up behind him, stale breath on his neck, and one pulled his arms up behind his head, cuffing them, while the other forcing him down into a low squat, his swollen dork flopping down on the cold steel as they forced his legs wide.

Mitch heard the snap of rubber gloves and tried to look around, but they slapped his head back, jamming it hard against the wall. One grabbed at his arse, three thick fingers squeezing in around the fat dildo, wrenching it from his hole. The burly officer fingered his once private parts as he squatted on the table in front of him. After a long and uncomfortable exploration, his hole wide for all to see, the officers released him and went out leaving the door ajar. From across the room, Ethan told him to stay in the squat position until the officer returned. The dildo was still next to him, big, slimy and hard, and hearing the voices of the gathering crowd of officers outside, Ethan made his beefy dad find it and cram it back up his exposed arse. Mitch groaned and grunted, part from the snickers and calls behind him, but also from the pain of stuffing his raw and prodded hole. But his ordeal was far from over, the officers returning, angrily, having yet to examine the dildo, felt the need to pull it out again, check his cavity for new insertions, and were rough and careless as they could be, landing a few whacks to his back and thighs, and harshly pulling at the sensitive arse lining.

Finally, they were satisfied, which they showed by plunging the ribbed dong hard up his gaping hole in one agonising thrust. They released him, hassling him out of the office as he scrambled to pull the thin shorts over his swinging dick, but required him to report to his local police station monthly until they were satisfied he was not a burden on the state. Ethan bundled him through the gates, luggage waiting, still bare-chested for all the swarthy latino men to see - a piece of rough trade from the States. He tried to put the thin tank top on, clinging to any chance to cover his bulky frame, but Ethan took the clothes away, handing him a shaving kit instead. "Not yet Mitch, you got some shaving to do. While you're at it, scrape that stubble off your big boy balls, all these nice Brazilian men expect Americans to be smooth and clean shaven." Mitch went into the dingy washroom, where guys loitered suspiciously, dark skinned and swarthy, leering as he peeled off his shorts to shave down his thatch of crotch hair and balls. Ethan insisted he take them off completely and put them on the bench, and without any other clothes, he revealed himself to the whole room as he bend down to slip the shorts off his legs. As he stood and began, the dirty guys crowded round him, grabbing at his fat dick until it leaked, pinching his nipples, making him heave with pent up fucklust. He tried to protect himself, block their access with his shaving hand, but knew he was forbidden from actually stopping them. Undeterred, they moved closer, one sliding his hand down his arsecrack, pushing against the dong stuffing his arse. He rushed to finish, nicking his left ball, still iron hard, balls tight, from the feel-up they'd given him. He slipped his shorts up, walked gingerly from the knobbly dildo back up his raw hole, slowly hobbling out of the room, to his waiting son. He was in such a bad way he could barely move without pain shooting from his arse up his spine, his body cramped and filthy, crotch screaming with dull, throbbing pain. Ethan was concerned. So concerned, he insisted they go straight to a doctor - something he said he'd already organised as a precaution.

Mitch wasn't too confident about Brazilian doctors before he arrived at the grimy surgery, but this exceeded his worst expectations. The grey white walls were streaked with dirt and dust filtered down from the high windows, which rattled with the muffled sound of traffic beyond. Ethan helped Mitch up the stairs to the third floor, gently lowering him into the 50's metal examination chair. He stripped him as the doctor emerged, who said nothing to Mitch, but slowly and methodically gagging his chiselled jaw, strapping his beefy arms to the armrests, before gently prying Mitch's thighs open, to reveal his abused cavernous hole. He gently applied a thick paste to the gaping sphincter, making Mitch instantly and uncontrollably clench like a vice, as if his hole had been sewn together with fishing wire. "This will wear off in about an hour or two" the doctor said, addressing Ethan "then you'll find it nice and tight again. The cream works by tightening the muscles, you'll find it very effective for another few months, and then it'll need probably surgery. If he whines, a dab to the tongue should cure that, so long as it can breathe through its nose." Mitch was wide eyed - had the latin doctor meant to call him "it" - he seemed to speak English well enough. He rolled a tray of long acupuncture needles into view. "These should bring down the swelling" he commented, selecting one of the sharp needles, and slowly, painfully, feeding it through Mitch's foreskin from the base, through the meaty head, until the metal punched out the top several inches. He repeated the process again and again, until Mitch's cockhead bristled with needles, each stretching the head up and out of the foreskin. He criss-crossed Mitch's teats as well. The swelling seemed much the same, worse with the needles stretching and poking into his abused dong.

Mitch writhed with pain, desperately trying to pull his legs up and out of danger. The doctor slapped them down, grabbing his hairy calves and pushing them out to the base of the chair, where he restrained them with unseen cuffs. This was worse, thrusting his pelvis forward, he could only curl his toes as the doctor continued to probe his shaved crotch, slowly threading more needles into the base of his cock, where the two large veins anchored it to his body.

Seemingly oblivious to the searing pain thobbing out from his skewered crotch, the doctor continued talking to Ethan as he worked. "Now I think we should cut off this excess skin, I find a penis cut high and tight looks cleaner against shaved skin, and the tightness reminds them not to get too aroused. I could also sever the tendons here at the base as well. Without them his penis wouldn't get stiff enough for sex, of course, but it would make the package hang lower and further from the body, which many find quite pleasing when they're on show." Mitch desperately struggled - this fucker wanted to cut off his dickflap, to turn him into some fucked up living statue, and he was powerless to stop it. He moaned and screamed into the gag, desperately trying to plead with Ethan to stop it, but Ethan just smiled. "Well doc" he said blithely, "if that's what you think is best." The doctor nodded, smiling, and produced a long hypodermic needle, which he lined up with the larger vein on Mitch's cock. "Now just a little anasthetic..." he said, and as he emptied the needle into him, he began to get groggy. The last he heard was Ethan's low voice telling the doctor "I don't want him getting to uppity about his body, I want him reminded of his place. A few scars, for example ..." and the world faded to black.

When Mitch came to it was dark outside, the room illuminated by one bright surgical light shining down on his exposed body. He was slumped over the chair, unrestrained, and as he looked down, he saw his crotch covered in wadding. The whole area ached, sharp pain on his abdomen and glans, dull throbbing otherwise. He was crushed - they'd done it - mutilated his dick. He could feel tightness across his sensitive dick head, pulling the skin back and tingling maddeningly. He knew that fully exposed, the exquisite sensitivity of his head would soon dull, and he'd never enjoy the pleasure of penetration again. That is, if he could physically get hard enough, or was ever allowed to.

His balls too were on fire, and he lifted the gauze from them. Running diagonally across the ballsac was a large sutured cut, roughly pinched together in a way he was sure would scar. He could still feel his balls, at least, but the sac was huge. They'd sewn in something else, that felt like - the horror dawned - like fake breasts! Two saline implants, large heavy bags to tug at his balls, stretching them to the size of oranges. He tore off the remaining wadding, frantic to see the damage. A large slash across his waist, his dick now swung inches below it's usual place, like a dog pizzle. The head was throbbing, surrounded by a jagged rough cut where the quack had hacked off his sensitive foreskin. Not only was the head still as swollen and discoloured as before, but they'd done something else - tight stitches on each side of his dickslit pulled the dicklips apart, leaving his urethra gaping. The stitches were old-style wires, rough and unforgiving as they held his piss hole wide. He was a wreck. How could he, only 6 months before a rugged hung jock dad have been so completely fucked up. How had he come to be in a Brazilian surgery, without money or ID, shaved and restrained, his bulging muscles powerless, as his own son carved up his body for sport? He sunk to his knees, floppy dong dragging between his legs, balls sagging on the floor, and began crying into his hands.