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From: Trevor Martindale <attaboy-jo-jo@hotmail.co.uk>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.gay.moderated
Subject: ST: The Ten-Twenty To London Bridge - Part 1/3 (M+/t, BDSM)
Date: Wed, 21 Mar 2007 17:57:12 -0500
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===================

All the usual disclaimers apply. The following story is
entirely fictional and contains explicit descriptions of
sexual activity between adult males and minors. READ NO
FURTHER if you are under the age of eighteen or offended by
such material.


The Ten-Twenty To London Bridge - Part 1

By Trevor Martindale

The train was already some fifteen minutes late when it
crawled into the station. A speed restriction was in place,
so the ten-twenty was going to be over an hour late by the
time it reached London Bridge Station. It was always the
same on a Sunday; if it wasn't track maintenance, it was
either new signalling or a bridge repair of some kind.

I was the only person on the platform waiting to climb
aboard the train. Most of the compartments were empty, so I
chose one that contained a potential conquest. The studious
looking wimp was maybe eighteen or nineteen years old. He
was tall, thin and blond, and had his nose buried in a
paperback copy of 'The Catcher in the Rye'. An open
rucksack, containing folders and notebooks, sat on the
bench seat beside him. His clothing was extremely
conservative for the 1960s: he wore a grey jacket, a white
shirt and black tie, and dark grey flannel trousers. His
shoes were black lace-ups, which were in need of a good
polish.

The teenager looked up and smiled nervously as I sat down
on the bench seat opposite him. A whistle sounded and the
train pulled out of the station at a desperately slow
speed. I now had some ten to fifteen minutes to make my
move before we arrived at the next station. The youngster
returned to reading his book, but something told him that
he was being studied closely. He looked up again and saw
the resolve in my steely-blue eyes - the ex-Marine
Commando, who enjoyed hurting young lads, was about to
notch up another conquest.

I ran a keen eye over the wimp's lanky frame as he turned
his head and looked out of the window. I wanted to make him
feel nervous and uncomfortable. The carriage we were in had
no corridor, so my prey had no safe place to go: one
compartment door opened onto a steep embankment, the other
onto a stretch of electrified track.

I stretched out my right leg and placed it against his left
calf. His body visibly shook as he refused to turn his head
and look at me. I rubbed my leg up and down his calf,
waiting for him to move his leg out of harms way; and when
he did so, I readjusted my position and continued as
before.

It was now crunch time for the student. He closed his book,
took hold of his rucksack and stood up cautiously. He
couldn't leave the compartment, so clearly he was planning
to sit near one of the two doors. This prompted me to stand
up and return him to his seat with an open-handed shove.
Stunned, he threw up a hand in timid surrender and bit on
his lower lip.

I sat down and smiled at the crestfallen teenager. He
dropped his head and said something to me in a whiny, high-
pitched voice. I could hear the words, but none of them
made any sense. The poor fellow was now terrified and ripe
for exploitation. I stretched out my leg again and rubbed
it against his calf. His mouth dropped open as he closed
his legs and tried to shift his body to the left. I leant
forward, put my hands on his knees and spread them apart.
The power of my grip sent a shockwave of fear through his
body. He winced as my fingers tightened around his bony
kneecaps.

I stared at his crotch and, without saying a word, made it
quite clear that I wanted to see it at all times. He yelped
like a little dog as I squeezed his kneecaps to underline
my unspoken instruction.

With his legs spread apart, the wimp sat perfectly still as
I took possession of his book and rucksack. I tore a page
from the book and handed it to him. He looked at me in
horror as I told him to eat it.

Terrified, he chewed on the page for several minutes before
swallowing it. A hard slap across the face helped him
devour the next page more quickly. The youngster was
shaping up just fine in my opinion. However, the train was
only a few minutes away from the next station, so I didn't
have much time left.

I put the torn paperback in the rucksack and told the
teenager to do the same with the contents of his pockets.
He awkwardly retrieved two keys on a key ring, a railway
ticket, a clean handkerchief and seven shillings in silver.
His cheap, Russian-made wristwatch was then added to the
items before they were all placed inside the rucksack.

No one got on or off the train at the next station. I
waited expectantly for my new-found friend to make a dash
for it, but he remained seated - he knew that I could grab
him before he reached the door, and I knew that he wouldn't
be able to call out for help with a forearm across his
throat and a hand over his mouth.

As the train left the station, I raised my right foot off
the floor and placed it on the bench seat, between the
wimp's open legs. He jumped with surprise as the train
clattered over a set of well-worn points. The fear in his
eyes was truly wonderful to see, especially when I eased
forward and placed the sole of my boot against his crotch.

My size ten boot remained against the youngster's crotch
for several minutes. The train had now stopped between
stations and was waiting for a green light. This delay
prompted me to remove my foot from the seat and instruct my
new-found friend to lift up his left leg.

Taking off his shoe and sock was easy. The wimp didn't
resist in any way: the fool was clearly unaware of how
dangerous it was to let a stranger toy with his toes.
Still, he soon discovered how vulnerable his pinkies were
when the train finally pulled away from the signal.

The poor fellow just kept crying and howling as I pulled on
his toes and twisted them out of shape. And when I had
finished crushing them, I took hold of his ankle and began
tickling the underside of his foot.

He bounced around on the seat, kicking out violently and
begging me to stop. He couldn't help laughing as he kept
saying, 'Plea-z-z-z stop.' Needless to say, his tearful
requests were met with even more tickling: the youngster
needed to know who the boss was in our relationship.

The train rattled over more and more points as it headed
towards the Smoke. The noise of metal on metal helped mask
the teenager's cries for a respite, and even gave me the
opportunity to tease and torment his other foot. Stunned
and confused, he was far too concerned about the assault on
his feet to resist my next move. He just kept saying 'thank
you' as the tickling stopped.

I seized his ball-sac through the fabric of his trousers
and underpants and squeezed his balls real hard. I then
watched him cringe as I spelt out the terms and conditions
of his surrender.

*  *  *

We both stood inside the telephone box and waited for Neil
and Lunty to arrive in the van. The station platforms had
been deserted when we got off the train and headed for the
exit. The ticket barrier had been unmanned, so the wimp
never got the chance to risk his life by raising the alarm.

The hold I had over Graham Alexander Marshall, for that was
his name, was still in the balance as far as I was
concerned. I had shown him the flick-knife I carried and
slapped him around a bit before we had left the train, but
still I wasn't sure I had broken his spirit completely.

Station Road was just as deserted as the windswept
platforms. It was the perfect place to wait for Lunty's
van. The telephone box kept Graham close and shielded us
from the rain, which was now bucketing down.

'Please, sir,' said Graham, all aquiver. 'You will let me
go afterwards, won't you?'

'My word is my bond, old son,' I replied with a raffish
smile. 'Just do as you're told and all will be well. Vic
the Impaler never breaks his word.'

Graham's eyes widened with fear as the words 'Vic the
Impaler' began to form a terrifying image in his head.

'I've never done this sort of thing before, sir,' he said
quietly. 'I won't be any good .... I'll do my best, but
please don't cut me if I get...'

A swift punch to Graham's stomach quickly put a stop to his
whining. 'You just leave all the hard work to us,' I said,
watching him cope unsuccessfully with the blow. 'We won't
let you mess up, and that's a promise.'

I retrieved the paperback from the rucksack, which stood on
the metal shelf above the directories. 'Now let's see how
many pages we can get you to swallow before the rain stops.
C'mon, pick a page number.'

*  *  *

The van, when it finally arrived, was a battered black
Bedford with a noisy engine and 'ROSS & SONS - Second-Hand
Furnishings' painted on the panelled sides in drab yellow.
It needed a good wash and a day or two in the garage.
Lunty, who was driving, shoved his head through the open
window and said, 'Get in the back, pronto.'

Neil opened the rear doors from the inside and beckoned us
inside. The belly of the van was empty, apart from a
rubber-covered mattress that took up most of the floor
space.

'Nice one, Vic,' said the burly Welshman, slamming the
doors shut and locking them behind us. 'Let's get his kit
off and spread him out on the mattress.'

The Bedford reversed with a judder and trundled back along
the road. It then turned right and headed south-east. Neil
took hold of Graham by the arms and shook him violently.
The terrified student then lost his jacket, shirt and tie
in the set-to that followed.

I grabbed Graham a few minutes later and covered his mouth
with my right hand: in order to prevent him from calling
out for help. Neil's playful knockabout had spooked the
teenager and made him panic. He kicked out with his legs as
Neil pulled down his trousers and underpants.

'He's a feisty little fucker,' said Neil, grabbing hold of
a handful of Graham's inner thigh and squeezing it real
hard. 'If he won't behave, I'll be forced to slice off his
bollocks and shove 'em down his throat.'

'Easy, Neil,' I said. 'The lad's sensitive and not use to
all this excitement.'

'Okay,' snapped the Welshman. 'Let's spread him out, strap
him down and ball-gag him. We can then take our time
getting this shrinking violet use to all the excitement of
being restrained and trained by a group of insensitive
men.'

Graham wriggled around on the mattress as Neil and I spread
him out and secured his wrists and ankles to the floor
fixings with leather straps and rope. Neil's amputation
threat had instantly quelled the wimp's enthusiasm to
summon help. He was sweating profusely as the ball-gag was
fitted round his head.

'There you go, Neil,' I said, smiling. 'Goldilocks is all
tied up and ready to play with the three bears.'

'Yes,' said Neil, twisting the teenager's left nipple.
'That ball-gag is gonna be a godsend today, especially if
we get stuck in traffic.'

I picked up Graham's clothes and put them into a large,
canvas bag. I then placed the bag and the rucksack on the
passenger seat beside Lunty.

Two grubby-grey curtains covered the rear windows and
reduced the light coming into the van significantly. These
curtains, which matched the one drawn across the opening
between the driver's cab and the belly of the van, shielded
the outside world from what was going on inside the
Bedford.

Graham lay face up on the rubber-covered mattress, which
Lunty had salvaged from a recently demolished hospital, and
screamed into his gag as Neil and I worked on his skinny,
pale body. The poor fellow was indeed sensitive, especially
round the nipples, genitals and feet. His head bounced up
and down constantly as we tweaked his nipples, squeezed his
ball-sac and punished the soles of his feet with a leather
tawse.

The plan was to take him to our place in Abbey Wood, shave
off his hair, including the hair on his head, and train him
for a few weeks in the warehouse. If he showed any kind of
promise, we would farm him out to other SM enthusiasts.
However, if he didn't shape up, we would dump him near a
railway station and threaten him with the usual line, 'We
know where you live, boy. So don't even think about going
to the police.'

None of the trainees we had recruited before Graham had
gone to the police. They clearly didn't like the idea of
telling the filth how they had been used and abused, and
fucked repeatedly, by a group of horny men. All four
trainees had been kidnapped within the past six months on
their way to the Smoke by train.

The first wimp we nabbed was an art student. He was on his
way to an exhibition at the Slade. Kevin was over six feet
tall and extremely thin, and he looked real nice with no
hair. He had a firm arse that took the paddle real well. We
trained him for over a month before dumping him outside
Plumstead station at one o'clock in the morning.

Our next two slaves were signed up a week apart, and
trained as a matched pair for almost six weeks. Alex was a
medical student and Peter was an office bod of some kind.
They hated fucking each other in front of the camera, but
Neil's cane ensured that they never gave a bad performance.
We did think that Alex was going to become a full time
slave: he did seem to enjoy being gang-banged by his
tormentors. Unfortunately, he didn't make the grade and was
dumped, along with Peter, outside Bellingham station.

Colin, our fourth trainee, was a long-haired hippy. He was
a little overweight when we recruited him. However, thanks
to a strict diet and lots of strenuous exercise, he soon
slimmed down. Colin was now waiting for us to return to
Abbey Wood with his new playmate. The plan was to team him
up with Graham and train them as a matched pair for a month
or so.

Graham continued to bounce his head up and down on the
mattress as I tied a nylon cord round the base of his uncut
cock. The cord was then passed through a metal ring in the
roof and tied to a lead weight, which, once attached, hung
a foot or so from the mattress. The wimp's eyes grew larger
and larger as I set the lead weight swinging back and
forth, like a pendulum.

Neil and I laughed as our slave arched his back to ease the
pull on his genitals. Unfortunately, the slack in the cord
was taken up by the lead weight with a sudden jolt, which
caused the cord to tighten its grip around the youngster's
seven-inch cock. A series of noisy snorts and gurgled moans
highlighted the pain he was suffering as the thin, nylon
cord cut deep into his skin.

More snorts and moans were heard when Neil attached a pair
of viper clamps to Graham's nipples. I ran my fingers over
the youngster's rib cage as the Welshman connected the
clamps to the lead weight with another cord.

My fingers drifted back and forth over the teenager's rip
cage as I gleefully watched him cope with the pain. I did
plan to press down heavily on his stomach, but Lunty
shouted out something about running low on petrol.

Neil and I looked at one another, wondering how safe it
would be to stop at a petrol station with a naked slave in
tow - the attendant would only be feet away from Graham as
he or she filled up the tank.

'You fuckin' idiot,' said Neil to Lunty. 'I told you to get
some juice yesterday. Didn't I?'

'Yeah, yeah, yeah,' replied Lunty. 'But you didn't offer to
pay for it; even though you knew I was bloody skint.'

'Stop arguing,' I said, looking down at the young, naked
body lying before me. 'Let's get the petrol .... And if the
lad kicks up a ruckus, we'll cut his throat and silence him
for good.'

We normally used the 'cut his throat' threat during a
slave's transfer from the Bedford to the warehouse. It
always scared the shit out of our guest and made him much
more co-operative. However, this was an emergency, so I had
no choice but to call on the threat early.

Graham raised his head off the mattress and looked at me in
sheer horror. He probably surmised that I relished seeing
others suffer physical pain and humiliation, but he had no
idea how much pleasure I derived from seeing all that
mental anguish as well. He had no intention of kicking up a
ruckus, even if he could. He just wanted to get through the
ordeal alive.

Neil and I removed the cords and clamps from our slave's
cock and nipples as the van entered the service station.
Graham collapsed onto the mattress and signalled his relief
with a thankful sigh; and as he did so, I began wiping the
sweat from his body with a handkerchief.

Meanwhile, Neil ensured that the ball-gag was still doing
its job. 'Not a peep, sunshine,' he said with an evil glint
in his eye. 'We want to play with that lovely little body
of yours, but if you create a commotion, Vic will top you.
He's an ex-Marine Commando, so he knows how to slice up a
body a dozen different ways. Clear?'

Graham looked up at the Welshman and nodded his head. This
prompted Neil to smile and gently squeeze the teenager's
cock and ball-sac.

Lunty got out of the van and kept the attendant talking
while the petrol tank was being filled. Later, he told us
that the attendant would have made a fine slave. 'He had
rosebud lips and a lovely little arse,' he said with a
lustful grin. 'We must go back for him some day. I wonder
if he works the night shift.'

Neil had managed to get Graham's cock fully erect by the
time Lunty had paid for the petrol and was back behind the
wheel. Clearly the teenager's cock liked the Welshman a
whole lot more than the rest of him did; and so, when the
cord was tied round his genitals again, his cock remained
hard-standing for the remainder of the journey.

- - - - -

(c) Trevor Martindale, December 2006

All comments welcome (attaboy-jo-jo@hotmail.co.uk)

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