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From: Pegboy - UK <pegboy@hotmail.co.uk>
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Subject: ST: Storm In The Suburbs - Part 2 (M+/M, BDSM, K9)
Date: Sun, 16 Sep 2007 11:45:59 -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.


Storm In The Suburbs - Part 2

By Trevor Martindale

The journey back to the warehouse was a real nightmare. The
storm that had covered our departure from Rosewood Crescent
was still raging; the four bum-boys trussed up in the back
of the van were playing up; and Storm was getting more and
more agitated.

'This fuckin' weather's getting on my tits,' I announced to
everyone in the van. 'I can't see a fuckin' thing.'

'Shut up, you tart,' rebuked Neil. 'We'll get the wipers
fixed on Monday.'

'It won't be raining on Monday, I bet.'

'What's that have to do with it?' put in Mr Dalby.

'Nothing,' I growled. 'I'm just pissed off, that's all.'

The four naked bum-boys were lying face down and side by
side on a rubber-covered mattress - I salvaged the mattress
from a hospital that was being pulled down to make way for
a new housing estate. They were bound hand and foot with
lengths of nylon rope. More rope was wound round each bum-
boy's head, with a knot tied off in the mouth to form a
very effective gag.

Storm was far too restless to stay still for very long. He
would pace up and down on the bum-boys backs, plonk himself
down for a few minutes, then get up and repeat the process
over. The four CP enthusiasts cursed and moaned as the dog
trampled over their backs, arse-cheeks and upper thighs.

Occasionally, the 120lb dog would growl and sniff at the
line-up of arses: three trim and sexy, one fat and ugly. He
would then bark, lose interest and go back to clawing up
their backs.

'Storm's plonked himself down on their heads, Lunty,' said
Neil. 'If they can't breathe...'

'If it ain't one thing, it's another,' I fumed.

'It's okay. He's got up,' said Dalby. 'The poor fellow just
can't get comfortable on that blanket of naked men.'

'The weather's to blame,' I said. 'It's all the thunder and
lightning, and the hailstones bombarding the van's roof.'

'Still, it must heighten the tension of the unknown for our
four playmates,' said Dalby. 'Being abducted with the sound
of Hades in your ears must be really terrifying.'

'And not knowing whether you're going to survive all those
weeks and months of dog sex and torture,' added Neil.

'Stop trying to cheer me up, you two.'

We all laughed as the Bedford entered the north side of the
Blackwall Tunnel.

*  *  *

The warehouse doors closed with an almighty clang of metal
on metal. As usual, I had reversed the old Bedford into the
warehouse and parked it between two rows of large, wooded
crates. The whole of the warehouse was littered with crates
and packing cases of various shapes and sizes, and only a
score of these were small enough to fit inside the van.

The building was situated on a small industrial site owned
by Mr Dalby. It was one of three warehouses that had been
built before the property developer ran out of money. The
poor chap was then forced to sell the site to Dalby to pay
off the bank.

Neil returned from closing the doors and helped me get the
dog and the four bum-boys out of the van. Storm was clearly
happy to be back on familiar ground, and kept getting in
the way as each of his new bitch-boys was dragged from the
van and carried to the centre of the warehouse.

'We're gonna need a bigger case to lock up the old man,' I
said to Neil. 'He won't fit into any of the standard ones.'

'Yeah, not until the tub of lard slims down a bit,' replied
Neil.

Each of our playmates was lowered, still bound and gagged,
into coffin-like packing cases, with Harkin being squeezed
into a slightly larger one.

'Leave the lids off, Lunty,' said Dalby. 'I want each of
our guests washed and shaved before they're boxed up for
the night.'

'Shall we start with Tubby the Tongue?' asked Neil.

'Yes. Get Mr Harkin ready for his long and painful stay,
and don't forget to shave off everything, except for the
eyebrows.'

'Will do,' Neil and I said in unison.

'I'm off to see if Trevor has finished the essay. I do hope
it's as good as the one about the naughty schoolboys.'

We used a large and empty packing case as our washroom-cum-
barbershop. One side of the wooden box had been removed for
access and four metal rings fitted to secure our playmates
during their wash and brush-ups. The packing case, which
had once contained flash-butt welding equipment, was the
size of a small room; therefore, we had no trouble working
on our slaves as they stood, spread-eagled in the centre of
the box.

I soaped Harkin down as Neil removed the old man's hair
with a sharp pair of scissors and a safety razor. Harkin's
bald head shone as it was doused with ice-cold water.

'Please don't do this,' Harkin pleaded, shivering with
cold. 'We had a deal, remember.'

'Mr Dalby lied,' I said, grinning.

'You where never going to get an easy ride,' said Neil. 'In
fact, you could end up being buried under the foundations
of the fourth warehouse - it's due to be built sometime
next year. I can show you the plans if you're interested.'

'Please!' whimpered Harkin. 'I'll do anything you want me
to do. That dog can fuck me...'

'Yeah, we know,' interrupted Neil. 'Now, shut up or we'll
be forced to sew your lips together with catgut. We have
some pretty sharp needles.'

'Yeah, they belonged to my old gran,' I added. 'She was a
Queen Alexandra nurse in the Great War.'

'We normally sew up foreskins,' said Neil, coldly. 'So
button your lip, tubby.'

Harkin stayed silent as the hair from his chest, armpits
and scrotum fell to the floor, landing on top of the hair
from his head. A bucket of water was then poured over his
head.

'Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!' exclaimed Harkin, as the ice-cold water
ran down his chest and back.'

'Don't worry, tubby,' I said. 'We'll be warming you up with
some electricky in a minute.'

Harkin continued to curse and moan as I worked on his anus
with more soap and water. Another bucket of cold water made
him rattle around in his bonds as Neil brushed him down
with an old yard broom.

'All nice and clean,' I said, laughing.

The old man's legs gave way when Neil hit him in the nuts
with the yard broom. He hung from his wrist-straps and
wailed like a baby.

'He didn't like that,' said Neil.

'You say that, but maybe he wants another tap,' I said.
'These CP wallahs like to make a lot of noise when they're
enjoying themselves. It's a fact; I read it somewhere.'

'Well, if it's a fact.'

Harkin continued to wail as Neil hit him in the bollocks
two more times.

'No, I don't think he likes it,' I conceded. 'Let's fry his
nips with the Megger instead.'

'Stand down, you two,' said Dalby, returning with Trevor's
essay. 'I want you to listen to this.'

Neil and I sat down on a crate as Mr Dalby began to read
out loud from the dozen or so foolscap pages he held in his
hand.

'Essay 2 - Soldier Boy

'By Trevor Martindale

'Soldier stood up as I entered the large packing case on my
hands and knees. His heavy breathing and alert expression
told me he definitely liked naked, fifteen-year-old boys.

'His cold nose began to sniff and nuzzle my manhole, which
had been greased up earlier by my handler. I then felt his
rough tongue on my ball-sac as he growled his approval.

'Turning my head to the right, I could see my audience
settling down for the show. My handler stepped forward and
took hold of Soldier's collar, preventing him from mounting
me too early. By now I was eager for the romp to begin: my
desire to be impregnated with canine sperm was making my
own cock rock hard. However, I knew the rules: no talking;
no standing up; no playing with my cock.

'Soldier reared up on his hind legs and pulled hard against
the hold on his collar. My handler commanded him to "heel",
but Soldier ignored the instruction and continued to inch
forward.

'As I yearned for contact with the dominant beast, I sensed
that my handler was teasing and tormenting me. He was
holding back the dog to increase my frustration, knowing
full well that rule number one would keep me from speaking
out.

'I began to pant and wiggle my bum.

'The next thing I felt was the weight of the dog on my
lower back. His paws dug deep into my skin as he moved
forward to mount me properly.

'The words "fuck him, boy" echoed in my ears as the dog's
cock stabbed fitfully at my anus. I thrust my arse back to
help the beast find my manhole.

'Soldier's breathing suddenly became heavier as saliva from
the tip of his tongue dripped onto my back. It was then,
with some assistance from my handler, that he pushed the
tip of his wet cock into my anus.

'I pushed my arse back a tad more, in order to help the
canine cock enter my inner sanctum more quickly. I was on a
real high as Soldier's front legs held my body in a vice-
like grip.

'The two of us worked as a team for quite some time. My job
was to stay perfectly still, which wasn't an easy thing to
do, and let the dog's powerful hindquarters pound away at
my rear end.

'Then suddenly the pain of the knot hit me like a bolt from
the blue. Tears rolled down my cheeks as the knot took up
residency inside me. I grit my teeth and tried to cope with
the agony.

'Sweat poured from my body as I desperately tried to stick
to rule number one. The canine cock was going nowhere fast,
so the knot had to be accommodated.

'Soldier and I began to pant in unison as the back of my
neck was splattered with canine saliva. My handler patted
me on the head and said, "You're doing great, boy". These
words of encouragement lifted my mood and gave me the
strength to hang on in there.

'I was desperate for the dog to shed his load. My audience
was also anxious to see me rewarded for all the pleasure I
had given them. Unfortunately, Soldier wanted to keep me on
tenterhooks until he was good and ready.

'As with the knot, the deluge of sperm erupted without any
kind of warning. It flooded my inner sanctum and sent me
into an emotional spin. I managed to replace all my words
of gratitude with grunts and groans, and then moved quickly
onto whooping like a monkey.

'My audience was beside themselves with joy as they watched
the Rottweiler impregnate his bitch-boy. They could see the
distress I was in, and loved every minute of it.

'With the dog spent, I became temporarily obsolete. Soldier
growled and barked as he attempted to dismount, which, at
that particular moment, would have caused me real damage if
he had. Thankfully, my handler intervened and, working on
the dog's cock and ball-sac, decoupled us with ease.

'I felt Soldier's seed trickle out of my arsehole as the
audience congratulated us both on our performance. The dog
himself was now down on his side, licking at his genitals
and ignoring all those around him, including me. The beast
had ravished me good and proper, and now wanted nothing to
do with me until he felt horny again. Thankfully, Storm was
waiting in the wings to continue his brother's good work.'

'Now that's a story,' said Neil. 'The boy really knows his
stuff; he should write a book.'

'Yeah,' I put in. 'That school of his must be real proud.
They should make him head boy or something.'

'He's definitely our head boy,' said Neil. 'He sucks cock
like a veteran.'

The three of us laughed as Mr Dalby put the sheaf of papers
into his pocket.

*  *  *

Harkin had hung from his wrist-straps throughout Mr Dalby's
reading. The man had quickly put two and two together and
guessed that the Trevor in the K9 story and the Trevor in
his CP photographs was the same boy.

Under intensive interrogation, Trevor had told us all about
his regular visits to Rosewood Crescent. He then went on to
describe the sex parties at the judge's house in Chelsea
and the CP sessions at the public school in Hampshire. The
youngster had held nothing back in his eagerness to avoid
the Megger's electrifying caress.

Thanks to Trevor, all the men in Harkin's photographs were
now prime targets for blackmail - the judge and the Member
of Parliament for Flog 'Em and Hang 'Em were especially
vulnerable. Mr Dalby had a lot of business and criminal
contacts, so the two men would become extremely useful to
him in their professional capacities.

The other bum-boys would simply become cannon fodder for Mr
Dalby's film company. Linden Films specialised in the
production of torture flicks for the connoisseur. These
films showed real K9 sex and real SM torture. The hairless
and half-starved victims would be whipped, burnt and forced
to bend over for my two dogs.

Each victim would be restrained and trained for several
weeks before being dragged in front of the cameras - Mr
Dalby used another warehouse on the site as a film studio.
It contained two 16mm cine-cameras and a vast amount of
torture equipment.

The cameras would record the wretch being put through his
paces by Vic the Impaler, an ex-Royal Marine Commando who
knew how to get the best out of people. Neil and I would
help Vic punish the creature we had created: it would jump
through all kinds of hoops to please us - the brainwashing
techniques we used never failed to produce a broken and
pliable individual.

In the end, all the men that fell into our hands were happy
to demean themselves in front of the cameras. They would
gladly contort themselves for our pleasure, with no demand
or humiliation refused.

Linden Films had produced eight titles since its inception
in 1963. Five of these twenty-minute films had featured two
masters and one slave; the remainder had featured Soldier
or Storm in the closing scenes. Mr Dalby now wanted to
produce a trilogy of films depicting the training of Gary
and Hugh from the very first day of their capture.

- - - - -

(c) Trevor Martindale, September 2007

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

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