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From: Pegboy - UK <pegboy@hotmail.co.uk>
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Subject: ST: The Ten-Twenty To London Bridge - Part 6 (M+/t, BDSM)
Date: Tue, 09 Oct 2007 10:25:52 -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 6

By Trevor Martindale

The journey back to the warehouse was a real nightmare. The 
storm that had covered our departure from the crescent was 
still raging, and Lunty's dog was getting more and more 
agitated.

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

'Shut up, you tart,' I snapped. 'We'll get the wipers fixed 
on Monday.'

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

'Bloody hell!' barked Dalby. 'I'm surrounded by morons.'

'Sorry,' Lunty growled. 'I'm just pissed off, that's all.'

The four naked bum-boys were lying face down on the rubber-
covered mattress. They were bound hand and foot with nylon 
rope and lying side by side. More rope was wound round each 
slave'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 wander round again. 
The four CP enthusiasts cursed and moaned as the 120lb dog 
trampled over their backs, arse-cheeks and upper thighs.

The dog would occasionally 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 again,' I said 
to Lunty. 'If they can't breathe...'

'If it ain't one thing, it's another,' Lunty 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,' said Lunty. 'It's all the thunder 
and lightning, and the hailstones bombarding the fuckin' 
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,' I added.

'Stop trying to cheer me up,' said Lunty, pulling a face.

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

*  *  *

The warehouse doors closed with an almighty clang as Lunty 
parked the van between the two rows of wooded crates.

I returned from closing the doors and helped Lunty 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 box to lock up the old man,' 
said Lunty. 'He won't fit into any of the standard ones.'

'Yeah, not until he slims down a bit,' I said.

Each of our playmates was lowered, still bound and gagged, 
into the 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?' I asked.

'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,' Lunty and I said in unison.

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

*  *  *

The record producer stood, spread-eagled in the centre of 
the washroom-cum-barbershop. Lunty soaped him down as I 
removed all the hair on his head with a sharp pair of 
scissors and a safety razor. The old man's head glistened 
under the lights as it was doused with ice-cold water.

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

'Mr Dalby lied,' said Lunty, grinning.

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

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

'Yeah, we know,' interrupted Lunty. 'Now shut up or we'll 
sew your lips together with catgut. We have some pretty 
sharp needles around here somewhere.'

'We normally sew up foreskins,' I said drily. 'So button 
your lip, tubby.'

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

'Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!' he exclaimed, 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 jolts of electricity soon.'

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

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

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

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

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

'Well, if it's a known fact.'

Harkin continued to wail as I hit him in the bollocks twice 
more.

'No, I don't think he does like it,' Lunty conceded. 'Let's 
zap his nipples instead.'

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

Lunty 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.

'Report 2 - Soldier Boy

'By Darren Jakeman

'Soldier stood up as I entered the packing case on my hands 
and knees. His heavy breathing and alert expression told me 
that 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 Mr Lunt, my handler. I then 
felt his rough tongue on my bollocks 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 
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 beast, I sensed that Mr 
Lunt 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 splattered 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 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 being rewarded for all the hard 
work I had put in. 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 tailspin. I managed to replace all my 
words of gratitude with grunts and groans, before moving 
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 tried to dismount, which, at that 
particular moment, would have caused me real damage if he 
had. Thankfully, my handler intervened and decoupled us 
with ease.

'I felt Soldier's seed trickle out of my arsehole as the 
audience congratulated us on our performance. The dog 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 report,' said Lunty. '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 Lunty. 'He sucks cock 
like a veteran.'

The three of us laughed as Mr Dalby folded the report and 
put it into his coat 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 Darren in the K9 report and the Darren he 
knew was the same boy.

Under intensive interrogation, Darren 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 Kensington 
and the CP sessions at the public school in Hampshire. The 
youngster had held nothing back in his eagerness to avoid 
the Megger's wicked caress.

Thanks to Darren, 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 Soldier and Storm.

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 two cameras would record a totally broken and pliable 
wretch being hung upside down by his ankle-straps and put 
through his paces by Neil, Lunty and myself. The three of 
us would punish the slave with whips, canes and a variety 
of metal and rubber probes. The miserable wretch would hang 
in the air and scream his head off as we decorated his body 
with painful welts.

In the next scene, the cameras would zoom in to record the 
slave's genitals being treated to a painful round of 
amateur acupuncture. Dozens of long, fine needles would be 
used to penetrate his ball-sac and foreskin. Each needle 
would trigger a cacophony of screams as it punctured his 
hairless hide.

Occasionally the Megger would be used instead of the fine 
needles, but only if the bum-boy had a tendency to flap 
around in mid-air when the electricity began to flow.

In the third and final scene, the miserable wretch would be 
seen dragging his emaciated body across the concrete floor. 
A bucket of ice-cold water would be poured over him as he 
raised himself up on all-fours and waited for Soldier or 
Storm to fuck him.

The brainwashing techniques I used never failed to produce 
a broken and pliable individual. In the end, all the men 
that fell into my hands were happy to demean themselves in 
front of the cameras. They would gladly contort themselves 
for my pleasure, with no demand or humiliation refused.

Linden Films had produced eight titles since its inception 
in 1963. Seven of these twenty-minute films had featured a 
single slave being used and abused by three masters and a 
dog. The eighth production had featured two slaves being 
put through their paces by three masters and two dogs. Mr 
Dalby now wanted to produce a trilogy of films depicting 
the day to day training of Gary and Hugh.

*  *  *

For three weeks the cine-cameras recorded dozens of scenes 
from the trainees' painful descent into hell. Lack of food 
and sleep hit both men extremely hard. However, it was the 
Megger that finally broke their spirit and turned them into 
compliant automatons.

Gary and Hugh were quick to fall out of love when, for no 
apparent reason, one was favoured over the other with less 
pain and more sleep. This ploy of mine soon led to the two 
ex-lovers rolling around on the floor in a fight over food 
scraps.

Harkin and Robin were also encouraged to turn against one 
another. They began by caning each other at the behest of 
Neil, with Robin enjoying the task a tad more than the man 
he blamed for his incarceration. In fact, he laid on seven 
strokes for every six he was ordered to apply.

Harkin's response to this outrage was to take the cane and 
inflict, with each and every stroke, a more practiced and 
telling blow across the younger man's rump. Robin believed 
that the blows he had administered were just as painful as 
those he was receiving, so the fool failed to retaliate 
when he held the cane again.

All four slaves were led to believe that freedom was just 
around the corner, but only if they did exactly as they 
were told. This lie kept them going and made it easier for 
them to betray their fellow slaves - with each new day 
their treachery became more overt, especially when there 
was a reward of extra food or more sleep on offer.

The three-onto-one sessions were also captured on film 
during that three-week period. Neil's idea of having the 
masters step back to let one slave, who was chosen at 
random, fall prey to the other three was inspirational. 
Unfortunately, we nearly lost Harkin when he was strung up 
and punished by his fellow slaves.

The three bum-boys kicked and punched the old man as he was 
bound with rope, dragged across the floor and hauled into 
the air. He hung by his ankle-straps and cursed his luck as 
he was spun round and thrashed with a riding crop and two 
canes.

'Stop kicking him in the head,' ordered Dalby.

'And stop whacking his nuts with those canes,' I added. 'We 
don't want him dying on us just yet.'

Harkin fell silent the instant he heard the words 'just 
yet'. His chubby frame continued to flinch and shudder as 
more and more blows found their mark. However, the thought 
of being killed and buried under a warehouse had silenced 
him completely. The old man was now in shock and needed to 
be rescued from his young assailants.

- - - - -

(c) Trevor Martindale, October 2007

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

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