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From: Pegboy - UK <pegboy@hotmail.co.uk>
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Subject: RP: The Ten-Twenty To London Bridge - Part 3 (M+/t, BDSM)
Date: Tue, 09 Oct 2007 10:26:04 -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 3

By Trevor Martindale

The hippy sobbed and winced as the leads attached to the 
Megger were clipped to his genitals. The trusting fool had 
done everything he could to avoid this terrifying moment, 
but now he was about to be zapped by the man who had turned 
him into a submissive bitch-boy.

'I hate breaking a promise,' I said. 'But you did flout the 
rules, you ingrate.'

'Sorry, sir,' replied Colin, looking forlorn and betrayed.

'Still, not to worry,' said Neil, grinning. 'You've told us 
all we need to know about your friends and family, so there 
won't be anymore names and addresses to cough up this time 
round.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Colin.

'Imagine how shocked and upset his friends and family would 
be if they saw those snapshots of him playing with Soldier 
and Storm,' I said to Neil.

'Yes, but none of us would send them such degrading filth 
through the post,' said Neil.

'Not unless we were forced to,' I said drily.

'True, but Colin wouldn't do anything that would force us 
to do such a terrible thing,' said Neil. 'He's not the type 
to go to the police and blab about the time he spent with 
us and the two dogs; and he wouldn't want to be dragged off 
to the warehouse again if, for instance, you stopped him in 
the street one day and invited him along to a sex party. He 
wouldn't want to cross you, he's not that stupid.'

'Maybe you're right, Neil,' I said, reaching down to pick 
up the Megger. 'But he wouldn't be hanging up here if he 
didn't have a tendency to break the rules, so can we really 
trust him?'

'Yes,' replied Neil. 'I'm sure of it.'

Colin hadn't broken any rules, and we all knew it. However, 
he wasn't going to argue the toss and disrupt the game I 
was playing, or waste his time begging for a reprieve. He 
simply cursed himself for being so compliant.

He suddenly cried out in agony as the Megger sent a burst 
of electricity surging through his suspended body, making 
it contort and flap around in mid-air. He shrieked again as 
his cock and ball-sac received another jolt of electricity, 
and then another.

'That's like music to my ears,' said Neil. 'Come on, sizzle 
his nuts again, Vic.'

'Yeah,' added Lunty, 'make him squeal like a pig.'

'No more, no more, plea-z-z-z,' the teenager implored, as 
his body tensed up in anticipation of another zap. 'I'll do 
anything you...'

Colin's pleading turned swiftly into a high-pitch scream as 
the Megger sent a fourth burst of electricity his way. The 
poor fellow dangled from his ankle-straps with a contorted 
look of terror on his face. Sweat poured off his body as he 
tried, in vain, to cope with the raw pain of the electro-
torture.

'Roast his nuts, roast his nuts,' Lunty chanted.

'No!' I snapped angrily. 'We zap his nipples next.'

'Good idea, Vic,' said Lunty. 'We don't want to over do it 
and ruin...'

'Shut up, you tart!' Neil barked at Lunty, as he removed 
the leads from the hippy's genitals and clipped them to the 
teenager's nipples. 'You're such a crawler.'

'Fuck off, Neil,' Lunty muttered, scowling at the Welshman.

The pecking order was clear: I was regarded as the leader 
of our little group, simply because I could knock the shit 
out of my two companions with ease. Neil was big and burly, 
and just as strong as I was, but he was nowhere near as 
cold-blooded as me. And Lunty came in a poor third. He was 
able to hold his own in a pub-fight, but that was all he 
could do. Mr Dalby only employed him because he was Neil's 
lover. However, that said, he wasn't the sort of man you 
would cross in a hurry - he was sly and pernicious, and 
tended to hold a vindictive grudge.

'Come on, children,' I snapped. 'Stop bickering and tie his 
hands behind his back .... Then tie the rope to the base of 
his cock. It'll keep his hands up in the air and out of the 
way.'

'Okey-dokey, Vic,' said Lunty, still scowling at Neil.

The two men prepared the hippy for another round of shocks 
and spasms. The Megger zapped his titties four times before 
a rubber horse-bit gag was forced between his teeth - Colin 
had truly excelled himself with all those sobs and screams, 
but there was a very real risk of him biting off his tongue 
if I continued. Therefore the gag was needed to keep him in 
one piece as I turned the Megger's handle six more times.

Watching my charge flap around in mid-air was a real turn-
on for me. I loved seeing the naked and vulnerable being 
used and abused in this way. It warmed the cockles of my 
heart to know that I had so much power over this gutless 
wonder.

The metal clips were moved to the lobes of his ears when he 
was dropped to the floor for yet another round of torture. 
Lunty and Neil used a couple of yard brooms to hold him 
down as the electricity flowed through his body three more 
times. He then blacked out, the spoilsport.

*  *  *

A bucket of cold water soon revived the crumpled creature 
lying before me on the wooden floor. Colin moaned into his 
gag as I dragged him, feet first, out of the packing case 
and onto the cold, concrete floor. Neil spat on him and 
used the sharp end of the broom handle to poke him in the 
stomach.

'Stand him up,' I ordered. 'We can whip him into shape as 
he recovers from the ECT.'

Lunty released Colin's feet, removed the gag and instructed 
him to stand up. The bald-headed teenager managed to turn 
onto his front and struggle to his knees before Neil poked 
him again with the broom handle.

'Come on, you slacker,' I barked. 'You mustn't keep your 
elders and betters waiting. If you're not on your feet by 
the time I count to ten...'

The impending threat rang all the right bells inside the 
hippy's head. He drew in a deep breath and launched himself 
into the air. He then sucked in a second lungful of cold 
air as he desperately struggled to stay upright. His knees 
were clearly threatening to give way, but still he managed 
to stay on his feet. Colin had succeeded in overcome his 
exhaustion, but only just.

'Excellent!' I said, slapping his hairless chest with the 
back of my hand. 'Now put your best foot forward and follow 
me to the whipping-frame.'

The whipping-frame was in the shape of a square. It was 
constructed of sturdy wooden beams that hung from a small 
electric hoist by steel chain. The hoist was attached to a 
running-rail that ran the entire length of the warehouse, 
so once the teenager was spread-eagled to the frame, which 
measured some seven feet square, he could be raised into 
the air, spun round 360 degrees and moved from one end of 
the warehouse to the other.

With arms and legs spread wide apart, the hippy was tied 
securely to the frame by all three of his captors. He stood 
awkwardly on two wooden foot-plates, the only concession to 
comfort the whipping-frame allowed, and trembled with cold 
and fear as Neil placed a leather hood over his head.

Lunty then took hold of Colin's ball-sac and twisted it in 
a clockwise direction. The youngster let out an almighty 
scream as Lunty twisted the hairless sac a little more. The 
screams continued for some ten minutes as Colin's bollocks, 
along with his nipples, were punished by his enthusiastic 
tormentor.

'Raise the frame up a little, Neil,' I said. 'Let's take 
our young friend for a spin before we whip him into shape.'

Lunty and I set the frame spinning the instant Neil took 
his thumb off the hoist's lift button. The whipping-frame 
spun round and round with the frightened teenager pulling 
desperately on the ropes that kept him in place. He knew 
there was very little danger of him parting company with 
the frame as it spun through the air, but that didn't stop 
him from voicing his concern when Neil's thumb came down on 
the lift button again.

'Please stop!' he shrieked, as Lunty and I raised our arms 
above our heads and set the wooden frame spinning again.

'We should have looped a rope round his bollocks and tied 
it to the bottom of the frame,' said Lunty, grinning.

'Now that's a good idea,' said Neil. 'Let's bring him down 
and do it.'

'Maybe next time,' I put in. 'The lad's bollocks have 
suffered enough punishment for one day. Let's concentrate 
on his back and arse before we box him up for the night.'

'If you say so, Vic,' said a disgruntled Lunty.

'Don't fret, Mr Lunt,' said Neil. 'The next lad that goes 
up on the frame will have his nuts stretched big time.'

Neil lowered the whipping-frame to the ground and went off 
to retrieve his favourite whip.

'Now I want you to be brave, Colin,' I said, cupping the 
youngster's left arse-cheek in my right hand. 'Neil is 
going to whip you into shape, and boy, is it gonna hurt.'

'Yeah, real bad,' Lunty cackled.

'But here's a tip,' I continued. 'If you thank him after 
the first stroke, and then ask for more, he'll go easy on 
you.'

'Yeah, right,' said Lunty, with more than a hint of sarcasm 
in his voice.

'Just keep asking the man for more,' I said, kissing the 
back of Colin's left shoulder. 'You won't regret it.'

*  *  *

'Are you ready, boy?' asked Neil, unfurling his favourite 
leather whip.

'Yes, sir,' replied Colin nervously.

Neil stepped up behind the hooded hippy and paused to let 
the anticipation of where the initial blow would fall take 
hold in the young man's imagination.

Colin's body visibly shook when the first stroke was laid 
on. The leather lash caressed the full length of his back 
as it came down diagonally across his spine. The pain burst 
upon his bleach-white skin like searing coals, and yet he 
did not cry out or sob.

'Thank you, sir,' he said in a shaky voice. 'Please strike 
me again. I...'

The second stroke of the whip was laid on before the 
teenager had time to finish his words. It landed almost 
parallel to the first and swiftly put an end to anymore 
'please strike me again' requests.

'Don't thank me, boy,' said Neil, as the whip struck home a 
third time. 'You'll get a dozen hard, skin-cutting strokes.
No more, no less.'

Colin rattled around in his bonds as the whip struck him a 
forth and fifth time. His determination to grin and bear it 
had dissolved into a sea of tears and a cacophony of howls 
and high-pitch shrieks.

'Six on the back and six on the backside,' the Welshman 
continued. 'No more, no less.'

The whip caressed the youth's fiery-red back one more time 
before moving onto pastures new. Neil's expertise with the 
leather lash ensured that only its tip was used to punish 
the once plump and rounded backside, and in response, Colin 
began shouting out obscenities and doing some kind of weird 
belly dance from within the confines of his restraints.

'Look at him go,' I said, stepping up to the front of the 
whipping-frame to remove his hood.

'Look at him glow, more like,' said Lunty, laughing.

'And he didn't faint,' I said to Neil. 'So maybe he likes 
being strung up and punished with that whip of yours.'

'No, plea-z-z-z,' Colin mumbled, as his knees gave way and 
he hung limply from his wrist-straps.

'He did ask for more,' said Lunty, ignoring the teenager's 
plea.

'Do you want more, boy?' asked Neil.

Colin raised his head to look for an answer in my steely-
blue eyes.

'Yes, sir,' he reluctantly replied.

'How many more, boy?' asked Neil, cracking the whip on the 
concrete floor.

I mouthed the word 'twelve' and Colin juddered.

'Twelve more, sir,' he mumbled.

'How many more, boy?' barked Neil.

'Twelve, sir.'

*  *  *

'Do you remember all those weeks we spent together in that 
warehouse, Colin?' I asked the ashen-faced teenager sitting 
opposite me in the café.

'Yes, sir,' Colin replied nervously.

'I bet, deep down, you really liked being zapped, whipped 
and half-drown by three nasty ruffians. Am I right?'

'Well...'

'And I bet you wouldn't mind visiting the warehouse again 
and taking part in another training session. Am I right?'

The look on Colin's face said it all.

'Trouble is, all the packing cases are full at the moment,' 
I continued. 'So we wouldn't be able to accommodate you 
unless Mr Dalby made you a special case.'

The walk-through café in Holborn was extremely busy for a 
Tuesday lunchtime. Colin and I sat in the booth that was 
furthest from the counter and by a door that opened onto a 
narrow alleyway. The clatter of cups and saucers covered 
most of what we said, but still we had to take care and 
keep our voices down.

'Drink up, Colin. Your tea's getting cold.'

'I've got a proper, full-time job now, sir. I can't just 
drop everything and disappear for weeks on end.'

'Of course you can't, Colin. No. Mr Dalby simply wants you 
to drop your trousers and underpants for a weekend jaunt in 
the country.'

'In the country, sir?'

'Yes. Now drink your tea and listen to me very carefully.'

Colin picked up the cup in front of him and forced himself 
to drink the lukewarm liquid the café owner called tea.

'Now this coming Friday, around six in the evening, you and 
I, and a few other people, will leave the Smoke behind and 
head out to a place called Teston. Ever heard of it?'

'No, sir.'

'It's in Kent, somewhere near Maidstone,' I said, grinning.

'Are you going to hurt me again, sir?'

'Only if you show me up, or decide not to perform for Mr 
Dalby and his distinguished guests.'

'Perform?'

'Yes. You and two other scallywags, Graham and Kevin, will 
be putting on a few shows for some pretty important people 
over the weekend. We picked you because you got on so well 
with Soldier and Storm, as did Graham and Kevin.'

'Soldier, Storm!'

'Keep your voice down, Colin. We don't want everyone to 
know that you've tasted canine cock. No. You get down on 
all-fours over the weekend and no one will get to see all 
those snapshots of you being mounted. And don't even think 
about doing a runner. Remember, you told us everything we 
need to know about your friends and family.'

'But...'

'No ifs, no buts. You just suck off who I tell you to suck 
off, fuck who I tell you to fuck, and bend over for two 
randy Rottweilers. Got that?'

'Yes, sir,' said the terrified youth.

'Excellent. Now let's go for a walk down Kingsway. I want 
to tell you all about the woodland hunt.'

Colin listened intently as I explained how he and the other 
two scallywags would have to fight their way through some 
pretty dense woodland to find a naked man tied between two 
trees.

'You'll all be stark-bollock-naked, so watch where you put 
your feet,' I warned. 'And do keep an eye out for brambles 
and such like; those woods are full of them.'

'What do we do when we find the man, sir?'

'You slap him around a bit: thrash his arse with brambles; 
tread on his toes; squeeze his bollocks. He's some kind of 
la-di-dah barrister with a liking for outdoor gangbangs. So 
you knock him about and then poke him real hard. Got that?'

'Yes, sir. We knock him about and then fuck him.'

'He's one of Mr Dalby's friends. So you'll be visiting the 
warehouse for another round of behavioral therapy if you 
don't do a good job.'

'I won't let you down, sir,' said Colin nervously.

'Of course you won't,' I said, smiling. 'And you don't mind 
bending over for Graham and Kevin in front of Mr Dalby's 
guests?'

'No, sir.'

'And you don't mind bending over for Soldier and Storm in 
front of a couple of cine-cameras?'

Colin falter in mid stride as the thought of appearing on 
film with two dogs, and with no cane threatening to thrash 
him if he refused to co-operate, filled him with dread.

'A film of me...'

'Getting down on all-fours to let two Rottweilers fuck your 
brains out. Yes, that's what Mr Dalby and I want to see,' I 
said, turning to give the youngster a threatening look. 'Mr 
Dalby wants to present his guests with a memento of their 
weekend visit to the countryside, so he wants you to spread 
your arse-cheeks for the dogs and the cameras.'

'Will I be wearing a hood, sir?' Colin asked anxiously.

'No hoods,' I replied sharply. 'Mr Dalby wants to see 
plenty of close-ups and lots and lots of smiles. Got that?'

'Yes, sir.'

'So let's recap. We pick you up outside the post office in 
New Fetter Lane, at six o'clock on Friday evening; we cross 
the river and head for the hop fields of Kent in the van; 
we watch you roger a silk on Saturday morning, entertain Mr 
Dalby's guests on Saturday afternoon and evening, and bend 
over for Soldier and Storm on Sunday afternoon.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good. Now I'm off to lean on a guy who owes Mr Dalby a lot 
of money,' I said. 'I don't like the bastard, so he'll be 
coughing up blood by teatime. See you on Friday, Colin.'

- - - - -

(c) Trevor Martindale, October 2007

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

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