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Subject: ST: The Ten-Twenty To London Bridge - Part 4 (M+/t, BDSM)
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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 4

By Trevor Martindale

Our weekend in the country was a great success, and turned 
out just as Mr Dalby had planned. Colin, Graham and Kevin 
were on top form during the two-day extravaganza, and Mr 
Dalby's guests were extremely impressed with the shows the 
three bitch-boys put on.

All three teenagers were mated with the two Rottweilers and 
each other. Mr Dalby and a guest named Ian captured all the 
action on cine-film: the best scene being a long shot of 
Storm standing over Colin and Soldier standing over Graham.

Colin's body resembled a wedge of creamy-white cheese below 
the dog's dark underbelly. Storm just stood there in total 
silence as the youngster tried to cope with the knot in his 
overstretched manhole. The right side of his face had been 
forced into the pile of the carpet by the dog's powerful 
humping action; and try as he may, he could not raise his 
head - the Rottweiler had sapped all his strength and was 
now standing guard over him.

Graham was also in a wedge-shape position on the carpet, 
and, like his fellow performer, had a canine cock jammed in 
his swollen manhole. His body looked so pale against the 
dog's black and tan colouring. However, his sweat-covered 
face was glowing bright red from exhaustion.

'Zoom in on Graham's face, Ian,' said Dalby, from behind 
camera two. 'It's as red as a beetroot.'

'The dog has knocked all the stuffing out of him,' said 
Guy, the la-di-dah barrister.

'They both look knackered to me,' put in Lunty.

'You must be so proud of those dogs,' said Guy to Lunty.

'Yeah, my boys are magic,' said Lunty proudly.

'Let's reward them with a treat,' I said, pushing young 
Kevin forward. 'Help them dismount, boy.'

Kevin and Lunty carefully decoupled the dogs from the two 
naked bum-boys. Colin and Graham were then helped to their 
feet and sent off to the shower room. They shuffled out of 
the room like a couple of decrepit zombies.

'Get down on the floor, boy,' I ordered, 'and spread out 
your arms and legs.'

'Yes, sir,' said Kevin.

The skinny young man lay down on his back and stretched out 
his arms and legs in front of Soldier and Storm.

'Keep those cameras rolling,' I said to Dalby and Ian.

The two cine-cameras captured the art student being covered 
in strawberry sauce from a plastic squeeze-bottle. The two 
dogs rushed forward as I concentrated on covering the bum-
boy's face and genitals with sticky red sauce. Storm headed 
for Kevin's face and began slobbering over the sweet treat.

'Open your mouth, boy,' I ordered. 'The dog wants to give 
you a French kiss.'

Storm's tongue plunged into Kevin's mouth the instant I 
filled it with sauce from the squeeze-bottle. Meanwhile, 
Soldier was busy slobbering over the youngster's sauce-
covered cock. He licked at the sticky treat and growled 
when most of the sauce was gone.

'Be good, Soldier,' commanded Lunty. 'Don't go biting off 
that young man's willy.'

Kevin didn't need a reminder of how powerful the dog's jaws 
were: he had seen Soldier demolish a beef bone in the yard 
that very morning. He now thanked his lucky star that the 
dogs were concentrating on the cream I was squirting on his 
chest and stomach.

'Strawberries and cream; a feast fit for a king,' announced 
Dalby. 'Now, open your mouth and let Vic give you a refill, 
son.'

Soldier and Storm went into a wild frenzy as they tongued 
the cream out of Kevin's mouth. The youngster coughed and 
spluttered as Storm's drooling mouth covered his face from 
nose to chin.

'Don't panic, boy,' I shouted. 'He just likes kissing bum-
boys.'

'With lashings of cream on their lips,' added Lunty.

'And strawberry flavoured cocks,' put in Guy, nursing one 
of the larger bruises he had received in the woods the day 
before.

'I'm all out of film, Vic,' said Ian.

'And me,' said Dalby, with a mournful sigh.

'Okay, boy. Get up and join the others in the shower room,' 
I said. 'Storm can fuck you later.'

'Not on film, he can't,' said Ian. 'We've used up all the 
film I brought down with me. Kells didn't have any more in 
stock, and that other place was closed.'

'Not to worry, Ian,' I said. 'We all make mistakes.'

'Yes,' said Dalby. 'I'm sure we can find a way for you to 
make it up to us.'

'Well, maybe...' said Ian, with beads of sweat forming on 
his brow.

'No,' Dalby interrupted. 'You just leave it up to us. I'm 
sure we can come up with something imaginative, and quite 
memorable. What do you think, Vic?'

'Yes,' I replied. 'You can bet your life on it.'

Ian looked at me as the blood drained from his face. He 
knew that Mr Dalby and I needed to be appeased in some way, 
and the scars on the soles of his feet were telling him to 
come up with something really good this time.

'Darren!' Ian squealed. 'I know a boy named Darren. He's 
fifteen years old and a real show-off. I'm grooming him for 
stardom.'

'Is that so,' I said.

'Yes-s-s,' spluttered Ian. 'He loves prancing around in the 
nude. And he's very photogenic.'

'Why haven't we heard of this Darren before?' asked Dalby. 
'You know I like young thrusters.'

'It's complicated, Mr D,' said Ian. 'He's in thick with Boo 
Harkin, the record producer and CP enthusiast. Harkin uses 
the runaway as bait: Darren is the carrot, Harkin is the 
stick.'

'So why can't you lure the boy away from the producer with 
promises of fame and fortune?' asked Dalby. 'After all, you 
know all the right people.'

'True,' replied Ian. 'But Darren wants to be a pop star and 
Harkin has had two top ten hits this year; the fucker's on 
a roll.'

'Can he sing?' asked Guy.

'I don't think so,' replied Ian.

'Can he act?' asked Lunty.

'No, but he looks real cute in the nude. He starred in that 
flick I directed for Jack Worth last month.'

'I've not seen it,' said Dalby.

'It's one of those stranger-befriends-schoolboy films,' 
said Ian.

'And I bet you didn't run out of film during the last 
scene,' I ribbed.

'I didn't know we were going to use two cameras; honest I 
didn't,' implored Ian. 'I thought the H16 was still on the 
blink.'

'Let's not get all wound up over a few reels of film,' said 
Dalby. 'Ian made a mistake and now he wants...'

'A slap,' I suggested. 'The bastard's trying it on again. I 
don't fuckin' believe it.'

'Come on, Vic,' said Dalby. 'Darren would make a useful 
addition to the team. He's fifteen years old; a runaway...'

'And looks real cute in the nude,' I said, sighing.

'That's it, Vic,' smiled Dalby. 'Just think of all the fun 
you can have with a fifteen-year-old bum-boy. You can teach 
him how to sing.'

Everyone in the room, apart from me, laughed at the half-
descent joke.

'I'll tell him that there's a film part on offer and set-up 
a meeting for next week,' said Ian.

'Excellent idea,' said Dalby. 'We can whisk him off to the 
warehouse after he's done the audition.'

*  *  *

I opened the door and invited the fifteen-year-old boy into 
Mr Dalby's flat. He was an absolute stunner, and I was so 
glad that Ian had sold him down the river to avoid a few 
hours of pain in the stocks. His butter-blond hair and 
girl-like features were not going to save him from the 
Megger's wicked caress; however, the cheeky glint in his 
eye might, if he played his cards right, save him from a 
few of my more colourful excesses.

Darren's body was slim, trim and lithe; and his tight, blue 
jeans accentuated his tiny arse and long legs.

'I'm sorry we sprung this audition on you so suddenly,' I 
said, leading Darren down the hallway and into the living-
room, 'but the boy we originally booked for the film went 
down with a bug and had to cancel at the last minute.'

'No probs, Mr French.'

'No. I'm Frank Nash,' I lied. 'This is Mr French, the man 
with all the money.'

Mr Dalby stood up, shook the teenager by the hand and said, 
'Ian Carlton, our director, said that you would be ideal 
for the role, son. He also said that you look real cute in 
the nude.'

Darren glowed with pride and smiled.

'Can you give us a glimpse of how cute you are in the nude, 
son,' Dalby continued.

'Yes, of course, Mr French,' said Darren, reaching into the 
back pocket of his jeans. 'These two photographs were taken 
of me during the filming of...'

'Just take off your clothes, Darren,' I said. 'We want to 
see the real thing, not the family album.'

'Yes, no probs, Mr Nash,' said the crestfallen teenager. 'I 
just wasn't thinking. It's an audition, right!'

'That's it, son,' beamed Dalby.

Darren stripped off in double quick time. The tall, skinny 
youth looked so hot in the nude, and his uncut cock began 
to twitch the instant it was released from the confines of 
his Y-fronts.

'Don't forget to remove the wristwatch and neck-chain,' 
said Dalby. 'You won't be wearing any jewelry on the 
operating table.'

'Operating table; what operating table?' Darren queried, 
with a bemused look on his face.

'The character you'll be playing in the film is a young 
ballet dancer,' I explained. 'He defects to Britain from 
Russia during a cultural exchange visit, and then gets 
snatched back by the KGB.'

'He's whisked off to a private clinic in Surrey and handed 
over to Dr Kockoff, a Commie surgeon,' added Dalby, 'The 
good doctor straps our hero to a stainless steel operating 
table, probes his piss-hole with a rubber tube and then 
circumcises him in front of the KGB heavies.'

'Without any anesthetic,' I put in.

'Fuck off! That's sick,' said Darren, cringing from the 
thought of being laid out on such a table. 'No one is gonna 
strap me down on any...'

'Can you dance, son?' asked Dalby, ignoring the teenager's 
outburst. 'Stand over there and dance for us.'

'Just swivel your hips and wave your arms about,' I said, 
in a matter-of-fact voice. 'We need to see how supple you 
are.'

'No! I don't want the part,' announced the youth. 'Ian got 
it wrong. A cane across the arse is one thing, but having 
my cock probed and pruned by some mad Russian is not going 
to happen. Not for all the tea in China.'

'Stand over there and dance,' I snapped. 'And keep wiggling 
your bum until I tell you to stop.'

Darren saw the look on my face and stepped gingerly away 
from his clothes, which lay in an untidy heap on the floor. 
The monster behind the mask had just been revealed to him, 
so clearly a self-preservation alarm bell was now ringing 
in his head.

'That's it, son,' Dalby encouraged. 'Dance round that chair 
and show us how it's done. Your cock looks great bobbing up 
and down like that.'

'Let's see more arse, boy,' I ordered. 'And wave your arms 
about a bit more.'

The gyrating wimp almost fell over his feet when he saw the 
flick-knife in my hand. He clearly thought that I may be 
auditioning for the part of Dr Kockoff, so he took a small 
step toward the living-room door.

'You won't make it,' I laughed, picking up his discarded 
tee shirt and slashing it with my knife. 'The window's a 
lot closer than the door.'

'And we're only four floors up,' added Dalby, grinning.

Darren continued to dance erratically as he watched me 
slice up his clothes and put them into a rubbish bag, along 
with his Chelsea boots, wristwatch and neck-chain.

'Those ballet dancers are real supple,' I said to Dalby. 
'They can roll themselves up in a ball; do handstands for 
hours on end; and best of all, the men can double up and 
suck on their own cocks.'

'Impossible,' laughed Dalby. 'That can't be right.'

'It's a fact. Lunty and Neil saw that Russian dancer do it 
at a sex party. He was a real kinky so-and-so.'

'If that's true, we can include it in the new film,' said 
Dalby. 'Let's see if Darren can double up and suck on his 
own cock.'

Mr Dalby and I grabbed the terrified teenager and rolled 
him into an ungainly ball. It was clear from the outset 
that Darren was no contortionist, and with his arms and 
legs sticking out in all directions, he kept trying to 
convince us of that very fact. Even with a long length of 
rope, it was nigh on impossible to tie him up and get him 
to suck on his own cock.

'This ain't gonna work,' I concluded. 'The little fucker is 
working against us.'

'No, plea-z-z-z,' Darren squealed. 'I'm trying my best, but 
I can't bend over anymore.'

'Take a snort of this, son,' said Dalby, offering the boy a 
drink from his hip flask. 'It'll help you relax.'

'Please let me go, Mr French,' sobbed Darren, as the brandy 
and narcotic began to work their magic. 'I don't want my 
cock probed and pruned by that Dr Kockoff.'

'What if we scrap the film idea and get you to do something 
else, son?'

'Yes. That would be great, Mr French. I...' Darren sighed 
and drank another nip of jungle juice from the hip flask. 
'I think... Dr Kockoff! That's a joke. Cock off, cock off. 
It's a joke, ha!'

'Yes, son,' laughed Dalby. 'It took you a while to figure 
that one out. Now, listen to me.'

The teenager's eyelids became heavier and heavier as an 
eerie voice explained how he would be wrapped up in a 
carpet and taken, by van, to a warehouse in south London. 
He would then be obliged to audition for another film role, 
that of a bondage slave who likes to bend over for canine 
cock.

'Canine cock?' Darren queried, slurring his words.

'Dog cock, stupid,' I snapped. 'We want to see you suck on 
a dog's cock and then take it up the arse. It's not going 
to win you any Oscars, but you could walk away with a Best 
of Breed prize from Crufts.'

'That's another joke, ha!' mumbled the youth.

'It's no joke, Darren,' I said, slapping him hard across 
the arse. 'We're gonna locked you up for a very long time; 
we're gonna cut off all your hair and...'

'He's passed out, Vic,' said Dalby. 'Let's untie him and 
stretch him out on the carpet. Lunty and Neil should be 
here around five.'

- - - - -

(c) Trevor Martindale, October 2007

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

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