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Subject: The Ten-Twenty To London Bridge - Part 2 (M+/t, BDSM)
Date: Tue, 09 Oct 2007 10:26:20 -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 2

By Trevor Martindale

Lunty reversed the van into the warehouse and parked it
between two rows of wooden crates. The main floor area of
the warehouse was filled with packing cases and crates, a
good many of which were far too large to fit inside the
van. The brick-built building was situated on a small
industrial site owned by a Mr Dalby. It was one of three
warehouses that had been built before the property company
ran out of money and was forced to sell.

I helped Neil release Graham from his restraints as Lunty
closed and locked the warehouse doors, reset the burglar
alarm and switched on the overhead lights. The teenager was
still trembling from fear as he was ordered out of the van
and told to get down on all-fours. Lunty didn't waste any
time in returning to the van to see what the new trainee
looked like in the nude.

'Fuckin' nice,' purred Lunty, as he ran his hands over the
youngster's naked body. 'What a fine looking arse. I bet my
boys will have a field day with this manhole when they get
the chance.'

'Men before mutts,' snapped the Welshman. 'We get to fuck
the bum-boy before those dogs of yours get a sniff.'

'And a lick,' I added, closing the van's rear doors.

'Yeah, yeah, yeah,' said Lunty defensively. 'I know the
rule. But Soldier and Storm aren't mutts. They're pure-bred
sex machines with a liking for young bitch-boys.'

'Men before mutts,' repeated Neil. 'That's the rule.'

Graham's head dropped when he felt his cock and ball-sac
being fondled by Lunty. He was clearly unhappy with what
was being said, and shuddered when the man slapped him hard
across the arse and called him a 'sexy bitch-boy'.

'Let's get our shrinking violet washed and shaved,' said
Neil. 'I want him ready for training as soon as possible,
so chop-chop.'

I slapped Graham across the back of the head and told him
to follow me on his hands and knees. Lunty kicked him in
the side to get him started.

Our washroom-cum-barbershop was a large, empty packing case
in the centre of the warehouse. One side of the wooden box
had been removed for access and four metal rings fitted to
secure a slave during his wash and brush-up. The packing
case, which had once contained welding equipment, was the
size of a small room; therefore, we had no trouble working
on Graham as he stood, spread-eagled in the centre of the
box.

Lunty washed him down as I removed all his hair with a pair
of scissors and a safety razor. Graham looked so different
without his blond hair. His bald head glistened when it was
doused with water, as did his armpits and chest; and his
genitals looked so small and shriveled when the ice-cold
water closed all those open pores.

The youngster continued to snort and moan as his arsehole
was cleaned with a dildo dipped in liquid soap. He cursed
and rattled around in his bonds when another bucket of
water was poured over his head. This ice-cold shower was
followed by Neil brushing him down with a yard broom.

'That's it,' beamed Lunty. 'Scrub him clean and make him
sparkle.'

'He looks like one of those skinny sausages,' said Neil. 'I
know, let's dig out the old Megger and fry him.'

'Yes,' I agreed. 'Let's wire him up and make him dance.'

Graham fainted on the spot. The poor fellow hung from his
wrist-straps as the three of us laughed and joked about his
fragility. Lunty and Neil were surprised that he hadn't put
up a fight, as Colin the hippy had done when he was first
washed and shaved. I explained that Graham was a sheep in
sheep's clothing; a wimp of the first water; a trusting
soul who believed it would go better for him if he kept his
mouth shut and co-operated fully.

*  *  *

Graham screamed into his gag as the Megger sent another
shockwave of electricity surging through his defenseless
body. The electric current entered his body via two metal
clips, which were both attached to his hairless ball-sac.
More and more shockwaves zapped his nervous system as he
continued to scream into his gag and rattle around in his
bonds.

Sweat poured off the wimp as I tormented his body with the
device, which was normally used by electricians to measure
the resistance of cable insulation. I turned the Megger's
handle once more and heard a muffled scream from Graham and
a burst of laughter from my two friends. They, like me,
enjoyed watching a naked and helpless teenager dance around
on the spot.

Graham tugged on his wrist-straps for the umpteenth time as
another bolt of electricity zapped his ball-sac. The bully
inside of me was on cloud nine. I really wanted to hurt
this hapless fool.

'C'mon, Vic,' said Neil. 'Let's call it a day. Sparky can
sleep off the ECT [Electroconvulsive Therapy] in a packing
case. We can box him up next to the hippy.'

'Don't be a spoilsport, Neil,' Lunty implored. 'Let's put
the clips on his nipples and light him up again. Besides,
he needs warming up after that ice-cold shower.'

I was torn between the devil and the deep blue sea. I
wanted to zap the youngster a hundred more times, but I
knew that he would be out of action for days if I did.
Unfortunately, sense prevailed. So I put down the Megger
and let the Welshman have his way.

'Help me get Sparky down,' said Neil to Lunty. 'We'll dry
him off and box him up.'

'Why not fry the hippy, Vic?' suggested Lunty. 'He's been
boxed up for hours. Let's give him some exercise.'

'Yeah,' I said. 'We can zap his nipples and stretch his
ball-sac for an hour or so, or until he blacks out.'

Lunty and Neil released Graham's wrist-straps from the two
rings in the packing case roof. The youngster slumped into
their strong, muscular arms, still trembling from fear and
cold as he did so. He was now a total wreck; an exhausted
zombie-like creature that couldn't stand on his own two
feet unaided.

I stood and watched my two friends lay the teenager out in
a long, narrow packing case. His wrist and ankle-straps
were padlocked to four metal rings inside the coffin-like
box. The wooden lid was screwed down by Lunty, who clearly
relished the job of entombing the terrified youngster.

*  *  *

Colin was dazzled by the overhead lighting when the lid was
removed from the box he was in. The packing case had kept
him confined for some eight hours, and stank of sweat and
urine. He didn't bother to resist as he was hauled from the
box and dropped onto the concrete floor. He had suffered a
great deal of pain and humiliation over the past two weeks,
so he wasn't going to give his captors a reason to kick the
living daylights out of him again.

'You look like shit, man,' I said, sarcastically stressing
the word 'man', which Colin had used incessantly during the
first few hours of his captivity.

'Yeah, man,' said Lunty, continuing the in-joke. 'He had a
real heavy session with Soldier and Storm this morning, and
he didn't eat any of the Pal I put in his bowl last night.
I think he wants to lose a little more weight and become a
greyhound.'

I looked at Lunty and sighed. 'Stop feeding him dog food,
you dipstick. And no more sessions with Soldier and Storm;
he needs to be fit enough to fuck the new boy, so feed him
properly. Got that?'

'Yeah, no more Pal and no more canine cock,' replied Lunty.
'I won't let you down, Vic. I just got carried away, that's
all.'

'Okay. Let's get him strung up and ready for the Megger,' I
said, taking hold of the hippy's ankle-straps and dragging
him along the concrete floor.

Colin had felt the Megger's cruel caress before. He dreaded
the sight of the device with its black and red leads and
shiny metal clips. He mumbled the words, 'I'll be good, I
promise' over and over again as I dragged him towards the
washroom-cum-barbershop.

He had reluctantly agreed to suck on Storm's cock the last
time he was scheduled to be zapped by the Megger. I then
promised not to hook him up to the device if he agreed to
play with Storm in front of a camera. Other tortures were
subsequently put on hold when he got down on all-fours and
let Soldier mounted him from behind.

Colin had reluctantly become the dogs' bitch-boy to avoid
being punished by the Megger, cane and tawse. All three of
us had fucked him before he had gone to the dogs, so his
arsehole was use to being flooded with sperm. However, his
arsehole had no previous experience of a dog's knot, which
kept him tied painfully to his mate for ages. Also, the
claw marks on his back and sides were just as painful as
any marks from a cane.

I dragged the scrawny teenager to the makeshift washroom
and, with Neil's assistance, hung him upside-down from the
packing case roof. The poor fellow had been whipped, caned
and half-starved during the first weeks of his captivity.
He had also been fucked by his three captors, zapped by the
Megger and defiled by the two Rottweilers. He now dangled
from the straps round his ankles and waited in terror for
the torments to come.

I really enjoy torturing young bum-boys. My first victim
was put through the mill in Aden, during my time as a Royal
Marine. I was on secondment to the Intelligence Corps, as a
minder [bodyguard] for a Major Callaghan. The Major and I
had lots of fun with the local Fuzzy-Wuzzies. We encouraged
them to tell us everything they knew about their Marxist
friends. The first boy I impaled on my hard-standing cock
was just an innocent bystander: he was simply in the wrong
place at the wrong time during a raid. The Major allowed me
to question the teenager overnight, which I did in spades.
He was the first of seven youngsters I brutalized during my
time in Aden.

I learnt a lot from the Major. He was a real sadistic son
of a bitch; a man who relished dishing out humiliation and
pain in equal measure. He also liked to sit back and watch
others do the same. Our guests were always stripped naked,
hooded and strung up by the wrists in the centre of the
interrogation room. I had no idea what the Major was asking
the Fuzzy-Wuzzies between cane strokes: it all sounded like
double Dutch to me. However, their screams and babbling did
turn me on.

*  *  *

When I left the Royal Marines, my ability to get the best
out of people was employed by Mr Dalby. He and I met by
chance at the Funk Hole: a club that catered for men who
liked men. We struck up a conversation at the bar, and an
hour or so later I found myself working for the man as a
minder.

Mr Dalby was a real charmer: a smooth-talking man who could
sell snow to the Eskimos. He liked to persuade people to do
his bidding with words. However, there were times when he
needed someone like me to ensure that his words actually
meant something if push came to shove. We certainly worked
well together, especially when we decided to see how Brian
and Gordon would perform under pressure:

'Leave it out, Mr Dalby. I'm not doing that,' said the
ashen-faced young man.

'But you must, Brian. You have no money to pay off your
debt, you don't want your wife involved, and you don't want
my friend here to beat you to a pulp. No, you simply must
unzip your fly and wank yourself off. The week's interest
on the loan must be paid.'

'We're out in the open, Mr Dalby. Someone might see.'

'Nonsense, dear boy,' beamed Dalby. 'We're in an alleyway,
so no one will see you sucking on my finger as you wank
yourself off.'

'With his trousers and pants down, around his ankles,' I
added, grinning.

'Yes,' said Dalby, 'we must be able to see that marvelous
cock of yours in action. I bet it's a real monster.'

'Please, Mr Dalby. I can pay you half the interest now and
the rest on Saturday.'

'No!' snapped Dalby. 'My friend and I want to see you shed
your load in the open air. We want to see that ball-sac of
yours swinging in the breeze, and we want to see that arse
of yours uncovered.'

Brian flinched when I placed my hand on his shoulder and
told him to unzip his fly. The terrified wimp fumbled with
his zipper as Mr Dalby pushed his right index finger into
the young man's mouth. Brian was the second debtor we had
leaned on in this usual way. A month or so earlier we had
recruited another married man in his early twenties. Gordon
had dropped his trousers in the alleyway twice. He had then
spent a day in the nude, cleaning and dusting Mr Dalby's
Chelsea flat.

*  *  *

Mr Dalby and I were overcome with joy when we witnessed the
two married men embrace and kiss for the first time. They
had only known each other for some ten minutes, and were as
embarrassed as hell when Dalby ordered them to strip off
and make love.

'That's it, boys,' said Dalby. 'Take off all your clothes
and put them in a neat pile on the coffee table; shoes on
the floor underneath.'

'Don't be shy,' I said menacingly. 'Let's see what your
wives see when you're about to shaft 'em. I'm sure they
wouldn't want to see you covered in nasty bruises next
time.'

'Don't worry, Vic,' said Dalby. 'Brian and Gordon are going
to do everything we want them to do. They are going to
cuddle up and French kiss, suck on each other's cock and
play at being queer with those two empty beer bottles on
the sideboard.'

Brian and Gordon did indeed do all those things on their
very first date. Initially the atmosphere in the room was
thick with anger and resentment, but the fear factor soon
triumphed over their reluctance and inhibitions. The two
married men performed for their two-man audience like real
troupers, even though they were totally unrehearsed in the
roles we had given them.

Their performance was marred by dozens of anxious stares as
each took liberties with the other's body. They didn't like
sucking cock either, although their hard-standing members
seemed to enjoy the experience immensely. The image of the
two men lying on the living-room carpet, with half-pint
beer bottles protruding from their arseholes, is one I will
always treasure.

'That's it, boys,' said Dalby. 'You can get cleaned up now.
But do be quick; I want you dressed and on your way in
half-an-hour.'

'And don't forget,' I added, grinning, 'same time and place
next week. The money you owe will take a while to repay, so
do tell your wives that you'll be busy over the next month
or so.'

Brian and Gordon found themselves performing in front of an
audience of three the following Saturday. Neil the Welshman
had been invited along to the moneylender's flat to watch
the two debtors humiliate themselves again. The hard-nosed
rugby player sat back on the sofa and watched the men strip
naked and shave off each other's pubic hair. The half-pint
beer bottles were then used to broaden their horizons as
they lay, sucking cock, in a sixty-nine position on the
floor.

'When will these two lemonheads be ready for a real fuck,
Mr D?' asked Neil. 'Brian's arse looks mighty inviting.'

'Sorry, Neil,' replied Dalby. 'I want to see them fuck each
other first. I get a real kick out of watching these two
fooling around with each other. It's amazing what they'll
do to avoid a beating.'

'I wonder what their wives and fellow workers would say if
they could see them now,' I mused. 'I bet they would have a
fit.'

'Don't stop sucking on that cock, Brian,' snapped Dalby, as
he detected some adverse reaction to my comment. 'Only my
friends and I will ever know you suck cock.'

'And take it up the arse,' added the Welshman, with a glint
in his eye.

Brian and Gordon were persuaded to fuck each other in front
of Mr Dalby and five of his friends the following Saturday.
The two married men were then shown how to take it up the
arse by several of the moneylender's guests, including Neil
and myself. They were gang-raped for some two hours, which
left them dazed and totally wrecked.

Brian failed to show up for the next party, so Gordon had
to service every hard-standing cock on the guest list. He
looked like a man that had been dragged though a hedge
backwards by the time he was ordered into the bathroom to
get cleaned up. As for Brian, he arrived at the next party
a little battered and bruised. So he never let us down
again.

- - - - -

(c) Trevor Martindale, October 2007

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

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