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Date: Fri, 09 Nov 2007 07:07:27 -0600
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From: Pegboy - UK <pegboy@hotmail.co.uk>
Subject: ST: Hansom Way - Part 1 (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 teenage boys. READ 
NO FURTHER if you are under the age of eighteen or offended 
by such material.

Hansom Way - Part 1

By Trevor Martindale

I entered the labour exchange a few seconds before the 
downpour began. The drown rat that stepped through the same 
doorway a minute later was not a happy man.

'Fuckin' rain,' he said, pushing past me to get away from 
the open doors. 'It's always fuckin' raining in this bloody 
country.'

'That's for sure,' I agreed.

'A young lad like you should get out of the country now, 
before it's overrun by all these foreigners. Australia's the 
place to go. It doesn't rain that much down under.'

'Yeah, right,' I replied. 'You need ten quid for the boat 
ride, and I ain't even got ten bob.'

'That's why we're here, son,' he grinned. 'Mr Fletcher will 
send us off to some crappy factory or warehouse job to work 
forty hours a week for a piss-poor wage packet; or in your 
case... How old are you, son?'

'Eighteen.'

'Old Fletcher is ex-army, so eighteen isn't good. He'll do 
his best to get you to take the Queen's shilling. The old 
git is more like a recruiting sergeant than an employment 
officer.'

'I know. He tried to sign me up last week, but I told him 
where to go.'

'Be careful, son. If Fletcher takes a dislike to you, your 
dole money will be stopped. He can be a right fucker when he 
wants to be.'

'He can be a real slowcoach, too,' I groaned. 'This place is 
almost empty and we still have to wait ages to be seen.'

'Don't complain,' said the man, taking off his raincoat. 'I 
don't want him sending me off to an interview in this bloody 
weather. It's still pissing down out there.'

'What sort of job are you looking for?'

'Anything that isn't too strenuous. I've heard that Miller's 
are looking for a warehouseman.'

'I got sacked from there last year. The governor is pretty 
hot on the old timekeeping. The work's easy, but the money 
is rubbish.'

'So you've done a bit of warehouse work.'

'Yeah, lots.'

'I'm waiting for a real gem of a job to come up. It's down 
by the docks,' he whispered. 'The warehouse was built in 
1965, so it's only two years old. The place is a fuckin' 
palace. It's got proper heating and a canteen.'

'A canteen!'

'Yep, a canteen. The loading bay foreman is my brother, so 
I'm in line for a job when they start recruiting again. He 
reckons June or July.'

'How many vacancies?'

'Two or three, I think.'

'Is the money any good?'

'Yep, they pay top dollar. That's why there's a waiting 
list. It's real hard to get in if you don't know the right 
people.'

'That's a shame,' I said. 'I could have done with a job like 
that.'

'Tell you what, let's give Fletcher the elbow and take a 
walk down by the docks. We'll look in on my brother and I'll 
sweet talk him into putting your name on the waiting list. 
By the way, what is your name?'

'Colin .... Colin Baxter.'

'Honoured to meet you Colin. My name is Frank Moffett, but 
most people call me irresponsible,' he laughed. 'I have no 
idea why.'

I smiled at the half-decent joke and looked back, over my 
shoulder, at the two open doors. The rain had eased off a 
little, but it was still coming down in buckets.

'Maybe later, after the rain has stopped,' I said. 'I don't 
want the recruiting sergeant bawling me out for missing an 
appointment.'

'Yes, you're right, son. I can see that you're not the type 
to break the rules. I'm gonna tell my brother that; he's 
always on the look out for honest and decent workers.'

My interview with Fletcher led nowhere. There was a crummy 
job in a factory making baking foil, a labouring job at the 
local scrap yard, and the obligatory offer of a wonderful 
career in the army.

Frank had seen Fletcher before me, so he was waiting outside 
the labour exchange when I left.

'Another stamp on my card and two more weeks of dole money; 
ain't life great,' he said. 'And it's stopped raining.'

'Did he offer you any job interviews?' I asked.

'Of course, but I dodged them all. I don't want to start a 
job and then have to throw it in a few weeks later, when the 
warehouse job comes up.'

'I'm off to see a Mr Ross at the scrap yard. I'm not taking 
the job, but Fletcher said I have to attend the interview.'

'That's a bummer. Fletcher's always making life difficult 
for people like you and me. Tell you what, let's pop into my 
old place of work and pick up my last week's wages. We can 
then see Mr Ross, tell him to stick his job, and go on to 
see my brother at the warehouse.'

'Yeah, why not,' I said to my new-found friend. 'Did they 
sack you - the people you worked for last?'

'In a way - the bank pulled the plug and closed the company 
down a month ago. The place is empty now, apart from Harry 
and Ian, the two foremen. They run the office, pay off the 
workers when they turn up, and generally keep an eye on the 
place. The bank wants to sell the building before the local 
kids start smashing the windows.'

Frank and I walked down narrow lanes and side streets for 
almost twenty minutes, and in truth, I was starting to 
regret my decision to team up with the 'it's not too far 
now' man.

Frank was a tall, thin man in his early thirties. He had a 
long, thin face and blond hair, which was cut really short. 
He wore a dark grey raincoat over a light grey suit, and 
looked more like an office worker than a warehouseman. His 
claret coloured tie looked old and expensive, and his shoes 
were black brogues.

In contrast, I was dressed in a black bomber jacket, a white 
shirt that was a size too big for me and blue jeans that 
needed a belt to stay up. Being tall and thin, I found it 
hard to find off-the-peg clothes that actually fitted me. My 
long, blond hair and good looks were unable to compete with 
the scarecrow outfit, which I had finished off with a pair 
of black, Chelsea boots.

The building we eventually entered was a real dump. It, and 
the others in the narrow lane, looked uninhabitable and ripe 
for demolition. Hansom Way had a canal and high wall on one 
side and a row of twelve buildings on the other. The ground 
floor of each three-storey structure had once been a stable, 
originally designed to house a hansom cab and horse. The 
floor above the stable had stored feed and fresh straw, and 
the top floor had housed the cabby and his family.

Number six had been stripped of all its internal walls and 
fittings, and was now just an empty shell. Only the top 
floor was semi-habitable.

'Greetings, fellow humpers,' said Frank to the two men 
sitting at a table, playing cards. 'This is Colin Baxter.'

The top floor was just one open space, with windows front 
and back and nothing covering the wooden floor boards. A 
table and four chairs stood in the centre of the floor, and 
three oblong packing cases stood in a stack by the back 
windows.

'Greetings, fellow humper,' said Harry, grinning. 'And 
greetings Colin, friend of the best humper in town.'

I just smiled and looked around me. The building had clearly 
not been used for ages. The stairs that led up to the top 
floor were more than a little rickety, and the handrail on 
the first floor had been removed completely.

'No one has worked here for ages,' I said, not realizing the 
danger I was in by stating the obvious. 'What's this all 
about, Frank?'

'Just hark at the boy,' said Ian. 'For your information, a 
humpie and three humpers worked here yesterday. The humpie 
is over there in that case, the one on the bottom.'

I began to edge toward the stairs.

'Where are you going, Colin?' asked Frank, placing his hand 
on my arm. 'You can't just walk out on us now. You're our 
new humpie.'

I froze completely when I felt the grip on my arm tighten. I 
knew I was in danger, but I was far too scared to move.

'You can play this the hard way or the easy way, son,' said 
Frank. 'It's entirely up to you.'

I looked at the two men sitting at the table. They were both 
well-built and rugged looking. Ian was in his early thirties 
and Harry was in his mid-forties. They resembled two English 
rugby players that had just lost a game to the French. Ian 
had short, brown hair and a broken nose; Harry had even 
shorter brown hair, thinning on top, and a stare that could 
kill. They both wore run-of-the-mill working clothes and 
heavy, Tuff boots.

I knew it was now or never. I turned toward the stairs and 
foolishly sealed my fate. The floor boards were extremely 
hard and unyielding. I went down like a sack of potatoes - I 
had been brought down by a real expert, and now he was 
sitting on my back, holding my head down.

'Bundle!' exclaimed Ian, as he stood up to join battle.

'Grab his legs, Ian,' said Harry. 'He won't be able to run 
away if we hobble his pins.'

'Fuck off, you bastards,' I shouted at the top of my voice. 
'You're in big trouble now. The police...'

'Shut up, squirt,' snapped Ian. 'The Old Bill won't catch 
us. We're too clever for them.'

I tried to move, but Frank and Ian had my body pinned to the 
floor and there was nothing I could do.

It took Harry a few minutes to get the horse-bit gag into my 
mouth and the straps secured around my head. The bastard was 
none too gentle when it came to forcing my teeth apart - his 
fingers knew all the right places to push and poke.

He then stood up and wandered down to my feet. I did all I 
could to stop him taking off my boots, but arching my feet 
was never going to do it.

'The longer you resist, the longer you stay,' said Frank. 
'The lad in the box wouldn't play ball, so he stays in the 
box until he learns his lesson. You could be out of here by 
teatime, but only if you co-operate.'

I had no idea what they were going to do to me. Why had 
Harry taken off my boots; and why was he now taking off my 
socks?

'What a nice pair of size nines, and look at those lovely 
toes. I'm going to have a lot of fun playing with these 
little beauties.'

'Just strap his ankles together, Harry,' said Ian. 'You can 
play with his feet later.'

'Temper, temper,' replied Harry. 'Let's not fight over our 
new bum-boy.'

That's when the penny dropped. The word 'bum-boy' had set 
off a major alarm bell in my head. These men were planning 
to stick their cocks up my arse. They were fairies, but 
fucking strong fairies.

Harry fastened leather straps around my ankles, which were 
held apart by a metal connecting rod and clips.

'Excellent,' said Frank, as he removed his raincoat and 
threw it over the back of a chair. 'That should stop him 
running away.'

Ian and Harry took hold of my arms, pulled them above my 
head and linked them together with wrist-straps and another 
short rod. I was then turned over, picked up by the metal 
rods and flung through the air. My body crash-landed some 
five to six feet away.

Frank and Ian picked me up again and threw me through the 
air two more times. The pull on the wrist- and ankle-straps 
was extremely painful, especially when I was swung back and 
forth a couple of times before being launched into the air. 
I was being thrown around the room like a sack of grain.

'You should have been more co-operative, son,' said Frank.

'I bet he wished he had now,' added Ian. 'Let's get all 
these clothes off him. He's bound to look a lot better in 
the altogether.'

None of my clothes were spared the knife. Everything I was 
wearing was cut and ripped off me. The two men slashed away 
for some ten minutes, but miraculously, I wasn't even nicked 
by the two ultra-sharp knives they were using.

'He's so pretty,' said Harry, as he bent down to pick up the 
remnants of what I had been wearing. 'And he's so pale and 
skinny, too.'

A sack was pulled from the tool bag that had contained the 
leather straps and metal rods. Ian and Harry filled it with 
everything I had walked in with, including my wristwatch and 
boots.

'Let's treat our new bum-boy to a trendy haircut,' said Ian. 
'Where's the razor and scissors, Harry?'

'In the tool bag, with that aftershave you like,' answered 
Harry, grinning. 'I made up a fresh batch this morning.'

All the hair around my genitals was removed with a sharp 
razor. I was far too scared to move, but still Frank held a 
knife to my throat and made sure that I didn't. I was then 
sat up and relieved of the horse-bit gag.

'He's nice and placid, Frank,' said Harry. 'Unlike that 
little bastard you brought back yesterday. He was a right 
pain in the arse.'

'Yeah, but it only took us a couple of hours to break him,' 
put in Ian. 'They all break in the end, or finish up in the 
canal.'

The tip of Frank's knife was pointing at my left nipple when 
Harry and Ian began shaving off my golden locks. I was as 
bald as an old coot by the time the horse-bit gag was back 
in place. And boy was that gag needed. The large bottle of 
aftershave that Harry had mixed up was a real eye watering 
concoction. I yelled into the gag as the liquid, which smelt 
like TCP, was splashed all over my head and genitals.

'Look at him go,' said Frank, laughing. 'I love it when they 
react like that.'

I sat on the floor and cursed myself for being so naïve. All 
that stuff about a cushy job down by the docks was crap; and 
I had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. I had been set 
up by three queers, and like a moron, I had walked into the 
trap with eyes wide shut.

The next humiliation to befall me was an ice-cold shower. I 
shuddered and shook, and bit on my gag when Harry emptied a 
bucket of water over me.

'Stand him up and thaw him out,' said Frank to Ian. 'Take 
our young guest for a little walk. It'll help him dry off.'

The metal rod between my wrist-straps was removed to allow 
my arms to be secured behind my back. I was then fitted with 
a leather collar, which had a long chain attached to it.

'Change that ankle-rod for a chain, Harry,' said Frank. 'We 
don't want him falling over and breaking his legs.'

Round and round and round I went, like a horse being trained 
for dressage. Ian stood in the centre of the training ring 
and held the chain taut. Frank and Harry stood outside the 
imaginary circle and slapped me across the arse as I walked 
by.

My fear of being buggered was now coupled with the fear of 
being held captive and tortured for God knows how long. I 
knew I wouldn't be able to tackle any one of these bastards, 
so I had zero chance against three. My only hope was to do 
their bidding until they got bored and let me go. Of course, 
I had no back-up plan if that didn't happen.

'He's a fine looking boy,' said Harry to Frank. 'You really 
know how to sort the wheat from the chaff.'

'Yep,' replied Frank, grinning. 'This one had "weak and 
willing" written all over him. I knew he wouldn't be any 
trouble.'

'And look at that lovely cock,' put in Ian. 'I'm really 
looking forward to licking that little charmer into shape. I 
like 'em small and uncut.'

'It was bigger than that before I poured the bucket of water 
over him,' said Harry. 'They all shrivel up when the cold 
water hits 'em.'

The soles of my feet were splintered and sore by the time I 
was ordered to stand still. My arse was also in pretty poor 
shape, especially the right-hand cheek.

'Let's bend him over the table, wash out his arsehole and 
introduce him to the black mamba,' said Frank. 'We'll see 
how much rubber he can take.'

The ordeal that followed lasted an hour or more. I was bent 
over the tabletop and tied down with an array of ropes. My 
legs were bent at the knees, spread apart and tied to the 
table with more rope. Harry ensured that my arse-crack was 
denuded of all its hair before cleaning out my rectum.

'He's real tight down here,' said Harry. 'We better use a 
smaller dildo. The mamba could damage his prospects for 
good.'

'Nonsense,' said Frank. 'Grease him up good and give the 
mamba a whirl. Colin can take it.'

The pain was truly indescribable. I screamed into my gag as 
the solid piece of rubber was pushed into my virgin hole, 
stretching it to the limit. Tears rolled down my cheeks as 
my nostrils flared and I bit down on the bar in my mouth.

'Hold down the table, you two,' said Harry. 'He's moving it 
all over the place.'

'How far is it in?' asked Ian.

'Quite a way,' answered Harry. 'He's very accommodating.'

'Excellent,' said Frank. 'I told you he could take it.'

The black mamba retreated a little, then pushed forward and 
screwed itself deeper into my inner sanctum. This move was 
repeated four or five times, triggering more muffled screams 
from the 'weak and willing' teenager.

'Nice,' said Ian. 'He's taking it up the bum like a real 
trooper. Look at those rosy red cheeks and tears. The pain 
must be excruciating.'

'That's as far as I can go,' said Harry. 'Give me that 
chain, Frank.'

The chain attached to the back of my collar was handed to 
Harry, who ran it along the length of my spine and down my 
arse-crack. The mamba was somehow fastened to the chain as 
it was looped round the base of my cock and secured with a 
small padlock.

'He's sweating like a pig,' said Ian.

'He should be grunting like a pig,' replied Frank. 'Grunt 
like a pig for me, boy.'

With snot dripping from my nostrils, I did my best to 
comply.

'Grunt some more, boy,' ordered Ian.

'And keep grunting until I tell you to stop,' added Frank.  

The sound of a pig with a large, foreign object stuck up its 
arse could be heard for some five minutes. The three men 
stood back to admire their prize and congratulate themselves 
on how quickly they had broken me.

'Stop grunting, boy,' said Frank. 'You're giving me a 
headache.'

'He looks so fuckable,' said Harry. 'Shall we replace the 
mamba with something a little less demanding?'

'You speak for yourself,' chide Ian. 'This humper's cock is 
just as demanding as that lump of rubber; and what's more, 
it's full of mouth-watering vitamins.'

'In your dreams, super cock,' Harry sneered. 'That lump of 
rubber is twice as big as your todger.'

'Size isn't everything, dozy bollocks,' snapped Ian. 'It's 
the way you expand your humpie's horizons; the way you fuck 
his brains out; the way you distribute all those essential 
vitamins. It's poetry in motion.'

'Pack it in, you two,' said Frank. 'You sound like those two 
old queens in the Yorkshire Grey. Pull the plug, Harry, and 
get him ready for some real cock. He's done really well, so 
let's give him a treat.'

It felt like the mamba had split me in two, so I was more 
than grateful to Harry when he released the chain and gently 
pulled the dildo from my rectum. I ached all over, both 
inside and out. My muscles had never supported my body in 
such an awkward position, so they were screaming out for 
relief.

The three men stripped off in front of me and began pulling 
on their uncut cocks, which were all larger than my own. I 
gaped at the cocks as they each grew in girth and length.

Thankfully, the dildo had prepared me for the gang-bang. I 
bit on the bar in my mouth as Frank took hold of my hips and 
pushed his cock deep into my battered hole. I grunted and 
groaned as he power fucked my rear end and shunted the table 
a couple of feet towards the back windows.

'That's it, Frank,' shouted Ian. 'Fuck him good.'

'And give him something to remember you by,' added Harry.

The two men laughed as they watched their friend fuck my 
brains out with his hard-standing cock. He hammered away at 
my rear end like a man possessed, and all I could do was 
hold on tight and wait for the storm to pass.

The table moved two more times that day. Ian was the next to 
step up and give me something to remember him by. He was far 
more aggressive than Frank and kept slapping me hard across 
the arse-cheeks as he pumped me full of vitamins.

'That was fuckin' sweet,' he said, withdrawing his cock from 
my burning hole. 'You've done well, Frank. He's one of the 
best boys I've humped in a long while.'

'Yes. I knew he was going to be hot and easy,' said Frank.

Harry was quick to step into the breach and take over from 
his spent friend; and unlike the two steeplechasers that had 
gone before him, he took forever to complete the course. His 
rhythmic, piston-like stroke action never gave me a moments 
rest. I moaned into my gag as he abused my hapless body for 
what seemed like hours.

Harry began his climax with a series of low snorts, which 
grew louder and louder as he hammered home his assault on my 
arsehole. For one last time his ball-sac slammed into the 
back of mine as it gave up its seed.

'Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!' he shouted, squeezing my hips with his 
powerful hands.

'Stay in there, Harry,' said Ian. 'Don't let any of that hot 
spunk leak out.'

'Give him everything you've got,' added Frank.

My lungs sucked in more air as Harry's buttocks nudged the 
table and my body forward a little more. He was clearly 
determined to keep his cock inside me for as long as 
possible, so when it did eventually shrink and slip out, he 
wasn't best pleased.

'Nice one,' said Frank to Harry. 'You humped him real good.'

'I'll do better next time,' replied Harry, slapping me hard 
across the arse. 'I was holding back for the boy's sake.'

'We didn't,' put in Ian. 'Frank and I fucked him at full 
throttle. Maybe you're getting too old for this sort of 
thing.'

'Fuck off!' snapped Harry. 'I was holding back for the boy's 
sake. He's new to this kinda stuff.'

'He's new to this kinda stuffin', you mean,' joked Frank.

The words, 'do better next time' made me groan. Harry was 
planning to fuck me again, so clearly the bastards were 
going to keep me captive for a while yet.

'Let's get him untied and cleaned up,' said Ian. 'We can box 
him up before we get the other one out.'

The three men released my bonds and dragged me over to where 
a rope hung from the ceiling. My arms were raised above my 
head and the wrist-straps attached to the rope.

'Make him sparkle, lads,' said Frank.

Harry tipped a bucket of ice-cold water over my head; and as 
I recoiled from the shock, Frank and Ian began scrubbing me 
down with yard brooms. Another bucket of water was poured 
over my head when Harry went to work on my arse-crack with a 
small scrubbing brush.

After the clean up, I was released and wrapped in an old 
army blanket. The men then laid me out in one of the empty 
packing cases and screwed down the lid.

Each case was some six to seven feet long and large enough 
to hold a full-grown man. Four handles, made of rope, were 
fitted to the outside of the coffin-like box, with a breathe 
hole above each one.

All my restraints, including the horse-bit gag, had been 
removed before I was packed away in the wooden box; however, 
I was under strict instructions not to make a sound until 
the lid was opened again.

- - - - -

(c) Trevor Martindale, November 2007

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

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