The Ten-Twenty To London Bridge - Part 1

Author: attaboy-jo-jo
Title: The Ten-Twenty To London Bridge - Part 1
Date: 26 April 2006

The train was already some fifteen minutes late when it crawled into the station. A speed restriction was in place, so the ten-twenty was going to be over an hour late by the time it reached London Bridge Station. It was always the same on a Sunday; if it wasn't track maintenance, it was either new signalling or a bridge repair of some kind.

I was the only person on the platform waiting to climb aboard the train. Most of the compartments were empty, so I chose one that contained a potential conquest. The studious looking wimp was maybe eighteen or nineteen years old. He was tall, thin and blond, and had his nose buried in a paperback copy of 'The Catcher in the Rye'. An open rucksack, containing folders and notebooks, sat on the bench seat beside him. His attire was extremely conservative for the 1960s: he wore a dark grey jacket, a white shirt and black tie, and grey flannel trousers. His shoes were black lace-ups, which were in need of a good polish.

The teenager looked up and smiled as I sat down on the bench seat opposite him. A whistle sounded and the train pulled out of the station at a desperately slow speed. I now had ten to fifteen minutes to make my move before we arrived at the next station. The youngster returned to reading his book, but something told him that he was being studied closely. He looked up, and then quickly averted his gaze: the stern-faced man sitting opposite was staring at him in a very odd way.

I ran a keen eye over the wimp’s lanky frame as his face reddened with embarrassment. I wanted to make him feel nervous. The carriage had no corridor, so my prey had no safe place to go - one compartment door opened onto a steep embankment and the other opened onto a stretch of electrified track.

I stretched out my right leg and placed it against his left calf. His body visibly shook as he refused to look up and face me. I rubbed my leg up and down his calf slowly, waiting for him to move his leg out of harms way. And when he did so, I readjusted my position and continued as before.

It was now crunch time for the student. He closed his book, took hold of his rucksack and stood up cautiously. He couldn't leave the compartment, so clearly he was off to sit near one of the doors. This prompted me to stand up and return him to his seat with an open-handed shove. Stunned, he threw up a hand in timid surrender and bit on his lower lip.

I sat down and smiled at the crestfallen teenager. He dropped his head and said something to me in a whiny, high-pitched voice. I could hear the words, but none of them made any sense. The poor fellow was now terrified and ripe for exploitation. I stretched out my leg again and rubbed it against his calf. His mouth dropped open as he closed his legs and tried to shift to his body to the left. I leant forward, put my hands on his knees and spread them apart. The power of my grip sent a shockwave of fear through his body. He winced as my fingers tightened around his bony kneecaps.

I stared at his crotch and, without saying a word, made it quite clear that I wanted to see it at all times. He yelped like a little dog as I squeezed his kneecaps to underline my unspoken instruction.

With his legs spread apart, the wimp sat perfectly still as I took possession of his book and rucksack. I tore a page from the first chapter of the book and handed it to him. He looked at me in horror as I told him to eat it.

Terrified, he chewed on the page for several minutes before swallowing it. A hard slap across the face helped him devour the next page more quickly. The youngster was shaping up just fine in my opinion. However, the train was only a few minutes away from the next station, so I didn’t have much time left.

I put the torn paperback in the rucksack and told the wimp to do likewise with the contents of his pockets. He awkwardly retrieved a key ring with two keys attached, a return railway ticket, a clean handkerchief and seven shillings in silver. His cheap, Russian made wristwatch was then added to the items before they were all placed inside the rucksack.

No one got on or off the train at the station. I waited expectantly for my prey to make a dash for it, but he remained seated - he knew that I could grab him before he reached the door, and that he wouldn’t be able to call out for help with a forearm across his throat and a hand over his mouth. The loss of his possessions was of no concern to him: he clearly valued his teeth more than the items inside my newly acquired rucksack.

As the train left the station, I raised my right foot off the floor and placed it on the bench seat, between the wimp’s open legs. He swallowed hard and tried to speak as the train clattered over a set of points. The fear in his eyes was truly wonderful to see, especially when I eased forward and rested the sole of my size ten boot on his crotch.

My boot remained on the youngster's crotch for several long minutes. The train had stopped between stations and was waiting for a green light. This delay prompted me to remove my foot from the seat and instruct my new-found friend to lift up his left leg.

Taking off his shoe and sock was easy. The wimp didn't resist in any way: the fool was clearly unaware of how dangerous it was to let a stranger toy with his toes. Still, he soon discovered how vulnerable his pinkies were when the train finally pulled away from the signal.

The poor fellow just kept crying and howling as I pulled on his toes and twisted them out of shape. And when I had finished crushing them, I took hold of his ankle and began tickling the underside of his foot.

He bounced around on the seat, kicking out violently and begging me to stop. He couldn't help laughing as he kept saying, 'Plea-z-z-z stop.' Needless to say, his tearful requests were met with even more tickling: the youngster needed to know who the boss was in our relationship.

The train rattled over more and more points as it headed towards the Smoke. The noise of metal on metal helped cover the teenager's cries for a respite, and even gave me the opportunity to tease and torment his other foot. Stunned and confused, he was far too concerned about the assault on his feet to resist my next move. He just kept saying, 'Thank you,' as the tickling stopped and my hand moved to his crotch.

I seized his ball sac through the fabric of his trousers and underpants, then watched him cringe as I squeezed his balls and outlined the terms and conditions of his surrender.

* * *

We both stood inside the telephone box, waiting for John and Lunty to arrive in the van. Platforms one and two had been deserted when we got off the train and headed for the exit. The ticket barrier had been unmanned, so the wimp never got the chance to risk his life and raise the alarm.

The hold I had over Graham Alexander Marshall, for that was his name, was still in the balance as far as I was concerned. I had shown him my flick-knife and slapped him around a little before we had left the train, but still I wasn’t sure I had broken his spirit completely.

The road outside the station was just as deserted as the windswept platforms. It was the perfect place to wait for Lunty’s van. The telephone box shielded us from the rain, which was now bucketing down, and kept the wimp close.

‘Please, sir,’ said Graham, all a-quiver. ‘You will let me go afterwards, won’t you?’

‘My word is my bond, old son,’ I replied with a raffish smile. ‘Just do as you’re told and all will be well. Vic the Impaler never breaks his word.’

Graham’s eyes widened with fear as the words ‘Vic the Impaler’ began to form a terrifying image in his head.

‘I’ve never done this sort of thing before, sir,’ he said quietly. ‘I won’t be any good ... I’ll do my best, but please don’t cut me if I get...’

A swift punch to Graham’s stomach quickly put a stop to his whining. ‘You just leave all the hard work to us,’ I said, watching him cope unsuccessfully with the blow. ‘We won’t let you mess up, and that’s a promise.’

I retrieved the paperback from the rucksack, which stood on the metal shelf above the directories. ‘Now let’s see how many pages we can get though before the rain stops. C’mon, pick a page number.’

* * *

The van, when it finally arrived, was a battered black Bedford with a noisy engine and ‘HUTTON & BELL - Second-Hand Furnishings’ painted on the panelled sides in mustard yellow. It needed a good wash and a day or two in the garage. Lunty, who was driving, shoved his head through the open window and said, ‘Get in the back, pronto.’

John opened the rear doors from the inside and beckoned us inside. The belly of the van was empty, apart from a rubber-covered mattress that took up most of the floor space.

‘Nice one, Vic,’ said John, slamming the doors shut and locking them behind us. ‘Let’s get his kit off and spread him out on the mattress.’

The Bedford reversed with a judder and trundled back along the road. It then turned right and headed south-east. John took hold of Graham by the arms and shook him violently. The terrified student then lost his jacket, shirt and tie in the set-to that followed.

I grabbed Graham a few minutes later and covered his mouth with my hand: in order to prevent him from calling out for help - John’s playful knockabout had spooked the teenager and made him panic. He kicked out with his legs as John pulled down his trousers and underpants.

‘He’s a feisty little fucker,’ said John, grabbing hold of a handful of Graham’s inner thigh and squeezing it real hard. ‘If he won’t behave, I’ll be forced to slice off his bollocks and shove ‘em down his throat.’

‘Easy, John,’ I said. ‘The lad’s sensitive and not use to all this excitement.’

‘Okay,’ snapped John. ‘Let’s spread him out, strap him down and ball-gag him. Let’s get our sensitive slave use to all the excitement of being restrained and trained by three insensitive men.’

Graham wriggled around on the mattress as John and I spread him out and secured his wrists and ankles to the floor fixings with leather straps and rope. John’s amputation threat had instantly quelled the wimp’s enthusiasm for summoning help. He was sweating profusely as the ball-gag was fitted round his head.

‘There you go, John,’ I said with a smile. ‘Goldilocks is all tied up and ready to play with the three bears.’

‘Yes,’ said John, twisting the teenager’s left nipple. ‘That ball-gag is gonna be a godsend today, especially if we get stuck in traffic.’

I picked up Graham’s clothes and put them in a large, canvas bag. The bag was then placed, along with the rucksack, on the passenger seat beside Lunty.

Two grubby-grey curtains covered the rear windows and reduced the light coming into the van significantly. These curtains, which matched the one drawn across the opening between the driver’s cab and the belly of the van, shielded the outside world from what was going on inside the Bedford.

Graham lay face up on the rubber-covered mattress, which Lunty had salvaged from a recently demolished hospital, and screamed into his gag as John and I worked on his skinny, pale body. The poor fellow was indeed sensitive, especially round the nipples, genitals and feet. His head bounced up and down constantly as we tweaked his nipples, squeezed his ball sac and punished the soles of his feet with a leather strap.

The plan was to take him to our place in Abbey Wood, shave off all his hair, including the hair on his head, and train him for a few weeks in the games room. If he showed any kind of promise, we would farm him out to other SM enthusiasts. However, if he didn’t shape up, we would dump him near a railway station and threaten him with the usual line, ‘We know where you live, boy. So don’t even think about going to the police.’

None of the trainees recruited before Graham had gone to the police. They clearly didn’t like the idea of telling the filth how they had been used and abused, and fucked repeatedly, by three horny men. All four trainees had been kidnapped within the past six months, whilst travelling to the Smoke by train; and none of them had caused me any problems.

The first wimp we nabbed was an art student. He was on his way to an exhibition organised by the Slade. Kevin was over six feet tall and extremely thin, and he looked real nice with no hair. He had a firm arse that took the paddle real well. We trained him for over a month before dumping him outside Plumstead station at one o’clock in the morning.

Our next two slaves were signed up a week apart, and trained together as a matched pair for almost six weeks. Alex was a medical student and Peter was an office bod. They hated fucking each other in front of the camera, but John’s cane ensured that they never gave a bad performance. We did think that Alex was going to become a full time slave: he did seem to enjoy being gang-banged by his tormentors. Unfortunately, he didn’t make the grade and was dumped, along with Peter, outside Bellingham station.

Colin, our fourth trainee, was a long-haired hippy. He was a little overweight when we recruited him. However, he soon lost the pounds: thanks to a strict diet and lots of strenuous exercise. Colin was now waiting for us to return to Abbey Wood with his new playmate. The plan was to team him up with Graham and train them as a matched pair.

Graham continued to bounce his head up and down on the mattress as I looped a cord round the base of his uncut cock. The cord was then passed through a metal eye in the roof and attached to a lead weight, which was tied off to hang a foot or so from the floor. The wimp’s eyes grew larger and larger as I set the weight in motion, swinging it back and forth like a pendulum.

John and I laughed as our slave arched his back to ease the cord’s pull on his genitals. Unfortunately, the lead weight took up the resulting slack with a sudden jerk, tightening the cord’s hold on the youngster’s seven-inch cock. A gurgled moan and several snorts highlighted the pain he was suffering as the cord cut deep into his skin.

More snorts and moans were heard when John attached a pair of viper clamps to Graham’s nipples. I ran my fingers over the youngster’s rib cage as John connected the clamps to the lead weight with another nylon cord.

My fingers drifted back and forth over the teenager’s rip cage as I gleefully watched him cope with the pain. I did plan to press down heavily on his stomach, but Lunty shouted out something about running low on petrol.

John and I looked at one another, wondering how safe it would be to stop at a petrol station with a naked slave in tow - the attendant would only be feet away from Graham as he or she filled up the tank.

‘You fuckin’ idiot,’ said John to Lunty. ‘I told you to get some juice yesterday. Didn’t I?’

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ replied Lunty. ‘But you didn’t offer to pay for it; even though you knew I was bloody skint.’

‘Stop arguing,’ I said, looking down at the pale, young body lying before me. ‘Let’s get the petrol ... And if the lad kicks up a ruckus, we’ll cut his throat and silence him for good.’

We usually used the death threat ploy during the slave’s transfer from the Bedford to the games room. It always scared the shit out of our guest and made him much more co-operative. However, this was an emergency, so I had no choice but to call on the ploy early.

Graham raised his head off the mattress and looked at me in horror. He probably surmised that I enjoyed seeing others suffer physical pain and humiliation, but he had no idea how much pleasure I derived from seeing all that mental anguish as well. He had no intention of kicking up a ruckus, even if he could. He just wanted to get through this ordeal alive.

John and I removed the cords and clamps from our slave’s cock and nipples as the van entered the service station. Graham collapsed onto the mattress and signalled his relief with a thankful sigh; and as he did so, I began wiping the sweat from his body with a handkerchief.

Meanwhile, John ensured that the ball-gag was still doing its job. ‘Not a peep, sunshine,’ he said with an evil glint in his eye. ‘We want to play with that skinny little body of yours, but if you create a commotion, Vic will top you. He’s an ex-Marine Commando, so he knows how to slice you up a dozen different ways. Clear?’

Graham looked up at the man and nodded his head. This prompted John to smile and gently squeeze the teenager’s cock and ball sac.

Lunty got out of the van and kept the attendant talking while the petrol tank was being filled. Later, he told us that the attendant would have made a fine slave. ‘He had rosebud lips and a lovely little arse,’ he said with a lustful grin. ‘We must go back for him some day. I wonder if he works the night shift.’

John had managed to get Graham’s cock fully erect by the time Lunty had paid for the petrol and was behind the wheel again. Clearly the teenager’s cock liked John a lot more than the rest of him did; and because it was so sensitive to manual stimulation, John and I spent the rest of the journey licking it into shape.