Date: Thu, 5 Nov 2009 12:15:46 +0000 (GMT)
From: Andy Caulden <andycaulden@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Bob-a-job - Part 3 (M+/t+)

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.

Bob-a-job - Part 3

By Andy Caulden

During the summer holiday I appeared in one of Bob-a-job's
abduction films. These films were commissioned by a City
broker, who, according to Alan, was a leading member of a
group of lecherous old toffs.

The film was made on location in the wilds of Kent, during a
week-long camping trip organized by Bob. All the major sex
scenes were set inside an abandoned boathouse, which stood
on the right bank of the river Medway.

The opening scene of the film depicted Kevin and I, dressed
in full scout uniform, setting up camp in a field, which was
no more than fifty yards away from a small wood. A long-shot
of us putting up our tent, filmed from just inside the wood,
gave the impression that we were being spied upon by someone
concealed in the undergrowth.

While Kevin volunteered to go down to the river to fill up
our canteens, I headed into the wood to collect some dry
kindling for a fire. It was then that John and Roy jumped
me.

I struggled for several minutes before being subdued (with a
cloth soaked in imaginary chloroform) and carried off to the
boathouse by the two men, who were wearing black balaclavas,
navy blue boiler suits and black boots.

The abandoned boathouse was an ideal location for a noisy
and rough sex-romp; and rough was certainly the word I would
use to describe the sex - John and Roy didn't pull any
punches when it came to stripping me naked and dumping me
onto a sturdy wooden table.

My wrists and ankles were tied to the table, so that I was
lying face up and spread-eagled before the cameras - Alan
had two cine-cameras pointing in my direction on that day:
one operated by him, the other operated by George.

For almost three hours my two captors, now stark-bollock-
naked, teased and tormented me; slapped me; and fucked me in
a variety of different positions. I looked and felt like a
real inductee by the time Alan said, 'That's it for the day.
We can do the close-ups tomorrow. Now get cleaned up.'

With the close-ups out of the way, Alan and George rallied
the troupe for the next film, which neatly followed on from
the first.

John and Roy jumped Kevin as he frantically searched the
wood for his friend. They pounced on him as he made his way
back to camp. However, in Kevin's case, he was stripped
naked in the wood and carried off to the boathouse, over
John's shoulder, via a convoluted route through the dense
undergrowth.

The boiler suits the two men wore protected them from many a
barbed twig and prickly leaf; however, their victim's naked
back and sides were exposed, on purpose, to all the path's
natural hazards. Low, overhanging branches attacked Kevin's
body as he complained bitterly about the route John was
taking.

'Don't blame me, sunshine,' snapped John. 'The bloke who's
paying for this epic wants to see you suffer. He did want to
see you being whipped, but Bob and George came up with this
idea instead. Now me, I would tie you to a tree and give you
two dozen lashes.'

'You're such an arse,' Kevin snapped backs. 'Captain Bligh
would be so proud of you.'

'Yeah, keep on with the insults, sunshine. Remember, you're
gonna be all mine when we get back to the boathouse.'

'Stop talking!' barked Alan. 'We need to go again. That tree
is messing with the light, so back up and walk toward the
camera again.'

John laughed as he backed up to let half-a-dozen branches
caress Kevin's bare arse.

*   *   *

John really made Kevin sweat that afternoon, especially when
it came to his turn to power-fuck the scout. I spent most of
the session in the background, tangled up in a fisherman's
net that hung from the rafters by rope. Outside the boat-
house, a summer storm was brewing, so the portable generator
needed to be brought inside. Two more disruptions quickly
followed, which meant that the session overran by a good
hour or so.

Kevin looked like death warmed up by the time the arc-lamps
were eventually switched off. He was none too pleased with
the men who had signed him up for this kind of film - being
fucked by well-hung black men was much more to his liking.
In contrast, I enjoyed being slapped around and forced to do
John and Roy's bidding. It felt good to be tied up and used
and abused by these dominant men.

I also got a buzz out of watching Kevin being put through
his paces. And the next day, I was fortunate enough to
witness another submissive being restrained and trained.

Apparently, Aiden was a man who liked to be bossed about and
treated like a dog. He arrived at the boathouse in the back
of an old van - during the journey from London the twenty-
something had been stripped naked and given a dog collar to
wear. In addition to the collar, a rubber tail-like dildo
had been inserted into his arsehole.

Kevin and I couldn't believe our eyes when Aiden scampered
into the boathouse on all-fours: I think his enthusiastic
entrance was more to do with the cane marks on his arse-
cheeks than his need to prove how dog-like he could be.

The man with the cane was as dominant as he was ugly. He had
a crooked, leering smirk on his face and a devilish glint in
his eye. He was tall and thin, and had very little hair on
his head.

I later discovered that he had served in the French Foreign
Legion and that Warren Mann wasn't his real name: apparently
he had deserted from the Green Howards in the early 1950s,
after a Company Sergeant Major had been hospitalized.

'So which one of these lads is going to help me chastise my
pet?' said Warren. 'They both look like they can handle a
cane.'

'Simon is the more compliant, so Kevin is your man,' said
Bob, beckoning Kevin forward with a wave of his hand. 'Simon
can be the mouth-watering carrot to Kevin's stick.'

'Good idea,' said Warren. 'Rover will certainly beg and roll
over for that kind of tasty treat.'

Rover (Aiden) barked his approval as he gazed longingly at
my flaccid cock.

Kevin was quite keen on becoming Rover's master for the day.
He liked the idea of making the man-dog do tricks in front
of the camera; he also liked being encouraged by Warren, and
other voices off camera, to cane Aiden's arse-cheeks for any
transgression, no matter how trivial.

I stood behind the camera and watched the man-dog roll over,
beg and fetch. I watched him lap water from a bowl and wag
his rubber tail. Warren had trained his pet well.

'C'mon, Simon,' said Warren. 'Get down on your hands and
knees and give Rover a five-minute break. You've seen what
it takes to be man's best friend; and I'll take over from
Kevin, so there'll be more verbal and less caning.'

Alan shook his head furtively, but said nothing.

'You can be my new puppy,' Warren continued. 'So get down on
your hands and knees and come to heel.'

I was still hard at it an hour after Alan had put the camera
away. Warren was a relentless taskmaster. My knees were red
raw - I must have circled the boathouse floor a hundred
times - and my cock and arse-cheeks were just as battered
and bruised - the man-dog had mounted me during my obedience
training and fucked my brains out. He had then left his mark
(love bites) all over my body, including my arse, cock and
nipples.

I spent all of the next day with George, recovering in the
small caravan - Bob had rented three caravans, which were
tucked away in a corner of a caravan site near Teston. I
never saw the inside of the boathouse again that trip. Bob
knew that I was keen to do more, but he didn't want to push
his luck and arrive back from camp with a total wreck on his
hands.

Aiden and Kevin continued to perform in front of the cameras
for another two days - Aiden was hunted down in the woods,
hung upside down from a tree and caned by Warren. Kevin was
kidnapped again and gang-banged by Bob, John and Roy.

*   *   *

To earn my next 'special' badge, Bob sent me along to the
Ben-Hur cinema in Aston Street. The place was a real dump,
but Lloyd worked there as an usher, so it was an ideal place
to play with cock in the dark.

The cinema was almost empty when I stepped inside and sat
down near the back. The house lights were down and the film
was just about to start. Lloyd walked up the centre aisle
and shone his torch in my direction. He smiled and quickly
moved on.

I looked around at the sea of empty seats and then settled
down to watch 'Tarzan's Three Challenges', starring Jock
Mahoney and Woody Strode.

The man who sat down beside me some ten minutes into the
film was clearly no fan of Jock Mahoney.

'He's nowhere near as good as Gordon Scott,' he said. 'In
fact, old Jock played the villain in one of Gordon's films,
"Tarzan the Magnificent". Have you seen it?'

'No,' I said.

'It was doing the rounds some three or four years ago. You
must have been, what, eleven or twelve years old?'

'Ten or eleven,' I replied truthfully.

'Hmm, it's a pity we didn't know one another then,' he said,
putting his hand on my bare, left knee. 'Now listen, sport.
The manager's in today, so we'll have to be real careful.'

The colour drained from my face as I turned and looked at
the man. The manager had once hit me across the back of the
head during a Saturday morning matinee. I was completely
innocent of course, but still the bastard had blamed me for
the uproar that had broken out after a crummy Roy Rogers'
short. Unfortunately, my father and the manager had attended
the same school together, so when they met to deal with my
complaint, I was given another whack across the back of the
head for accusing my father's long lost friend of assault.

'Don't worry, sport,' continued the man, squeezing my knee
gently. 'Lloyd will let us know if the bastard leaves his
office and comes down here. You stick with your Uncle Frank
and all will be well.'

'Oh, right,' I said, not knowing what else to say.

It was then that another man came shuffling along the row of
seats and sat down next to me, on my right. I nervously sat
between the two men as Tarzan continued to challenge the
evil Khan.

'The manager's on the move,' said the man. 'Lloyd told me to
tell you to stay put, son.'

I turned my head to thank the man for the message, and as I
did so, Frank shifted his hand from my knee to my crotch.

'Thanks for the update, John,' said Frank, squeezing my cock
through the fabric of my shorts and underpants. 'The boy's
sitting with his two uncles now, so he's got nothing to
worry about.'

'Good, good,' said John, putting his hand on my bare, right
knee.

'What's your name?' asked Frank, feeling my cock stiffen a
little beneath the material of my shorts and underpants.

'Simon Conway.'

'Well, Simon,' he said, squeezing my cock real hard. 'You
just unbuckle your belt, unbutton your shorts and pull out
your cock.'

'C'mon, son,' added John. 'It'll be fun.'

Helped by the two men, I nervously released my snake belt,
unbuttoned my grey gabardine shorts and pulled out my cock,
which continued to stiffen.

'Nice,' said John, taking hold of my growing erection and
squeezing it behind the cock-head. 'This feels real stiff.'

'So does this,' said Frank, as he took hold of my hand and
wrapped it round the stem of his hard-standing cock, which
was now, like mine, fully exposed to the elements.

'Now do as you're told, sport, and you'll walk away with
half-a-crown and a smile on your face. Okay?' continued
Frank.

I nodded my head and squeezed Frank's cock to underscore my
commitment to the deal we had struck: the offer of money
didn't register; I just wanted to play with his cock.

The two men crowded in on me as I was encouraged to stroke
Frank's cock and let John's forefinger and thumb stroke
mine.

The fear of being nabbed by the manager soon ebbed away as I
concentrated on satisfying the men's lust for underage sex.
They sensed, and quite rightly so, that I might be a boy
that could be called upon to satisfy their lust on a regular
basis.

'You're really good at this, sport,' said Frank. 'I didn't
think a youngster of your age would so good at looking after
an old man's cock.'

'He's got a really nice winkle as well,' added John. 'It's a
pity we can't find somewhere more private to carry on play-
ing with it.'

'Yeah, the manager's bound to be sniffing around here soon,
Johnny boy,' said Frank. 'I think we better pack it in.'

'No,' I said. 'Let's carry on wanking.'

And that's what we did for the remainder of the holiday. We
met in the cinema, in the park behind the cinema, and in the
parkie's hut - Brian, the parkie, was always pleased to see
a naked boy in his hut.

- - -

Copyright (c) Andy Caulden, November 2009

All comments welcome (andycaulden@yahoo.co.uk)