James Bond's Boyhood Adventures 8

By Pueros

(With thanks again to Erik, whose imaginative mind is behind some of the descriptions in this saga.)

Chapter 8 – Q

(Dinard, Brittany, France, October 1940)

“Hmm, quite a nice piece of local human architecture,” announced Blofeld in his decent French to no-one in particular, as he slowly walked round the beautiful naked youth suspended from the ceiling of the grim cellar in Gestapo headquarters in Dinard. “It’s a pity,” the 15 years old Hitler Youth Oberjunker continued, as he stopped to rub gently the sublime curvature of the 16 years old’s smooth buttocks, “that such a façade will be in ruins by the time that dawn arrives unless co-operation relating to certain questions is forthcoming. We have already secured comprehensive information from your adult colleagues about your group’s evil subversive plans but I wish you to tell me all you know for verification and in case some facts have still not been garnered.”

The French youth’s otherwise short straight silky brown hair sported a pleasant fringe that almost hid his large sensuous similarly coloured eyes. These were already damp as a result of the pain from the manacles biting into his wrists and the wetness worsened through terror at what might now happen and humiliation at his degrading nudity before a clearly younger boy. The demeaning situation was compounded by being semi-erect despite, or perhaps because of, his awful plight, a shameful display only encouraged by Blofeld’s careful manual ministrations to his rear. Nevertheless, the 16 years old bravely and defiantly exclaimed “Never! I am no collaborator with the filthy Bosch!” However, his 15 years old interrogator only smiled at this retort, as he knew that he had the means to persuade the young recalcitrant member of the local resistance group to change his mind.

Blofeld tapped the youth gently across the middle of the boy’s bare bottom before reluctantly withdrawing his hand to stroll to the 16 years old’s front. He then took in the delectable view of a wondrously proportioned smooth torso, hairless apart from a small dark pubic crown and a few strands in the armpits. The young French genitals were large but equally smooth, a long slender half-hard cock, uncut with fulsome foreskin, positioned at a 45 angle from appetisingly substantial and low-hanging twin scrotal orbs.

“I know that you will be an eager collaborator with us filthy Bosch by the morning,” Blofeld suggested, as he looked up into the gorgeous face of the 16 years old. His uglier 15 years old German face was splattered with a copious amount of French spittle in response. However, the young interrogator still did not lose his temper with his imminent victim. He was learning to take his time to extract revenge so that, when it came, it would be sweeter, a trait that he would carry into his adult life in SPECTRE.

Blofeld incongruously smiled at the youth whilst wiping the phlegm from his face with the back of his hand. “You will apologise for that later,” the Oberjunker advised, “and I assure you that I truly know that you will be an eager collaborator with us filthy Bosch by the morning. Let me explain to you how I know by showing you the apparatus that I intend to use on your body to achieve that aim and also to punish.” The 15 years old then walked to a large wooden cupboard resting against the cellar wall about ten metres in front of the painfully dangling nude 16 years old.

Blofeld heard a gasp behind him as he opened the substantial double doors of the cupboard. He was not surprised, as the contents now revealed to the French youth must have been horrifying. The Oberjunker stepped aside and turned back to face the naked body upon which most of the implements would shortly be used so that the undoubtedly tremulously reinvigorated victim could gain a better view of the tools that would torture him.

“I shall use these,” the smirking Blofeld announced, own cock now rigid within the confines of his Hitler Youth uniform, “to secure your full collaboration, extract the apology I seek and also punish you for your misdemeanours and insults.” As he said these words, he was amazed to observe the French youth’s penis rise quickly to a 90 angle, with precum forming at the uncut cockhead.

“Hmm, what should I use first?” Blofeld rhetorically asked himself. The Oberjunker proceeded to answer his own question by telling the petrified youth, whilst maintaining a broad smirk, “Actually none of these. Instead, I propose to start with this.” The 15 years old then unbuttoned the fly of his trousers to expose his rigid member, as the 16 years old’s eyes widened even further in shock and horror, now mingled with disgust at realisation as to what the younger boy meant.

Blofeld recognised the youth’s appalled appreciation of what he intended and laughed whilst beginning to stroke his rampant cock, drooling precum. He then continued “Yes, I’m going to fuck you first. You won’t like it, of course, and may try to resist but you know that that will be useless as your chains have you immovably spreadeagled in readiness for my little pleasure. I’m sure the whole experience will be delightful for me but very painful for you, both physically and, as I impregnate you with filthy Bosch seed, mentally. Later, I’ll fuck you again but by then you’ll be begging me to do it, not out of desire but simply because of what the alternatives are. Let me introduce you to some of these, not necessarily in the order in which I intend to put them to use!”

Blofeld turned towards the cupboard, where the various implements were neatly stored on hooks. “This little array,” the Oberjunker announced, whilst pointing to a row of small strange metallic contraptions with screws, “comprises a selection of clamps. There are some for your digits, thumbs, fingers and toes. They slip neatly onto each appendage and are tightened into place with the screws, which, however, can continue to be turned to crush the poor things. This pair is for the nipples. They’re truly excruciatingly severe. My father, the Gestapo Hauptsturmfuhrer here, oops, I mean Sturmbannfuhrer here, as he’s just received deserved promotion for services to the Reich, has severed several sets of both male and female tits using them. I wonder if yours will join the collection?”

Blofeld waited, still smirking and stroking his cock, whilst these dreadful revelations sunk into the French youth’s mind before describing another pair of larger clamps. “These two,” the Oberjunker declared, “are for your balls. If used to excess, they’ll crush your testicles into smithereens, something my father, the Haupt, sorry Sturmbannfuhrer, has done to others on a number of occasions. However, this does tend to have fatal results because bodily infection invariably follows if successful remedial treatment is not quickly forthcoming, and naturally we don’t waste such resources on scum like you.”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Blofeld teased, “whether to crush your balls or not. Depends, I suppose, on your level of co-operation.” The Oberjunker then continued to stoke his cock with his left hand whilst his right fondled the leather scabbard attached to his trousers belt that hid the sharp knife with which he had gelded 14 years old Pierre in this very cellar three months previously. The happy smiling 15 years old knew that the 16 years old’s testes would be rendered useless by morning in one way or another. His immediate satisfaction was increased by observing that the French youth’s own damp penis had risen to a 135 angle.

Blofeld’s attention now tuned to a much bigger metallic clamp. “This is for your head,” the Oberjunker informed, “and is designed to keep your mouth open wide whilst your teeth or even your tongue are played with or extracted, for which purpose there are several other different tools!” The 15 years old then advised that he presumed the 16 years old was intelligent enough to appreciate what the selection of paddles, canes, straps and whips were for. To reinforce his point, he removed one vicious looking short-handled whip from its hook and started flailing it through the air towards the helpless spreadeagled nude form of the French boy.

The nasty metal barb at the tip of the long thin but undoubtedly agonising and damaging leather strand came nowhere close to the youth’s beautiful naked form but his alarm caused his whole delectable body to reverberate and convulse. A long white arc of semen flew out of the 16 years old’s cockhead, falling onto the cellar floor to create a thin line of spermatic fluid. A couple more eruptions immediately followed to decorate the ground in a similar manner. The climatic fountainhead’s face, previously white in dread, now turned scarlet in a strange mixture of unexpected post-orgasmic pleasure, shock and shame. The latter was exacerbated when his younger tormentor sarcastically suggested “Hmm, it look’s as if you’re a masochistic whore who’s looking forward to being on the receiving end of my tools as much as I’m looking forward to using them on you!”

Blofeld had noticed something about the youth’s cock as he had climaxed. “Interesting,” the Oberjunker therefore announced loudly, “your foreskin didn’t pull back very far when you orgasmed, despite the apparently fully erect throbbing length of your prick. In fact, the head was barely visible at all through the little circular opening at the tip of your foreskin. I think it’s a condition I’ll remedy after I’ve fucked you. I’ll circumcise you with my trusty knife, for which I also have subsequent plans!”

The whole scenario was too much for the French youth, his intention to resist providing information utterly destroyed just by Blofeld’s words of intent. He was, after all, only a relatively innocent 16 years old, 1940s teenagers being nowhere near as mature as their 21st century counterparts. “Please,” the boy began to beg as copious tears now flowed, “don’t do that to me or use any of your tools on me. I’ll tell you everything you want to know. Please accept my apologies for my insults. Please be merciful!"

Blofeld’s smile broadened whilst he answered “I told you that you would become an eager collaborator with us filthy Bosch. However, you’ve surrendered to your inevitable fate more quickly than expected, just as your whole country did after our invasion. It just shows what cowards you French really are and you must be one of the biggest because you’ve given in without me placing a menacing hand on you. Well, you still need to be punished and I’ll therefore continue my description of the appliances available to inflict appropriate chastisement. Then, you’ll quietly let me fuck you and answer my questions. Afterwards, I’ll choose what to hurt you with, my selection being dependent on how well I think you’ve co-operated.”

Blofeld proceeded to explain the use of certain rings and weights for extending the ball sac, similar but heavier items for stretching the whole body and the variety of large dildos and catheters on display. Some of the latter possessed vicious spikes whilst others were capable of considerable expansion once inserted within the rectum or urethra. He concluded with vivid portrayals of how the electrical torture apparatus worked and how the metal pokers, once heated, could be applied. However, the Oberjunker now led the appalled youth to believe that, in return for co-operation in respect of sodomy followed by interrogation, only some of the cruel implements would be utilised. In fact, this was never the case, although he was happy to convey the impression for now in return for compliance in the 16 years old’s anal deflowerment and a swift conclusion to the questioning, not wanting the latter to delay subsequent pleasures for too long.

Blofeld intended to practise use of most of the cruel tools available, including using his knife to both circumcise and geld the youth. The Oberjunker had never really proposed to operate the ball clamps to crush the 16 years old’s testicles. He wanted any eunuchs he created to live afterwards to enjoy their new form, although for how long that would be in respect of this particular victim, destined for a concentration camp, was a moot point.

After finishing his awful description of the dreadful uses of the contents of the cupboard, Blofeld, who had maintained both his smirk and his cock stroking, slowly returned to his position just behind the now quietly sobbing youth. As the Oberjunker did so, he noticed that the 16 years old’s own penis had miraculously remained semi-hard, despite his obvious fear and earlier orgasm.

Blofeld resumed his gentle manual manipulation of the youth’s lustrous bare buttocks, running his left forefinger up and down the bumcrack before paying attention to the clearly virginal pink sphincter. Resistance no longer formed any part of the 16 years old’s persona as the young German produced a box to stand on to gain height, dropped his Hitler Youth trousers and underpants and introduced his now desperately eager cockhead to previously unconquered French territory.

As Blofeld pushed remorselessly forward, eliciting a loud yelp from the French youth, his only regret was that the anus he was now invading was not British, in particular one of those possessed by a certain young quartet. However, the Oberjunker contented himself with thoughts of the night ahead and the hope that it would be worthwhile practice for pleasures to be experienced sometime in the future on the island of Jersey.

“By the way,” Blofeld declared, as he began to plough the older boy’s tight rectum mercilessly and, for the victim of his penile attention, degradingly and agonisingly, “you’ve not yet told me your name. So that can be the first question of my interrogation.” “Tell me what it is,” the 15 years old commanded, as his withdrew his substantial member towards the youth’s painfully by-passed sphincter before thrusting the throbbing monster fully and deeply back into the recipient’s innards. “Jean,” the 16 years old managed to splutter between anguished sobs and cries.

(Jersey, Channel Islands, a few weeks later)

The Headmaster of Jersey High School for Boys had announced to the pupils at the start of term assembly that Mr. Boothroyd, the science master, had taken leave for an indefinite period. He gave no reasons for the teacher’s absence. However, those who were interested, including the Bonds and their two principal friends, David and Moneypenny, the latter always referred to by his surname because he hated his forename, sadly speculated that it might have something to do with the recent death of the man’s mother.

Very few knew that Boothroyd had actually managed to use his sailing dinghy to escape to mainland England. However, he had previously advised the Headmaster of his intent and asked him to cover his disappearance furtively, as the less the Germans knew about people succeeding in flight the better. It was a precaution that the science master’s new superiors were very interested to learn about after his rapid training and commissioning into a particular branch of the British Army, for it facilitated the rapid return to Jersey for the new special operations Lieutenant.

Despite being the recipient of Boothroyd’s cane across his backside on several occasions, the last time humiliatingly across his bare behind, inducing even more embarrassing public orgasm, James in particular liked the science master. The energetic and therefore occasionally mischievous boy knew that his chastisements had, in the circumstances, been deserved and held no hard feelings. The pair had, over the two years the now 13 years old had attended the school, established a rapport through invariably humorous quick-witted verbal banter in the classroom, something that had become quite famous and which therefore both were happy to cultivate.

James had been saddened to learn of Mr. Boothroyd’s indefinite absence, especially as their innocent oral jousting, which he enjoyed and looked forward to, would have to be suspended. The boy was therefore delighted when the science master returned to work after the short half-term break towards the end of October. However, the 13 years old’s discovery of what the man had been up to during his supposed leave of absence did not arise within the confines of the school but rather a farmer’s field.

It was a mild dry weekend Autumn afternoon and the four young members of ‘Jerm’, having suspended harassment of the Germans for now because of the newly announced appallingly punitive consequences of detection, were out and about in the beautiful Jersey countryside on their bicycles. However, they took care to skirt as closely as possible to those parts of the island that the German occupiers had declared off-limits in order to find out as much as they could about enemy activities. The audacious quartet had decided that, if sabotage was sadly ruled out for now because of the dangers, espionage was a good replacement pastime for their resistance organisation. They did not yet know what to do with any information secured, having decided to face that problem if the situation arose. As matters turned out, it was a prospective quandary that was solved for them.

The countryside of Jersey was, at the time, very much like that of nearby Normandy in France. The word ‘bocage’ describes the typical patchwork of fields, hedges and sunken byroads. In fact, later during the war after D-Day, these features were regularly cursed by Allied soldiers because of the cover it afforded defenders, making the post-invasion campaign both very difficult and fraught with danger.

Truly large-scale agriculture was unknown on Jersey. For hundreds of years, cattle had been grazed and crops grown in bocage fields, measured not in acres or hectares but in vergées and which would be dismissed as ridiculously small in many other parts of the world. The separating hedges included many species of plant, both large and small, but the hawthorn, which was capable of forming a dense, thorny barrier, was predominant, although, where fields were bordered by roads, granite walls often formed the boundaries. Some of these were regular affairs with mortar and even proper pointing but the most appealing were rough and covered by pennywort or, in dry locations, by vivid yellow and grey lichens.

The deep valleys of Jersey also added a special sort of field to the bocage - the côtil. Many outsiders wondered why these steep, sometimes almost inaccessible hillsides were cultivated but all islanders knew that those facing south and west were potential goldmines, producing the earliest of the early potatoes.

Many of the countryside cottages and farmhouses were very old and made of local Jersey granite, which had a decidedly pink tint to it. James, John, David and Moneypenny, all similarly dressed in pullovers, shorts, ankle socks and shoes, had just passed one of these pretty dwellings, whilst heading towards a côtil that overlooked a German military compound of unknown purpose, when they saw a large kite flying high in the sky. The pilot was hidden from view because he was in the côtil, which lay beyond the bocage immediately adjacent to the narrow lane the boys were traversing, an intervening high hedge preventing identification.

“Let’s see who’s flying the kite,” James suggested, receiving agreement from his companions in response. The boys parked their bikes alongside the nearby granite wall, climbed over the gate into the currently fallow bocage and strode towards a similar gate that interrupted the otherwise continuous dense thorny barrier surrounding the côtil.

When the foursome arrived at the entrance to the côtil, they were surprised to observe who was flying the kite. “Gee, it’s Sparky!” announced James incredulously, whilst referring to the nickname by which Boothroyd was known by all pupils throughout the school. It was an affectionate appellation deriving from the science master’s famous physics lessons in which he amusingly and spectacularly demonstrated the production of static electricity using a primitive home-made van de Graffe generator.

“Let’s go and speak to him,” James now suggested, apparently assured about the support of his companions as, without further ado, he scrambled over the gate and advanced towards Boothroyd, who was still ignorant of his pupils’ presence, so absorbed was he in his seemingly innocent pastime. John, David and Moneypenny, after observing their undeclared leader take his unilateral action, looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders in resignation before eventually following, taking care not to upset the farm owner by treading on newly sown seedlings.

As James, more than 20 yards in front of his brother and friends, approached the science master from behind, he noticed that the man’s own bicycle was resting on the ground besides him, sporting an incongruously large rear saddlebag. “Hello, Mr. Boothroyd!” the boy shouted when he came close to the teacher, with mischievous loudness, deliberately intended to startle. It was a joke that would produce adventurously heroic but also ultimately tragic consequences.

James’ intention to surprise the engrossed Boothroyd worked too well, for his shock led the man to release the sturdy rope linking his hands to the kite. Accordingly, the kite quickly flew off in an uncontrolled manner in the general direction of the prevailing breeze, which happened to be towards the German compound in the valley below. “Oh no,” the science master exclaimed, as he looked behind to see who had crept up on him. His face betrayed relief at recognising the perpetrator, along with clear worry.

“Bond Senior, you idiot,” Boothroyd declared with annoyed exasperation before returning his eyes towards his rapidly disappearing kite. He then picked up and mounted his bicycle before beginning to peddle feverishly and with apparent desperation after the escaped aeronautical toy. James ran after the man as quickly as he could, wanting to help make up for what he had inadvertently done, but was shocked when he heard a loud splutter as some form of engine came to life and then saw the science master’s two-wheeled transport pick up considerable speed.

James’ surprise caused him to stop, allowing John, David and Moneypenny to catch up with him. The young foursome watched incredulously as Boothroyd’s bicycle, now seemingly not only powered by human legs, sped to the far end of the côtil and through an open gate, before disappearing from view behind the intervening hedge. However, the quartet was soon encouraged to resume pursuit by the sound of a loud bang. As the boys too advanced through the entrance to the next, even more downward sloping field, they saw the reason for the noise. The science master and his transport formed a mutual heap in the middle of the fallow terrain, progress interrupted by a rabbit hole.

The only optimistic sight for the future welfare of the boys’ bottoms from the threats undoubtedly now posed by Boothroyd’s well-used cane was the vision of the kite. Its dangling rope was entwined in one of the trees that formed a wood separating this last côtil from the German compound at the foot of the valley. “You see to Sparky,” James commanded the others with authority, “while I fetch the kite.”

John, David and Moneypenny compliantly raced to the teacher, still sprawled on the ground, in a stunned state of mind after his high-speed crash. Whilst the latter two helped the man carefully to his feet, the youngest of the trio by two years, began to pick up some of the items that had spilled from the science master’s bicycle. The 11 years old was startled at what he found himself gathering.

John, known to fellow pupils as ‘JJ2’ and to Boothroyd as ‘Bond Junior’, collected, a pair of unusual binoculars, a map of the area, annotated with the science master’s own unmistakable handwriting, a small notebook, with scribblings, another small book which appeared to detail a code and a peculiar pen. However, it was initially the small handgun that caused the 11 years old most surprise until he looked at a package wrapped in greaseproof paper. The boy thought that it had to contain the teacher’s sandwiches until he clearly saw through a tear what looked like small sticks of dynamite.

John diplomatically decided to say nothing whilst he tried to find a home on Boothroyd’s bicycle for the items he had garnered. It was then that he spotted that the main saddlebag, located on top of the mudflap of the rear wheel, actually contained a small motor, presumably the contraption that had unexpectedly powered the vehicle. The boy therefore had to place his strange assemblage in another bag under the crossframe, now empty and presumably from where the collection had spilt. However, he was too late to avoid the paraphernalia being spotted by his friends, his recovering science master and his returning elder brother.

James had dextrously climbed the tree to unravel the kite from its clutches and had brought the errant toy back to the dazed owner, but not before noticing that a small camera was located in the middle, carefully camouflaged by a gaudy pattern.

The rapidly recovering Boothroyd knew from the expressions on the faces of his quartet of pupils that the boys had not only discovered his secret but also guessed the background. “I suppose I have some explaining to do,” the science master suggested. James, John, David and Moneypenny not only smiled sweetly and disarmingly at the teacher, waiting for his explanation, but also looked at him with fresh admiration.

(Dinard, Brittany, France, same time)

Once more, Blofeld examined two jars on the mantelpiece of his bedroom, in the large house requisitioned for his father’s personal use from the former French owners. Both glass containers were labelled with names and dates. The forename on one was Pierre and on the other Jean. Both stored, in preservative fluid, pairs of young French testicles, with the latter also exhibiting some penile foreskin.

Blofeld hoped that his older friend, Stromberg, on Jersey would be contacting him soon to tell him that a certain four young islanders had been caught red-handed perpetrating offences against the Reich. The Oberjunker was sure that the quartet was up to no good and was looking forward to assisting them to enjoy fully their eventual days of atonement.

Blofeld’s cock hardened again at the very thought, as he looked at the other four jars on his mantelpiece. These were currently empty but he somehow intuitively knew that they would not be in that state for long.

(To be continued in chapter 9 – ‘Radios’)