James Bond's Boyhood Adventures 3

By Pueros

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

Chapter 3 – Resistance

(Jersey, Channel Islands, July 1940)

James Bond, having reluctantly removed his school blazer and hung the garment over Mr. Boothroyd’s chair, hesitatingly lowered to his feet first his shorts and then his underpants. The embarrassed and blushing boy then even more tremulously, with his back to the class, spread his legs before bending over to complete the science master’s order by holding his ankles tightly with his hands. The lustrous curvature of 13 years old’s sublime buttocks were still hidden from view by the long tail of his white shirt but this cover was not to remain in place for long as the angry teacher, cane in hand, took up position behind the fearful youngster.

Mr. Boothroyd stood in a manner that would permit all of the other watching 13 years old pupils to observe the full extent of James’ imminent chastisement. The science master raised the shirt tail and rested it on the humiliated boy’s back, exposing to view the full beauty of the youngster’s gorgeous bottom, causing the secret hardness in the majority of observers’ cocks to intensify. This was exacerbated when most noticed that Bond Senior’s own uncut penis was also rigid, a phenomenon clearly visible as it dangled appetisingly underneath his groin with the deliciously formed smooth twin orbs of his scrotum.

Mr. Boothroyd teasingly ran the cane up and down James’ very vulnerable posterior, an action that produced an obvious twitching of his young victim’s erection. This resulted in loud tittering from many of the spectators, with the noise from one pupil, positioned at the rear of the class, particularly voluminous. The science master therefore felt compelled to restore order before proceeding with the punishment. “Quiet everyone,” he commanded, whilst pointing his cruel implement of chastisement at the errant scholar, “especially you Moneypenny or you’ll be up here alongside Bond Senior!” Silence suddenly descended on the more than twenty boys seated at their desks. Nevertheless, a number of broad smirks and hidden hard-ons remained in place, with the broadest grin visible on the face of the class bully, whose name was Trevelyn and who was situated at the front nearest to the action.

Mr. Boothroyd returned his attention to James, whose body was shivering slightly in fright at what was about to happen. “Now, Bond Senior,” declared the science master, whilst returning the cane to the gentle torment of his imminent victim’s buttocks, “I think, for accurately launching a nasty projectile at me, I shall reciprocate by landing my own across your bare backside ten times. I hope that it will be a lesson to you and the others that the throwing of missiles at teachers is not advisable. You will, as usual, count the strokes out loud for me and thank me for each one. If you forget this courtesy with any, that particular blow will not count. Do you understand, boy?” “Yes sir!” a timid quaking voice could he heard in reply.

Trevelyn’s smile broadened when he saw Mr. Boothroyd finally raise his wicked cane above his head for what he was about to observe was better than any retaliation that he could hope to achieve. He had realised that Bond Senior had been aiming the conker at him and not the science master and knew that there was little that he could have done to secure subsequent revenge. He recognised that the thrower, although more diminutive, would be more than a match for him in a fight, being fearless and very nimble. As usual with bullies, he only liked to pick on those he was sure he could cower.

Trevelyn could not help but rub his own hard cock, hidden under his desk as well as his shorts, as Mr. Boothroyd landed the first vicious blow of the cane across the middle of Bond Senior’s bottom, eliciting a loud yelp from the young victim. The bully’s rubbing continued as he viewed the stripe created by the hit quickly change colour from an initial intense white to a vivid red and heard the recipient manage to stutter “One, sir, thank you!”

James had somehow maintained his demeaning stance despite the agonising brutality of the first hit but staggered forward slightly and could not prevent the shedding of some tears when the second heavy strike landed just above the first. However, he still found the mental strength, as he moved backwards into his original position, to utter “Two, sir, thank you!”

The sight was too much for Trevelyn, whose whole face turned the same shade of red as the pair of stripes on James’ backside at the same time that a sticky damp patch appeared at the front of his shorts. The bully hoped that the semen from his orgasm, which had seeped through both the under and outer garments that covered his loins, would dry before the lesson finally ended. However, he also appreciated that, if it had not, the resultant embarrassing stain would be a small price to pay for the literal ecstatic pleasure he was gaining from the spectacle of Bond Senior’s punishment.

Trevelyn was not the only pupil to cum as James’ chastisement continued remorselessly. Moneypenny, a rather pretty but slightly effeminate red-haired 13 years old, climaxed when he observed, after Mr. Boothroyd’s fourth strike, sperm gush out of the young caning victim’s uncovered dangling erection onto the floor in front of the teacher’s desk. This also caused the science master, who was taking his time with the blows so that his miscreant victim could relish the agony from each one, to comment “Oh dear, Bond Senior, you seem to have had an accident!”

Resounding tittering returned to the classroom at the sight of James’ acute embarrassment and the hearing of Mr. Boothroyd’s words. However, this time, the science master took no action to stifle the noise and instead concentrated on delivering his fifth blow to the striped posterior of the now sobbing boy, whose stance enabled his tears to drop and mix with his shamefully spilt cum.

To add to James’ woes, his own humiliating orgasm had made him forget to declare a number and thank you, forcing Mr. Boothroyd to advise him that the fourth hit did not count. The boy’s crying intensified, as he did not think that life could become more wretched. However, this viewpoint was to be disproved on a number of occasions over the years ahead.

(Dinard, Brittany, France, same time)

Meanwhile, less than 40 miles away to the south, across the Gulf of St. Malo in Dinard, the uniformed 15 years old Oberjunker Ernst Stavro Blofeld of the Hitler Youth approached the terrified naked Pierre in the basement of the new local headquarters of the Gestapo. The 15 years old German had thoroughly enjoyed hearing the 14 years old local boy plead “Please….sir….please….I’m just a French whore….fuck me….and……..castrate me….at the same time….please….please….take my virginity and………………..my balls!”

The smirking Blofeld had answered “Oh, only if you really insist!” before taking up position behind the appalled Pierre. The young German once again ran his fingers over the three red stripes he had created earlier on young French buttocks. He then dropped his trousers and underpants.

Pierre gasped as he felt his interrogator’s hands, one still containing the knife that would later sever his ball sac, prise apart his bumcheeks before an impressively large hard Teutonic cockhead was pressed against virgin Gallic territory. “What do say?” asked Blofeld as he paused at the 14 years old’s pink sphincter to await the renewed entreaties that would encourage another German invasion of French domains.

Pierre’s tears increased in volume but he still managed to beg “Please….sir….please….I’m just a French whore….fuck me….and……..castrate me!” “What’s the appropriate American term?” Blofeld asked before answering his own question. “Ah, yes,” he said, “O.K.!” This abbreviation was uttered just before the German viciously pushed his groin forwards whilst simultaneously pulling his dangling victim’s hips backwards. The French boy responded with an ear-splitting scream as his previously unexplored tight rectum was quickly and mercilessly filled to the hilt.

Blofeld kept his impressive erection inside Pierre until the French boy eventually calmed a little. The 15 years old then commanded “Please remind me what it is that you want me to do.” The agonised 14 years old, pain in his backside excruciating, somehow managed courageously to respond “Fuck………. me….and……..castrate me!” “Ah, yes, O.K.,” teased the young German, as he commenced the forceful ploughing of his victim’s anus to more accompanying screaming.

It did not take long for the delectation of his swift vicious thrusts to bring Blofeld close to climax. He therefore let go of Pierre’s hips and reached round the French boy’s delectable body for the still hard 14 years old genitalia. Pierre gasped again when, amidst the continued painful pummelling of his rectum, he felt his low-hanging ball sac being malevolently pulled further downwards by one German hand whilst the other presented the cool metal of a sharp knife to the taut skin of the stretched scrotal base.

“Tell me again what I’m to do,” Blofeld tormented, gaining another brave reply from his victim. “Fuck………..me….and……..castrate me!” Pierre suggested between agonised shrieks. “O.K.!” repeated the young German as he shuddered in orgasm, flooding the now deflowered Gallic anus with Teutonic sperm. The French boy also produced a copious spurt of semen soon afterwards, as he felt steel penetrate his genitalia. The 14 years old’s cum spilt onto the cellar floor, where it was quickly joined by his severed scrotum and much blood.

(Jersey, Channel Islands, August 1940)

It was a hot sunny day during the long school summer holidays. James, younger brother John and best friend David, bored with playing games, were discussing, in the pleasant garden of the Bond family’s cottage, how they could make life for the German occupiers of Jersey more uncomfortable.

“We’ll call ourselves the Jersey Resistance Movement or ‘Jerm’ for short” announced James. “That’s all very well,” David responded, “but what’s our first mission going to be?” The three boys pondered this for a while before John enquired “Why not disrupt German communications?” His older brother replied “And how exactly do we do that?”

John thought for a while longer before finally answering “We attack parked vehicles by letting the tyres down and spiking the petrol!” The 11 years old might have rejected the idea if he had been aware of the terrible fate of Pierre in Dinard. The new 14 years old eunuch had eventually been returned to his horrified mother to be nursed back to health after his terrible ordeal at young Blofeld’s hands. The Gestapo had announced to the appalled local citizenry that what had happened to the boy should be a salutary lesson to all would-be saboteurs.

Later that day, James was unscrewing the petrol cap of a German truck parked on a quiet part of the quayside in St. Helier whilst the driver visited a urinal. John and David were keeping a lookout as Bond Senior began to pour some sugar, borrowed from his mother’s kitchen, into the petrol tank. He might have been more circumspect about using the substance if he knew how rare and precious it would become during the years ahead.

James was quick and efficient and he and his two co-saboteurs were soon running away from the scene of their first resistance mission, ready to celebrate success. However, as they turned a corner, the trio ran into a German foot patrol. The boys began to turn to speed in the opposite direction but were brought to a stop when they heard, shouted in good English, “Halt or we shoot!”

James, John and David complied, turning back towards their enemy.

At the same time, Mr. Boothroyd was in the middle of the English Channel in his sailing dinghy, which he had managed to hide away from the Germans. The bachelor was trying to make use of the good weather to sail across to England, having quickly becoming disillusioned with life on occupied Jersey. He had originally stayed for two reasons. First, his elderly mother was still alive and in need of some care. Second, flat feet had caused him to be rejected for enlistment into the armed forces. However, his mother had sadly died just after the end of the school term and he had reason to believe that, at this hour of great peril, his nation’s armed forces might reconsider an application to join.

Mr. Boothroyd was to prove correct in this assumption, being commissioned into the army, where he eventually rose quickly to the rank of Major. His specialism was to become quartermastering and armouring, a task helped by his science background. However, he was not enrolled in any mainstream unit but rather a somewhat shadowy secret one, where his role caused him to be designated by the letter ‘Q’.

(To be continued in chapter 4 – ‘Saboteurs’)