The Factory Guard

Author: Didaktos didaktos@geocities.com

This story is one in a series where I have tried to explain a picture found on the internet.

Derek Stringer knew exactly what he was doing. He could sell any number of portable radios, tape decks and Walkmans. There was no difficulty about it. He had at least a dozen outlets and they all seemed legitimate enough for him to charge something not too far below the standard price. No-one suspected that he was anything other than above board. All he had to do was get his supplies and that was a piece of cake. Within a couple of miles of where he lived were four warehouses. They were on different industrial estates but were all very quiet once it reached about eight o’clock in the evening.

Now, he needed more provisions and he set out as usual. It was better alone. There was no-one to share the profit with and no-one who might open his mouth too far and have difficult questions being asked. It was December and he needed a good range for his customers. MQR was the first port of call. He had often been there and it was a piece of cake. On his first visit, he had found a key lying on the floor. It proved to be the key for a door at the back. He had retained that key. Their security was lax. That lock was never changed and he had discovered the password for the burglar alarm on a piece of paper near its controls on his first visit after its installation. That password had never altered. All he had to do was keep his extraction limited and they did not even now that their property was going.

When he arrived, his heart sank. There was a sign proclaiming that it was under new management and a new, secure, high fence surrounding the site. Another sign announced that guard dogs were used and he could see only too well that they were. As his van approached the site, three large Alsatians came up to the fence, all baring their teeth and snarling. This was clearly a time to move onto plan B. He drove straight past, in case he was being watched. A circuitous route got him off the estate. Three quarters of a mile later, on another estate, he was pulling up by another warehouse. Although an industrial estate, this one was an untidy affair, mixing new buildings built on derelict land and old buildings which had had their lives extended. His target was a mixture of the two. If he could get in and out without leaving a trail, this one also had the advantage that it was often possible to extract material without its being spotted. It was a cash and carry for local retailers of many varieties, and they included radio type equipment in their range. He had several times found a window at the back that had opened easily.

He parked his van out of sight and went straight to the window he knew. His luck was in. It opened and he climbed in. He went across to the door and put the Yale lock on the catch. He always tried to make sure that his means of escape was ready, and a door was much easier than climbing out of a window. Quietly he returned to the window. This could be put back as it was when he arrived.

Now he was able to move towards his target. In the dark he advanced slowly. He opened the door into the reserve store from which the main store was stocked. He would try to avoid using this if he could. Stock control was more careful there. The main floor was his target. The staff always came in and checked it first thing in the morning prior to restocking before opening. Slowly, quietly and confidently he went forward. He had done this many times before. He knew the way and he knew that the building was unoccupied apart from him. He knew, too, that the space he wanted would have enough light for him to see from the street lighting outside.

Five minutes later, he had a stock of transistor radios. He had even found one of the company’s trolleys to transport them. He went through the door and towards the outside door when he heard a voice say, "Stay just where you are."

Derek abandoned his trolley. He ran forward to the door he knew would be open, but it was locked.

"I said, stay where you are. Now, I’ve got you covered. Stand against the door, arms in the air and hands on the door."

Derek knew that there was little choice. The man might be bluffing about a gun but it wasn’t worth the risk. He flattened himself against the door.

Two minutes later, his wrists were held together, behind his back, in handcuffs and he was led into another room.

"What shall we do with you?" the guard asked.

Derek said, "I suppose that you’ll send for the police."

"I don’t know. Me and my mate might have a bit of fun with you."

Just at that point, the door opened and another man came in.

"What have you caught, Bryn?"

"Just a nasty little thief. Do you feel like some sport?"

"Why not. Get his boots off in case he tries to kick out."

He switched a dim light on. His colleague said, "It’s not worth it, Baz. He’s only got trainers on."

Baz turned to Derek. "Fair enough. Right mate. You can leave you socks and trainers on. Take everything else off."

In alarm, Derek said, "What for? Do you want to rape me or something?"

The man called Bryn removed the handcuffs now that his colleague had arrived. He said, "Just do what you’re told. If you don’t, your clothes will come off but they won’t go on again too easily. I’ll use a Stanley knife along the seams."

Derek knew that he had no choice. Reluctantly, he obeyed.

When he had stripped completely, Baz looked at him. "If I was going to have a man, I’d have one with a better tool than that."

Derek said, "What do you expect? It’s fucking cold like this."

Bryn said, "We can’t have him getting cold, can we? Let’s give him our special trousers." He opened a cupboard and took out a pair of jeans. He threw them to Derek and said, "Get them on. We’d prefer to have you decent."

Derek snapped back, "You made me strip."

"Less of the lip. Get them on."

Derek obeyed and discovered that the jeans, while they covered his sexual apparatus and so provided a measure of privacy, provided no cover for his rear end. Instead, from the strip of material under the belt around his waist to his upper thighs, there was nothing. In breadth, the absent material stretched from one side seam to the other.

He fastened the belt and said, "What are you playing at?"

"You’ll see, Just come with me."

He allowed himself to be led to a large barrel, standing by the wall. He found his wrists grabbed by the two men and dragged forwards and upwards. Quickly, they were secured in leather straps that were attached to the wall. Derek found himself held firmly against the barrel and leaning slightly forward, his bare backside exposed for his captors to see. Even now, he had not worked out exactly what these men had in mind for him. He was soon to find out.

Bryn said, "There’s no point in sending for the police. They’ll do bugger all and there’ll be hours of time making statements and all the rest. You won’t be able to prove a thing but we’ll make sure that you think twice before you come back here again."

Derek turned round and saw Baz approaching with a riding crop in his hand.

Derek cried out, "Christ! Not that! For pity’s sake."

Baz replied, "We’re showing pity not sending for the police. That’s all the pity you’ll be getting. Now shut up and take it like a man."

Derek saw the weapon taken back. He was still watching, not believing that it would actually happen when Baz brought his arm forward with the crop, flexing his wrist at exactly the right moment to achieve maximum effect. That effect was devastating. Derek’s whole body arched with the effect of the pain and he found his wrists bruised by the force on the straps as he pulled away from the wall. His knees and crutch slammed into the steel drum that was in front of him but there was no escape.

He had been belted by his father as a child. He had been caned at school by his headmaster and he knew how to lay it on, but nothing had prepared him for the anguish that lash from the riding crop produced.

"No more! For God’s sake, don’t do that again! Please! Not again!"

He hardly dared look, but nothing happened for some time. He turned round and Baz said, "Ready for the next?"

"No! Please! Not again!"

He watched as Baz drew the weapon back and then skilfully drove it forward again. Once again, that flick of the wrist added tremendously to the overall effect and once again, Derek almost screamed.

Bryn said, "Make as much noise as you like. Nobody’ll hear you."

Derek replied, "Please, not again."

Bryn said, "You walked into it by coming here. Baz enjoys using that crop and he’s good at it. I enjoy seeing it being used. The trouble is that we’re both soft hearted. We’d hate it to be used where it wasn’t deserved. Somebody on these premises without permission and helping themselves to our boss’s property deserves it. Don’t you agree?"

Derek did not reply. The crop cut across his naked seat again and again he writhed and screamed.

Bryn said, "I asked you a question. That one was for being rude. Don’t you agree that somebody doing what you did deserves a session with that whip?"

Again, Derek did not reply and the crop cut across his seat for a fourth time.

When Derek had calmed down again, Bryn said, "I’ll ask again. If you don’t reply, it’ll be across your shoulders next time."

Derek almost screamed, "No. Anything but that. It’s bad enough with this. I won’t be able to use the showers. If you do it on my shoulders, I won’t be able to go to the gym at all and I want to get fit."

Bryn sneered, "You’re already fit enough to be a common thief. What more do you want to be fit for?"

"I’ve got a holiday booked for after Christmas."

"Doing what?"

"Skiing."

Baz said, "You make enough in this racket to book a winter holiday?" He crashed the lash across Derek’s seat again.

Derek replied, "No. This is just a sideline. I’ve got a job as well."

At last Bryn had found something he could control Derek with and get him grovelling. He said, "Right. We’re going to whip you. It would be easier if we spread it out, but you don’t want it to show. Fair enough. You can have it all on your arse, but it’s going to be bloody tender by the time we’ve finished. The choice is yours. Ask, politely for the whipping you deserve and ask for it across your arse. If you don’t, it’ll be your shoulders as well."

Derek knew he was beaten. "Will you give me the whipping I deserve, please, and will you give it to me across my backside, please?"

Baz replied, "No. I can’t give you what you deserve. I’ll give you what I dare."

He took the crop back again and crashed it into Derek’s raw seat for a sixth time. Once again, Derek writhed as he felt the anguish it produced.

He knew that his rear end must be red raw. He certainly knew that each stroke hurt more than the previous one. He knew, too, that he was completely at the mercy of these men. He took a deep breath and prayed for strength. There was a long pause before the slight sound of the whip speeding through the air. Simultaneously, he heard its arrival and his senses were taken over by the pain of its arrival.

He gasped, "God! It’s terrible."

Bryn said, "Perhaps you’ll learn from this."

Baz said, "I’d be prepared to take a bet that he won’t. He’ll still be at it. He just won’t come back here."

The crop cut into Derek’s tender seat for an eighth time and, once again, his entire thinking process was taken over by the pain. A long pause was followed by another stroke and, before Derek had recovered, Baz said, "It’s no good, Bryn. It’ll have to be his shoulders. I can’t give him any more on that arse. Just look at it."

Derek said, "Fair enough. I deserve something and this is better than the cops. You can get my details. My driving licence is in my wallet. Let me go now and I’ll promise to come back in a fortnight. No. Say a month. I’ll be back from holiday then. You can give me some more then and you can fix another date if you’ve got to."

Bryn said, "What do you say, Baz? We can make him sign a confession and that would go to the police if he doesn’t turn up."

Baz replied, "Better than that. His dabs’ll be all over that stuff he’s got on the trolley. Just keep that safe and we’ve got him."

Derek said, "I’ll come. I promise I will."

Baz said, "We’ll risk it. Just three more now and then next session can be the last."

Derek had to accept the terms. He was strung up and at their mercy.

Three more times his body contorted as the lash cut across his red raw seat. They released his arms and allowed him to strip and change into his own clothes. It was with great care that his pants and trousers were eased over that seat and even more care that he sat down in the driving seat of his van.

Once he had gone, Baz and Bryn relieved the excitement in each other that the events had produced and they knew they were promised at least one more session with Derek. Now they just had to hope for more illegal visitors.