Did Britain’s Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) specially train an S&M undercover agent in black leather fetishism in order to foil a plot to steal the UK’s porn reserves? These are the bizarre claims made in When Eight Bell Ends Toll, the supposedly true memoirs of former secret agent Rump Gulley. “This has the potential to be the new Spycatcher,” enthuses Christopher Furbelow, Intelligence Correspondent of the Sunday Bystander, which is serialising the book. “It blows the lid completely on how taxpayers’ money has been used to recruit and train perverts!” Despite the newspaper’s attempts to hype the sensational nature of Gulley’s book, the government has steadfastly refused to take any legal action whatsoever to try and prevent its publication. “The claims made in the book are patently ludicrous,” said a spokesperson for the SIS. “For one thing, the mission he describes being sent on would have blown our entire budget for the next four years – not to mention the diplomatic incidents which would have resulted from him ejaculating in the Latvian Foreign Minister’s face and buggering the entire German cabinet!” Gulley remains adamant that his memoirs are all true. “I was specially recruited after Rear Admiral Windward – head of Special Operations at the Secret Service – saw one of my videos, I think it was Tightbuck,” he says. “Apparently it was the fisting scene with that big Bulgarian mute which convinced him I was the right man for the job.” Sex worker Gulley found himself approached by the Rear Admiral in the toilets of Soho’s Fantail club, where he was performing live. “It was quite a surprise to come offstage and immediately be bundled into a toilet cubicle and frisked down for listening devices by a man dressed as a sailor,” he recalls. “I was even more surprised when the Rear Admiral told me that he wanted me to serve under him and carry out some undercover deep penetration missions.” It was Gulley’s capacity for pain and his ability to switch between submissive and dominant in his performances which had convinced Windward to enlist his services. “He also knew that I’d worked call-out S&M services when I was starting in the business, and could adopt any persona the customer wanted,” says Gulley. “He said that experience would be invaluable for infiltrating spy’s rings by the back door.” In his book, Gulley describes his Secret Service training at length, detailing the long sessions of physical beatings, cigarette burnings and electric shocks – often administered personally by the Rear Admiral – which were designed to raise his pain threshold. He was also trained in the use of various gadgets developed by the Service. “There were these pills they gave you – they turned your jism acidic,” he says. “The idea was that you could whack off in an enemy’s face and blind him, so as to make your escape.”

The most controversial aspect of When Eight Bell Ends Toll is Gulley’s claim that he was sent on a mission to protect Britain’s top secret porn reserves, which are apparently held under tight security in a remote Scottish castle. “Its existence is a highly guarded State secret,” says the self-styled secret agent. “The government doesn’t want people knowing that it has invested millions of pounds worth of public money in amassing a vast collection of top quality jazz mags and blue movies – all of which are kept secure in a bunker designed to withstand a nuclear explosion.” According to Gulley, the government started stockpiling porn back in the late 1970s, when rumours were rife that the Soviets had developed a new type of atomic weapon which destroyed only pornography, leaving people and buildings intact. “The Soviets knew that without their fix of big busted naked sluts, the resistance of decadent western males would be broken,” explains Gulley. “The authorities wanted to make out sure that they had sufficient reserves to keep Britain’s ruling elite – ministers, top civil servants, Bishops and the Royal Family – going during any invasion. Somebody would had to have rallied the resistance.” Despite the end of the Cold War and the fall of the Soviet Union, the reserves were maintained, the authorities fearing that the porn bomb technology could fall into the hands of a rogue state, or even Islamic fundamentalists. Not surprisingly, the government has vehemently denied the existence of such reserves of raunch, dismissing the book’s claims as “utterly ludicrous”. However, Gulley maintains that, in the year 2000, Britain’s intelligence services had gotten wind of a plot to steal the porn reserves. “I was sent to infiltrate a black leather fetish club in Berlin, which was run by European porn baron Oral Phallus,” he says. “He was known to have Europe’s largest private collection of hardcore erotica which he was constantly expanding. It was well known that if he couldn’t legitimately purchase the porn that he coveted, he was quite happy to acquire it through criminal means instead!”

His cover quickly blown, Gulley found himself Phallus’ prisoner. “He subjected me to the most terrible tortures in his private dungeon beneath the club, which I enjoyed very much,” he recollects. “He didn’t realise that the only reason I’d accepted the mission was because I’d been guaranteed it would involve a high level of pain being inflicted upon me in the most sadistic fashion!” Gulley’s glee was short-lived, as Phallus’ true intentions were revealed. “As he was about to start a new torture session I said ‘Do you expect me to talk, Phallus?’”, he says. “My blood ran cold when he laughed and replied: ‘No Mr Gulley, I expect you to come!’” It seemed that Phallus believed that drinking Gulley’s jism would restore his manhood – lost in a terrible accident with a radioactive sex doll. A tense few hours followed as Gulley struggled to restrain himself whilst strapped to a rack. “Luckily, my training allowed me to control the muscles of my penis, preventing a premature ejaculation,” says the alleged spy. “It saved my life, as he decided to take me with him as a prisoner on his raid on the Scottish castle.” Held captive aboard the villain’s huge airship – fashioned in the image of Phallus’ lost dillywhacker – Gulley learned the details of the devious plot. “He was planning to steal the porn reserve in a daring aerial raid alright, but not to add to his collection,” he recalls. “Once he had it, he was going to detonate porn bombs in all of Europe’s red light districts – leaving him with a monopoly of porn on the continent! He could have charged any price he liked for the simplest wank mag, let alone the high class stuff he was planning to steal!” Naturally, as the book relates, Gulley was able to escape and foil the plot, but not before a climactic shoot-out at the castle, with Phallus using his metallic dart-firing prosthetic penis. “Thankfully, it misfired and jammed as he tried pumping it too vigourously,” says Gulley, who claims that he was forced to publish the book after the SIS refused to honour his pension. “I had to make a living somehow – I daren’t appear in films or on stage any more for fear of assassination attempts.” The SIS maintains that the book is fiction, pointing out a suspicious resemblance to the ‘James Bondage, 0069’ series of porn novels written under the name Ian Phlegming, which include Thunderbald, The Man in the Golden Shower, Browneye and The Spy Who Made My Bald Man Cry. “We have no record of ever recruiting this individual,” their spokesperson said. “Furthermore, the only Rear Admiral Windward on record was court-martialed and dishonourably discharged in 1998 after being caught viewing gay porn films on an Admiralty computer.”