Date: Thu, 23 Sep 2010 23:29:21 +0000 (GMT)
From: Jamie Knight <badboyjed@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: The Adventures of Cashmaster Jed: Part 1

The Adventures of Cashmaster Jed -- Part 1

As the train pulled in to the station, I began to feel the familiar thrill
of anticipation. Would he be there? Ready? Eager? Will he have followed my
orders to the letter? He sounded eager, even desperate to serve, in his
emails and texts.  A few tributes to my paypal account proved he wasn't a
time waster, but there's a big difference between faceless emails and a
realtime meet. I deliberately set my demands high -- I don't piss about
when it comes to using cash fags. In my book, they're only there for one
thing - to be used for my pleasure and profit. And I use them hard.

At 19 I had the experience and the attitude that made older men want to
please and serve me. My first cash slave was my PE teacher at high
school. I got a total hard on from using him and taking his fagcash for the
first time. I could hardly believe a teacher was handing over £50 to keep
me quiet. And he came back for more! I was the richest kid in our year. He
left 18 months later (with his wife and kids) to start a new job up
north. He got scared. I was his addiction. He risked his job as he handed
over more and more, as I got greedier and more demanding. It's like a drug
to me. The feeling of power, knowing some suited married scumbag wants
nothing better than to fork over its cash to please me, for the privilege
of licking my trainers or drinking my piss, or just being seen out with a
young hot stud like me while I take his credit cards shopping.

My cock was stirring in my nike trackies as I stepped off the train and
headed for the exit stairs. The anticipation was immense. I had only a
small plastic rucksack bag with me, with a few surprises in it for the cash
fag if he showed, the latest android phone, (brought and paid for by
another cashslave of course) and a few pounds in change. It was all I would
need if everything went according to plan.

Walking up the stairs to the main station, surrounded by the press of other
commuters and passengers, I must have looked like your average young scally
lad. "You're all fukkin' drones," I thought to myself. My contempt must
have shown on my face and I received looks of scorn, fear and even envy
from some of my fellow passengers. "You pricks have no idea who I am." I
thought to myself as I reached the top and made my way towards the exit
turnstiles, where I was waved through without so much as a second glance. I
was out into the main station. I could feel my heart beating faster with
the excitement and anticipation of what I was going to be doing to the
prick in a few minutes time. The thrill was almost as big a high as the
deed itself. Fuck! I was going to enjoy this. The hall was filled with
travellers and I made my way through suited businessmen, mothers with
brattish kids, grandma types with sour faces; every type you could think
of, and all of them losers. Beneath me. Not worth my time. I checked the
car registration on my phone emails as I weaved my way through to the exit
doors and out into the cold October air of the covered car park and
pavement.

I looked round expectantly, a sneer on my face. Attitude is everything I
had it in spades. I knew I looked the business in my Nike trakkies, airmax
trainers, t-shirt, gold chain (another tribute from another scumbag loser)
and baseball cap. I knew if the scumbag was here he'd be watching me. My
email describing his duties and responsibilities for the weekend had been
specific and included a description of what I would be wearing when I
arrived. He would be watching out for me if he was here, his pencil dick
was probably already creaming into his suit trousers. I scanned the small
car park until I saw the car parked off to the right. 2009 BMW
7-Series. Black with tinted windows and the right registration. My cock
hardened again. Fuck yes! The loser had turned up. This was it. Now to see
if the sad bastard had followed my other orders to the letter. The fun was
about to begin...for me.

I sauntered over to the car, not looking left or right, just straight ahead
at the shadowy figure I could see behind the wheel. Pinning him with my
`streetwise scally boy' look as I closed the gap, strutting and secure in
my superiority over this middle aged fuck who was going to be my property
for an entire weekend. My eyes never wavered as I closed the gap, thinking,
"You are my little walking wallet. You are my cash pig. You are my property
you sad, miserable fuck." My boner was starting to push against my trakkies
now, as I neared the car and walked over to the passenger door, reaching
for the handle. This was the second test for a realtime meet with a new
cashfag. I paused, then pulled the handle, and with a gentle, wealthy
sounding `clunk' it gave and the door began to open. A greedy smile spread
across my face. The fag had passed the second test. It was serious about
being owned and used. It was mine.

As per my instructions, it did not move or speak. Both hands were on the
wheel. The leather interior was high end and spotless, the leather front
passenger seat ready for my perfect ass. On the seat, again as I had
instructed, were a pair of black leather Damascus gloves.

Perfect.

I slung my bag in the footwell, picked up the gloves and eased myself into
the leather embrace of the chair with an evil chuckle. The fag didn't move
as I closed the door and sat looking at it. It was middle aged, with
thinning, greying hair and a pudgy face with small nervous eyes. It was a
typical suited faceless nothing, and it was mine. It's eyes glanced
nervously at me then flicked back to stare straight ahead, unsure and
scared now it found itself in the situation it had probably been creaming
over for months. Still smiling to myself I slowly put on the first glove,
paying particular attention to each finger, the smooth black leather
fitting tightly and perfectly. The scumbag watched every move now, or as
much as it could without moving it's head, a hardening evident in it's blue
pin striped suit. The second glove followed, even more slowly. I was
enjoying building up the fag's anticipation. It knew what was coming next
and wanted it badly, but hated itself for wanting it. Sad fucks like this
one were so easy to read. Neither of us said a word. We didn't need to. The
suit knew I owned it from the moment I got in. In this metal cocoon of
status and luxury, I ruled supreme and we both fucking knew it.

And now for the part I got off on every single time; the part that got me
hard and high and horny. I began to lean across with my newly gloved
hand. This was going to be the first touch that my new slave would
feel. His hands were still clamped to the wheel, gripping tightly as I
reached over them, across his flabby paunch and gently smoothed the fat,
red silk tie, perfectly knotted. It was almost a caress for the sad
douchebag as my hand continued it's journey, slipping between shirt and
jacket. The sad fuck closed it's eyes with a small whimper as I leaned
closer, and finding the lip of the jacket's inside pocket, my greedy
fingers slipped lower until they found the tell-tale bulge. Smiling to
myself again, my index and first finger gripped the wallet and I gently
extracted it, my eyes never leaving the slave's face, studying the fear and
longing that fought there.

Fuck I never got tired of this part.

I pulled out the wallet and looked at my prize. Black leather, good quality
and fat. The slave had delivered. I glanced across at it as I opened my new
wallet. It was breathing heavily, and watching me again out of the corner
of it's eyes. Fear had won on it's face. Good. I looked inside at the wad
of £20 notes that were in there. Deliberately putting my trainers up on the
dashboard where it could see them I leaned back in the seat and took them
out, throwing the wallet back at the fag's head. It didn't react as the
leather slapped it's cheek and fell into it's lap. I started counting, my
cock getting hard again as the numbers got
higher. 200...300...400...£500. What a fucking result. "Not bad faggot."

"Thank you sir," came the whispered reply.

"Thank fuck you can follow simple instructions," I continued, stuffing the
wad of notes into the pocket of my Nikes, enjoying the feel of the money I
had helped myself to. "What else you got for me queer?"

"Everything you asked for in your last email, sir." The slave replied,
looking at me with a mixture of awe and desire.

Thwack!

His head whipped round as his hand flew to his cheek, already turning read
with my hand print. "Asked for? Fucking asked for? You stupid queer fuck!"
I growled, the volume rising as I spoke. "I don't fucking ask you miserable
piece of shit! I order! I take from sad little queer fucktards like you,
`coz I am your fucking superior. Your only purpose is to fucking serve
me. Please me! You work so I don't have to gayboy, and don't you ever
fucking forget it!" The slave was visibly shaken, obviously unprepared for
the true consequences of displeasing his new teenage master.

"Yes sir. Sorry Sir. Sorry," it whimpered as it rubbed it's cheek, looking
at me fearfully.

"Don't make that fucking mistake again, gayboy," I growled, lifting my feet
off the dash and slamming them into his chest, making him wince as I
dropped them heavily into his crotch, deliberately rubbing the soles of my
trainers against his cock. "Lick them clean slave." The suit brushed his
thinning hair back over his bald patch and looked at me blankly, as if he
didn't understand. "What are you, fucking deaf?" I said, fixing him with a
hard look, the kind of look that said `Do as you're told or I will beat the
shit out of you.' The suit cleared his throat, then with some difficulty
leant forward and down towards his lap and began lapping the toes of my
trainers., getting more eager and thorough as he carried on. I watched
critically, feeling the fold of notes in my pocket and ordering the slave
to lick harder and faster.  It ever ceases to amaze me what sad losers like
this get off on.

Whilst my trainers were getting a thorough tonguing from my new cashpig, I
reached forward and opened the glove box. Resting on top of the normal car
junk inside was my next tribute. A slim, blue leather box about 15cm square
with a hinged lid. My greedy hands eagerly lifted it out and opened
it. Nestling inside was the heavy-duty gold chain I had ordered the slave
to get in my email. It hadn't been lying about following my email
orders. 24 carat with the biggest curb links I could find.

Sweet.

I let the gold run through my black leather gloved fingers as I started
planning how I was going to clean my latest cash piggy out on this trip,
and keep it coming back for more. Judging by the eager noises coming from
my trainers, it wasn't going to be difficult.



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