Date: Mon, 30 May 2011 20:22:25 +0100 (BST)
From: Jamie Knight <badboyjed@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: The Adventures of Cashmaster Jed - Part 5

This work is copyright and remains the intellectual property of the
author. Any reproduction, either in part or in whole, without the express,
written permission of the author is strictly forbidden.

      I slammed the door of the beamer shut behind me, leaving the fagmaid
inside as I saunted across the road to the bar where I had arranged to meet
the skin lad. I smiled to myself remembering the horror on fagmaid's face
when I told it that it would be driving me downtown in it's new uniform. It
had had to endure the stares and whispers in the hotel lobby as I strode
towards the doors, glancing at the door to the men's toilets where I had
used the suitfag earlier. Fagmaid's face had burned red as it waddled
behind me, opened the main doors and the car door that was waiting at the
front steps. It got a heavy backhanded smack around the face as a reward,
making it's teeth rattle in it's fat, overfed mouth. It stammered a quiet
thank you as it closed the door after I got in.

      I knew I looked fucking good as I pushed open the door of the bar,
dressed once again in my scally gear, my Nike airs freshly tongued clean by
my fagmaid before I came out. I'd left my new leather at the hotel for
later, as I was going to make sure another scumbag cunt of a slave would
add to it later with leather jeans, boots, shirt and gloves and of course a
fat wallet or two.

      The bar was fairly quiet this early in the evening, with a few blokes
at the bar nursing the first pints of the night and a few at tables and
booths around the room. The place was a gay pub, but it was low key. No
fucking pink rainbows or glitterballs, but the absence of women spoke
volumes. At the bar that ran almost the length of the room, I ordered a
beer, ignoring the glass that came with it, and leaning back, turned to
face the room, taking a slug from the bottle as I surveyed the scene. I
ignored the furtive glances I got from some of the tables; no loaded cunts
in here by the look of it, but I checked out a couple of good looking
muscle boys at a table and a skinhead nursing a pint glass alone in a
corner. He was way too old to be the skin lad master I was meeting, but he
looked ok.

      I fucking get off on abusing skin boys almost as much as I do suited
city cunts. I made a metal note to find a few skin slaves to abuse at some
point over the weekend. They get off on the aggro and violence almost a
much as handing over the fucking cash. I had one skin slave a couple of
years ago who used to go out robbing for me. That was a fucking high I was
looking to repeat. He had been in his late 30's; a typical tattooed skin
piece of muscled scum who got off on being abused by a young dom lad. He
had encouraged me to get more and more brutal with him with my fists and
boots, and once he found out how much I got off on cash, watches and other
valuables, made sure he had tributes ready when I turned up at his squalid
flat. There used to be wallets or a roll of notes, cigarettes, booze,
watches, sometimes a camera or jewellery or leathers laid out on the floor
in front of him as he knelt with his head bowed, dressed in his skin
gear. I didn't give a shit where it came from or how he got it. He could
have mugged grannies for all I cared. I just fucking helped myself, smacked
the cunt about and gave him a good kicking before gobbing on his bruised
and bleeding face as he gratefully sucked his boss' cock to completion. I
used to leave him bleeding and fucking thanking me! What a fucking
laugh. It had developed to the point where he took me out drinking in pubs
at the age of 16, and after a few beers, I'd pick out someone I liked the
look of and wait outside. He'd follow the bloke into the toilet and appear
in a couple of minutes with his wallet, watch, mobile and in a couple of
instances, his leather jacket. It saved me the hassle after all! It was
what I fucking deserved, and my skincunt knew it. If I was really horned up
we'd repeat this about five or six times during the night. It was like
being on fucking drugs. I'd just point and say "I want that," and I would
get it. I used to sell what I didn't want or give it to me mates. It added
to my reputation in my last year of school; every fucker treated me with
the respect I fucking deserved. I had no end of girls (and lads for that
matter) wanting to be my best mate and more. Fucking losers. I used who I
wanted and the rest could just fuck off.

      I barely noticed as a bearded thirty-something got up from his table
and made his way to the bar. He was shabbily dressed in slacks and a cheap
shirt. Stopping next to me and leaning on the counter he attracted the
bar-lad's attention and ordered a lager.
      "Get you a drink, son?" he suddenly said, still staring at the range
of shots and spirits on the back wall.
      I didn't even look at him. "Fuck off prick," I muttered, taking
another slug from my bottle. "I'm way outta your fuckin league." The beard
jerked slightly, as if he's been slapped, quickly took his drink, paid and
pissed off back to his lonely table, and presumably, his lonely life. What
a fucking nonce. I smiled to myself. I fucking owned this room. Most people
had noticed the exchange, if not heard it, and hopefully took the hint. I
wouldn't be bothered with any of these sad, lonely, queer cunts thinking I
was an easy shag. Taking my bottle I sauntered over to a booth in the
corner, next to the bogs. I picked it as it was partially hidden from most
of the room and would be ideal for what I had planned for when my new suit
slave turned up.

      Having arrived early, I bided my time checking emails and sites on my
iPhone whilst the bar gradually filled up with a wide variety of
punters. My eye was drawn to several suits who walked in, hot and thirsty
from work, and although I got a few cursory glances, no one approached my
table; just the way I liked it. I had just about finished my bottle when I
looked up to see the skin lad standing in front of the table. He looked
fuckin hot in bleachers, tall cherry red docs, black Fred Perry polo shirt,
and red Harrington jacket. A pair of mirrored shades hid his eyes. His hair
was a 0.5 crop. He looked cocky and confident. "Same again mate?" he asked
with a smile as I looked up.

      "Yer, that would be fukking great. Thanks." I said. He strode over to
the bar with a cocky swagger, drawing a few admiring glances as he stood
waiting to be served. My phone buzzed as he returned with two more
bottles. I opened up the text and he sat down opposite me. My new suit fag
was on his way and asking where I was sat. I raised the bottle to the lad
opposite and replied as I took a slug. The skin lad had taken off the
mirrored aviators and was watching me appraisingly.
      "Yer got a fuckin good profile man," he said also taking a slurp from
his bottle. "Plenty of walletslags coughing up the notes for ya, yeah?" He
smiled as he took another slug.
      "Yer, I've done pretty good I guess. Got the bitches right where I
fucking want them." I leaned back in the booth. "You like da new pix I put
up?"
      "Oh yeah bro, deffo. The cashpoint rape vid is still ya best tho
bro. Get a fukking boner every fukking time I watch it." I had to admit, it
was 1 of my favourites as well. 1 cashpoint, 1 nervous but eager faggot,
and 6 cards used one after the other at a cashpoint at a motorway
services. I had zoomed in with the camera every time the cunt had shoved
the wad of 250 notes into my wallet then onto it's face as it breathlessly
mumbled a "Thank You Sir." The bulge in my fucking trackies was huge that
night.
      "So why you wanna meet up mate? Looking to do some joint rapes?" I
smiled and took another sip.
      "Na, jus lookin to meet up with another mate who know's what it's all
about. I ain't really into da wallet rapes as much as smacking da cunts
about. The cash n gear is good, but I fucking get off on hurtin' a fucking
pussy boi." Hi eyes gleamed as he took another slurp of his beer. "You slap
your cashpoint slag about after you used it?"
      "Na, just had the bitch sucking me off in the back of it's jag
after."
      "Fuckin' sweet man. I'd of fuckin' driven off with the motor Ôn' all"
      "You done that before?" I asked. I've used a few fags cars in the
past, but normally the cunt has driven me wherever I wanted to go.
      "Oh yeah, mate, plenty of times. Gets me well hard. Tied up a few
cunts and stashed Ôem in the boot, driven somewhere quiet Ôn' smacked da
shit out ov Ôem. Fukkin mint night out."
      "You might be in luck in a bit then," I said as I noticed man enter
the pub with a wallet in his mouth. My next victim had arrived.

      The suit was mid to late thirties, in shape and looked Italian. His
black hair was immaculately groomed and he had a narrow olive-skinned face
with brown eyes. He was clean-shaven, and probably had blond pieces falling
over themselves to get his attention. His black suit was sharp and
tailored, with a waistcoat and back shoes. Gold cufflinks accentuated his
black shirt and narrow black tie and a gold watch hung heavy at his
wrist. I was having that for a start. The bar was quite full now with
punters two-deep waiting at the bar and all seats taken. Plenty of drinkers
stood in groups or leaned against walls, and my faggot had cleverly got out
his mobile phone and was looking at it, so that with his wallet in his
mouth, he looked like he had just rushed in and was busy, rather than
announcing to the bar that he was a cashfag for the hung scally lad in the
booth in the corner. Interesting. He had obeyed my instructions, but had
avoided the public humiliation I had planned. The cunt was going to pay for
that 1.

      The skin lad I had met had now clocked the suit by the bar, looking
round carefully. "Yours?" he breathed.

      "Yer. New one. First time tonight." I muttered, finishing my beer as
the suit spotted us and made his way over, getting one or two glances as he
made his way to us at the back of the room. He stopped nervously at the
booth and I was pleased to see the skin lad looking at him appraisingly,
like I was. Neither of us said anything as he wilted under the gaze of two
fit young dom lads who knew exactly what he was there for. I held his gaze,
and after swallowing nervously, he slowly knelt in front of me. Fucking
perfect. I hadn't had to say a word; the scum knew it's place. I leant
forward. No-one else had noticed the kneeling cunt as yet, but they soon
would. I whispered into it's ear, as it knelt there, trembling, either with
anticipation, excitement or fear, I didn't know.
      "I want your watch, fucktard." A moan escaped around the wallet, as
my latest cashslag leaned back slightly and looked me in the eye. I stared
back, unwavering, unforgiving, as with another moan, the bitch slipped off
the Rolex and placed it in my outstretched hand. I smiled, feeling the
weight of the gold, and handed it over to the skin lad without taking my
eyes off my latest victim. He gave a low appreciative whistle as he felt
the weight as I heard it click as he put it on.
      "Cufflinks." I whispered. His eyes became imploring and as he
hesitated I clicked my fingers.
      "Do as you're fuckin' told ya fuckin' queer bitch, or me Ôn' my mate
Ôere will kick da SHIT out of you Ôn' take it anyway." My snarled whisper
had the desired effect. His eyes, scared now, darted towards the skin lad
sat opposite me, who gave a low chuckle. This lad was playing it just
right. Hurriedly, the kneeling suit undid the gold cufflinks and placed
them carefully into my outstretched hand. I put them on the table, still
holding the cunt's gaze, like a wolf to a deer. I slowly leant forward once
more, my breath raising the hairs on the cunt's neck as my lips barely
brushed his cheek and ear. It was almost sexual.
      "You're a fucking cunt," I whispered, and reached out to hold the
wallet. I made no move to take it. Instead, the back-suited slag gently
opened it's mouth and the fucking prize was mine. I hadn't even had to take
it! The fucking stupid walletbitch had simply handed it over. Fucking
result.
      "Thank you sir," it whispered, trembling now as it realised what it
had done. Probably just fulfilled a fuckin' lifelong fantasy, the sick
cunt.
      "You're a fucking cash cunt, you queer prick. You're MY cash cunt,
aintcha boi?" I replied with a sneer.
      "YÉyes sir." It whispered back. It hesitated, then said the magic
fuckin' words. "Please use me sir."
      I smiled and looked across at the skin lad who was rubbing his crotch
through his bleacher jeans.
      "You want to use it first mate?" I said with a smile.

      "FUCK yeah!" he said eagerly. I turned back to the kneeling
suit. "Get under this fuckin' table cuntboi, and suck off my mate Ôere Ôtil
he tells you to fucking stop." Grabbing him by his tie, I dragged the suit
forward on its knees so violently that it cracked it's head on the edge of
the table. Shoving it's head down, I forced it underneath and towards the
skin lad, who had quickly taken the last slug of beer and then arched his
back to undo the zip on his flies. Feeling under the table, he grabbed the
suit's tie and dragged him over to his crotch, and using the improvised
collar and lead, quickly had the bitch chowing down on his boy meat. He
then relaxed back into the booth seat, still gripping the lead in his hand,
and closed his eyes as the slurping sounds raised in frequency and
intensity, his hips occasionally bucking as he forced the suit to suck
faster and harder. Smiling to myself I inspected my latest wallet. Quality
black Italian leather, it was surprisingly slim. I flipped it open to find
it had no cards, receipts or other crap usually found in there. What was in
there was a crisp wad of 50's, 20's and 10's. Fucking bingo again! The cunt
had brought the wallet specially and filled it up as per its
instructions. I counted out the notes as the past owner guzzled and slurped
on boy cock. 250. Not fucking bad at all. I smiled to myself as I put the
cash back into the wallet, and put the wallet in the pocket of my
trackies. It wasn't over yet, not by a long way.

      Across the table, my new skin mate suddenly gasped, his face
contorting with ecstasy, and I heard frantic sucking and swallowing beneath
the table. He suddenly relaxed and smiled broadly. He looked over at me and
winked. "You wanna go?

      Grinning broadly I reached under the table as skinlad snarled at the
faggot to turn round, found the cunt's tie, grippe the small tight knot and
dragged the cock sucker towards my bulging trackies. Horned up on cash and
the power I had over this streak of piss I grinned down at his scared and
imploring face, the perfect hair a mess and cum dribbling down his
jacket. With a lecherous chuckle I pulled down the waist of my trackies and
Calvins as My fat boss cock sprung out and upward. The suit gasped as I
forced his already opening mouth down on my nob, pushing him down on it by
the back of his head. He coked and gasped for a moment until I smacked him
across the cheek, then he began taking it deeper into his throat,
suppressing his gag reflex to get more inside. The fucker had done this
before, obviously. Fuck it felt good as I started to involuntarily thrust,
as the faggot took it all the way.

      My eyes snapped open at a sudden click, and I saw the skin lad with a
folding knife in his hands and a finger on his lips. Timing it so the cunt
would have no idea I gobbed on the cunt's face as my mate spat into his
hand a couple of times, using it to lube up his nob. The without warning he
reached under the table and grabbed the cock sucker's trousers by the belt,
pulling him backwards. I compensated by sliding down the seat and thrusting
my hips forwards, as the knife disappeared under the table and I felt the
slave stiffen at a tearing sound as the skin lad gripped and tore the ass
fabric apart. Another tear, this time whatever the fag was wearing
underneath. Probably knickers. Then the arms and hands moved to grip the
hips and the skin slowly eased his own hips forwards. There was a groan
from under the table as the skin lad carefully thrust his cock into the
willing ass of the suitcunt who gobbled down my cock again. And there we
stayed for a good half hour, surrounded by the punters at the bar, who were
blissfully unaware of the spit roasted faggot working on the eager cock of
the two young dom lads in the corner booth by the bogs.

      "Fuck", I thought to myself, as I shot my bolt again, "This weekend
just gets better and better."

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