Date: Mon, 6 Jun 2011 23:21:04 +0100 (BST)
From: Jamie Knight <badboyjed@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Cashmaster Jed Part 6
The Adventures of Cashmaster Jed Part 6
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 closed my eyes and leaned back further in the booth seat as the
suited cashcunt worshipped my rock hard cock for the third time in the
twenty minutes that it had been forced under the table to service the pair
of us. On the other side of the booth the teen skin lad I had recently met
up with grunted and thrust his hips with a slow regular rhythm, raping the
fag's arse from behind, having used his lock knife to rip open his victim's
suit trousers and pants. Fuck this was good. Outside the bar my first
cashfag of the weekend was patiently waiting in the BMW, wearing it's
rubber and plastic French maid's outfit. I smiled to myself at the thought
of it crouching down in it's seat, trying hard not to be noticed by passers
by. It was a fat, needy, loser of a cunt that I had used hard earlier and
would continue to do so. Most importantly, it was loaded, and had obeyed
all my instructions via email, providing me with a posh hotel suite, cash
and tributes.
I was now expanding my stable of walletslags for the weekend, and had
already used a young suited city lad in the toilets of the hotel. I was
returning at 9.00pm to use him again. There was no doubt in my mind he
would be back for more, with a fat wallet and eager mouth. He was obviously
in the closet, protesting that he was married, before he gave into his
basic desires and blew me. The pictures and videos I had taken during the
session, plus the fact I now had his driver's licence, would ensure his
loyalty and my continuing well-lined pockets.
And now this gobbling faggot, well dressed in it's expensive suit and
dark good looks, had arrived with wallet in mouth, and had given into it's
fantasies as well. Having relieved it of it's gold Rolex watch, cufflinks
and wallet, it was now eagerly servicing the both of us, although I still
had a small matter to clear up with the filthy queer cunt. I tensed and
shot my third bolt of sweet scally cum into it's eager mouth, as my skin
mate gasped and with one last thrust, collapsed against the seat of the
booth. The pair of us locked eyes and laughed. Around us, the packed bar
was oblivious to the spit roasting going on right under their noses. People
were packed into the room, and the conversation was loud. No-one took any
notice of two confident teenage lads sat in the booth by the toilets; part
of the reason I had chosen this one was that it was partially concealed
from the rest of the room. A panting, weary face peered up from between my
legs as I flipped the waistband of my trackies from under my spent bollocks
and over my diminishing cock.
"Thank you Sir," it said quietly. "Will you be using me again?"
Without a word, I grabbed the cunt by the knot of it's tie and physically
hauled it up onto it's knees in front of me, using it's head and body to
push the table back in the process. The fag looked startled and knelt there
limply, it's eyes looking at the floor.
"You fucking piece of queer shit." I spat quietly. My skin mate
looked on interestedly, buttoning up the fly of his bleachers in the
process. "Fucking rushin' in here wiv yer wallet in yer gob, looking at
your mobile phone like you're some sort of fucking big shot! You shuda come
in on yer fuckin' knees, respectfully, to show every fucker in here you're
my fucking cashslut."
"What do you mean Sir?" the cunt looked at me, uneasy. "I followed
your orders, just like you told me to Sir."
I backhanded the piece of shit across the face. Hard. The skin lad
chuckled as the fag rubbed his cheek and snivelled.
"Don't fukkin' talk to ME like that you queer shit! You know exactly
what the fuck I'm talking about. People thought you were just in some sort
of fuckin' hurry." My voice took on a high pitched sneer "Phone out. Wallet
in his mouth. Oh yeah, he's just put his wallet in his gob while he looks
at his messages. Poor fucker. He must be well busy." I smacked the cunt
across the mouth. "You know EXACTLY why you were supposed to come in here
with your wallet in your mouth."
Smack!
"How dare you fucking disobey MY orders."
Smack!
"Who the FUCK,"
Smack!
"Do you think,"
Smack!
"You,"
SMACK!
"Are?"
SMACK! SMACK!
I was breathing heavily as the cunt reeled with each blow, taking
longer each time to right itself. With it's back pressed against the table,
he couldn't fall far, but the shock of the assault showed in his
eyes. Damn! That felt so fucking good. I looked up at my skin mate who was
grinning from ear to ear and rubbing his crotch appreciatively. Fuck, he
really did get off on aggro. The kneeling slave muttered something.
"What the fuck did you just say?" I snarled
Louder this time. "Yes, Sir. You're right, Sir. Sorry, Sir." It
said, wiping drool from the corner of it's mouth.
"You know you're gonna pay for your cocky attitude don't ya
fucker?" I said.
"Yes Sir. I need to be punished for my disobedience Sir," came the
whispered reply.
I leaned forward and patted down the front of the cunt's
jacket. There. Left hand side. A tell-tale bulge that always got my cock
twitching. As the cunt breathed heavily, I flicked the jacket open and
reached inside the pocket, by eager fingers soon caressing the familiar
touch of a leather wallet.
FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! I FUCKING LOVED doing this shit.
I gently withdrew my hand, firmly gripping my latest prize, watching
the cunt's face closely as it realised what I was doing. It's hand twitched
for a moment, as if to stop me claiming what was rightfully mine, but it
held back and gasped with pleasure as the tan leather cleared the pocket. I
stroked the leather with my finger and held it up in front of the cunt's
eyes.
"Who's is this fucker?" I whispered, smiling. The cunt paused and
looked at me long and hard, in the eyes.
"Yours Sir," it said quietly. "It's all yours Sir."
"Damn right cunt. Damn FUCKIN' right." I replied. I opened the wallet
and without looking withdrew a crisp note, shoving it in the fag's
mouth. "Get your sorry ass to the bar and get the fucking drinks in."
"I'll go with it," my skin mate said. "I want some fags." He kicked
the table back towards me, banging the back of the fag's head painfully as
he stood up and stretched. The suit fag pitifully crawled from under the
table and with the 50 still in it's mouth, led the skin lad through the
press of punters, to the bar.
I flicked through my new, much fatter wallet to find out more about
my newest cunt. It was all there, all the usual crap. Receipts, cards,
photos, bits of paper, even a fucking condom, and of course cash. Another
200 notes disappeared into my trackies as I carefully lay the cards out on
the table. 3 platinum credit cards, American Express Gold, couple of debit
cards and some fuckin loyalty cards for stores. What a friggin' cunt this
fucker was. I pocketed it's driving licence as well. Could come in useful
later.
Skin and suit soon returned with bottles of beer. I took a swig and
indicated for the cunt to kneel. I pointed to the cards in front of
me. "Which ones did you use to fill up my wallets tonight cashslag?" The
kneeling cunt indicated the two debit cards. I slid the 3 credit cards
forward to the edge of the table in front of him. "How much is left on each
of these you spineless streak of queer shit?" The skin lad laughed and
leant back in his seat watching with a smirk as he took a long pull from
his bottle. The cunt pointed to the first card. "There's about a grand left
on that one, Sir, and other grand and a half on this one Sir," it said as
it indicated the middle card.
"What about this one fukka?" I pointed to the last one.
There was a pause. I waited silently as the cunt swallowed, took a
deep breath and whispered, "About five thousand, Sir," it
whispered. Fucking bingo! I smiled to myself and stroked the card gently,
the cunts eyes never leaving the table. I slowly leaned forward, again
almost brushing the faggot's cheek with my lips as I moved towards it's
ear. It gave a shiver of anticipation, as I asked the question it knew was
coming and dreaded answering.
"What's the PIN number slave?" It was barely audible above the noise
of the bar, but the cunt heard it all right. It swallowed nervously and
licked it's lips. I waited, leaning forward, my eyes never leaving the
walletslag's face. It continued to look at the floor, to the side, to my
crotch, anything but meet my gaze.
"II can't tell you that Sir," it whispered, shaking. "II just
can't." I let the silence hang there for a moment, before suddenly leaning
back in my seat, and sprawling, took a swig from my bottle.
"Fuck me, you don't want to please me, do you cunt? You don't
actually want to make ME happy, do ya fag boi?"
"Nnno Sir, please, it's not like that. I" It stammered, ashamed
and scared now, realising what it had done.
"You tell, me you want to serve, you fuckin' BEG me to meet you"
"Sir, PLEASE! Let me explain"
"You turn up disobeying MY specific orders, after leading ME on and
saying how ya know yer place, and this has been your dream all yer fuckin'
life"
"Please, Sir, that's right Sir, I d"
"You got a few shitty notes in yer wallet, a cuntin' Rolex n' a bit
ov bling, n u think you're tha fuckin' boss of me? Of ME?"
"Sir? NO, Sir, I would neve"
"You miserable low-life piece ov fag scum! Fuckin' wastin MY precious
time, n' draggin' ME out ere for a couple ov fukkin' blows like some
cheap fuckin rent boy? Who THE FUCK do you think you FUCKIN' are?" My voice
continued to rise and a few heads turned briefly in our direction.
"No, Sir. Please, Sir. I want this, I really do." The suit's voice
turned to a placating whine as it leaned closer to my crotch, looking up at
me imploringly. I snorted up a huge gobby and spat it onto the snivelling
cunt's forehead, idly watching it's journey down to the bridge of it's nose
and slow fall down the left hand side of it's face, past the eye and cheek
and round and down to the chin. The suitfag seemed to make a conscious
effort not to stick it's tongue out and lick as the gob of snot rolled by
it's mouth. Fuckin' disgustin'.
"The PIN number faggot." I whispered, leaning forward once
more. Without hesitation came the snivelled reply.
"4186, Sir." I smiled. With that, the tension seemed to go out of
it's body. It's shoulders slumped and it's head bowed lower. It had finally
given in to it's most basic desire to be owned and used by a young dom.
Common sense, morals, scruples, call then what you will, had finally
been ignored and put away, like child's toys. It was now starting it's new,
freer life, as a cash slave. It was leaving family, friends and emotional
ties behind, and knew that it would now be devoting it's every waking and
sleeping moment to another it's master. It was a beautiful thing really,
almost religious in fact; a lifetime of monk-like service and devotion in
the worship of a higher being. It had finally realised that it's only true
happiness lay in dedicating it's life to another. To making it's master's
life as stress-free and pleasurable as possible. It took it's satisfaction
from seeing it's master happy and content. That was enough. Personal needs
and wants did not matter. Personal pleasures and passions were found in
it's service and making it's master happy. It would have a pure, simple,
almost ascetic life, free from the usual cares and absurdities of the
world.
This selfless state of being was admirable in itself, but even more
so when you consider that the acquisition of money and the accumulation of
wealth was not only what most people in society aspired to, it was a
benchmark of an individual's success.
And yet here was a creature who sought to do just what society
expected and deemed worthy', and yet gave it away to another. It did it
for it's superior. If anything it would work longer, harder and more
diligently in order to please it's owner more. Why should a superior endure
the drudgery of work and toil when the slave was happy, nay eager, to do it
for them? It was it's place; it's raison d'tre.
In short, an owned cash slave had found that most elusive of life's
questions. In service to it's superior, it had found it's purpose.
My smile grew wider in the second it took to ponder these thoughts. I
may be a scally boi, but I ain't fuckin' stupid. As a superior I knew MY
position and place. On the fuckin' top of the pile. I took. It was all
rightfully mine anyway, so I took. I fuckin' deserved it. I fuckin' loved
it.
I picked up the 2 other credit cards, and slid them across the table
to the skin lad. "You wanna take this shit to the cash pint mate?" I asked
as thy skimmed past the kneeling cunt's nose.
"Fuck yeah!" the skin lad said, his eyes lighting up as he scooped up
the cards. He rose and slipped on his mirrored aviators, and stepping out
from the booth, grabbed the suit cunt by the tie, jostling people nearby as
he hauled the fagot to his feet. "Let's go and fill my wallet, cashfag," he
sneered dragging the stumbling cunt behind him as he made his way towards
the door, leaving a trail of interested or jostled and annoyed punters
behind him.
I sat and contemplated the last credit card on the table as I
finished my beer. Yes. I knew exactly what I was going to do. I slammed the
bottle down on the table, stood up, the stepped up onto the seat and the
table. A ragged cheer went up from the blokes nearby as more and more
people in the room noticed the scally lad on the table at the back of the
room.
"Oi!" I shouted.
Used to using my voice shouting at queer scumbags, or on the
terraces, it carried easily over the noise of the bar, which gradually died
down. I shouted again, just to make my point. "Oi lads!" I had nearly
everyone's attention. "It's your lucky night lads. My new cash slave has
just handed over it's credit card, and I feel like fuckin' celebrating, and
I've only ever seen this in fuckin films, so" I paused for effect, to see
every face looking at me, I jumped down and strode to the bar, brandishing
the card in front of me. At the bar I grinned and held up the credit card
so every fucker in the room could see. "The fuckin' drinks are on
me. Barman, make a fuckin' tab. Mine's a fuckin triple J.D. n' coke!" I
slapped the card down on the table, and turned to face the room.
There were a couple of cheers, but most of the punters stood there
like fuckin' sheep, either gawping at each other or looking at me with
their mouths hanging open. Fucking brain deads. Then a bloke at the bar
turned to the bar lad and said, "I'll have a triple scotch," and the lad
reached for a glass and made for the optics. Like the flood gates opening,
orders started being shouted as there was a surge towards the bar, as
orders got more and more extreme. "Quadruple vodka and coke! 3 pints of
Guinness! Triple G and T! Champagne!" The noise rose as the bar staff
leaped into action. Grinning, I took a taste of my Jack Daniels, as I
received enthusiastic thanks and pats on the back. I walked back to the
booth and sat down again, watching my kingdom. They knew who the fuckin'
boss was. My grin grew wider as I thought about how badly the suit cunt was
going to be stung. Fuck yes! It's wallet was gonna be fuckin' feelin it big
time.
I looked up to see the skin head bloke I had clocked when I cam in to
the bar earlier stood in front of me. I looked him in the eye. "Yeah?" I
said. He was tall, a good 6 foot, your typical skin head in a black MA1
jacket, bleachers and high docs. He was muscled with a rugged face that
looked like it had taken a few punches. He looked at me appraisingly for a
moment, before slowly sinking to his knees.
"I wish to serve, Sir." He said.
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