Date: Sun, 9 Oct 2005 13:02:45 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dad And Me, Part 20

Dad And Me   by Pete Brown.  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories in
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part  20

It was the first time that I'd ever flown, and I guess
it gave me an exaggerated idea of how easy it is!  Mr
Hawthorne's limo collected us from Manderleigh and
drove to the local airport, where his executive jet
took off immediately.  And at New York we were
straight off the plane and into another limo, that
sped us to Manhattan.  No queuing, no waiting, just
fast, effective transportation.

I'd never seen the city before, and I was almost
open-mouthed with astonishment as we first saw all the
buildings from the Jersey shore, and then the bustle
and rush when we emerged from the tunnel was
astonishing - mind you, once we got to Central Part
and stopped outside the enormous apartment building,
all was calm and quiet.  Mr Hawthorne had a very grand
sort of place - five or six bedrooms, a huge living
room, formal dining room, TV room, library, gym, and
study arranged on two floors, and on the floor below
that (a floor that I guess was shared by other
apartments) were the slave quarters:  communal showers
as you'd expect, and a number of bedrooms, or
"kennels" in the parlance.  Mr Hawthorne left me at
the stairs down to this floor in the care of his major
domo, an older nigga who was known as Henry, and he
seemed bemused at having to show me to one of the
kennels instead of one of the guest rooms where Mr
Hawthorne's guests normally stayed.  He was also
surprised that I did not have any luggage, and began
to apologise for the poor quality of the
accommodation.

"It's big enough, sir", he said.  "We used to get one
of these kennels each before the new ways came in, so
even a gentleman like you, a big tall man, if I may
say so, sir, won't have any problem stretching out. 
But the facilities are common down here, sir... You'll
be showering with slaves.  And I'm worried that the
boys in the next kennel will disturb you at night,
sir:  they can be a bit noisy before they settle down
to sleep, if you understand me....  I don't understand
why Mr Hawthorne hasn't put you in one of the guest
suites, sir, where I'm sure you'd be more
comfortable...."

Well, I didn't, either.  But a place to stay that was
off the streets was better than nowhere at all, I
guess, and I didn't like to criticise Mr Hawthorne to
one of his niggas, so I just shrugged.  The kennel was
actually comfortable enough, although very basic - the
bed stretched across the back wall, and there was
space to stand in front of it, and a door that could
be closed for privacy.  And down the hall the communal
shower and shitter was much as I was used to at
Manderleigh, so I suppose I'd not got anything to
complain about.  I looked in the kennels on either
side of me and recognised that the niggas in there
would have much more of a problem - the bunks had been
removed and there was just a mattress on the floor
where I supposed they all had to roll together; 
still, it was only what I'd become used to with dad, I
suppose, so perhaps these young guys wouldn't be too
badly off.

I was still looking around when there was a discrete
cough and Henry told me that "the master" wanted to
see me upstairs, so I trotted up the narrow concrete
service stairs, and was shown into his study.  "Ah,
Steve, settled in?", he enquired.

"Yes, thank you, sir."  I decided that it was best to
be polite, and, in any case, what do you call the man
who used to own you?  I suspected that his name was
actually "Charles", as Charles the son was Charles
Hawthorne III, he'd told me - but there was just no
way that I could call this man "Charles", I felt.

"Good, Steve.  I hope you're going to be happy here. 
Now I've told my HR people to find you something to
do, something that will be within your capabilities,
but before you can arrive at our offices you'll need
to be properly dressed.  So for tomorrow morning
here's some money - I'll run an account for you so you
know how much you owe me - go down to the stores and
buy all the usual stuff:  shirts, a suit, shoes, and a
tie.  Then arrive at the bank properly turned out no
later than two p.m., and they'll get you to work.  Is
that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good.  Now, you're free to come and go as you please
here, as it's your home.  But of course I can't have
you bringing people back - I have to be concerned for
security.  You won't need a key, as Henry or one of
the other niggas is always on duty, and they'll be
able to make sure you're alone.  You're free to sue
any of the niggas, of course, and I'm actually
planning to breed one of the maids, so if you want to
stud her, that's fine.  In fact, I'd regard it as a
favour if you did, as the future's in paler slaves,
and I know your genes tend to breed through.  It would
save me a lot of trouble arranging for a stud to come
in, and the fee, of course!".

I listened to this with mounting incredulity - not
only was I living down in the slave quarters, but  I
wasn't even to be allowed  a key of my own.  And now
he was thinking that I might stud one of his niggas
for him - he evidently didn't completely accept that 
I was a free man.  I felt my temper rising, but
perhaps I was learning to be cunning, so I just
nodded, albeit a little curtly.

"Good, Steve.  I can see you're going to be an asset
to bank, and to me.  Now it's time you turned in, so
good night."

And that was that!  He'd just dismissed me, like a
servant or slave. I wondered if he'd mind if I watched
TV or anything, but I actually was tired, and it
sounded like a difficult day the next day, so I went
back downstairs.  The kennel next to mine had three
youngish niggas in it - guys about my age - who I
later learned were the chauffeur, the slave who looked
after the gym, and the one who did all the rough
cleaning.  As I lay there I almost envied them - at
least they were enjoying having sex, and had other
guys to talk to, whereas I was reduced to lying there
and jerking off, something I hadn't really had to do
for years.  Actually, it was quite novel in a way -
I'd almost forgotten how much pleasure you can get
from stroking your own dick, as you know exactly the
speed, tension and everything in a way that another
guy just can't get right (don't get me wrong, though: 
there are things that another guy does to you when
he's jerking you off that you can't replicate for
yourself, so I'm not advocating solitary pleasures: 
it's always better with another man's body pressed
against yours).

I think that first day was the hardest I'd ever spent
in my life.  I'd always been a country boy before I
was enslaved, and now I was catapulted right into the
biggest city in the world, after I'd been out of the
world for eight years!  It was kind of scary braving
the streets and the traffic, and I hated going into
the stores:  the slaves who served you were somehow so
haughty, as if it was them who were in charge and you
was the slave!  And once they realised I had no real
idea of what I needed, or of fashion, they almost
sneered at me - in one store it got so bad that I lost
my temper and slapped the slave's face, hard, and at
least that quietened him and got him to be properly
respectful.  It was tough at the bank, too, as I'd
never been in a big office before and didn't really
know any of the "ways" of the place - how to stand in
the elevators, the precedence at the water coolers,
and so on.

They gave me a pretty menial job - one that I
suspected was usually done by slaves, but which they
said needed a free man because of its "sensitivity" -
just opening the mail from their richest private
clients, and sorting the stuff out into piles for
dealing with by the "executives" - well, that's what
they were called, but I soon got to know that they
were really only office workers, not all that much
better than me, and it was just their titles that were
fancy.

In those first few weeks it was only the fact that I
burned off my energy and frustration in the private
gym, and then when I got more confidence, by endless
long runs in the park, that I survived.  I was lonely,
and  the sounds of the niggas in the next kennel all
enjoying themselves every night only made it worse, in
a way.  I suppose I could have ordered one of them to
come in so I could fuck him, but it didn't seem right,
somehow.  Mr Hawthorne had no such scruples, though,
and about once a week after dinner (I was at least
"allowed" to dine upstairs) he'd call me into his
study and sprawl there, expectantly, just as he did at
Manderleigh when I was a slave.

At first I pretended not to understand what he wanted,
but he was a man used to power, a man who was not
afraid to spell out the terms and conditions of a
deal.  "Steve", he said, "Aren't you grateful for me
providing you with a home, a job... For keeping you
out of enslavement again?  I'd have thought you'd have
wanted to do something for me in return - people like
people who return favours, you know, and rapidly
become tired of those who always take, take, take.". 
The message was clear, and I reluctantly began to
strip off as his eyes watched me hungrily, as usual.  


I hated being used like this, but what was I supposed
to do?  Look, at one level it was no big deal, as it
only needed me to suck his dick a bit, and then to
"ride" it as he lay there, and it's not as if it's a
problem to take dick, is it?  But I was a free man
now, and I ought to have been able to make a choice. 
And as I rose up and down on top of him, my thigh
muscles straining with the effort of lifting my body
up and down, I was doubly resentful because it ought
to be me in charge, me fucking, me controlling things,
not him.

Almost the only thing I'd got to look forward to was
my pay cheque at the end of the month, and when the
envelopes were delivered to us at the bank I eagerly
tore mine open, only to find it said "refer to the
Chairman."  That night I tackled him about it over
dinner,  and he said airily "Oh yes, I told HR to
credit my account with your salary - I did a few quick
sums, and to within a few dollars your room, board,
and the repayment of the loan to buy your clothes
really takes all your salary - there's about twenty
difference, so here...."  

I sat open mouthed.  "But sir, I need to save..."

"I told you, Steve ,that's not going to be possible,
as things are really expensive here in the city, and
you're not an a big wage.  Now go carefully with that
twenty - it's got to last you all month for the odd
coffee and so on..."

"No, it's not right...."

"Look, Steve, if you want to go off and find your own
place, another job, whatever, that's fine by me. But
it's not good for a young man to be handed everything
on a plate - you need to understand that you need to
pay your own way now, and to value money properly.  I
wouldn't be doing the right thing if I just gave you
all of this, as you'd never learn."

I just sat there, shattered.  He gave it all to
Charles, of course - Charles who had a proper bedroom
suite, who went down to the bank in the limo with his
father, and Charles who treated me either as if I
didn't exist, totally ignoring me even if I was in the
same room, or who was constantly sneering at me.  I
was just  like a slave, really. I might technically be
a free man, but I was totally in Mr Hawthorne's power
still, totally dependent on him.  And I was being used
by him as if I was a slave, too, I suppose - he
treated my body as something to amuse him, just as he
had at Manderleigh.  In fact, I think he found he
prospect of bending a free man to his will much more
exciting than using a slave for his pleasures.

In writing these memoirs I decided to focus on
slavery, and the way it changed my life, and the lives
of those around me, so I'm not going to write a lot
about the next six months when nothing in my "private"
life changed very much, and the only thing that
happened at the bank was that because I was relatively
cheerful and pleasant, and, I suppose, was still easy
on the eye (although I was losing my superlative
fitness), a lot of the guys warmed to me and would
tell me bits of gossip about the management, and
explain to me things about the businesses we were in. 


The bank had a pool in the basement for use by the
employees, and I always looked longingly at it when I
went past on the way to and from the post room, but
there was of course no way I could use it as I could
hardly strip off and reveal my tattoos, could I?  But
one night, after a very long run, I didn't want to go
"home" and instead jogged around and found myself near
the office.  I needed to pee, and couldn't  risk
getting a ticket fro ma cop by peeing in the street,
so I tried my security badge, and to my amazement, it
worked!  The guard waved me past, as the security
system had led me in, so I went down to the basement
and swam.... I can remember how timid I was that first
time as I took off my T that I'd been running in, but
kept on my shorts, and all the time  I thrashed up and
down  I worried that someone would come in.

It became my regular habit - especially on the
weekends when there was even less likelihood of people
being around -  and  I even managed to save a bit and
bought proper Speedos from the odd twenties that Mr
Hawthorne allowed me.   It was on one of these
weekends when, as I hauled myself out of the pool
after thirty fast lengths, I heard the sound of
clapping!  I was so surprised as I'd imagined I was
totally alone, and almost forgot to try and keep my
back away from the solitary guy - also in Speedos -
who stood there at the end of the pool.

"I thought I was the only one who enjoyed the bank's
pool on the weekends!", he said cheerily.  "I
recognise you - it's Steve, isn't it?  The new guy,
who is something in 'correspondence'?"

I recognised him as the manager of one of the groups
of commodity traders, who, rumour has it, was a rising
star in the organisation as his operation pulled in so
much profit

"Ys, sir, I'm Steve."

"No need for formality - at least not here, in the
pool.  I'm Anthony Harris, but my friends call me
Tony.  Want to swim again, or are you exhausted?  I
guess you probably are, as you seemed to be really
pounding away...."

Well, you can't give up  challenge from another man,
can you?  I looked him up and down, and saw he was in
fair shape, for someone who probably spent all week
behind a desk, but I reckoned I could beat him even
though  I was tired. "How many lengths can you manage
then.... Tony?", I asked, cautiously. 

He smiled, as if knowing what was going on in my
brain.  "Ten, then.  And the loser buys lunch...."  

Before I could tell him I had no money, he was
positioning himself at the end, and there as no way  I
could back out ,was there?  So I just knew I had to
win as I didn't want to admit I couldn't afford stuff
like lunch.  And unlike the times before when I'd
raced with Charles, Tony didn't cheat - one, two,
three and we both dived in simultaneously.   I was
tired, he was fresh, but  I was fitter, and even so it
was a tough race, and I only just managed to beat him.
 We stood there in the shallow end, as you do when 
you've raced, we threw our arms around each other and
hugged - just briefly, as guys do after exercise.  But
as we stood there, I couldn't help notice that he was
looking at me in a kind of interested way.

Without thinking, I pulled myself up out of the water
and stood there, then reached down and gave him my
hand and helped him out of the water.  I began to
flush slightly as I noticed him looking at my Speedos,
where my dick was now starting to make an appreciable
bulge.  I edged around him into the changing room - a
very small space - and I think he thought it was
peculiar when I didn't immediately strip off my
Speedos, as he did his.

I watched him shower then, as with my tattoo and brand
I could hardly get into the communal area with him,
then as he stood in front of me towelling off, he said
"Come on, Steve, if I'm going to buy you lunch.... 
Get changed...."

"No, I...."

"What's the problem?  Can't you do lunch?  Meeting a
girl friend, are you?"

"No, Tony, I don't have a girl friend..."  I said it
before I realised what significance he might read into
it.  

"A stud like you, and no girl friend?  What's the
problem?  Aren't there enough women in this city that
you fancy?"

"No  time, no money....", I stuttered.

"Well then, come on, let me buy you lunch!"

I pushed down my Speedos and flicked my dick to free
it from my balls, and saw him looking at me.  I still
tried to edge around him into the shower, but it was
no good.  

"Interesting tattoo, Steve....  You sure want people
to know your name, don't you?  But what's that number
just above your butt?"

"Oh, it's just something  I was in to as a kid.... You
know, at high school, a lot of us went off and got
tattoos...."

"And that scar on your butt?"  As he said this, he
moved close to me, and I felt his finger stroke down
over the "M" that had been burned into me.  

I flushed with embarrassment, as I didn't want to tell
him about my life.  And there was another reason, too
- he was an attractive, sexy guy, and I hadn't had a
man like that touch me before.  My dick was reacting
as you'd expect it would and I was getting an
erection, and this only compounded my embarrassment.  

He sensed this, and he whispered  "There's nothing to
be afraid of, Steve....  You like the touch of a man,
don't you?   A stud like you, no girl friend.... Don't
you like men, Steve?"  As he said this, the fingers
that had been tracing my slave brand moved around,
playing lightly over my skin, to push their way gently
through my pubes and take hold of my dick.  Now  I was
really hard, rampantly so.

"Yes, you do, don't you?  There's nothing to be
ashamed of, Steve - guys understand each others
needs.... Haven't you been with a man before, Steve?"

Oh, how wrong could this guy be!  Not only had I been
with lots of women - well, I must have studded at
least fifty niggas - but I'd had lots of real sex, sex
with men, that is.  I sucked my breath in, and made my
mind up.  I guess it was one of those moments when by
acting bravely, I changed my future.

In one swift movement I brought my hand up behind his
head, and reached down and curled my other arm around
his body.  I pulled his head down onto mine and forced
my tongue into his mouth, as my strong arm pulled his
body close to mine ,and I began to grind my hips up
and down, making my erect dick slide and slither all
over his dick and balls.  Before he could do anything,
my hand came up and I took one of his nips in my
fingers an began to pull and pinch and tease it.  I
felt his body react instantly to all of this  - he was
erect now, and his body was moving , too, just as his
tongue was fighting mine as we kissed passionately.

After what seemed like ages, w came up for air. 
"Hey!", he breathed, "You're a slow starter, Steve,
but.... Wow!"

I smiled at him "I do have a bit of experience with
guys, Tony...."

Well, we didn't get lunch, at least not then.  He took
me back to his tiny apartment and it had almost been a
waste of time us dressing at the bank, so quickly did
we tear at each others clothes to get naked again.  
We began kissing passionately and stroking at each
others bodies,  and I thought that he was perhaps a
bit rough - he slapped at my butt, tweaked my nips
quite hard, and was biting at the soft tissue right
underneath my arms, and on my neck.  He pushed me
backwards towards the bedroom, and once we were on the
bed he was all over me - pulling, slapping, pinching,
tweaking and biting.  I responded a little, to hold
off the worst of it, but, to tell you the truth, after
so long without sex, it was a bit of a turn on!

I was on my back and he was on top of me, and he
suddenly hooked his hand under my knee and pulled it
upwards, so he could get access to my ass.  In an
instant he was half lying across me, my leg over him,
and I could feel his dick stabbing at my hole.  Well,
I was really horny by now, and it was time I asserted
myself - I mean, I've told you that I like to fuck,
and I hadn't done it for some time, and this guy had a
pretty good body!  

Although I was no longer as strong as I'd been when I
first came to New York, I was still pretty tough and
he was no match for me - I think he was surprised when
I pushed him off me, and then sprang on him.  You know
I prefer to fuck a guy when he's on his back, but
that's just not really feasible, is it, when he's
resisting?  You need him belly down, preferably lying
on something like a bed with his feet on the floor and
his legs spread - that way you can hold his head down
into the sheets and stuff with strong, firm pressure
on his neck, and it kind of stops him moving too much.
 You can also kick at his ankles to get him to spread
his legs, as the ankles are more sensitive than your
feet, and you've still got  your other hand free to
spread his butt, and position your dick - as well as
for slapping him a bit, to "encourage" him and to
remind him who's in charge. 

As I began to thrust my dick at him, his struggles got
stronger and I had to stop for a moment to really push
his head down and slap his butt before I could carry
on, and his muffled cries of "Stop it!" and "NO...!" 
and  "Don't..."   Made it all the more exciting.    It
was stupid, really, because if he'd only stopped for a
moment I might have had a chance to lube him up a bit,
but as it was I really only had the chance to get a
bit of spit on my dick before I had to spear him.  

On the porn DVDs I've seen they make it look as if
it's easy to get your dick into an ass, but it's not,
is it?  There's always a tendency for your dick to
"bend", almost, and you really have to get yourself
positioned just right, and push really hard sometimes
before your head gets in through the sphincter.  He
gave a great shout as I managed this - well, it was
his own fault if it hurt, as he should have been more
co-operative - so I rested a moment, letting him feel
me inside him and reminding him, almost ,that I was
now in charge and further resistance was useless.  

He lay perfectly still under me now, with just the
rise and fall of his chest as his breathing continued
deeply, and it sounded a bit as if he was sobbing. 
"Almost there, fella!", I told him cheerily...  "Now,
feel it coming right in to you...."  

I was gentle, honest, only moving my dick in very
slowly indeed, but he still seemed to make an awful
lot of fuss about it, but frankly I didn't much care
any longer - I just wanted that astonishing feeling of
my pubes pressed right against his ass, the feel of
his butt against my balls, and of the back of his
thighs against the front of mine, that special feeling
that you only get when you're buried up to the hilt.

He'd stopped moaning again, at least, and I released
the pressure on his neck a bit as a kind of reward,
then, to remind him of the state he was in, I began to
stir my hips around a bit so that my dick stretched
and pulled  his hole in all directions.  This time his
moans, at first sharp and angry, began to turn soft
and pleasurable, so very gently, I pulled out a
little, and then slid back in.

It must have taken me at least five or six minutes
before he was accepting my dick properly and taking it
sliding in and out of him without him making a whole
lot of fuss.  I even leaned forwards and caressed his
shoulder blades a bit to show him I was pleased, and
he seemed to like this.  We could have gone on for a
long time, I suppose, but I needed to cum - all this
playing with the guy is OK, but a man needs a proper
stimulation for his dick to get him to fire.  So I
began to pump at him, long and hard, and his cries
began again, so I had to push his head back into the
bed in order to get a bit of peace and quiet.

Afterwards, I lay forward on to him so I could feel
his heat, his sweat, the thrusting of his lungs, and I
pulled his hands down by his side so that I could hold
them.  My head was right up by his neck, and he must
have been able to feel my hot breath blowing all over
him.  "Bastard!", he was sobbing, almost.

I lay on him until he'd calmed down a bit, then gently
pulled out of him, threw myself up forward onto the
bed, and turned him on his side to face me.  He looked
odd - angry, almost, but with something else, too. 
"Bastard...", he muttered again.

"Hey, what's the problem?"

"You fucked me!"

"Well you asked me back here.  You wanted to fuck...."

"I don't take it up the ass...."

"You mean you don't usually!  You do when you're with
me."

He looked at me long and hard, as if he didn't know
whether to shout in anger, or what.  But then a small
smile flickered on his face.  "OK?", I asked, trying
to be conciliatory.

"I guess so", he whispered back, and leaned his head
forward, to kiss me on the tip of my nose.  Well, that
was an invitation I couldn't resist, and I kissed him
back, properly.  Then, as we were both cooling as all
our sweat evaporated, I wrapped my arms around him to
get our bodies close together, and pulled the covers
up over us.  That delicious scent of sex was all
around us as we lay there, and we both found ourselves
grinning at each other.

"That was quite a performance, Steve...."

"Oh, just normal, I think."

"Don't be so modest - that was an epic fuck."

"No, honest, Tony.  I haven't had a good fuck for some
time, so I shot too quickly, but other than that, it
was pretty much average."

"Just as well for me, then - that was hurting..."

I kind of shrugged, and just lay there.

"I said, it kind of hurt.  Aren't you going to say
sorry, or something, Steve?"

"Hey, sometimes taking dick hurts, but only for a bit.
 And it's not real hurt - not like when a guy canes
you - that's pain.  And it's not really a pain, is it?
 I mean, it's all mixed up in there with pleasure,
somehow."

"But you were so rough..."

"Only because you resisted.  Next time, just let me
make the running, and you might enjoy it more."

"Steve, what did you mean about caning?"

So, kind of lulled into a feeling of closeness by the
sex, I told him about my life, and how I'd been
enslaved, and then about how at Manderleigh they
"encouraged" slaves with the tawse and the cane.  "So
you see", I finished, "Pain is a bit different if
you've been a slave.  A free man doesn't really
understand what he's talking about.  But you must know
that... That isn't the first time you've been fucked,
is it?"

"No, Steve.  But usually I'm on top.... I'm in
charge... It's kind of expected...."

I moved around a bit, and brought my face up close to
his.  "What do you mean?  Expected?"

"Steve, I'm a VP at the bank.  I've risen through the
ranks, risen very rapidly.  I run a whole department,
make millions of dollars for them.  I hire and fire
people, make decisions that matter to the bank... 
People expect me to be in charge, they expect me to
take control."

"Well that's OK, then, if you like to be on top, like
fucking."

"Well I kind of like it, Steve.  But, to tell you the
truth, this was the best sex I've had all year... When
you slapped my butt and pushed me down into the bed,
and I felt your fingers gripping me and holding me
there.... I was rock solid hard, I tell you....  It
was kind of good to be able to turn off, to stop
having to always be out in front, not to have to make
decisions, not to worry about whether the other guy
was getting what he was expected.  All I had to do was
just lie there and take it, take whatever you dished
out to me...."

"You sound as if you don't like making decisions and
stuff, Tony."

"No, that's not true.  I do it all the time, because
most other people won't, or don't, or whatever.  But
that's in business, and just sometimes,  in my private
life, it's good to turn off and just let someone else
do it.   Mind you, it's got to be someone like you,
Steve,  someone who's dominant, and not afraid..."

"Afraid?"

"Sure!  A lot of guys I've met at the bank never cross
me, never disagree.  I thought you were the same when
I met you at the pool, cowering and skulking around
like that!  But then you took over, and it was
fantastic.  What do you do in the bank, anyway?"

So I told him I basically just opened and sorted the
mail, and he was incredulous.  "I need strong,
unafraid guys who take control, like you  - come and
see me on Monday morning."

"But HR told me I couldn't do any other work, as I
haven't got a degree..."

"Rubbish!  In our trading operation I need fierce,
tough unafraid guys who will take on the opposition,
and I think you've got what it takes, Steve.  A lot of
my traders didn't make it to college, but went out and
did things for themselves - we need self-starters, and
it's to about book learning, provided you can do
arithmetic!"

Well, we lay there for a bit, smiling and kissing and
touching, and it only took about an hour before my
dick was rock solid again.  I didn't ask him, of
course, but at some point I threw the covers off us,
rolled him over onto his back and lifted his ankles up
and pushed them forward.  I saw him smiling up at me,
but I kept my face impassive, and did so all the  time
I fucked him for the second time, watching a whole
flood of stuff play over his features as I varied my
stroke, pressure and timing to maximise my own
enjoyment.

_______________________________

As I've said, this is not about my career as a
businessman, so we'll skip all the boring bits about
how I went to see the traders on Monday, watched as
they shouted and gesticulated on the phones, was taken
off to see the "outcry" trading at the exchange, and
then came back.  Tony made me do a series of tests -
firing numbers at me and making me tell him the
percentage gains and stuff, and I found I could do it
easily.  So then he offered me a job!  

I told him that Mr Hawthorne wouldn't like it, but he
just shrugged.  "If the old bastard complains, I'll do
what I'm always threatening to do, and take my best
traders off with me down the street to a rival - I've
told you I've got a pretty fierce reputation as a
trader, haven't I? "

And that was it, really - I began to make money, and
as I got better at it, to make some sort of serious
money as I got commission for the profit my deals
made.  And it turns out that  I was a pretty food
"outcry" trader - I was big, strong, physically very
commanding, with a loud voice, and a quick brain.  I
even thought about moving out of Mr Hawthorne's
apartment and the slave kennel I still had to sleep
in, but I was determined to save money and make an
offer for dad, so I hung  in there ,in spite of
Charles' lowering ill humour, and Mr Hawthorne's
humiliating use of me once a week or so.     And it
was all made worse by Mr Hawthorne's use of me as an
example to Charles - he pointed out that I really
worked, that I made money for the bank, and that I was
making my own way there;  whereas he, Charles, was
idle, never did anything properly, and was still only
in employment as a result of his dad!  As you can
imagine, that really didn't  help matters between
Charles and me, and he was always sneering at me as
the "son of a slave" and saying things like "breeding
will out, eventually".

Not that  I was there all that much - Tony always
wanted me to stay over after fucking him, and through
him, I met a number of nice guys at the bank who all
appreciated a stud with a good body, a big dick, and a
willingness to use them.  But on those days when I had
to dine at the apartment, or when I couldn't avoid
Charles in the elevator, he was just vicious.  Indeed
,I thought he was pretty unhappy, and his unhappiness
might even be affecting his health, as he looked sort
of thin, and drained, and his eyes were sunk deep into
his skull sometimes, and he appeared not to be always
to be with us!

Matters came to a head when Mr Hawthorne had gone off
to Europe to the annual conference of central bankers
(he wasn't a central banker, of course, but many of
the heads of the world's major financial institutions
also attended).  Charles was out somewhere, and I
happened to be the only free man in the apartment as I
was getting ready to go out to meet Tony and some of
the other guys for a night's fun.  Henry came into my
tiny kennel as I was looking at my underwear an
wondering if I would make more of an impression to go
commando so that the first guy to slip his hand inside
my fly would get a nice surprise.  He  coughed
politely, and told me that the Chief Of Police was on
the phone.

End Of Part 20