Kink Fiction

Chapter 20

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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…”


“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.

To be continued …

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