Passing

PASSING

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Pete

PASSING

A story by Pete Brown (petebrownuk@yahoo.com)

Part Ten What men do for money - or idealism? I prove I'm really in control.

Shortly after Sam had left Anastasia came in and draped herself around Cyrus. "I need to borrow that adorable worker of yours again this morning", she told him. "He was such a good escort last night, polite, well dressed, a real credit to me.... And I'm going to a major fashion show this morning, and he would be a very suitable ornament."

"I'm sorry, my dear", Cyrus told her. "We're working here, and he will be needed. The business always comes first, as you know."

I could see Anastasia's mood turn in an instant. "Your silly business! We're already so rich we couldn't spend it all even if you lived to be a hundred, which you won't, and you tried, which you don't. So I suppose I will have to go by myself. And make silly small talk with all the other bored people there. I need amusement, and if I'm not amused all I can do is chatter. Chatter about how you're working even harder than ever, how our apartment is full of these people from London, about..."

"Don't you dare!" Cyrus's mood had also changed in an instant. "You know the rules! Absolutely no talk about what goes on in the business. None, absolutely none".

She stroked him as if affectionately. "Of course not, darling. But when us ladies have nothing to talk about, it's surprising how things just slip out...."

"Cyrus, perhaps you and I need a morning to discuss strategy without actually having the men do work. It's too easy to fire off a list of tasks to them and then start to look at the answers. You and I need to talk strategy. And Sam is out, Ted is playing with his computers as usual, so if Ian were to go with Mrs Williams...."

At that moment Ian came in. He was dressed for work, I suppose - well, the attire he'd decided was appropriate for working in the apartment on this project. Skin-tight jeans, very low cut, not an expensive designer brand but selected I suspect by Ian to show off his long legs and big bulge, and a shirt with the sleeves half rolled up to reveal his hairy forearms and with a couple of buttons open with the thatch of his chest hair poking out. He had no socks on and his feet were in casual "loafers". I wasn't sure which was the most inappropriate - his outfit today, or the cheap suits he wore at the office.

"Ian", I began. "Mr Williams and I need to have strategy talks this morning. And Mrs Williams needs an escort to a fashion show - and lunch, I would imagine. You would do us a great kindness by giving up what would otherwise be a free morning for you by agreeing to go with Mrs Williams..."

Anastasia cut in "And you need to go and get changed...."

Ian looked pleased. "Well I sent my suit out to the cleaners.... It got kind of crumpled last night..... Perhaps we could stop somewhere on the way and I could pick up something....?"

I gasped at his audacity. I could imagine how his suit got crumpled, if crumpled it was - I thought it more likely it would be torn or damaged as they ripped each others clothes off. And now he was angling for new stuff!

Anastasia gave no one any time for further debate. "We can of course stop somewhere on the way to get you some proper clothes. Saks has some stunning new designers and I'm sure their stuff will be good on you, as that long, lean look is what they design for. It will be such a pleasure to help you select some things, as there's no point in doing it for Cyrus as they never fit, and he doesn't care, anyway...."

"Sorry, but beyond my budget!", Ian said, a small smile flickering on his face. "I don't get paid all that much! And living in London is expensive...."

"Silly boy! You're doing us a favour, and Cyrus will gladly pick up the bill - well it will go on my card at Saks, anyway."

And that seemed to be that. Cyrus shrugged. I made a little "get out of here" gesture, Anastasia grabbed Ian's arm and almost dragged him off. I was faintly amused at exactly who was using who: I could believe that Ian's choice of clothes at Saks would, shall we say, not be inexpensive. But on the other hand there would be all that wear and tear on his body later, as I suspected that after the show Anastasia would want a more private viewing of all the stuff he would have bought, and would want to help him put it on and off!

Cyrus and I then had a good few hours of really serious debate about our strategy. The only annoyance was when my phone went and it was an idiot from the card company querying some transaction or other and I told him to mind his own business - that's what I had a black card for.

Effectively we had two choices, as I've told you: go into the market and deal, or go to the Fed and the company and offer our "services" as advisors, for a fixed (huge) fee. In the end as neither of us could agree as the arguments on either side were so finely balanced, we tossed a coin. And before either Sam or Ian got back Cyrus had rung his office to reserve tickets on the Washington train, a car had arrived, and we were on our way down to DC.

On the train Cyrus made a few calls, and finally I heard him say that he would see the Secretary that afternoon, and that it was in the Secretary's best interests to have his diary cleared as the matter up for discussion was potentially of national importance.

Under the confidentiality agreement that was signed, and veiled threats of prosecution under assorted acts relating to classified information, I can't tell you how the talas went. Suffice it to say that they did go on into the early hours, and that we were put up at a very grand (very, very grand) government guest place of some sort that was probably usually reserved for visiting heads of state. Cyrus insisted we were on the first train back to New York, and I agreed. I wanted to be back in London, actually.

"So, you're a wealthy man now", Cyrus said to me.

"As are you.", I laughingly replied. "But I suppose you mean richer than I was before, Cyrus. Although not on your scale, I am the managing partner of one of the largest financial institutions in London and I make a very satisfactory amount of money every year. This deal will net my company about a billion, and as managing partner I take ten percent of the profits!"

"So what are you going to do next?"

I shrugged. "Go on working, I suppose. There's not a lot of other things that interest me. I certainly can't retire, even if I bought myself a private island or something. I'd go mad with the boredom."

"Let me give you a piece of advice". Cyrus leaned closer to me, as people do when they are speaking personally and not about business. "I was like you once, young, keen, wheeling and dealing, always looking for the next deal, always trying to make more. And for what? Sure, I end up wealthy. Very, very wealthy. But there's no satisfaction in it - this deal we've just done is the only one that's excited me for the last ten years, and it wasn't because of its size - it was because I was doing it myself. All those discussions we had, all the strategy we worked on, those men working directly for us, a small, tight team.... There's no fun in it any more when the corporation does it and all I do is nod my approval at presentations and spread sheets as they're put in front of me at endless meetings. So get out whilst you're ahead - there won't be another deal like this for some time, if ever."

I knew he was right, but what else could I do to keep myself occupied if I didn't carry on working? There seemed to be no immediate solution, and so as I did whenever there's a seemingly intractable problem I "parked" it somewhere in my brain so, like a computer it could be worked on in the background whilst the foreground did other things.

When we got back to the apartment with the deal done there was really only an absolute flurry of paperwork to get it all formally ratified. Sam was there and was invaluable, Ted could be called on to fill in standard stuff from masses of other similar documents (government documents he "found"!), and soon the stuff was being couriered out for signature. I hardly noticed Ian wasn't there, but the administrative stuff was not, I suppose, his forte.

After working so late the night before I decided not to fly back to London that night, but booked on to the early morning flight the next day - I know you lose a day as you're in the air, but you arrive more "naturally" as it's late evening in London not the early hours of the morning.

We decided to have a final celebration dinner, and considered it would be more relaxing if we stayed in the apartment rather than go out to a restaurant. As we began to sit down, Cyrus, Anastasia, Sam, Ted and me, the door opened and Ian came in, a little late as usual. I heard Sam gasp in astonishment and that caused me to take a closer look at Ian as Sam is always "on trend", as you might say. At once I saw him I thought that I really ought to buy stock in Saks, as what Ian was wearing must have considerably enhanced their balance sheet! Gone were the cheap jeans, and now he wore leather trousers made of leather so fine, and cut so tight, they might almost have been poured on to him. A creamy silk shirt, again of very fine silk was open even further down his chest, and somehow moulded itself to his form so that his nipples stuck out. And his watch - well my own is very slim and very elegant from the finest Swiss maker and cost me tens of thousands. Ian's was big and bold, sticking out from his wrist like a huge alarm clock. I recognised it from some of the pictures I'd seen in the magazine on the flight over - it was as expensive as mine, in spite of being tasteless. But I suppose that "bling" appealed to the sons of the very rich, or wealthy Arabs. He seemed to have found time to have his hair styled, too - it was still the same sexy rather unruly mop, but now it had been expertly cut and teased into shape so that his hard looks were emphasised in that way that somehow screamed excitement (and trouble?). But what was very prominent as soon as you looked at him closely were the several marks from "love bites" on his neck! And as he pushed his sleeves up a little as he sat, on his other wrist there was a small and discrete, but still very visible mark: he seemed to have acquired a tattoo, a letter "A"! If I were to sum up the look he achieved I would have to say it was "sex on legs".

As the dinner proceeded I mentioned that we were all to be ready early for the morning flight, and indicating my three guys I reminded them that even in business class they still needed to be there reasonably early because of the security checks. Ian put down his knife and fork and said "Oh, it's OK, sir. I won't be coming back. I'm staying in New York. I've decided `finance' isn't for me and I've got another job."

Seeing my look of surprise he went on "Yes, Mrs Williams has kindly offered me the position of her personal assistant - well, at least in the short term as I look around for something else. She's volunteered to introduce me to her friends, and I feel confident of getting a modelling job as so many of them we met yesterday said I looked the part, and they felt certain that when they saw more of me their contacts would be interested..."

"Fucking gigolo..." Sam muttered under his breath, but evidently loud enough for Ian to hear as he laughed out loud at Sam and retorted "Pot calling the kettle black ass, eh, Sammy boy? What about you then, buying your way into that stuck-up bitch at the office...?"

"Sir, it's not true. Yes, I have been seeing Victoria Greyson....." Sam said to me, trying to ignore Ian.

"You mean the Honourable Victoria Greyson, don't you, Sammy? And doing a lot more than seeing' her, as you are always bragging - I bet she's seen' a lot more of you than even we have in the bathroom." Ian sniggered at his own joke and looking at me went on "She's the daughter of a lord or something, a manager in currency trading, and Sam's always saying that he wants to get hitched but her folks won't agree. They probably don't want an East End barrow boy at the castle..."

I was intrigued now. "What's all this `buying in' then?"

"Show us all the engagement ring, Sammy" Ian responded, and reaching into his jacket pocked Sam rather reluctantly brought out one of those ring boxes - in soft calf leather, so I could see it must be expensive. And when he opened it there was a ring, a big solitaire diamond. Even I, who do not like flashiness and show, could see this was a serious piece of jewellery. At least fifty thousand, I thought.

Ian looked smug and went on "See, Sammy's going to impress mommy and daddy with that."

I nodded, and suddenly realised why my card company had tried to call me yesterday. I was about to speak sharply to Sam when Ted, always silent generally but someone who I knew did not like dissent, broke in and said quietly "I won't be coming back either, sir."

All of us now looked astonished and before we could say anything he went on "The corporate life's not for me. I realised how frustrated I'd been in London with all that budget stuff and still not having all the tools I needed to work properly. I've seen here how much I can do, how much I can find out.... And I've made some friends already...."

Seeing me look even more puzzled he went on "On-line friends, sir. I've joined a couple of groups... I'm considered very valuable.... I've retrieved some documents for them, showed them some stuff about how to keep themselves out of the eye of the government.... It's all pretty exciting stuff...."

"Ted, please don't tell me you have used the equipment the company has bought for illegal activities..."

"Oh, sir, I suppose it depends on what you mean by illegal. It's illegal to do some of the things I've found described in some of the government documents. It's illegal to spy on private citizens. Some would say we are exercising our rights to reveal instances of illegality to public scrutiny so that the perpetrators can be brought to justice.... There's a lot to be done, sir, and I'm going to stay here and do it with my new friends, sir."

"They'll pick you up, you'll be an illegal immigrant... And you've got no money..."

"No, sir. I think not. With access to the right databases, which I found and got in to, I've become a US citizen! And as for money - well, it's lying there, for the taking: the banks think their security is great, but not if you're a real expert, and I am." He seemed proud of himself and went on "But you've been good to me, sir, so if you do need anything, sir, any information, don't hesitate to ask. I'll send you an e-mail with an address that's untraceable - guaranteed - and you can ask for any information and get it back from me, all untraceable, with nothing that can be traced to you.... By anyone, ever!"

Well, that seemed to finish the evening, and Anastasia, Ian and Ted got up and walked out. Cyrus and I sat there, and Sam seemed to be hovering around as if he wanted to see if there was anything else I wanted - he must still be in PA mode, I thought.

"So, Sam. That ring. My credit card?"

"Yes, sir."

"In ordinary parlance. `treat yourself' does not usually imply hundreds of thousands...."

"Well I reckon you owed me, sir. Not only all the work.... But that spanking.... A man's self esteem is worth a lot you know, sir...."

I looked at Cyrus and said calmly "Do you think that the little chastisement we handed out to Sammy was worth hundreds of thousands?"

He smiled back at me. "No, not really. But perhaps that charge on your credit card is for future services, too?"

"You're right, of course.". I looked at Sam and rapped "You know what to do! Shuck those clothes."

To his credit, Sam did not even try to argue with me, and Cyrus and I enjoyed seeing him strip in front of us. And this time his ass was not just red, but was turned blue and black with the severity of the punishment Cyrus, and I, gave him. Still, as he stood there pulling his shorts on I told him that he could get on to the airline and upgrade himself to first class as I thought he needed the even more comfortable seats now! And, anyway, we were saving on Ian and Ted's tickets.

Interestingly as we were on the way to JFK the following morning my phone beeped and there was a very strange looking e-mail which, when I clicked on it, turned out to be from Ted.... giving me a URL which when I clicked on it opened to a screen with the simple instructions "enter request". Almost out of curiosity I did put in a question, and the answer came back, very quickly.

Back in my own place late the next evening - the traffic in from the airport was as usual terrible - Greg was waiting for me. He didn't look all that pleased, and as I ran my hand up under his T, feeling the skin and the hard muscle of his belly, I complimented him on what good shape he was in. I stripped off and threw myself onto my bed, then lay there, relaxed, one arm behind my head and the other playing with my cock, so glad to be home. Greg stood there, still glaring.

I pointed at my cock. "You know what to do, Greg! Get down here. And didn't I tell you that you were to be naked in the bedroom?"

It was good to see him stripping again - after Sam's slight body, Greg's bigger, meatier, muscular one was a refreshing change. And he seemed to be darker, too. He stretched out between my open legs, took hold of my cock, and put his mouth down on to it. As I reached out to hold his shoulders as I like to do as a measure of `"control", I felt something.

As my fingers explored, a thrill went through me and I could feel my cock stiffen even more. There was something there. I pushed Greg off my cock and he looked at me as I continued to finger his shoulder.

"Yes, it's a fucking brand! You had me branded, as if I was some sort of animal you owned."

"You're always making these accusations, Greg. `As if....'. Let me remind you: you are an animal I own, you know. But I like the feel of this, it's good to play with as you suck me off."

"You may like the feel of it! But it fucking hurt, I tell you! At the time they did it, and for days afterwards. It's not right..."

"No right? What's not right about an owner marking his property? And as for it hurting, you're always telling me about your time in the forces, and what you put up with... Now, a tiny little brand and you're complaining about it hurting!"

"And it wasn't good for Jason either...", he went on without stopping. "That fucking great `S' on his bum. He cried for hours and hours. And then that vile exercise you had us put through...."

I wasn't aware that I'd put them through anything, only that I'd told Sam to tell his uncle to make sure my slaves were properly exercised whilst I was away.

"You do look a lot fitter, Greg. And tanned - I guess there were sunbeds, too? I rather like that darker shade on your skin. And I'm looking forward to seeing Jason - with that blond hair against a tanned skin he'll be pretty spectacular. So I don't see how all that can be described as `vile'. I've invested in you, and you're looking better for it."

"Normal exercise is no problem. I like a good, hard workout. But that thing he calls `the ladder'...."

"What's that?"

"There's a long plank With these dildo things screwed on to it. Small, thin ones at one end, going up to big fucking monstrous ones at the other. You have to start at the thin end and squat right down, and then work your way along, further and further every day."

I lay there and my imagination was alight with the thought of Greg's ass being impaled like that. Seeing me quiet he probably thought he'd `won' the exchange, as he bent down and applied himself to my cock again, and I was rock hard - not only from his lips and tongue, but also because I was imagining looking at Greg's legs and thighs as he lowered himself on to the dildos, and then, presumably, was ordered to bob up and down on them.

My mind went back to the previous night's conversation and what I had heard. Ian giving up a bright future with the company for a life of screwing old women (thoughts of Mrs Robinson' flashed through me), even though he claimed to like it. Then there was Sam, determined to possess an earl's daughter, and paying' to do it if necessary. And Ted, quiet, mouse-like Ted, about to become some sort of urban guerilla or something. I realised that whatever I had achieved I was still, basically, conventional. I never did anything really bold any more, nothing daring, nothing sexually exotic. I needed to do something totally different as Cyrus had discussed with me, and this was the right time to start.

"Get on my cock!" I commanded, and when Greg went to put his head down I snapped "No. Time for a change, Greg. Straddle me and then I want to feel that ass of yours sliding down over my cock - like you were on `the ladder'. I haven't ever fucked you properly, have I? So it's time for a bit more excitement, I think."

"No way! You know I'm straight. There's no way I'm taking cock...."

I looked at him and said calmly "So tell me why you left the service, Greg. Why aren't you still a soldier? Why did you leave, and become penniless, and get enslaved for debt?"

"It was insubordination, they called it."

"Don't lie to me! You're my slave, remember? And if you lie to me, I can punish you, or have you punished! Yes, I know that was on your involuntary discharge papers, the ones the dealer showed me to explain why you were up for sale. And that's why they threw you out without any sort of payment or pension. But now I've seen everything - all the witness statements, all the notes made by the investigator...."

"You can't have. They were `sealed'. Never produced in open court."

"Some of the government databases are now like open books, Greg. I had one of my associates - well, former associate - search out the information about what really happened. Those poor recruits.... And all you big tough instructors...."

Greg looked slightly ashamed. "It was only the wimps. They needed something to make them understand that life in the service is different. We never touched the good guys, proper men, men who would turn out OK after training. Some of the others needed toughening up...."

"Well that's one way of putting it! And the Government was complicit, trying to hide a scandal, not jailing you provided you went quietly. Toughening up'? You and your mates grabbing them, wanking them in front of the other men, and then fucking them? Toughening up' sounds like a bit of a euphemism for rape, Greg."

"Only once or twice..."

"So it's OK to fuck a guy once or twice, then?"

"No. Not really. We were all `straight'. But it needed doing, to make the wimps see things differently..."

I stroked my cock so it was ramrod hard. "Well anyway now do as I say, whether it's right or not, whether you're `straight' or not.... straddle me, and ride my cock. Or take the consequences."

"It's like rape..."

"Actually, Greg, it isn't. For two reasons. An owner can't rape a slave - you can't be unlawful if you use your own property in any way. And secondly, I'm not going to force you to do it. You're going to do it voluntarily."

"Like fuck I am...."

"I ought to beat you for using that tone with me! But as it is, I'll let it go this time. And I'll advise you to think on - about all those slave buddies of yours.... The doormen here in the building, the other slaves at that training place I pay for to keep you in good condition. How are they going to treat you when they hear that so-called `straight' Greg ended up a slave because he raped young trainee soldiers?"

"It wasn't like that, as I said... "

"Yes it was. Well, it sounds like it to me, and, I'd think, it will sound like it to all your buddies. Now I'm not going to force you - although I could have you tied down to a fucking horse and take my pleasure from you in that way as I do own you. But I'm not a man that likes coercion and I want a willing fuck toy. So it's your choice, Greg - straddle me, and ride my cock, or take the consequences!"

Slowly Greg moved his big body and gradually lowered himself. I was fascinated to see all the muscles in his thighs as they moved to lower him. Then I got that first amazing thrill as Greg's hot moist asshole touched the tip of my cock... And it got better and better as I looked at his face contorting as he gingerly and slowly lowered himself, even reaching back to steady himself with one hand on the bed, to get me inside him.

It was amazing. The first time I'd fucked a man. I thought Id lie there and it would be a bit like having my cock sucked, but it isn't, is it? All that hot flesh all around you. The tightness. The pressure and release as you go through the sphincter. And then the sight and sound of Greg groaning as his body went up and down. And the surprise as I found myself thrusting upwards, not just lying there passively. Thrusting vigorously, as if my cock wanted to go deeper and deeper in to him. And seeing Greg's cock flying up and down as he rode my cock, and were those droplets landing on me Greg's sweat, or drops of his pre-cum. It was almost indescribably erotic. And then, al though I didn't want to, as I wanted it to go on for ever and ever, the sensation of my balls tightening and that amazing feeling as you pump out your cum - not just into the mouth or hand, but deep, deep up into the guy.

I was panting and heaving with the effort. And Greg stopped, straddling me still, my cock still buried deep in him. I reached and flicked at his cock - and wondered if I should order him to wank. It seemed the right thing to do to prolong my ecstasy, but I was tired and I didn't want his cum spraying all along my chest, getting into my chest hair, as then I'd have to get up and shower. So I told him to get off.

As he did there was that very unpleasant smell of faeces, and I reminded myself that the next time we did this I'd order Greg to have an enema fist. So I said, calmly and quietly "Go and get a wash cloth - a warm wash cloth - and clean your shit off me."

There's something very masterful about having a man clean his shit off your cock after you've fucked him, I think. And as Greg worked away I was happier than I'd been for a long time, happier than when we'd closed the deal in New York, even. Now I was a man, a real man. No more mutual masturbation. No more sucking of my cock. I'd fucked an ass, a big, tough man's ass. How much time had I wasted, all these years simply playing around, and not doing what a man is designed to do - to fuck. I wanted to throw open the windows of my apartment and scream and shout to the world that I was a proper man at last. Or perhaps just e-mail someone.... But who? I realised I had no real buddy who I could share this triumph with, and my mood began to dissipate.

Still, as Greg finished and went back into the bathroom, then came out (I heard the shower running and I supposed he was cleaning my cum from his ass and thighs) and went to go into his slave room, I thought on. "Get in here", I told him, throwing the covers back. Then we lay side by side, and I let my fingers twine in his chest hair, then explore down to tug gently at his cropped pubes, before I idly teased his cock and then cupped and fondled his balls. I could feel the tension in his body as I did all this, and his cock stiffened in my hand - but I decided not to wank him.

"That was good", I told him. "You're a good fuck.... For a so-called straight guy."

He went to say something to rebut me, and I told him, in a not unkindly tone, that he should shut up and that I had decided to forgive him for lying to me earlier.

I'd really never slept with anyone before, in the sense of lying together naked in the same bed with our bodies close together. And there were some good things - the warmth of Greg, the scent of him, the way I could stroke his cock and balls if I wanted to - and hear how his breathing changed as I did, and the little muttering sounds he made in his sleep. And some not so good things - when he rolled over, it disturbed my sleep. And he snored - not loudly, but enough, when you're used to silence in the bedroom.

I woke early, as I always do, and felt him right next to me. I'd got my usual morning hard-on, and my cock was kind of nestling along Greg's ass crack. And as I lay there it seemed to me that there was something else to do - sure, I'd fucked Greg last night, my first time. But it had been a bit like a bitch in all those hetero porn films riding the stud - had I really been in charge, was I in control? There was only one way to find out: I slapped Greg's ass, hard, to wake him, then told him to kneel on the edge of the bed.

In spite of the heating the air felt slightly chill on my naked body as I stood there looking at Greg`s ass in front of me. My cock clearly wanted to do it, as it was rampantly hard. But I was shaking inside - could I do it? Could I really fuck a man like this? But I'm an expert at concealing any fears I have, so I snapped "reach back and pull your fucking ass cheeks apart!" at Greg.

If he hadn't complied, although he did it so slowly that I had initial doubts, I'm not sure what would have happened. But he presumably remembered the lessons from the night before, and soon I could see his puckered hole tightening and relaxing in line with his laboured breathing. I leaned forward and dribbled a huge load of spit onto my cock then rubbed myself to cover it all over, and moved forward.

Once my cock touched his hole something cut in - some almost primeval knowledge, I suppose. Looking at me you`d have thought I was a lifelong expert at it, as I used my hand to hold my cock rigid as I forced my way in, and then rode Greg with wild abandon, sometimes slow, sometimes in great, fast busts of vigour, and sometimes pulling right out before I lammed back in. And yes, spit isn't the greatest of lube. And yes, Greg did cry out and even scream and shout a bit as some of it was painful. And it all added to the excitement, the joy, the fun I was having.

End Of Part Ten