Date: Wed, 2 Jun 2004 10:11:59 -0400
From: jamieanderson <JamieAnderson@compuserve.com>
Subject: The Takeover

			 The inevitable disclaimer

For some unknown reason this story seems to deliberately set out to offend
those who dislike tales with male-male sex scenes in them. True, this makes
it difficult for those who live in areas where reading such stories is not
allowed. Even worse, it stops underage kids from reading it. However, back
here in reality, the rest of you may read it with a clear
conscience. Naturally it is a work of fiction and I'm not really a rich,
upper-class crook.

			       The Takeover

The evening had started out quite normally, as Friday evenings go. The TV
was total crap, but there is nothing unusual about that, so I decided to go
out to a gay club.  Well, I was fed up with an empty bed and I fancied a
nice one-night stand. Someone I could fuck the ass off and get the sexual
frustrations out of my system, without any of the complications of
long-term emotional ties. I'm a loner and I'm quite happy that way.  I just
wanted sex, not a lover.

As usual, the air in the club was blue with tobacco smoke. Yes, I am a
non-smoker, and no, I am not afraid of getting cancer from second-hand
smoking. I just hate breathing in that fug. Besides, tomorrow everything I
was wearing would need to be washed otherwise I'd stink like a kipper.

There were about sixty guys spread through the four rooms of the club and I
began to rate them in the order I'd like to bed them. Of the sixty only
five really appealed to me, the next question was, how many of the five
would I turn on? To start the ball rolling I aimed for #1 on my list. This,
as it turned out, was a mistake. You see, #3 on my list was sort of giving
me the 'come on', but I ignored him.

Now #1 was a slim, dark haired, sultry young lad, in his early twenties. He
looked very nice as he propped up the bar, a conveniently empty glass in
his hand. I ordered myself a tonic water with ice and lemon. This looks
like an alcoholic drink, but isn't. I never drink when I'm on the
prowl. Oh, I used to do it when I started out.  But, waking up in the cold
light of morning and finding what horror I had dragged home the previous
night, plus a hangover, soon put an end to that.

Having got my order in, I asked #1 if he'd like a drink. This was my second
mistake; I should have asked #1 if SHE'D like a drink. As long as he stood
still and didn't speak, he really looked quite masculine, alas as soon as
he moved or opened his mouth; he turned into a lisping fairy with a limp
wrist.

Yes, I know it is just the way I am, but if I want to have a girl in my
bed, I'll go out and find one. However I wanted a man that night, not a
near Miss. So this cost me the price of a real G & T plus a good fifteen
minutes of my time, which was spent extricating myself from her
clutches. God, some of them are like double-sided sticky tape, easy to pick
up but almost impossible to get rid off again.

The fifteen minutes had also cost me my chances with #2, who was now
looking deep into the eyes of some other lucky guy. I now discovered my
first mistake as #3 shunned my advances, presumably in punishment for me
ignoring him earlier.

In the meanwhile #4 and #5 had vanished! I was beginning to think there was
a flashing neon sign above my head that read 'LOSER'. Pretty soon it was
getting round to closing time and that is when the soft mood lighting is
switched off and the harsh glare of the fluorescent clean-up lights come
on. At that moment all the beautiful young paintings turn out to be old
masters and that was more than I could take in my present mood, so I left.

"Got any change, mister?"

The voice came from my right and slightly behind me. Normally I give
beggars a reasonable consideration, and, if I feel that they really need
cash, I'll give them some. But tonight was not the perfect moment to try my
generosity. So my reply was an abrupt and vicious, "Fuck off!"

"Aw, come on mister, you'd never miss it and I'm hungry," said the voice,
its owner was obviously following me down the street.

"You'd only spend it on drugs."

"I don't do drugs! I need the money for food. I'm hungry."

Up till now the voice had been that cajoling and slightly whiny one used by
people trying to curry favour, but now it was harsh and indignant. This
brought me to a halt and I turned to look at him. He was about his mid
teens, skinny, everything needed a wash, his hair might have been blond
once, now it was greyish brown and he definitely looked hungry. However I
was in a black mood and I was still not going to give him money, but a
compromise sprung to mind.

"OK, I'll take you round to a hamburger joint and buy you one of their
super-sized meals," I offered.

He sighed, "For what you'd spend for crap-on-a-bap I could eat for about 2
days, and maybe even get somewhere warm to sleep tonight."

Now, here he had a point, it was winter and the nights were bitterly
cold. Sleeping rough must be a real hardship. I looked him over
properly. He did need help, as well as being filthy, his clothes were quite
inadequate for keeping out the cold, and there was no fat on his bones. My
conscience awoke from its slumbers and kicked me firmly in the balls.

"OK, how about a bath, all your clothes washed, a good meal and a bed for
the night?" I heard myself say, just before I got my hands round the throat
of my conscience and strangled it into silence.

"You've got a deal!"

By now I had shut my conscience up long enough for me to think things
through a little.

"Just a sec, how old are you?"

"16, and 3 months."

He had answered without any hesitation, so he was either telling the truth,
or he was a most accomplished liar.

"Do you smoke?"

"Nah! I squander all my money on food," he said, cheekily.

My conscience wriggled free of my grip long enough to force me to say, "You
do realise that I'm gay."

"Yes, I know," he said with a grin.

This narked me slightly as I don't really think that I come across as a
screaming faggot.

He must have seen it on my face as he quickly added, "You did come out of a
gay club."

Feeling an utter fool I led the way down the street to where my car was
parked. I got in and leaned over and opened the passenger door.

He gave a low whistle and said, "Nice car. Are you sure you want to let the
likes of me in it?"

"Get in." I said, "The upholstery is leather and it doesn't stain readily."

He did as he was told and, as soon as he had fastened his seatbelt, we were
off. I had to turn the fan up as he really did niff a bit.

My place is a rather expensive apartment, in a block built between the
wars. There is an ancient elevator that has been converted to automatic
use, but the entire building radiates an air of decayed splendour. But, it
is a quiet neighbourhood where everyone minds their own business and I like
living there. The kid was obviously impressed.

Once inside I proceeded straight through my bedroom, into the bathroom and
ran a bath.  The hot water comes from a central boiler, so it is constantly
available.

"Oo, you've got a rubber duck!" he said, grabbing the bright yellow toy.

"My brother has two young sons, sometimes they stop off here while they are
in town. I found it was cheaper to buy some toys than let them break
expensive objects," I explained.

"As good an excuse as any," he said, grinning.

While I was adding some bubble bath he stripped off. I had been going to
ask him to hand his clothes through the door to save him the embarrassment
of undressing in front of me, but he beat me to it.

His naked body revealed several things; yes, he DID need a bath, and a good
meal, I could count his ribs from where I stood. Otherwise he was in
reasonable shape. I glanced down between his legs to see what sort of
package Mother Nature had given him, and got a shock. Yup, the cock and
balls were all present and correct, nicely in proportion to his body, but
where there should have been a delightful triangular blond bush, there was
just some dirty stubble and the skin was a bit red, as if he had been
scratching it too much.

He caught my gaze and said, "Ah yes. Can I borrow a razor? It's days since
I shaved and the itching is driving me mad."

I felt my eyebrows rise.

"He always kept me shaved down there," he said, as if that explained
everything.

Dumbstruck I went to the bathroom cupboard and dug out a packet of
disposable razors. I keep them for tricks who want to shave before they
leave. Mind you, they use them on their faces. I handed one to him and he
grinned as he took it. I then picked up his clothes with my fingertips,
making as little contact with them as possible and made my exit.

With the exception of his trainers and jersey the lot got dumped in the
washing machine.  It is a neat little thing, just right for someone living
alone. It takes only a small load of washing, but it is also a tumble
dryer. So all I have to do is, drop the dirty laundry in it, wait until it
bleats then remove the clean, dry laundry. This load might just test the
poor machine to its limits. The trainers were quite disgusting, but got
kept, the jersey, which was well beyond recovery, got binned.

I have a reasonable sized Deepfreeze; I poked around inside it and located
a large T- bone steak. While this was being defrosted in the microwave I
plugged in the deep fryer and peeled some spuds. By the time the kid came
out, wearing my dressing gown, I was just putting the plate on the table.

"Will steak, eggs, onions, fried tomatoes and chips do?" I asked.

"Shit yes!" he said, grabbing the knife and fork.

I opened a half bottle of wine, poured 2 glasses and pushed one over to
him. I now looked him over again. Clean, he was much more
attractive. Normally I do not fancy teenagers, but in his case I could be
talked into making an exception. To put it bluntly, he was a sexy little
bugger.

"Trying to get me drunk?" he asked, with a cheeky grin as he picked up the
glass.

"If I wanted to get you pissed, it would be a litre bottle of cheap plonk,
not a half bottle of the good stuff."

He swallowed about half the glass at one gulp and said, "Yeah, not bad
stuff."

"If the cost of a greaseburger and chips could keep you fed for two days,
what you have just swallowed would have kept you in grub for a week. Do try
to make this last for the rest of the meal," I said, refilling his glass.

That took the wind out of his sails and he sipped the wine from then on.

"Do your parents know where you are? Mothers do tend to fret." I pointed
out.

"My mother died when I was 11," he said.

"Oh, sorry," I replied, a bit embarrassed. "But what about your father?"

"Stuff him!" he exclaimed, between mouthfuls.

"He's the reason you left home?"

He nodded.

"Well, perhaps we should introduce ourselves," I said, struggling to reach
safer ground.

"Sure! You are Adrian Young and I'm Brian Cook," he said, with that cheeky
grin back on his face.

My mind raced for a second, then I suddenly caught on, "You got that from
the nameplate on my door."

He winked at me, "Not bad, some would be fooled by that one."

As I sipped my wine and he ate I slowly got more details out of him, his
home address, the fact that he lived alone with his father, until he split
about three months ago, he had left school as soon as he could and he had
never worked. The odd thing was, he appeared to be quite
intelligent. Eventually he cleared his plate, dropped his knife and fork,
drank the last of his wine and said, "Bed?"

I shoved the plate, glasses and cutlery into the dishwasher and followed
him into my bedroom. Without any shame he took off my dressing gown and
hung it on the back of the door. Then he slowly turned round letting me
have a good long look at his naked body.  Malnourishment had taken its
toll, but, given proper feeding, he could be a very handsome young
man. About here my conscience rose from the dead and made me say, "You can
sleep in the spare room, if you want..."

"Who are you kidding," he said, turning back the bedclothes.

I shrugged and pulled off my clothes; fully conscious of the fact he was
watching me closely. Out of devilment I made sure I was facing him as I
took off my last garment, my Y-fronts. His eyes got bigger and he sucked in
his breath, sharply.

"Christ! You're a lot bigger than him," he gasped.

Putting all false modesty aside, I must admit that I am rather large down
there. Sadly, this is a mixed blessing. Some size queens go ape shit over
it, but nearly everyone else tends to view it with apprehension. However,
over the years I have learned to use it very carefully as it is all too
easy to hurt someone with it.

"God! It is fantastic to be back in a real bed again. I can sleep safely,
knowing that I'm not going to be wakened up by some bugger trying to kick
my head in," he said, snuggling down in the bed.

I went into the bathroom and had a quick shower. When I got dried and back
to the bedroom he was fast asleep. My fault I suppose for giving him wine
on an empty stomach.  But, to be absolutely honest, I hadn't really picked
him up for sex. Mind you I doubt if anyone would ever believe that. After
admiring him for a few minutes I made my way to what had been intended to
be the dining room, but was now my study. There I made some notes, and then
I got myself a consolation prize, a large glass of 25-year-old Macallan,
the only drinkable single malt. Yes, it was the perfect fucking end to the
perfect fucking evening. Poor Brian, I reflected, the price of the contents
of this glass would have kept him in food for ages. When the glass was
empty I returned to bed. As I am only human, I will admit that I did feel
him up before I dozed off.

Now, I have had a wet dream before; mind you I was very young at the
time. If I remember correctly I was trying to impress God by laying off
wanking. I never did find out if God was moved by my abstinence, but I
ended up having a really weird sexy dream, waking up to find I was wearing
a very sticky pair of pyjama trousers. Needless to say I have never
repeated the experiment. This time the dream was less weird, in fact quite
rational; I was having a blowjob done on me, and a very good one at
that. Instinctively I grabbed the head and dumped my load into the warm,
wet mouth. Judging from the gulping sounds my load was swallowed. However I
didn't let go of the head until I had finished shooting. Gradually I came
to my senses and realised that it was Brian's head that I had in my hands.

"What brought that on?" I asked as he surfaced from beneath the covers.

"I felt guilty about falling asleep on you last night," he said.

I reached out and caressed his cock it was rigid. From that I concluded
that he was turned on, and went down on him to return the favour. He tried
to fight me off, but I was far stronger than him. Soon my left hand had
both his arms trapped behind his back.  This left my other hand and mouth
free to work on his cock. Yes, I am a dominant bastard. There was a
terrible wave of guilt swept over me as I took his hairless cock into my
mouth. I felt like I was sucking off a prepubescent boy, but at the same
time it was peculiarly exciting.

Using my lips I pulled back his foreskin and attacked his glans with my
tongue. This made him squirm delightfully and beg me to stop. I started to
caress his balls with my free hand and noted how well retracted they
were. This little kid was just about to lose his load. I surreptitiously
wet my index finger and slid it round between his buns.  There I found his
ring and I started to finger him.

His protests and struggling grew by leaps and bounds. I was now having
difficulty holding him. My finger slipped in with surprising ease;
obviously it was not the first raider to travel this route. I went straight
for his prostate and made it just in time.  The moment I began to massage
it, he lost the fight.

His back arched, lifting him up from the bed and driving his cock firmly
into my mouth.  It was small enough for me to accommodate it totally with
no discomfort. God, teenage boys do go wild when they shoot! All I had to
do was hold on to him and make sure I got the lot. He did go on for such a
long time and I wouldn't let him have his cock back until I was sure that
not another drop of his cum was left in his body.

I was transported back to my youth by the incident. But in those days my
sexual encounters were of a more furtive nature. I had been sent to a
boarding school and the housemaster, Mr Brewer, slept right next door to
our dormitory, so we had to keep the noise down. In our youthful naivety we
thought that Mr Brewer was a heavy sleeper.

"Shit!" said Brian, bringing me out of my daydream, "He never did that to
me."

"Who he?" I asked, determined to find out who had been there before me.

"My dad, of course," said Brian, looking at me as if I was a backward
child.

"Ah!" was about all I could manage.

"I suppose that it was my fault that it all started," began Brian, "After
mum died I was frightened sleeping alone and I moved into dad's bed."

"And he put the make on you?"

"Not exactly. He said that, now mum was gone we would have to share the
jobs that she used to do. Then it turned out that as well as helping with
the housework, I had to jack him off."

"Didn't you mind?"

"Not really, it was kind of fun watching him when he shot his load. But
then he kept pulling my head into his crotch and one night he made me kiss
it."

"Didn't you refuse?'

"Yup, but he insisted. Then, the next thing was, 'no pocket money unless
you take it in your mouth'. After a while I discovered that if I really
worked his cock over it made him shoot faster."

"Yes, I can believe that," I said, remembering his efforts on mine.

"On my 12th birthday he fucked me for the first time, it almost killed me,
but he enjoyed it. So after that I used to beg him to let me suck him off
rather than fuck me."

"And did he?"

"Oh, for him it was a game. He liked to see me grovel and beg. Most nights
he'd settle for a blowjob, but at least once a week he'd roger my arse."

There was a long pause here, as I was feeling very guilty. Well I had
forced him to take my load in his mouth and then held him down while I
sucked his balls dry. I pulled him towards me and cuddled him. He accepted
the hug without protest.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Why, it wasn't your fault my old man abused me?'

"No! I'm sorry for what I just did to you. Holding your head when I shot my
bolt."

"But isn't that the proper way? He always held my head. He said it made
less mess.  Anyway, nobody has ever sucked my cock before. That was
fantastic!"

"But I forced you."

"Yeah! You made me cum. He never cared whether I shot or not. The only
thing he ever did for me was to shave me down there every day. I reckon he
thought it would stop me growing up."

"But it didn't," I said.

"Nope. But, his demands got worse and finally he did something to me that
really made me mad."

"And then you ran away from home?" I asked, not wishing to make him talk
about something that disgusted him.

"Not exactly. As soon as I was 16 I left home, and there is fuck all that
the old bastard can do about it."

"But now it's winter, and not quite so comfortable?"

"Living rough is never comfortable, believe me."

We lay there cuddling for a while then I suggested breakfast. To my
surprise, I was rewarded by a kiss.

I made a huge fry-up and most of it ended up on his plate. I eventually
left him eating while I went into the study and made a phone call. It was
to a private investigation agency. It is very discreet, very efficient and
bloody expensive. I read out the information that I had noted down the
night before and they promised to have a report back early the following
week. When I returned to the kitchen he had dug his things out of the
dryer, he was all dressed and looking for his jersey.

"I binned it, it wasn't worth keeping," I explained.

"Yeah I know, but it was all that I had."

"Go help yourself from the middle drawer of my dresser."

"Gee, ta," he said, vanishing into the bedroom.

A few minutes later he emerged wearing my best angora sweater. It was far
too big for him, but he looked really cute in it. I had a mad desire to
tear all his clothes off him and bugger him on the kitchen floor.

"Well, I suppose this is good-bye then," he said.

Woops! That caught me totally flat-footed, my heart skipped a beat, and all
I could manage was, "Huh?"

"A bath, all my clothes washed, a good meal and a bed for the night. That
was the deal, wasn't it?" he said.

Shit, the kid was right. I had only promised to put him up for the night
and now it was all over. My conscience kicked in, disconnecting my brain
from my mouth, and I heard myself say, "I, er, em – I was hoping you'd stay
a bit longer, it's getting quite cold at nights and..."

"And you're after my arse," he said, not unkindly.

I could feel my face redden. Madly my brain raced, searching desperately
for an excuse, but none came to mind. Suddenly I heard the ghost of my
grandma's voice, 'Tell the truth and shame the Devil'.

"Yes," I said.

"Honestly, I'd let you fuck me, but that cock of yours would kill me."

"Apart from your dad, who else has had you?"

"No one. Why?"

"I don't think that your dad was much of an expert at butt fucking. If you
stay here a few days I can show you how it is done properly," I said.

"Stay here?"

"Yes, why not, the bed is big enough and you seem to like my cooking."

He looked hopeful for a moment, but then he shook his head and said, "No,
it wouldn't be fair on you."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'd be taking advantage of you, just because you'd keep hoping that
I'd change my mind and let you fuck me."

"Hmm, I'd kinda hoped that you might throw in the occasional blowjob to pay
for your keep," I said, lightly.

"You'd feed and shelter me, just for blowjobs?"

"That, and the hope of fucking you. Besides, once I've fucked you, and you
discover that it can be fun, you'll be back for more."

"Never!"

"I'll bet you!"

He looked indecisive, obviously he was weighing up the advantages against
what he perceived as the impossibility of me screwing his ass. Over his
shoulder I could see out of the window, the first flakes of this winter's
snow were falling.

"If it helps you make up your mind, it has started snowing," I said.

He turned, looked out of the window and I saw his shoulders droop. I knew
that I had won, but I didn't want him to feel that he had lost.

"Let's go out and at least buy you some decent warm clothes," I suggested.

He accepted the compromise with a grin. I found him my old sheepskin
jacket. Yes, it was way too big for him, but no one notices that with a
sheepskin, and we headed down to the car.

I headed out of town to one of those new shopping complexes that have
opened recently.  The first logical choice seemed to be a sports
shop. Well, they did have one wall, running the entire length of the shop,
displaying nothing but trainers. To my surprise Brian refused to enter.

"Shit Adrian!" he exclaimed. "That is a rip-off joint. It is there for
people with more money than sense. You pay a fortune just for a fancy label
and the shoes aren't even of a very high quality."

Meekly I followed him to a much more down-market shop where he selected a
pair of trainers which cost about one quarter of the price I'd have been
prepared to pay.

"He'll take them," I informed the assistant.

"And the old pair," inquired the assistant, with some disgust in his voice.

"Shoot them!" I replied.

When the assistant left Brian said, "What did you tell him to chuck them
for? There was still some wear left in them."

"Oh, it's something to do with the agreement I signed when I bought the
apartment."

"Huh?"

"No pets allowed, so your trainers have to go!"

He also got a pair of normal leather shoes; I gather these were the first
pair of proper shoes that he had had since his mother died.

We then did the rounds of the shops, buying Brian new clothes, I let him
select all his own things, well, I did make some suggestions as to the
underpants. OK, the ones I chose were dead sexy and I was dying to see him
wearing them, and nothing else. This fact was obvious to him, and he made
sure the young queen who was serving us was also in on the joke.

The last stop was at a proper tailor's shop. There he got fitted out with
an 'off-the- peg' lounge suit. He looked quite smart, but very
uncomfortable in it, the way only teenagers can. On the way back to the car
he queried the last purchase.

"Tonight is Saturday night, and that is the night I dine out at my
club. Dressed the way I found you, they wouldn't let you through the
door. However wearing that suit, a white shirt, a tie and decent shoes, you
might just pass muster."

"You spend all that money on me, and now you're taking me out to
dinner. You really are after my arse, aren't you?"

"Brian! Will you please stop going on about money. I agree, I am after that
cute little ass of yours and, if you hang around me long enough, I'll get
in it."

He giggled at that last remark and we both knew that now the game was on. I
didn't like to tell him that the odds were stacked against him. I was
almost exactly twice his age and in the extra sixteen years I had had many
partners, and done more than my fair share of seduction. As far as I could
tell, his only experience was sexual abuse, where violence, or at least the
threat of violence, was the only method used. I doubt if he would be
expecting an attack from the diametrically opposite direction, pleasure.

Once we got home with our stock of clothes he had a frenzy of trying
everything on.  Well, everything except the lounge suit. He ended up
parading around the kitchen wearing nothing but a brief pair of ice blue
scants. Yes, I do have good taste, and he did look ravishing in them. He
could pull a cute 'little boy' smile, which coupled with a sexy wiggling of
his bum, nearly led to his rape. But I just caught him and hugged him
instead.

Of course my hands wandered and soon they were on the inside of his scants,
feeling the beautiful round orbs of his buns. I could feel him tense, so I
made no move towards his crack. Instead I moved one hand round the front of
him. Yes, he was as hard as a rock. I sat down on a kitchen chair with him
standing in front of me. Soon his scants were round his ankles. I wet my
hand and wrapped it round his shaft. I pulled back his foreskin and let the
head of it see the light. Gently I ran a wet thumb over it and made him
quiver all over.

I moved my free hand from his glorious butt and placed it between his legs,
rubbing him just behind his naked little balls. I now began wanking him
properly while at the same time increasing the upward pressure with my
other hand. Soon he was standing on tiptoe, holding on to my shoulders to
maintain his balance and poised on the very edge of an orgasm. I bent
forwards and kissed the head of his quivering cock just as he let go his
load. Ah, the memories his pumping little cock caused to resurface...

Rupert must have been a year younger than Brian when he first shot his load
into my mouth. I knew damn well what he was doing, but I didn't know it I
could swallow it or not. But, I tried, and I didn't die. One thing I did do
was, mightily impress Rupert!  For some reason that action made me a hero
in his eyes and, although we never became lovers, we did become devoted
sexual partners until we left school.

I returned from my daydream to discover that Brian was half slumped over
me. Reluctantly I let go of his member and helped him upright. Then I had
to do a lot of coaxing to get him to dress up properly in the suit, white
shirt and tie.

Now there is a good reason that I am a member of a gentleman's club and
have dinner there once a week. It is to do with the way I earn my living. I
finance my rather lavish lifestyle by dabbling in the stock market. Well, I
call it dabbling, in actual fact it involves buying and selling, using all
the information that I can possibly gather. As it turns out, a gentleman's
club is where a lot of business is discussed, and not too many precautions
are taken to ensure secrecy. As a result, by judicious eavesdropping, I get
many tips and hints, which I can use to my advantage. It is quite
surprising what some old duffers let slip when they are in their cups.

We went by taxi, an expense that Brian certainly disapproved of. Once
inside the club we were shown to the bar while an extra place was set at my
table. My tonic water, with ice and lemon arrived and I ordered a Virgin
Mary for the lad.

"What the Hell's that," he whispered.

"A Bloody Mary is vodka, tomato juice, lemon juice, a dash of Wooster
sauce, celery salt and Tabasco sauce. However as you are a little young for
spirits, they leave out the vodka."

"Isn't Tabasco sauce hot?"

"It is a little piquant, but that stops you gulping it down."

The drinks arrived and he duly sipped his carefully. Eventually, they never
rush anything in there, we went to table, and received our menus.

"There are no prices on this menu," Brian said, when the waiter was out of
earshot.

"That's a guest's menu. If there were prices on it this might influence
your choice. So, now you'll just have to order what you fancy."

"But what about all these knives and forks?" he asked, "Which ones do I
use?"

True, there was a massive array of cutlery spreading out in three
directions from his place setting. I don't suppose that this problem had
ever presented itself in any of the dining establishments he had visited
before.

"Relax, start at the outside and work your way in. Some are for courses
that you will not order and the waiter will remove the cutlery for them."

"But what if he doesn't," said Brian, unwilling to let go of the subject.

"Well, if the waiter doesn't remove the unneeded cutlery then it isn't a
very good class of restaurant, and no one will notice if you use the wrong
fork. Now, I can recommend the salmon mayonnaise as a starter..."

The meal went well, although the size of his lemon sole, when it arrived,
just about floored him. Fortunately, after the waiter filleted it for him,
it appeared to be more manageable. In any event, he ate the lot. Although
he found the concept of ice cream covered in hot chocolate sauce strange,
it did nothing to slow down his consumption of his Dame Blanche.

We had split another half bottle of wine with the meal, no, he didn't gulp
it this time and I treated myself to a Cognac with the coffee. The bill
arrived and I signed it, slipping a twenty-pound note into it before
returning it to the tray. As we left he insisted on us walking home.

"Shit! You spent twenty quid, just on one meal," he said, once we were out
on the street.

"What!" was all I could utter.

"I saw you slip that twenty onto the tray, and you didn't even wait for
your change."

"The twenty was the waiter's tip, I signed the bill. At the end of the
month they send me the total and I send them a cheque," I explained, trying
not to laugh.

"Christ! A twenty quid tip! How much was the bill?"

"I'm not sure, I didn't really look. Probably between one fifty and two
hundred."

He stopped and looked at me as if I was insane.

"You are kidding, aren't you?" he gasped.

"No, not really, your main course cost thirty-five pounds all by itself," I
said, failing to add the price of the wine was even higher.

"Shit! And I wouldn't let you waste your money on designer trainers for
me. What are you? A millionaire?"

"Probably. Now look, can we get a taxi, I don't really feel safe in this
neck of the woods."

"Oh, you're all right, you're with me. I've been living in far worse places
than this.  What do you mean, probably?"

"It's difficult to say, a lot of my apparent wealth is tied up in
investments and their value changes quite rapidly. Oh look, I'll explain it
all to you in the morning."

We walked on in silence for a while, and then the attack happened. From an
alley a dark figure suddenly appeared. He was dressed totally in black, and
a balaclava, which covered his features. In his right hand a blade glinted
yellow in the sodium glare of the streetlamp.

I stopped dead, all my attention riveted on the knife, but Brian just
continued to walk.  Our attacker did not instantly notice this, but when he
did realise that Brian was no longer in front of him, it was too late. The
lad had dropped onto his hands and knees behind him. His apparent
disappearance caused our adversary to take his attention from me for a
moment. I stepped forward smartly and pushed him as hard as I could on the
chest. He tried to step back to maintain his balance but went flat on his
back when he tripped over Brian.

The knife went flying and clattered into the gutter. My victim swore and
rolled over onto his hands and knees making for the knife. This presented
me with a perfect target.  With as much force as I could muster I kicked
out at his backside. Alas my aim was rather low and instead of hitting his
buttocks my foot went between his legs and came up on his balls.

The screams must have been audible for quite some distance. In retrospect,
his tolerance of pain must have been quite high, because he staggered to
his feet and did a passable imitation of a fast exit, up the alleyway from
which he had emerged.

Brian got up, dusted off the knees of his trousers, went over to the kerb
and retrieved the knife.

"You look far too young to have been an aficionado of Abbot and Costello
films," I said, trying to regain my cool.

"They were on TV last winter," he said, fiddling with the knife.

"Ah," I said, still in shock.

"A flick knife," he observed, as he found the retract mechanism and
sheathed the blade.

"Watch your fingers, you might cut yourself."

"They are bloody expensive," he said, slipping it into his pocket.

"They are also illegal," I pointed out.

"So is mugging people, so I doubt if he'll report its theft."

"Although we seem to work well as a team, this area isn't really very
safe."

"You're right, perhaps we should take a taxi," he said.

One of the many things that impressed me about Brian was his concern for
his belongings.  Everything he owned, he looked after. All his clothes were
properly put away after use.  This included the rags he had arrived in, not
just the new stuff I had bought him. I was definitely beginning to warm to
the lad. To be totally honest, I enjoyed taking him new places and teaching
him things.

Anyway, not long after we had got home, he was wandering round in my
dressing gown, looking as stunningly beautiful as ever, while I had only
managed to get my coat off and head for the drinks cabinet. I poured two
snifters of brandy, one decent measure for me, and a much smaller one for
him, as we both needed something to steady our nerves. He accepted the
glass and looked critically at the meagre contents.

"Well, you are certainly not trying to get me legless tonight," he
observed, with that damned cheeky grin all over his face.

"No, I find it disconcerting when someone pukes while I'm screwing them," I
commented, dryly.

"So, you're still after my arse?"

"Yup, but I'll tell you what, tonight I'll settle for a shower and a race."

"OK, the shower I understand, but what sort of race?"

"You'll see presently," I said, leading the way to the bathroom.

Washing down a teenager in the shower was something else that I hadn't done
since I was at school, and to be honest the act had lost none of its
appeal. The only difference was, I was now so much larger, but it was still
fun. After we had dried each other we returned to the bedroom.

"OK, what sort of race?" he asked.

"Oh, it's quite simple, we get into a 69, then the first one to cum loses
and has to suck the other guy off," I explained.

"69?" he asked.

Patiently I explained the mechanics of simultaneous blowjobs and he looked
interested.  Then we got into position on the bed. Now, the more observant
of you will have noticed that I have a little abnormality. Most guys
instantly lose all interest in sex for about twenty minutes after they
shoot, but I don't. So, in this sort of race I don't care if I lose. True,
as an adult this kink has very little use, but when I was younger, the
number of 'straight' kids I've conned into 'winning' a race against me is
well into double figures.

So I settled down to the pleasant job of blowing Brian, while he was
reciprocating quite nicely at the other end of the bed. Eventually I let
his cock slide out of my mouth and licked his balls. From the happy noises
coming from the region of my groin, I concluded that he was enjoying
it. Gradually I allowed my tongue to work its way back, behind his balls
and onto his perineum. Slowly I managed to get him to part his legs. I'm
not sure if it was a voluntary action or not, but they opened just the
same. This let me work my way further back until my target was obvious.

This time he deliberately spread his legs and I could at last push my face
between his sexy buns. Of course running my tongue over his tightly
clenched ring was but the start of things. By gentle but insistent effort I
persuaded him to give in to my assault and in the end I got my tongue
inside him.

My goal achieved, I now luxuriated in the joy of conquest, ramming my
tongue as far into him as it would go. True, he did wriggle and try to
escape, but I had far too good a hold on him for that to happen. When I had
sated my lust, for the moment at least, I released the iron grip that I had
on my own body and allowed him to take me to my orgasm. I shot my load into
his mouth while my face was deep within his buns. I was in ecstasy!

Reluctantly I removed my tongue and replaced it with my middle finger. This
time I didn't go straight for his hot spot, I just wiggled it about a bit,
while I got his cock back in my mouth. While I used my mouth to distract
him my finger carefully began the slow process of relaxing his anal
sphincter. As I brought the second finger into play I got the first one
onto his prostate. I'll bet he never noticed the second one entering
him. Not that it was there for very long, he was filling my mouth just
seconds after I hit his hot spot.

"I won!" he said, just as I was relishing the last dregs of boy cum.

"Why, I do believe you did," I said.

"Somehow you don't sound like someone who didn't win."

"Ah, but you see, I'm a very good loser."

"You aren't even a very good liar. You enjoyed that!"

"Then, my dear, we're both happy."

But, judging by the way he snuggled up to me, when we finally got into bed
properly, he wasn't really mad at me.

The next day, after breakfast, he reminded me of my promise to explain my
financial position to him.

"Essentially, I'm a gambler," I said.

"You play the horses?" he asked.

"Good God no!" I exclaimed, with a laugh. "What is the point of betting
against someone who can set the odds?"

"How do you bet then?"

"I bet on the way share prices move. Come on and I'll show you."

 I took him into my study and sat before my computers. On one screen I
began bringing up the statistics of the company that I was heavily invested
in. First a green, slightly wiggly line appeared on the monitor.

"This is the book value of the company, what it is actually worth if it
sold off all its assets. The vertical scale is the value per share and the
horizontal one is time," I explained.

I did a bit of typing and another line ran across the screen.

"This is the number of employees. Notice how it keeps rising at first."

A little more work on my part produced more lines in different colours.

"Now here is an interesting point. That is when the management graciously
allowed all the employees to buy shares, at well below the market
price. But at the same time they awarded themselves large blocks of shares
as well. You will notice the change between the book value of the company
and the value of its shares. The company is becoming dangerously
overvalued."

Brian nodded, dumbly.

"OK now about here," I said, pointing to a precipitous drop on the share
price line, "is where reality kicked in, and the punters realised that the
shares were overvalued. Also, if you look here, the company had stopped
making a profit. To save itself money it then began to lay-off
employees. Who, being pissed off, sold their shares thus bringing the price
even lower. On the next round of lay-offs, the cuts had to go still deeper
and some managers got shown the door. Needless to say, they sold their
shares, as did quite a few of them who managed to keep their jobs."

"But, didn't they lose money?" asked Brian.

"Oh, yes. But they were frightened of losing it all. However we now come to
the most interesting bit. Just here, the share price fell below the asset
value. In other words, if you bought the entire company, broke it up and
just sold off all the bits, you would make a profit. However, if you were
in the same business you could buy up the company, sell off the bits you
didn't want as going concerns, keep the bits that are useful to you and
make an even bigger profit."

"And that's what you are going to do?"

"God no! But, I did buy up lots of shares, very quietly, through dummy
companies, when the shares were very cheap."

"Is that legal?"

"Well, if you don't get caught, it is."

"Now, soon there will be a takeover bid. This means there will be an offer
of some money and some shares in the company making the offer, for my
shares. So I'll sell and I reckon that I'll get my investment back about
twice times over. Which will keep the wolf from my door for a while."

"What are you going to spend it all on?"

"I was thinking of going abroad for a while. Sooner or later some bright
bugger will notice the fact that too many shares changed hands at very
convenient times. So questions will be asked, but as all the dummy
companies will have been wound up and I'll be out of the country, answers
will be hard to come by. After a few years or so, it'll have all died down
and I'll be able to do it again."

"You're not stupid, are you?"

"Hmm, some people have discovered that to their cost."

With that we left the study. Brian hadn't bothered to dress before
breakfast and he was still wearing my dressing gown when we got back to the
bedroom. He removed it, prior to getting dressed and I gave in to an urge
and jumped him. We landed on the bed, him face up with me pinning him to
the bed. He relaxed and let me kiss him. Later he told me that he didn't
even realise that I had restrained him until I had his second wrist clamped
to the headboard. It was a bit of a struggle to get the ankle clamps on him
as he fought like mad, but in the end I managed it.

As I have said, I'm a dominant bastard. However I'm not into S & M in any
form. But my victim is usually completely unaware of this, and that adds
nicely to the sexual tension. Brian looked up at me with a mixture of fear
and hatred in his blue eyes. I smiled my best sinister smile and undressed.

"What's the game?" he asked.

"If you remember, I'm after your ass," I said, hanging up my pants.

"Oh, rape, is it?"

"Human anatomy 101! If you were of the female persuasion you would indeed
be in the perfect position to be raped. However, a quick glance between
your legs will reveal that you are a male. Now, convention has it, that the
optimum position for raping a male is face down and bum up. So, although
rape is still a possibility, it would be difficult to achieve."

"So, what are you going to do?"

"Delightful as your ass is, you are rather tight and you will need
slackening quite a bit before this can get into you," I said, pointing to
the bulge in the front of my underwear.

Real fear now lit his eyes and he struggled against his restraints. Then he
cried, "No!"

"No?"

"He tried to slacken me. He used the handle of his hairbrush and it hurt
like Hell!"

The very thought made me wince, and I earnestly hoped that I would never
meet his father, as I might just be tempted to beat the living shit out of
him.

"I'll bet it did. However I have absolutely no intention of causing you any
pain," I said, dropping my underpants and stepping out of them.

"Why am I tied up then?"

"Oh, that's just to stop you interfering with me while I'm torturing you,"
I replied, affably.

"Torture! I thought you said you weren't going to hurt me!"

"Yes, and yes. Torture doesn't have to be painful."

I climbed onto the bed and knelt between his legs. Using the lightest of
touches I began to stroke the inside of his thighs from just above his
knees to just below his balls.  Slowly, and I suspect very unwillingly, his
cock began to first fill out, and then rise.

"You see I want to slacken your ass, but I need you to co-operate."

"No fucking way!"

"Oh, its all right. The only things that I'll stick into you will be my
tongue or my fingers." I said, quickly adding, "and of course my cock."

"And you think that I'll let you?"

"Oh yes. In about twenty minutes or so, you'll agree to almost anything," I
said, cheerfully.

I spat on my hand and then gently took hold of the shaft of his cock. I
retracted his foreskin to reveal the rather sensitive head. I cupped this
in the wet palm and made a circular motion. This caused a sensory overload,
too much pleasure, and it made him squirm.

"Now, did that hurt?"

"No!"

"Let's see how long you can stand it. Do you think I could make you cum by
doing that?"

"Please, don't."

"Oh, come on, be a sport, lets try," I said, resuming my wet caress.

About two minutes later he was writhing helplessly on the bed driven nearly
out of his mind by my actions on his manhood. Another thirty seconds later
and he was almost on the point of spraying his load onto my ceiling. But of
course that would never do, so I eased off. After the whimpering stopped
and his breathing was back to normal, I started again, using just my
tongue. This time it took a lot longer to get him to the edge, but it was
quite a pleasurable experience, for me at least. Again I let him cool off
before going back to the wet hand treatment. Thank God he wasn't
circumcised as the foreskin helps keep the glans so nice and
responsive. And so I cycled him up, and let him cool down, but I never let
him shoot his load. Soon his balls were two hard lumps pulled tight against
the base of his cock. He begged and whimpered in a most delightful way
until I stopped about two strokes from him shooting.

"Shall we discuss the possibility of me stretching your ring now, or would
you like to postpone it to later?" I asked, sweetly.

"Yes! Now!"

"OK, the deal is this. I make your ring relaxed enough to take me. If I
hurt you in any way, or at any time, you yell and I stop."

"OK!" he gasped.

"Good. I'll just finish things off and let you go," I said.

"But I gave in, you've won. Can't you just let me go?"

"No. Your balls might explode if you don't shoot soon. So first I'll give
you a blowjob, then I'll let you go. I've put a lot of effort into this
load and you're not getting to waste it."

He groaned as my lips went round his cock. Two wet fingers went into him
and he did not protest. However I didn't have time to do much work on his
ring as he was pumping his seed into my mouth almost immediately. On
reflection, the extra effort was well spent, he shot like a fountain. After
I released the clamps he rolled over onto his belly and looked round at me.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to start on you now, not just after you've
shot. But I'll have you later, you can bet on that."

"It's funny, y'know," he said, rolling onto his back, "my dad and you are
both arse bandits, but you go about it different ways. He would just grab
me and force me to do what he wanted. While you make me want to do it."

"I've seduced many, and raped none. I find seduction so much more fun."

"I suppose it is," he said, his cheeky grin back on his face.

"What did he do to you that made you leave home?" I inquired.

Brian went bright red.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to. It is just I don't want to
do anything that might remind you of it," I explained.

"I don't think you'd ever do it to me."

"OK," I said, dropping the subject.

There was a long pause.

"He pissed on me," murmured Brian.

"You poor little bugger," I said, taking him in my arms.

"Do you want to do something for me?" he asked.

"Within reason," I answered.

"Tie me up again and shave me."

"WHAT!"

"I'm fucking useless at shaving myself down there, he always did it, and I
kinda fancy you doing it."

"Didn't it cause you problems at school, being shaved?" I asked, as I
refastened him.

"It's a while since you've been at school! Some kids had green hair, bright
green.  Others had a Mohican haircut and dyed bright colours. So I just let
them think I shaved myself and they thought that it was cool."

"But why do you want to be tied up?"

"It's like going on a roller coaster, it feels really dangerous, but
actually, when you do it then it's quite safe. It gives me an adrenaline
kick."

"Did your dad tie you up?"

"Shit no! He just told me to stand still or he might slip and cut my cock
off."

Obviously the lad trusted me. It appeared that we shared a particular kink,
that of restraint. However, when he discovered that I do not go in for
those modern safety razors, much preferring an old fashioned open razor, he
became very quiet indeed. There was a look of absolute terror on his face
as I stropped the blade on the leather.

To tell the truth, shaving his groin was more of a turn-on than I had ever
imagined.  Applying warm suds with a shaving brush all round his wedding
tackle. The slight ripping noise as the blade sliced through the stubble
and the faint drag on the razor became quite erotic. Not to mention the
tinge of danger caused by a super-sharp edge being manipulated in such
close proximity to his manhood. By the time I was finished, we were both as
hard as rocks and his brow was covered in sweat.

I put down the razor, wiped off the residual foam, and then I again
released him. This time he flipped over and lay on his belly, legs wide
apart. No words were required to complete this invitation. I moved between
his legs and began my work on his beautiful bum.

Two fingers went in easily and once there I started to separate them inside
him. Then I gently tried to pull them back out keeping them apart. At first
his anal sphincter was strong enough to push them together, but as time
went by, it began to weaken and I could part my fingers and open his
ring. After about half an hour I decided that he had had enough for one
session so we went into a 69 and had another 'race'. This time he was not
surprised to find himself winning as I shot my load into his mouth while I
had my tongue as far up him as I could force it. Then he came in my mouth
while his rather exhausted sphincter squeezed on three of my fingers...

I remember the first time I got fucked, back at school. Like Brian, I was
face down on the bed with Roger sitting between my legs. He only got two
fingers inside me before he shoved his cock in. Thank God he was just a lad
and not too big, as it hurt like Hell.  My bed was the last one in the row
and next to it was a full-length mirror attached to the wall. Roger was
more interested in watching himself fuck me than he was in how much it hurt
me. My, how we used to watch ourselves perform in that mirror...

We had just managed to get dressed when the gentle chime sounded through
the apartment.  It signalled the fact that one of the phones in my study
was ringing. I hurried through to answer it.

I picked up the handset and just said, "Hello!"

The caller did not identify himself either; he just passed his message
clearly and concisely. I acknowledged it and we both hung up. It had been
my spy who worked for the corporation that was most likely to make a
takeover bid and the message was simple, an unofficial board meeting was
taking place at this very moment. It was odds on that a bid would be made
soon, but not too soon I hoped. These things tend to be made at the close
of trading and I now had at least one day to set up my diversion.

Brian came into the study and sat on my knee. Slowly I explained the
significance of the call and how the next few days might be really
wild. From then until lunchtime I worked on my computers. The dummy
companies were all 'off-shore' for tax purposes, and the fact that in some
of those places the law is not quite so rigorously enforced. Soon the
distant computers were set-up ready to sell shares as the price rose and
passed predetermined levels. It was most important that they didn't all
start selling at exactly the same point, as that would give the game away.

After lunch I began to initialise the diversion program, what I called 'the
fall guy'.  This was an apparent individual who would appear to be trading
using 'insider information'. This is a big no-no these days and, as soon as
his trading began to trip the alarms, the hounds would be set on him,
leaving the likes of me to get on with the real business of making
money. Although this would cost me at least two hundred thousand, of which
I would not see a penny in return, it would still be a very good
investment.

"You're not exactly honest, are you?" asked Brian, after I had explained my
actions.

"An interesting point. I don't force anyone to buy or sell, although I do
bend the rules quite a lot. Mind you, most of those rules are only there to
protect fools. I do admit to avoiding tax, but that is perfectly
legal. It's evading tax that they lock you up for. Even this red herring
I've just set up, I will not gain from it, in fact I'll lose a packet, so I
doubt if they could even get me on that one."

He gave me a slightly disapproving look.

"Now my love, I must go out on business. I'll be gone until about six. So
you'll have to amuse yourself. I have a fair collection of videos, so you
shouldn't be bored," I said.

True to my word I was back in time for dinner. This time we went to a
nearby restaurant and Brian got a menu with prices on it. He was still
running in catch-up mode, eating at least twice what I had.

On the way home we passed a beggar, an old guy who looked really
rough. Brian stopped and gave the guy a handful of coins, I doubt if it was
more than three quid. As we walked down the road I looked at him.

"That was some dosh that I had made before you came along. Since you're
paying for everything now, I reckoned he needed it more than I did,"
explained Brian.

"But on the way to the restaurant we passed a guy selling that homeless
magazine and you walked past him as if he was invisible," I countered.

Brian gave me that disparaging look again, "Don't you ever use your eyes?"

"What did I miss?"

"He was clean and tidy, none of his clothes were badly worn, his shoes were
almost new and he was smoking a king-sized cigarette. He was no more
homeless than you are. Whereas the old guy really needed the money. It's
not easy for the older guys." Brian explained.

When we returned I went into the study and started working again on the
computers.  Instantly I noticed what he had done! Every call, no matter
from which of my five telephone lines it is made on, is digitally recorded
on my computers. Normally I wipe them just as soon as I hang up, but some,
which may prove useful, get kept. However, the computer was indicating that
it had a recorded call that I had not made. I slipped on the headphones and
listened to the playback.

Brian had phoned his dad. From what I could make out he had done this to
set his father's mind at rest, by letting him know that his son was
safe. However the call was misinterpreted and his father got quite annoyed,
implying Brian had only called to gloat. Also three months of sexual
abstinence had had a marked effect on the man. He wanted Brian back and he
was intent on moving Heaven and earth to achieve this.

This was a bit bothersome for me. You see, there is this service provided
by the telephone company that allows you to get the number of the person
who is calling you. I had a shrewd suspicion that Brian's dad would know
this and use the information to get in touch with his son. Fortunately the
phone that Brian had chosen to use was not listed in my name. It's
ex-directory and even then it's listed to an accommodation address, which
understandably cannot be easily traced back to me. So, although the
obnoxious man could now call back, he couldn't find out where his son was
living. I now went and broke the sad news to Brian.

The lad was devastated, primarily because he thought he had betrayed my
trust. Despite me telling him to relax and not get up tight about the
matter, things were not the same between us that evening. To be on the safe
side I didn't push things that night when we went to bed. Oh, we cuddled,
but we didn't have sex.

In the middle of the night I was suddenly wakened. Brian was thumping me
and kicking me.  At the same time he was screaming, 'You'll never get me
back! I'd rather die!' As gently as I could I woke him from his
nightmare. At first he was completely disorientated, then he gradually got
his act together.

"God! That was horrible, I thought my dad had come and he was taking me
home with him," he said.

He soon calmed down and went back to sleep. I wasn't quite so lucky; it
isn't easy to sleep when a teenage boy is holding onto you as if his life
depended on it. But in a strange way, I could take comfort from it.

The next morning when the market opened I was to be found in my study glued
to my computers. My little red herring was buying shares like there was no
tomorrow and the price began to rise. I grinned to myself as I imagined the
panic at the headquarters of the corporation. They would now know that
their little secret was out and, unless they acted soon they would have to
pay a lot more to do the deal. Effectively, I had forced them to announce
their intentions earlier than they would have liked. With a bit of luck,
they would also have to offer more for the shares.

Brian brought me my lunch to eat at my desk. He seemed to be in a bit
better humour today, but alas I was a little too busy to take advantage of
it. Come the closing bell I was sitting on the edge of my seat twitching
with expectation. Then the announcement came through of the takeover bid. I
typed it into the computer that held the database of all my holdings and it
told me how much I'd be worth. This fairly simple little ploy would indeed
at the very least triple my wealth, if I pulled it off without getting
caught.

I now began to sever all my links with the decoy program. Anyone trying to
trace back the owner would end up going round in circles, very large
circles, which would take weeks to complete. My original intention had been
to place the profits from this little game in a bank account and forget
about them forever. This would drive them nuts, as they eventually would
trace them and then sit and wait on me coming to collect. Now I had another
idea. I put in an order that would take effect in four weeks. It would
transfer all the profits to a charity for the homeless. Just my way of
saying, thank you.

So, I for one was in a very good mood that evening and I decided that
another dinner at my club was called for. This time there was no argument
about using a taxi. Half way through dinner I motioned Brian into silence
and we both listened carefully to the conversation from a nearby table.

It seems that my little decoy company's actions had indeed been noticed and
an investigation had already been set up. There was also a lot of
speculation as to who was behind it. Fortunately for me most of the
apparent perpetrators had strong links with one of the two companies
involved and no one seemed to be looking for a rank outsider like me.

That night Brian lay naked, face down on the bed and allowed me to get back
to work on his backside. He was now enjoying the process and beginning to
appreciate his ass as a sexual organ. It was slow progress however and
again I stopped after thirty minutes or so. But we had an excellent 69 to
finish the evening. As before I reached my climax while my tongue was
inside one end of him and my weapon in the other. Perhaps tomorrow night
they would change places and my tongue would be down his throat and my cock
up his ass.

Tuesday was very busy as the takeover bid swung into action. My decoy
program sold its shares very fast, while my moneymaking programs moved much
more discreetly, selling small blocks of shares.

A courier arrived with a large envelope. It contained a buff folder and a
bill. The size of the bill made me wince but the contents of the folder
soon made up for it. It held a detailed life history of one Brian Cook. I
had his birth certificate, his medical records, his mother's death
certificate and quite a lot on his father. I removed the copy of his birth
certificate, put the rest in a drawer, and then I called Brian into my
study.

"Do you have a passport?"

"Nah, why would I need one of them?"

"So, you've never owned a passport?" I asked, getting a form from a drawer.

"Nope."

"OK we'll just have to fill in this form," I said, as I started writing.

"What do I need a passport for?"

"I will be going abroad for a while, and, as I'm still after your ass, you
get to come with me. Now we'll need a couple of photos, but I have a
Polaroid camera which takes passport photos."

He watched me fill in the form for a while then said, "It's all lies! I
don't live there."

"Yes, quite true, however a British Passport is a very useful object but
obtaining one legally, without you father's consent, would take a couple
years, and we haven't got that sort of time. Now sign in this box here."

He signed, and then gasped as I copied his father's signature from his
birth certificate. We then took a set of four photos of him and, when they
finished processing I cut them apart, swore that, 'I as a physician had
known Brian for more than two years, signed the back of one photo and then
I completed the form.

"Are you going to post it?" he asked, as I returned the form to its
envelope.

"No, I fear that if it went through the usual route it might take too
long. However I have a friend who works in that department and, for a
consideration, he can speed things up slightly. I'll be back in about two
hours, please do not answer the phones, they all have voice mail."

It was slightly over two hours when I returned, clutching a brand new
passport for Brian. The lad was thrilled with it. Yes, another expense, but
well worth it. As it happens I was just in time to take the call that I had
been waiting for. I pressed the 'hands-free' button, so we could both hear,
but placed my finger against my lips to silence Brian.

"Brian! Is that you?" came the voice from the speaker.

I could feel the boy tense up. I soundlessly retrieved his folder and
opened it.

"No Mr Cook, this in not Brian!" I answered, in a neutral voice.

"Who the fuck are you then?"

"I'm the guy who is now Brian's guardian. That is all you need to know."

"The fuck it is! You're having sex with the little whore, aren't you."

"As it happens, Mr Cook, I am."

"Right, I'll have the police on you."

"Will you really? The boy is over 16 and it is quite legal for me to have
sex with him.  Whereas when you fucked him it was totally illegal. On not
one, but two counts, underage and incest!"

"The little shit is still underage!" snarled the voice from the speaker.

"Sorry Mr Cook, but you are lying. I have his birth certificate before me
and it says he is sixteen years, three months and let me see," I said,
glancing at the calendar, "oh, five days."

"I'm his father!" came the reply.

"True, and that entitles you to many things, Mr Cook, but having sex with
your off- spring is still a crime. You're not trying to deny you sexually
abused him, are you?"

"If I fucked him or not, it's none of your damned business! I want to speak
to him right now!"

"So you admit that you had sex with him?"

"Yes! Let me speak to him."

"No Mr Cook. You will not speak to him; instead you'll listen to me. This
call is being recorded and you have just incriminated yourself by your
admission. If you make any further attempts to contact your son a copy of
this conversation will be sent to the police. Do you understand?"

"Look, you bastard. You either put the kid on the phone or I'm getting in
my car and I'm driving down to get him."

"Nice bluff, Mr Cook, but London is a big city and you only have a phone
number. Also your car has not been taxed for over a year, plus its MOT
certificate and its insurance both ran out six months ago. So driving it
would be illegal. As I have both a description of your car, a green Ford
fiesta, and its registration, I would, as a responsible citizen, have to
report this to the police and tell them that you were on your way down. Not
to mention the little fact that a few more penalty points could lose you
your driving licence."

"Bastard!"

"Not true, my parents are quite happily married. OK Mr Cook, we'll come
right down to the bottom line. From this day on you will have nothing to do
with your son. If you make any attempt to contact him you will be arrested
for having sex with him and, given today's public opinion on the sexual
abuse of children, you'll go down for about ten years. That will be ten
years of solitary, as the other prisoners would kill you. Mind you they
will most likely piss in your food regularly, but that's not fatal, and
I've heard that you're into pissing. Oh, one last point, you consider me to
be a bastard.  Well let me tell you, if I am a bastard, I'm a fucking big
one and, should we ever meet face to face, I am going to beat the living
shit out of you for what you have done to your son. Any questions?"

There was the sound of the handset being smashed down on the rest. Two arms
reached out from behind me and encircled my chest. Warm lips kissed the
back of my neck.

"You're my hero," he whispered in my ear.

"You're worth it," I said, closing the folder, "Now be a good boy and get
me a cup of tea as I'm way behind in my work."

That evening, when I worked on his anal sphincter he asked me if I was
going to fuck him. He wasn't quite as slack as I'd have liked him to be,
but then again, he wasn't exactly a virgin, so he should have some
knowledge of the art of taking it.

"OK but I first want a 69," I said.

He looked puzzled, but complied. I controlled myself perfectly as I took
him up to the brink a couple of times. I prefer my partner to be really
sexed up before I fuck him.  Then my tongue began to work its way back to
its favourite spot, the kid's ring.  Thinking joyful thoughts of how I'd
really be up inside him shortly I reached my climax and dumped my load into
his mouth.

When we came up for air he said, in a very accusing voice, "I thought you
were going to fuck me?"

"Oh, I will. I just wanted to get rid of my erection for a little while," I
replied.

"Huh?"

"Roll over and spread your legs, like a good lad."

He did as I asked and I spent the next few minutes greasing, first him,
then me. By now my cock could well be described as being in a semi-wilted
state. That is, it was firm, rather than floppy and nowhere near its
maximum size. After getting him to relax I began to slip it into him. If
you are using this method of penetration, you must go slowly as there is no
way that it is possible to ram it home. He made happy sounds as it slid in
and seemed surprised when my bush touched his buns.

"Are you all the way in?" he asked.

"There is a little more," I said, spreading his buns with my hands and
sinking the last of my shaft through his ring.

"There, that's the lot," I told him.

"Shit, you're far bigger than my dad, but that didn't hurt at all."

"Er, I'm not finished yet."

"But you said you were in all the way."

"Oh, I am, I am, just wait a second or so."

Now I allowed myself to think about where my cock was and enjoy the feeling
of his hot little ass caressing it. Naturally my purple-headed warrior
began to sit up and take notice. Slowly it started to grow, pushing
outwards against the living sheath that encased it. Then it grew longer and
I felt it move his guts out of the way as it took up more and more space
inside him.

"Oh my God! That is unbelievable. Shit, it is getting bigger and bigger!"

"It's OK, this doesn't hurt, but it'll have to rearrange your insides a bit
to make room for itself and that'll feel funny."

"How much bigger will it get? I feel totally full down there."

"Oh, it's only got a little bit to grow, then the fun really starts."

He groaned slightly and I made my organ twitch deep within him. He made a
funny noise, which I took as one of pleasure. By the time I was totally
erect his breathing was rather irregular, so I let him calm down before I
fucked him.

Over the years I have found that a slow and gentle start is best, if you
have a big cock. So I commenced by pulling back about a quarter of the full
length and then pushing it back in again.

"Jesus H. Christ!" he exclaimed.

"That was just a taster," I said, repeating the move.

For the first couple of minutes I held that pace, out – in - pause. Then I
lengthened the stroke slightly, but maintained the slow rate. It took me
several minutes before I was running the full length of my shaft in and out
of his ring. Then I started pulling so far back that the head came almost
fully out of him. As the head of my cock is of a greater diameter than the
shaft this opened his ring even further.

"Still OK?" I asked.

"Yeah," he gasped.

"Right, I'll shift into second gear."

Now I left out the pause, just in and out, but at a slightly higher
speed. He went 'OOF' a couple of times as my thrusting knocked the wind out
of him. Of course after a little while this action was no longer enough for
me, I wanted more, a lot more.

"Wanna try top gear?"

He nodded, but not very enthusiastically.

I slid my hands under his chest and played with his nipples. Then my hands
continued their journey up his chest until I could hook them over his
shoulders. Now I had a firm grip of the lad, I took off the mental brakes
that were slowing my hips down and I really began to slam my meat home. He
whimpered and tensed up on me, causing his warm little ass to clutch my
hammering shaft tightly. God the sensation was really wild! I would have
loved to prolong this for ages, but as this was his first time on my cock,
I didn't want to overdo things. However I did try to get my load as far up
into his belly as I could shoot it.

"My God! I can feel you cuming inside me," he almost screamed.

When the panting and swearing died down I rolled both of us over until I
was lying on my back with him on top of me. Then, with my slowly softening
cock still in him, I spat on my hand and jacked him off. His cum went all
over the place and his defeated ring tried to strangle my cock.

We parted very slowly; he didn't want to give me my cock back. When we were
able we had a shower, and he got down on his knees and kissed my cock! That
night we slept in each other's arms; he would not let go of me. When he was
sound asleep I carefully felt between his buns, I could slide three fingers
into him without even disturbing his sleep. Yes, now he was getting to be
nice and loose. A bit more work, and provided he was fucked on a regular
basis, he would have no trouble taking me. I fell asleep a contented man...

I was back in the school dormitory. On my bed, in front of me, on his hands
and knees was Rupert. I had just separated his buns and I was looking at
his ring. It glistened slightly from the Vaseline that I had just fingered
into him. Carefully I brought my equally well-greased cock into line with
his ring. In just a moment I would finally know what it was like to fuck
someone. I glanced to my left and looked in the mirror. The image that it
reflected made me even hotter. Rupert looked like he was afraid. Gently I
pushed forwards and my cock sank into a blissful, warm world. But something
was wrong! I wasn't fucking him - he was sucking me. The scene
disintegrated and I woke to find my cock back in Brian's mouth. I turned
him round until I could get his cock in my mouth and as I sucked on his
bald pecker, I greased his arse. Then I broke off from the mutual blowjob
and rolled onto my back. Obviously my prediction had been correct, once he
was fucked properly, he loved it and was back for more.

"OK, Straddle me and sit on this," I said, holding my wet member in a
vertical position.

He climbed on top of me and squatted down until the head of my cock slipped
between his buns. It soon found its target and he was now poised to impale
himself. He lowered himself with maddening slowness. I resisted the urge to
thrust upwards with my hips and contented myself with watching the shaft of
my cock gradually disappear into him. When he finally sat on my groin I was
damn near the edge and I had to take a good long pause to cool down.

When I was back in control I placed my hands on his hips and raised him in
the air. Then as I held him I began thrusting with my hips. I skipped over
first and second gear, going straight for the kill. Sensing this he grabbed
his own cock and went for his own orgasm. This race I also let him
win. That way I got to enjoy his ass going into spasm while I was inside
it. This delight was all that was required to start me dumping my load in
his warm back passage. As a reward I got a face full of teenage cum, which
I strongly suspect was a deliberate move on his part.

Before I was allowed to have breakfast I had to tie him up again and shave
the stubble off his groin. I really think that he got more of a kick from
this scene than I did. The rest of the day was Hell, for me. I was
desperately trying to concentrate on my work, while he wandered about
wearing those damned sexy scants that I had so foolishly bought him. Twice
that morning I grabbed the little prick teaser, pulled them down and sucked
him off. Sadly this only got me a mouthful of cum but failed to slow him
down.

"How did you get into this game?" he asked, watching me work the computers.

"Oh, my dad is rich and I went to a boarding school, from there I went on
to university for an arts degree, which I've never used. Then dad got me a
job in a bank. I was one of those bright young things that sat behind a
mess of computers on the trading floor. One night dad and I were dining in
his club and I overheard two old buggers chatting. From this I learned
something that I shouldn't, a merger was in the offing. So, the next day I
quietly got the bank to buy shares in the smaller of the companies, from
several different accounts. Two days later the news broke and I sold the
lot and made the bank a whopping profit."

"Did that make you popular?"

"With the bank, yes, with my fellow traders, no. My end of year bonus was
greater than theirs. But a got to thinking, the bonus was only a tiny
fraction of the profit I had made for the bank. So I made some plans. First
I bought a company."

"Christ, your old man must be rich!"

"No, silly boy, a 'ready to trade' company. It only exists on paper and you
can get one for a couple of hundred. But the next time I overheard
something instead of buying shares for the bank, I bought them for my
company."

"Using your old man's money?"

"Ah, er, well, no. I borrowed one million from the bank."

"Shit! You stole a million quid!" he said, sounding really impressed.

"No, it wasn't a euphemism, I really did just borrow the money. And, four
days later I paid the bank back, including the interest. But this time I
kept all the profits."

"And you got away with it?"

"Well, not exactly! You see I didn't get authorisation for the loan and
eventually this showed up. Then they dug out all the facts."

"Did they call the police?"

"What, and make it public that one of their employees had been guilty of
insider trading, using the bank as a cover and getting them to bankroll the
whole scam? Never!"

"So what happened?"

"I was taken aside and told that I would soon be made redundant, and it was
made quite clear that I would be ill advised to attempt to apply for any
job in the banking industry ever again. Sure enough, at the end of the
month I was made redundant and shown the door. However, by my contract,
they had to give me a golden handshake, which along with the profits have
me a nice little nest egg with which I set myself up."

"You run right along the edge, don't you?"

"Yup, it's a fine line. But now I'm starving, let's have some lunch.

Then, just after lunch, he got stripped for a third time.

"Fancy a fuck, Mister?" he asked, in a little boy voice while wiggling his
bum.

One of the advantages of being big is, you can pick someone Brian's size up
like he was a child and carry him. So I tucked the naked boy under my arm
and headed for the bedroom. Once there he got unceremoniously dumped on the
bed.

As I was ripping my clothes off he asked, "Are you going to tie me to the
bed?"

That caused me to pause. Guys either hate being tied up, or they love
it. This one was definitely getting a taste for it.

"Do you want me to?"

"Yeah!"

So, wearing only my underpants and one sock, I soon had him neatly fastened
to the bedposts, this time in the, face down - bum up, position. I now
resumed my undressing.  When I was naked I climbed onto the bed, between
his wide spread legs and settled down to lubricate him. The stock market
would have to wait; I was going to give this kid's bum the full
treatment. I started with two fingers and almost immediately went up to
three. For about ten minutes I rooted around inside him continuously
forcing him to open up a little more.

"I thought you were going to fuck me, not just finger me?" he complained.

"Ah, that's the fun bit about being tied up. I get to do to you just what I
want to do.  You, on the other hand, have no say in the matter. Now you
need to be a good bit slacker back here and this is the perfect time to do
it," I said, slipping a fourth finger into him.

He groaned and whined on about wanting to be fucked, but I ignored him, as
I was far too busy. True, I had all four fingers in, but they were all
being forced into a circle, and I wanted them flat. This small move took
over five minutes but in the end the palm of my hand could slide in and out
of him without any trouble.

For a brief moment I toyed with the idea of bringing my thumb round until
it was against my palm and then slipping that into him as well. One swift
thrust and he'd be a glove puppet, but my conscience wouldn't let me. So I
took my hand out and greased up my manhood. Teasingly I rubbed the head of
it up and down his crack, letting it just press on his ring as it slipped
over it. When he was begging me to enter him I stopped mucking about and
mounted him properly. With a gentle thrust I began to enter him.

"Like it?" I whispered in his ear.

"Yeah!" he gasped.

"Tell me what it feels like," I said, feeding him more cock.

"It's really weird! Having something that is alive, inside me. When you
make it twitch I can feel you moving my guts and when you cum, God, the
whole thing goes wild, pumping away inside my belly."

It was Heaven; I was meeting no resistance this time, my cock just slid
into him naturally, like a sword into its scabbard. Eventually his hot
little buns were pressing into my groin; I reached down and pulled them
apart allowing the last bit of my shaft entry. For about a minute I lay
still on top of the helpless boy, just enjoying the wonderful feeling. Then
I made my cock twitch and he groaned with pleasure. Now I pulled all the
way out of him and watched his body shudder. At the top of my backstroke I
paused.

"Put it back in!" he pleaded.

He didn't need to ask twice and I slid it back into him. This time it went
in a lot faster and I felt him stiffen.

"Too hard?"

"Interesting. Do it again."

I now gave him a rather rough stroke, enough to make him gasp.

"Not that hard, but not too soft either."

I gave another experimental thrust, this one with less force and he made a
happy noise.  So I now knew how much he could take and proceeded to give it
to him. This time, as he was tied up and could not get away from me, there
was no need to get a good grip on him before I came. So I went up on my
fingertips and toes. Now the only point where we touched was where my cock
rammed in and out of his ass. Oddly enough this limited contact can be a
turn-on. Very soon my thrusting got harder and finally I was filling his
grasping belly with my seed. I swear he was yelling louder than I was when
I shot.

I lay on top of him, our bodies stuck together with our mutual sweat. He
started twitching his ring, just to make my poor worn out cock jump. He
obviously had a thing about it moving inside him. As I moved to get off him
he complained.

"No, leave it in."

"How long for?"

"Forever!"

"That might seriously limit our social life," I pointed out.

"I don't care. When you're in me I feel, oh I don't know how to say
it... Part of something... Something that is bigger than me... Somehow I
feel whole," he said.

"And you didn't feel like that when your dad fucked you?"

"Shit no! Then I was just something for him to stick his cock in. Now I
feel needed, wanted, really useful. Oh, I don't care, I love it."

There was a nice, warm, soppy feeling running through my whole
body. Impractical as it was, I too wanted to stay in him forever. Apart we
were just two halves, together we were a whole, and that had never happened
to me before. Somewhere, in the echoing back corridors of my mind, I could
hear my conscience sniggering.

'What,' I mentally inquired of my conscience, 'is so damn funny?'

'Imagine life without the kid,' came the silent reply.

I almost screamed aloud at the thought of going back to the endless
trolling round clubs and bars, looking for a partner, just for the
night. Then there was an empty house, with no gorgeous teenager running
around half clothed all the time. Slowly the true horror of the situation
dawned on me; I was falling in love with the boy! Damnation! I had gone
through my entire life always managing to avoid that sort of thing. Sure, I
had loads of bedmates, but that was as close as I ever allowed anyone to
get. But somehow this kid had slipped under my defences. What was really
surprising was; up until this very moment I hadn't even noticed it was
happening to me. Even worse, I could clearly see that I could not reverse
this process.

"You've gone awful quiet," he said. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes," I sighed.

"What?"

"I think that I'm in love with you?"

"Happen as well."

"Huh?"

"Because, you daft bat, I'm in love with you."

This remark caused another long silence on my part. Desperately I tried to
get my head round this new concept, being in love. Now having to think in
the plural rather than the singular, we, not I. Still, I wouldn't have to
troll round smoky bars and clubs looking for a fuck, he would be right
there. What would my friends say? The mighty, cool and aloof Adrian,
fallen, head over heels in love with a boy, half his age!

"You've gone quiet again," he said. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that if I don't soon get my cock out of your bum, delectable
as it is, you will be receiving a piss enema," I lied.

The threat did the trick and I retrieved my cock. However I did pull out
with agonising slowness. I parted his buns and inspected his ring. No tight
little pucker met my gaze, it gaped wide and my spent cum was quite
visible. I watched as some slithered down and landed on his balls. Then I
had to stop as my cock was filling out again. When I released him and
turned him over it was obvious that he had shot his bolt. Fortunately as
this was far from the first time that day, there wasn't much mess. We
retired to the bathroom to clean up and again he dropped down on his knees
and kissed my cock.

Although we live in a so called paperless society I had accumulated quite a
stack of paperwork that might be of an incriminating nature, should it fall
into the wrong hands.  So I spent most of the next day running it through
the shredder. One of the nice things about having an older apartment was,
it still had a working fireplace. True, it only got used on special
occasions, like Christmas, but now it was being put to good use burning the
shreddings.

Brian was amusing himself by reading through some of the documents before
they were shredded when he suddenly stopped and said, "I didn't know that
you were into kiddie porn!"

"I'm not!"

"Well, what's this?"

He was holding up a series of A4 sheets on which black and white photos had
been reproduced. The photos were all of young boys engaged in various
sexual acts, some in pairs and others were just the one kid, wanking.

"Ah these. They are not really 'kiddie porn'. If you look closely you'll
see that one of the lads, that one, is a very young me."

"Shit! You posed for dirty photos when you were a kid?"

"We didn't exactly pose for the camera," I said.

"It sure looks like you were posing in this one."

"Oh yes, we were posing all right, but just for ourselves."

"Huh?"

"It was when we were at school. That was the dormitory and we used to muck
about with each other. At one end, where my bed was, there was a
full-length mirror on the wall and we used to pose in front of it. We
always kept the noise down as the housemaster, Mr Brewer, had his room
right next door. He taught science and also ran the school photographic
club. It appears that he had a wardrobe on his side of the wall. At some
time he had taken the back off the wardrobe, cut a hole in the wall and had
the mirror replaced with a semi-silvered, or one way mirror."

"So the dirty old man was taking your piccies?"

"Yup. Which explains why he never walked in and caught us red handed,"

"So how did you get these?"

"Ah well, you see that guy – Ken - well he went into the police and, what
with all the recent cases of kiddie porn on the Internet, the police set up
a special unit to trace the kids in the photos and, via them get the people
who made the photos. As it happens Ken got put in that unit and found a
CD-ROM full of these photos. He pulled it and substituted a duplicate of
another CD-ROM. Then he made all of us a copy. What you found was just a
handful, there are hundreds on the disc."

"So what age were you when you started mucking about?"

"Oh, about thirteen or so. It all started when that guy – Rupert – taught
me how to wank..."

"But he's black!"

"Yup, as black as buggery, a sport at which he excelled, I might add. Now
be a good boy and run them through the shredder along with the rest. I can
always print them out for you later."

After the paper shredding I had the job of removing all the hard discs from
my computers and replacing them with the ones that were in the computers
when I bought them. This stopped any possible recovery of data from the
computers.

Eventually every thing was ready for us to leave. The apartment could be
closed up; my brother would drop in occasionally and check up on
things. Only then did Brian ask where we were going.

"The antipodes," I replied.

"Huh?"

"Australia to be precise, where we can have a nice warm Christmas. You'll
like it; the SCUBA diving is out of this world. The coral reefs have to be
seen to be believed."

Brian laughed, "SCUBA diving, I can't even swim!"

"It's OK, I can teach you to swim, then you can learn to dive."

"My dad could never teach me to swim."

"Your dad couldn't even teach you how to fuck."

At that point Brian grabbed me and buried his face in my chest. Through the
sobs I heard him say, "Shit, I wish you'd been my dad."

"Alas, that can never be, you'll just have to settle for me as your lover."

And, as it happens, he did.

The End

As ever, comments and complaints may be sent to
jamieanderson@compuserve.com