Date: Fri, 26 Sep 2003 18:05:31 +0100
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Market Offer - Chapter 7 - Gay - Authoritarian

This is the seventh chapter of part three of a trilogy of novels of gay
sex.

Keywords:

authority, control, slavery, punishment, re-training, submission, loyalty

This story is entirely a work of fiction and all rights to it and its
characters are copyright and private to and reserved by the author. No
reproduction by anyone for any reason whatsoever is permitted.

If you are underage to read this kind of material or if this material
will be unlawful for you to read where your live, please leave this
webpage now.

Contact points:

e. gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com

w. http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Erotic_Gay_Stories

The Market Offer by Gerry Taylor

Chapter 7 -- Jack

On getting back to my hotel--I always stay at this small private hotel
just off The Strand which is known as much for its discretion as for its
prices -- I was just walking past the front desk when a voice said,
`Uncle Jonathan.'

Turning round, I saw this young man in his late teens, a total stranger,
in a sports jacket and fawn trousers, `Uncle Jonathan, it's me Jack.'

I looked at him in amazement and it was my elder sister's only boy, Jack
Tuttle. But it could not be, he was only...but no, he could not be
fourteen...he must now be all of eighteen or nineteen. It is amazing the
number of thoughts that the mind processes in a single second.

`Jack, I don't believe it. It can't be. The last time I saw you was
before I was posted to Cairo and you were all of what 10 years old.'

He flicked back a lock of unruly hair, and if Elizabeth ever had a child,
it was Jack. He had her forehead and her eyebrows and her determined
chin.

`I left you a note at the Bank, Uncle Jonathan. I hope you didn't
mind.'

I hadn't read the bloody note.

`Of course not, Jack. Let me look at you. How old are you now?'

He had that build of young men with narrow hips and wide shoulder but not
yet filled in with the bone of the twenties.

`Eighteen and a half, Sir, almost nineteen.'

Ah, those delightful years when half a year is so important.

`And what brings you down from Scotland?' -- Elizabeth had married into
the Tuttles - yes, the people who do the tinned meats and God knows what
else in tins nowadays. While I never ate the stuff myself, apparently
entire continents do so to loud acclaim and the family firm proudly
supplies something like six European armies with all their bivouac
supplies.

`I'm taking a year off, Sir. You know, after the Highers. I'm going to
go around the world for a year.'

He said this as if the world were Trafalgar Square and he a pigeon, to be
blithely travelled sans souci after sitting Scotland's final secondary
education exams. My mind was not concentrating. How much of this would he
have said in his note?

`And how did you get on in the Highers?'

`We won't know, Sir, until August.'

Of course, bloody stupid of me to ask. If this was only June, he would
have just finished them. The papers would not even be corrected yet.

`Jack, the name is Jonathan. Drop the `Sir' bit, you're out of school
now.'

`Yes, Si.. Yes, Uncle Jonathan. It's just that I'm so nervous meeting
you after all these years. And you got a K! Mum was absolutely
thrilled.'

Of course, Elizabeth would be thrilled with my knighthood. Her own dull
tin filler had got an MBE or something similar some years back for
feeding the Marines in combat, or as some wag said `for not poisoning
the poor sods.'

I found myself looking at the young man in front of me and wondering was
I this naïve at eighteen, or rather at eighteen and its all important
half, almost nineteen. Was I that confident that I would have done a
world trip? My own A-levels were a distant and dull memory rather like a
wisdom tooth extraction best forgotten.

Jack Tuttle was a fine young man and really Elizabeth would have had
every reason to be proud of him, as indeed Jock, her tin filler of a
husband as well.

It was too late for afternoon tea and too early for dinner, so I asked
Jack would he like to have dinner with me later on. Would a puppy dog
like to play with a ball? Or a kitten with a ball of wool?

An energetic nodding of the head, and an enthusiastic `yes' clinched
the acceptance had it not been previously understood.

`Shall we say eight then?' I said, `Where are you staying in London?'

`I haven't booked into a B&B yet, Uncle Jonathan, but it won't take me
long and I'll be back here for eight,' he said retrieving a rucksack
from behind the seat where he had been sitting.

I looked at the rucksack and wondered when in my life I had stopped being
able to put all my worldly belongings in one bag, capable of being slung
over my back.

Then the thought struck me.

`Is this your first time in London on your own without the family?'

He swallowed, `Yes, Uncle Jonathan.'

`Well, let's make it a first time to remember. Come along, let's book
you in here.'

`Uncle Jonathan, I could not afford here.'

`Are you on a budget?'

`Yes.'

`How much?'

`Fifty pounds a week from Dad and twenty from Mum.'

`And you manage on that?'

`With a bit of an effort,' he said with a grin.

`So how are you going to get around the world?'

`I have almost two thousand in the Bank from working in Dad's factories
last year and the year before that during the summer on a fruit farm in
Kent. And Dad said he would pay half the fare of one the round-the-world
student tickets.'

Dad, the tin filler, was rising in my estimation.

We were now at reception and I caught the manager's eye. I asked for a
room adjoining mine on the fourth floor.

The manager was totally apologetic, but they were booked out solid, not a
single cupboard, let alone a room, something about shows on in the West
End.

`It's not important, Uncle Jonathan, I will get fixed up and be back
here in time. There is no problem,' Jack said.

I held up a hand and looking at the manager said, `My room is quite
large. Can you put an extra single bed in it?

`Uncle Jonathan, I would not impose.'

I did not take my eyes off the manager, who could read a regular
customer's demeanour like a swipe machine could read a credit card.

`Absolutely, no problem, Sir Jonathan.'

`Excellent, we are going to get ready for dinner, and while we are at
dinner at eight, you can have your people put the bed in.'

The fifty pound sterling note in the palm of my hand passed seamlessly to
his. I don't think Jack even noticed; he was so taken with looking at
the hotel where he would be staying.

`Jack, one thing I have to do. Do you have your chequebook with you? Or
do you know your account number off by heart?'

Jack rummaged in his rucksack and produced a Lloyds' chequebook.

`Here's the key of the room. Up you go and unpack. There's plenty of
drawer space. And run a bath for me. I'll be up immediately.'

I again signalled the manager and asked to use his office for a second,
as Jack went off. I called Deckams before it closed for the day and
transferred twenty five thousand sterling from my account into Jack's
account at Lloyds.

When I got to the room, Jack let me in and he was all excited. It was the
biggest suite of rooms that he had ever stayed in. He had unpacked what
seemed exclusively a selection of jeans and T-shirts. I could hear a
bath, which really was a large tub, running in the bathroom. I gave him
back his chequebook. He did not appear to have any query on his face as
to why I had needed it in the first place.

Looking at what he was wearing and what he had unpacked, I said to my
nephew, `You know how to travel light. By the way, how did you know that
I would be at the Bank today?'

`I knew that the Board always met the third Monday and that is why I
wrote to you at the Bank saying that I would be here, in case you were.
The Bank said you always stayed here and I checked with reception.'

I looked at him and laughed, `I doubted your ability to go around the
world when you first mentioned it. Now I am not so sure. I think you will
travel the world no problem.'

Jack beamed at the flattery.

`Now, I have to take a bath. London is clammy unlike Dahra which is just
dry and hot. My shirt has been sticking to my back all afternoon.'

I was already undressing and dropping the worn clothes in a laundry
basket.

`Strip off now, Jack, and join me in the tub.'

If he was shocked at the suggestion, he did not show it, but he did
redden a little around the gills.

I walked bollocks naked into the bathroom and slipped into the water,
which was beautifully warm. I turned off the taps and luxuriated in the
warm water.

Jack came in some moments later clad still in boxer shorts.

`Jack, do you know you have grown and filled out. You were only about
four feet tall when I saw you last and now you are all of what?'

`Six foot one and a half.'

Ah! The ubiquitous half.

`Well, off with those shorts and get into this tub of warm water.'

He self consciously put his thumbs in the elastic of his boxer shorts and
pushed them down to reveal a light brown treasure trail to a bush of fair
to blond hair covering a nice pair of balls from which, in half erection,
there was an uncut four inch cock.

`Stop,' I said.

Jack paused half bent as he was straightening up.

`Stand up straight.'

He did.

`Put you hands behind your head.'

He did that as well.

`Now turn around slowly.'

He did and when he faced me again, with a red face, his penis had gone
from half erection to fine and full erection for a teenager with a drop
of pre-cum glistening on the very tip.

`Jack, I was going to say that you were a fine young man. I will
withdraw that and say that you a beautiful young man of all of eighteen
and a half years. Now get into this tub before you get your death of cold
out there.'

With half a shy grin, he lowered his arms and slid into the tub and sat
on the submerged shelf at its far end with the water up to his neck and
shoulders.

`So tell me all about the last eight years, Jack.'

 Life for Jack Tuttle had been a very normal one, even for a kid who was
born into a relative affluent family. He had pals at home. Pals at
school. Loved tennis and cricket. Loved to wear a kilt on Scottish
occasions, though I noticed that he spoke with a very English, not
Scottish accent.

He loved school and spoke well of his teachers. In fact, he spoke ill of
no one. His favourite subjects were geography and history and English.
And then he stopped and was looking at me, up to his neck in the water.

`I'm boring you, Uncle Jonathan.'

`Not in the least, Jack, not at all. I am just amazed at how happy and
contented and well rounded you are. Your mum and dad must be really proud
of you!'

`But not half as proud as they are of you, Uncle Jonathan.'

It was boyish adulation, but it was nice of him to say so, which I denied
there and then.

`Ok, enough talk. Turn round there and let me do your back and then you
can do mine.'

Jack slid round in the tub and knelt with his back to me. There were some
freckles at the top of his shoulders and with firm sweeps of a facecloth
I rubbed his back and shoulders and down to the cheeks of his bum under
the water, first with soap on the cloth and then rinsed free of the soap.

I turned round and let him wash my back, which he did as if it were made
of bone china. Finally, I turned round and said,

`Now, let me do your front' and I proceeded to sweep his upper body
with the soapy face cloth.

`Now stand up and let me do the rest of you, Jack.'

He hesitated and reddened just like Elizabeth used do as child when
embarrassed.

`I can't, Uncle Jonathan.'

`Why not, Jack? Have you got a cramp?'

`No, Uncle Jonathan,' he said in almost a whisper, `I've another
woodie which just won't go down.'

`Jack Tuttle stand up now.'

He did, and he did have an even larger boner, or a Scottish woodie as he
called it, which would have done credit to any teenager.

`Jack, close your eyes now and don't open them under any circumstances
until I tell you. Understood?'

`Yes, Uncle Jonathan.'

He trembled in my hand when I cupped his young balls. His eyes were tight
shut. His entire body trembled even more then my lips took his erection
into my mouth and he gasped when I let my teeth lightly graze the corona
of his beautiful young member.

Jack Tuttle was too young and too inexperienced to be able to hold back
his ejaculation which hit the back of my throat like the southbound
Glasgow Express, followed by its complementary wagons and loads. Jack
must have shot four or five times. He never opened his eyes once.

I washed down his front with warm water and the face cloth. He was now
breathing normally again.

`Jack, you can open your eyes now. And what were you saying about an
erection?'

He looked down at himself and then at me as I was stepping out of the
bath, and he smiled.

`Uncle Jonathan, that was...'

He seemed at a loss for words.

`That Jack was a blowjob. Was it your first or has someone given you one
before?'

`The first, Uncle Jonathan, the very first. I swear.'

`Well then, Jack, let us celebrate. You being in London. Me being in
London. And your first blowjob, though we may not actually toast to that
in public.'

I noticed that Jack was putting on again the clothes that he had had on
in the lobby of the hotel.

`Your wardrobe is a bit limited, Jack, or are you just travelling
light?'

`I haven't really got many clothes at present that fit. My school
clothes didn't fit me the last term. School has just ended, and I don't
seem to fit anything that I had last year, even what a I wore last
Christmas.'

`Ok, no problem. Let's get a move on.'

The one advantage of my hotel on The Strand is that it is in the very
heart of things. There were two men's shops just down from it and I
headed into the first. Jack murmured something about getting money from
the cash machine in the wall further on down the street and before I
could tell him not to bother, he had hared off down the street, I shouted
after him that I would be inside.

The shop had a good range of nice designer stuff and I pointed out a
couple of sports jackets that I thought Jack might like, an Italian suit
which I though would have been too young for me but for him to be ideal.
As I was looking at slacks, Jack arrived into the shop looking worried.

`Something the matter, Jack?' I asked.

`I went to the machine to get a hundred pounds out, but it has made a
mistake. I got the money, but the slip says there's a balance of over
twenty five thousand four hundred in my account. That can't be right.'

`It can be right, Jack, if I put the twenty five into your account just
over an hour ago as your round-the-world money.'

Jack looked shocked. The sales assistant was all ears, so I said,
`Let's just shop for the moment. What size jacket are you?'

Like most teens, he had not a clue of sizes, but in half an hour, with
the aid now of a manager himself and the sales assistant, he was wearing
a new pair of slack and a sensible sports jacket, with another two packed
to go, together with the Italian suit in his size, two pairs of shoes and
a pair of loafers, three shirts, half a dozen boxer shorts, a dozen
handkerchiefs and six pairs of late teen socks. He had long ago stopped
objecting to my suggested purchases. A very fashionable German overcoat
completed the purchases. I asked to have the lot, apart from what he was
wearing, delivered to the hotel next door with a Delsey suitcase.

The bill topped fifteen hundred sterling, but the look of pleasure on
Jack's face as he walked out the door of the shop, dressed to the
proverbial nines, with the German overcoat over his arm, made it worth
every single penny. The sales assistant must have been on commission
because he was positively beaming and enclosed his own card with the
credit card receipt. His mobile phone number was written on the back of
the card and I noticed that he ran his thumb lightly over his flies as he
handed it over as if arranging himself.

For a teenager, whom as a category I always assumed to be growing and
hungry, Jack Tuttle did not eat much at dinner. He wanted to know about
the Middle East and Dahra, what I did at the Bank and where I lived. I
walked a very fine line. Never actually lying, but always being very
thrifty with the truth, never completing an idea or an opinion, just
letting matters hang.

I told him that Dahra was hot and dry, desert and mountain, oil and gas.
That banking was the same here in England as there in Dahra, you took
money in from those who had it and gave it to those who wanted it, could
pay back both it and the interest charged. I made it sound as boring as
boring could only be.

I think that with his energy Jack could have continued well past midnight
and beyond, but it was already just that for me, Dahra being three and a
half hours ahead of Greenwich Mean Time.

I said I was falling asleep due to the time zone and he apologised for
keeping me up so late.

When we got back up to the suite, the single bed had been installed, made
up and its quilt and top sheet turned down.

I stripped quickly and got into bed. In Dahra, I always slept naked and
made no concession to London or its weather or humidity.

Jack stripping down to his boxers and came over to the bed.

`Uncle Jonathan, I don't think I have ever had a day like this. Not
ever. I don't want to sleep alone tonight, could I sleep in your bed?

`Just to sleep, Jack? No chat, nor would I have the energy at the moment
to give a good night kiss to my favourite nephew.'

Jack shucked down his boxers. Thank heavens, his penis was flaccid. He
jumped in beside me, and saying, `Uncle Jonathan, good night and thank
you' and putting a kiss on my forehead, burrowed down under the sheet,
warm bum up against my backside, and before I started to fall asleep two
minutes later, he was asleep - his breathing was deep and regular
sleeping with the ability of tired and exhausted teenagers.