Date: Sun, 15 Nov 2015 13:45:37 +0000 (UTC)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: PASSING, PART THREE

PASSING
A story by Pete Brown  (petebrownuk@yahoo.com)
Part Three       An interesting evening.  Encounter with Sam.  A meeting
arranged.

When we got back to our building I paid the driver cash - a really rare
thing for me, but I judged it prudent not to have too many electronic
records of my visit to Jason.  Greg and Jason had to take the slave
elevator of course and so I was in the apartment before them. Had I thought
about it I should have ordered them to take the stairs - Greg sometimes
does anyway to really work out his legs and lungs as we are so high, and it
would have been good to see what kind of state Jason was in after a forced
exercise like that - I suspected his gym-toned muscles would not be in
nearly such good condition as Greg's more "street hardened" ones were. And
he would be totally exhausted even though he was almost 15 years younger
than Greg: it might make him think about what "old" means!

As they came through the door it was sort of touching and yet amusing to
see how Jason was cupping his cock and balls in his hands - it makes for a
really awkward, some would say funny, posture I always think. And it was so
stupid, as he has absolutely nothing to be ashamed of as most men would
envy his tackle.

"So, stripped, spanked, clipped.... We know what's next, don't we, Jason?
The thing that really turns a free man in to a slave, even though of course
you are a slave anyway?"

"You don't fuck me..."

Greg hit him.  Not hard. Just a hefty slap across the face. I think it was
more the shock than the power that sent Jason reeling.  It was good to see
him looking out for my interests, I suppose.

"You address his as `Sir'.  Always.  Understand?  And you never tell him
what do.  You're a fucking slave, boy, and if he wants to fuck you, he
will."

"Thank you, Greg.  He's right, Jason.  But I think I'll postpone the final
step as it's been rather an exciting day already.  Although perhaps a
little entertainment might amuse me.... Greg, you fuck him."

I laughed inwardly as I saw Greg flinch.  I've told you he still thinks of
himself as "straight", and although he has now reconciled himself to
sucking my cock, that's as far as it goes.  I had fucked him when I first
bought him, but not after that, and there had never been any suggestion
that he showed any interest in any of the other male slaves in the
building.  It would be interesting to see how he got out of this,
considering he'd just slapped Jason to remind him that I had to be obeyed.
"Uh, sir...  Uh, these free men... They play around, sir.  Perhaps he
should be tested first? He may have a disease...  We know he's had lots of
women, that one yesterday, sir, he must have fucked her and....  And then
the expense, sir, if you had to have both of us treated for something...  I
mean, Jason's not on your insurance policy yet, is he, sir?"

Well done, I thought. Appealing to my concerns about money.  Although I've
got lots and lots, I never waste any!

 "You're right, Greg.  Thank you.  I can watch you fuck him when he's been
to the doctor. But I do need a little entertainment, I suppose.... Shuck
off your clothes so I can take a closer look at you together."

He'd almost breathed a sigh of relief when I'd started saying that, but
began to look worried at the end.  I wonder what he thought I had in
mind. - as I've said, he sucks my cock, but I did wonder if he would suck
Jason's.  It would be interesting to find out, but perhaps not now.

The two of them stood there looking at me, Jason still half-covering his
cock, but Greg standing normally - he wasn't naked much around the house as
I've said, but he isn't ashamed of his body and I do see if every day as
you know.

"I'm not sure which of you is the taller.  Stand back to back so I can
see."

The two men shuffled a little closer together and stood there silently.
"No, it's no good.  You need to be closer.  Push your buttocks and
shoulders together so I can get a proper comparison..."

They did so, and I felt my own cock start to stiffen as I thought about how
it feels to have your skin pressing close to another man. And with your
shoulders and bottom pressed hard against each other... You'd feel the
warmth, the sweat...  I left them standing there for a minute or so - it
wasn't necessary at all really as Jason is clearly the taller by an inch or
so, but to compensate, Greg is generally thicker and more muscular.  But
making them stand close like that was somehow exciting.

"Good.  Now which of you has the longer cock, I wonder?  Stand close
together and measure your cocks against each other."

If I'd wanted to start forging a bond between the slaves I couldn't have
done better.  Jason's look was pure hatred, and I'm not sure whether Greg's
was outrage, or sadness, or resignation.  But clearly they were both pissed
off.  But they obeyed, turned and shuffled forward, and it really was
amusing to see them jockeying around each other, knowing they had to touch
but doing everything they could to try and make it as little as
possible. It was as if there was almost a cigarette paper's thickness that
should be kept between them.  They'd even put a hand on each other's
shoulders to steady themselves, or was it to try to maintain a distance
between them?

"No, no.  It's not working.  Your cock hangs down, Greg, and Jason's looks
as if it's half erect, stuck on top of his balls like that.  I'll have to
settle with judging them when you're erect, as that evens things out.  So
get hard, both of you".

I think Jason would have defied me had he not been afraid f a further slap
from Greg. And certainly Greg wanted to disobey - it's not as if I haven't
seen his erect cock many, many times of course, but he clearly didn't like
it in the presence of Jason.  But he did as I had ordered, and he started
to stroke himself.  And then, slowly, and very, very hesitantly, Jason
reached down for his cock too and began to masturbate too.

When both of them were erect - it had been a bit of an effort, I think, as
it had taken some time and they were both breathing hard - I told them to
stand facing each other and then to move forward until the tip of one cock
touched the belly of the other man - the one to touch first would be the
longer.

They shuffled forward again, and once more had a hand on each other's
shoulder - now a bit sweaty, I observed.

"No, it isn't working.  You're flopping around too much.  Greg, get a grip
- wrap your hand around both of your cocks..."

Once more that look of near defiance, frustration, anger almost.  But he
did as he was told.  It was interesting to see that both men were now very,
very stiff. And there was the merest shimmer of a drop of something on the
end of Greg's cock... Surely not pre-cum?  I noted it, but decided not to
say anything... yet.  My own cock was really straining now as I looked at
the two men, both such delightful specimens of manhood, and both doing
something they didn't want to, so showing my control over them.  I could
almost imagine the feeling of a hot cock pressed against another, and how
the tip would tingle as it brushed the other's pubes. And their noses would
be full of the scent of each other, that special scent of sweat from the
genitals, so much more pungent than the rest of the sweat that was coming
off them.  I was almost tempted to throw off my own clothes and join them -
and shivered a little with excitement as I imagined how we'd stand in a
triangle, arms around each other's shudders, and cocks bobbing up and down
as we manoeuvred, feeling the sweat rolling down from our armpits in those
little cold rivulets as it does.  But then my good sense got the better of
me - I needed to maintain control here.

"OK, that's enough".  Both men backed away from each other as I spoke.
"Jason's the longer, as I suppose I ought to expect as he's taller and
thinner. But Greg's is the thicker.  But both well above average, I
reckon. And they make a nice contrast".

I was toying with the idea of having them masturbate for me - possibly
wanking each other - and comparing their cum loads.  But then I thought
that would be tough on Greg, and unfair. After all, as I knew myself, the
volume of your cum goes down as you get older.  And even though that's a
fact and we all know it, probably Greg would not really accept that it was
only natural that he hadn't performed as well as Jason would.  Perhaps I'd
put him through enough today.

"Right, bedtime, I think."

"Where's Jason sleeping, sir?"

"In the slave bedroom of course, Greg."

"But I'm in there...."

"Yes.  You're both in there."

I knew what he wanted to say.  That it was only just big enough for
him. That they'd be too close together.

"It's not very big, sir."

"Big enough.  You're always telling me about those marine patrols of yours,
how you buddied up to your mate in a small tent.... Pretend you're still
free and back out on manoeuvres."

They could see there was no point in arguing with me, so that was that.

I got a lot of pleasure that evening though as I lay in my bed listening to
the muffled bumping noises and moans and cries through the wall of the
slave room - as far as I could make out Jason did not want to get into the
bed and Greg insisted he did as I had ordered it.  My cock was ramrod hard
as I thought of the two men lying there naked pressed so tightly together -
not that they would be having sex as Greg clearly did not want to, but
simply the thought of how they would undoubtedly have erections and in that
small space there's no way they could avoid each other.  Usually I have
Greg suck me off as you know, but that night it was a real pleasure to
stroke myself to orgasm as I speculated on what was happening next door.

Evidently they'd worked something our as it was OK the next morning and
they seemed to be getting on together, and I saw that Greg had evidently
given one of his sets of shorts and a T to Jason to wear.  Jason's legs,
which had first caught my attention on the tube, looked even longer and
more desirable in the very short shorts.

"So today.... Greg, business as usual for you.  Get some exercise, do the
chores.  And keep an eye on Jason, a close eye!  He's not to leave the
flat, not at all, not for any reason at all.  Is that clear?"

I liked the way I had subtly given control over Jason to Greg, who promptly
said "Yes, sir."

"But I want Jason worked too - he can't go out running, but both of you can
work out in here.  I'll expect to see you both exhausted tonight."

"Yes, sir" again from Greg.

"I could go to the gym..." Jason started.

"You heard me, Jason You are not to go out.  You absconded once, and until
I have put some measures in place, I do not want to risk you doing so
again.  Greg will guard you."

"Sir, please..." Jason continued, in spite of the dangerously angry looks
he was starting to get fro Greg.  "Please, couldn't I go back to work?  We
could go back to my apartment, I could dress, I....."

"Certainly not!  Slaves are not allowed to work in financial services, it's
against the law. You cannot sign all the declarations and bonds needed to
allow you to trade - slaves are not legally free men and so cannot enter in
to agreements."

"George didn't mind.  I'm great at my job, and he was happy to...."

"You mean he knew you were not a free man?"

"He noticed my SIN tattoo one day soon after I'd started there, just as you
did, but he wanted work out of me..."

Well this was new information. Information that would potentially be very
useful to me in my next dealings with George.  Allowing a slave to continue
passing - personification I suppose we ought to call it to give it its real
name to avoid that stupid Americanism for death - was a serious crime,
possibly enough to get George enslaved. But certainly enough to cause a
huge scandal and do harm to his business, that he'd certainly want to
avoid.  I suppose I was in a bit of a similar position, knowing of the
personification, but there was absolutely no way I was going to make it
worse.

"Well I will not let you return to the office.  And you need to learn that
when I say no, I mean it.  I'm in a good mood this morning though and so I
am not going to tell Greg to punish you. But whilst you're here as my slave
you will listen carefully to what I say, never argue with me, never
contradict me..."

"I'm not your slave..."

I nodded to Greg, and he slapped Jason's face, hard - hard enough, as he
had yesterday, to send Jason reeling.  "You were told never to contradict
your owner", Greg snapped, and there was a look of almost pure hate on
Jason's face.  I wondered if he was going to spring up and attack Greg, but
as he saw Greg's powerful body standing half over him, he thought better of
it.  Smart lad!

I left then and on my walk to the tube, on the tube, and walking to the
office I thought about the situation.  I was thrilled to have "captured"
Jason as a slave.  It's not the money - I could go to the Canary Wharf
branch of Scabbard & Drass and buy a young slave with his good looks and
sexy body any time I wanted to.  No, it was the "thrill of the chase", and
knowing that I had this slave because of my own actions.  My cock was
stiff, and I could begin to appreciate how kidnappers feel when they take
someone from the streets against their will.  But, equally, I am somewhat
cautious and began to think about the consequences: I was harbouring an
escaped slave, and it might also be seen that by not reporting it
immediately I was complicit in George's crime of allowing the
personification, something that could get us both disbarred from working in
the financial industry (and possibly put in jail, or even enslaved!)  I
needed to regularise the situation somehow, but releasing Jason now, or
turning him in to the authorities, wouldn't be enough - it could be argued
that too much time had passed.  And Jason was angry and would certainly
concoct some story to make my involvement appear even worse!

Even though I am always very early to arrive at the office - something you
would imagine my staff would have noticed and emulated - as usual it was
only my PA who was there.  That's good, though, as I like to "go through
things" with him before the others start to appear so that I am properly
informed of what's going on, something my staff seem constantly surprised
about, but which contributes massively to my reputation as a very skilled
operator indeed.

"Morning, sir", Sam said in his usual cheery way.  He's one of those men
who never seems worried and is always cheerful, almost irritatingly so on
some occasions.  He almost seems to worship me as he's so grateful to me
for having taken him on. Jobs are hard to come by at the top end of our
sector, as we are, and I know he hopes that having "got in" one day he'll
be allowed to move on and be one of the dealers or traders. Not a hope of
this, of course, as he's too valuable to me as my PA!  I did admire him and
actually like him, as much as a man in my position can admire and like a
very junior employee.  He'd shown a huge amount of initiative in trying to
get to see me to ask for work, constantly pestering my old PA, who of
course would never put his calls through, and who filtered out his e-mails
to me before I reviewed my inbox.  So he then took to sitting in reception
for several days so that I saw him there as I went in, went out to lunch or
to business meetings, or left for home in the evenings.  My PA said the
building management was complaining, and she smiled as she said "Silly boy,
he doesn't know what he'd be letting himself in for, working for you..."

We had a good relationship and she could say things like that as I knew
(or, anyway, thought) that she was making a joke.  "So how does he know
you're leaving, anyway?"

"Oh Sam knows everything!  He's my sister's current husband's son, and he's
always asking questions. And he's a nice lad, too - a real hard worker, my
sister says.  Down on his luck a bit - some slight trouble with the police
in his late teens, but not enough to get him jailed or enslaved - to do
with some girl or other, as he's a real sex bomb, or likes to think he is.
So they wouldn't have him in any university - he's really bright and had
all the right qualifications from school, but with even a suggestion of a
sex thing he couldn't be allowed on campus: you know how those women
students unions are these days, no university will risk offending them by
giving a lad like Sam a place.  So he's stuck in dean-end jobs, the kind
where he's basically filling-in for slaves when they're sick or something.:
filling shelves in Tesco, working on delivery trucks, even some labouring
on building sites, although he's not all that strong physically...." She
paused and smiled again "...even though he's got a nicely muscled body, he
lacks the power, being so slight.  Still, I can see why the girls like
him..."

I'd almost had enough of this chatter as we had things to do, but I said
"Well he doesn't sound as if he'd be a good PA even so.  Labouring jobs..."

"Well I don't know.  He works hard, as I said. And he's very reliable. And
clever, too. And he's worked away at night taking free classes at some
institute or other to learn spreadsheets and things - when I have a problem
with some of the really complex stuff you ask me to do, it's Sam I call as
I can't ask anyone here as so much of what you do is confidential and not
to be shown to them."  She paused again, and looked at me hard and went on
"And there's something else you need to think about.... Your reputation!"

"What?"

"Well you're not exactly know for hiring the racially different, are you?
Look around the office at all those white faces..."

"I'm not racist!  It's just that our clients like to negotiate with people
like themselves, and I'm doing the best for the business."

"Yes, sir. But it's the statistics, isn't it?  We don't look good when all
those annual surveys get done".

"I don't see how using this Sam as my PA would help..."

"Oh but it would.  You'd shoot up the tables for employing someone without
a degree in a job traditionally thought of as requiring one. And then
there's the PWT number as we call it - I've forgotten what it really
means."

"PWT index?"

"Well we think of it as meaning Poor White Trash. The racially different
get quotas and so on for jobs, but now they've realised that some white
lads are being left behind, so they're starting to measure it... You could
be a trend-setter."

I wasn't sure if she was teasing me.  We've worked together for five years
ever since I started rising up the higher management ladder, She's really
excellent at her job, and has made a huge difference in helping me rise.
And, to be fair, I've done the right thing by her - she's on the bonus
scheme sharing in the annual bonus pool with the traders and dealers and
certainly makes much more a year than anyone else not a "professional". And
I heartily wish she wasn't leaving, but she married one of the traders a
couple of months ago and is pregnant and wants to give up work to look
after the kid full time. It's for the best, I suppose, as I'd have had to
get rid of her husband who's really good as I couldn't have them both
working in the same office.

"Hmmm... Well I'm not sure I want to be leading from the front..."

"You're forgetting how hard it is to get a new PA to understand things...
With Sam I'd be happy always to pick up the phone if he called and asked
things - and you know how much stuff doesn't go into the official files."

I was in a good mood that morning and but anxious to get on with the day,
and she had made a very good point.  So I told her to fit him in to my day
somehow for an interview, and this turned out to be impossible, so she told
me Sam would walk with me to the tube when I left so I could at least see a
bit of what he was like.

As it so happens it was one of those days when we had a bit of a crisis and
I wasn't away until 21:45 - I'd forgotten all about Sam, but there he was,
still in reception and as I came out of the executive lift he bounded over,
smiling.  He still does, that, actually - he's a bit like an excited puppy
always bounding around, always smiling - I don't know where he gets the
energy.  "Sir, thank you for seeing me...."

"Not now. I'm tired. And hungry - I got no lunch. Come back tomorrow."

"Sir, you've got to walk to the tube, can I walk with you?  Or shall I call
you a cab, I've got the app on my phone. And I could ride with you Or if
you're hungry, I know a pub that does great food, and it's on your way..."
He was, and remains, incredibly persistent.  He won't take "no" for an
answer, and that's really important for a PA of mine.  And I could tell
what my PA might have meant when she said "see more of him" - as seems to
be his normal dress, his suit trousers are incredibly tight and are slung
low under his hip bones, so they emphasise his tight little bum and show
his quite large package off.  I couldn't help speculating, as I still do,
whether he's `skinned or not - there's no possibility of me asking, or of
finding out by seeing, of course as that would be very improper.  He also
wears his shirts very tight - and as they're cheap ones from the chain
stores and rather thin, I could see the outline of his nipples and, where
the buttons were strained apart, glimpses of his smooth, hairless chest.
And whilst I was seeing those things he's kid of fallen into step beside me
as we crossed the lobby.

As we walked to the tube he chattered away almost non-stop about why I
should take him on.  Interestingly, he did the thing I always do with
clients and didn't say what he'd got by way of qualifications or
experience, but focused on what he saw my needs were and how he, Sam, was
ideally placed to satisfy them!  I couldn't help but be amused a little and
as we got to the tube he kind of naturally followed me through the barrier
and carried on talking at me on the escalator.  And as the train sighed to
a halt I could see there was no way of getting rid of him other than to say
"Come and see me tomorrow".

And he was there in the morning when I arrived, and he's been here ever
since, over two years now. And he works ferociously hard, guards my diary
and time, gets even the hardest tasks I delegate to him done, and, perhaps
best of all, he seems to know everything and every one!  People seem to
naturally like him and talk to him and tell him things they probably
shouldn't, so he's a great early warning system for me.  And if I ever need
something done, he "knows just the man".  He's still good to look at, too -
some of the other men in the office soon had a word with him about cheap
suits and chain store ties, and even though he probably can't afford it as
they can, he's now the very essence of a business man in his Hugo Boss suit
and Jermyn Street shirts - although, gratifyingly, they're all tailored to
be tight as he wore when I first saw him.  He must work out too, as he's
delightful to watch as he moves about, but it's of course "watch, don't
touch" for me.  He's also clever enough not to date any of the women in my
office even though he tells me they're all begging for his body and he gets
lots of offers, but most Monday mornings and some during the week too he's
particularly happy and if pressed he'll tell me about his latest "conquest"
the night before.  I sometimes daydream of finding some way of getting him
enslaved, then of buying him, stripping him and using his tight little bum
as it ought to be used, and having his cock spurt for me, not some
sex-starved bitch.

Anyway, to get on with the narrative.  As he bought my coffee in (in spite
of the fire regulations that mean everyone else has to take coffee from the
dreadful vending machines Sam has somehow managed to get an expresso
machine for my use) I said casually "You always now everyone, Sam, and I
need some specialist advice..."

He nodded, eagerly, and I went on "I want to talk about slaves..."

That stopped him.  He looked a bit shocked.  "Greg giving you trouble, sit?
Surely not...." He's been to my place several times to deliver things, and
so knows I own a slave, and, I suspect, when I've been away on trips and
I've told him to call around to take Greg for his mandatory annual
check-ups and things like that where the slave has to be accompanied by a
free man, he's pumped Greg for information about me.

"No, not at all.  But a friend of mine thinks he many have inadvertently
fallen foul of some of the slave owning laws and needs advice."

"Lots of lawyers here, sit, there's a newly-qualified one on the thirtieth
floor I know a bit, she'd be best as she'll still have some idea about
it. Not a lot of call for slave law amongst the more experienced guys..."

"No, absolutely not. It is most inappropriate to mix business and personal
matters."

He nodded, said quietly "Leave it with me, sir", and we got on with
catching up with the overnight things.

As I worked away during the morning with my meetings I could see him
through the wall of my office making calls - far more than usual - and at
lunchtime he came in to collect things to do from me, then said discretely
"That matter you mentioned to me this morning, sir. I think you need to see
a slave dealer..."

"Certainly not! When I bought Greg I was not impressed with those salesmen
at Scabbard & Drass.  Smooth-talking idiots! They almost lost the sale by
being too superior."

"No, not them, sir.  I thought you'd probably need someone at the rather,
rather well, rather rougher end of the trade, sir.  One of my cousins knows
just the man, and I've tracked him down, and taken the liberty of making an
appointment for you to meet him, sir, as tomorrow's Saturday and there's no
social engagement in your diary.  He's only out at Leyton..."

"Get him to come to me, I've no time to be all over London..."

"I tried that, sir. But he said he's too busy. And that anyway he thought
that most of his clients liked to take a good look `behind the
scenes'. He's not exactly a dealer, although he does sell some slaves, he
says.  He describes himself as a `problem resolution specialist' - he must
have been working here, with all the fancy job titles - but I reckon
`fixer' is more accurate.  He sounds a nice bloke, sir, we had a bit of a
laugh.  He sounds as if he'd be a good person to know. And if you want,
I'll get my cousin to be there..."

"I'm perfectly well able to take care of myself. So thank you, no.  But I
don't want to go all over the place..."

"It's only Leyton, sir. Just carry on as if you were coming to work on the
tube, but go on to Stratford. Then it's only one stop on the Central.  Mind
you, he's not exactly on the High Street where Scabbard & Drass and some of
the other dealers are - it's quite a centre for slaves, sir - but not more
than ten minutes from the station. And you could take Greg with you, sir,
he's enough to stop any stupid little tykes causing you any bother..."

This was turning into another of those persistent conversations from Sam,
but it did sound a bit daring and somehow exciting... A `fixer', `behind
the scenes', Greg to scare people away in the streets: we're in London, and
there's nowhere I don't go, by myself....  And Saturday mornings can be
boring.  So I said "OK, what time?"

"He wouldn't give a time, sir.  He said for you just to turn up, and if he
was busy `correcting a slave problem' you could wait, or go in and
watch...."

End Of Part Three