This story is entirely a work of fiction and all rights to it and its characters are copywrite and private to and reserved by the author. No reproduction by anyone for any reason whatsoever is permitted. This is a novel of gay sex, some of the sex depicted will be consensual, a great deal will not, some will even go well past that point into the territory of deep fetishes. If, where you live, you are underage to read this kind of material, or this material will be unlawful for you to read regardless of your age, I'm sorry but please leave now. If you are offended by gay sex, then fuck off this isn't intended for you, besides why are you browsing around here anyway? If this story is the kind of thing that pleases you and/or gets your juices flowing, then enjoy it with my blessings
We're All Capitalists Now
Chp. 2 It Begins
"Right then, Colonel what have you found for me?" I asked. The colonel, trying not to show his discomfiture at being torn from his, he had thought, important tasks to run errands for a very senior, and hitherto unknown to him, general officer scuttled forward and requested that the General follow him to the General's new office suite. The suite consisted of a small anteroom and a larger private office plus a small water closet with a wet sink and shower. Someone had obviously been hurriedly moved out.
I chuckled to myself at the thought of the ripple effect as each dispossessed office holder commandeered the office of the official next below him in line. In my mind's eye I could picture someone finding himself at a desk in the car park surrounded by a collection of crates and answering his own phone, wondering just who in hell he'd pissed off and how he could undo the damage.
I looked the rooms over and then turned to the colonel and asked what the room next door was used for? "Oh, General, that belongs to a senior Party Representative and is only very slightly larger than this office." The man was almost ready to piss in his pants, he was that uncomfortable. I smiled to myself thinking, "You're about to get a whole lot more uncomfortable yet." Then to the colonel I issued orders to move the Party Representative out of his offices, send up my driver from this morning and deliver to me the personnel files for the entire current basement staff and all the military office clerks who worked in the building. "Oh," I said to him, "and, I'd like that done half an hour ago."
The colonel fled the room dreading, I am sure, his pending interview with the Party's Representative. Before bracing the Party's man, he summoned an underling and sent him post haste for the driver, then he attached two guards to his little parade and after a slight knock, opened the Party Representative's door and strode through like a mother duck with her ducklings in tow.
Their interview began with the colonel apologizing and requesting that the functionary please vacate his offices as there was now an urgent need for them. No apparatchik worth his salt was going to take the loss of his office space lying down. At first he sputtered then he announced that he'd call Party Headquarters and, "We'll just see about this." That only served to put some steel into the colonel's spine. He ordered one of his guards to remove the phone and the other to escort the startled clerk out of the offices with the caveat that if the Party man couldn't control himself, he was to be afforded a nice quiet space in the basement to re-consider his priorities.
The reference to the basement was not lost on the Party man who blanched and then asked permission to gather together his files and papers. The colonel, magnanimous in victory, graciously indicated that he might stay for a half hour and box up what he could, stating that anything not boxed in that time would be dumped into plastic trash bags and hauled to a basement room to await disposition.
All of that was easy to follow since neither man had felt the need to lower his voice and I had been just outside the door taking it all in. It was at the moment of the colonel's victory that I turned about and went to visit the loo. I suddenly realized that I hadn't made a bathroom visit for hours and my bladder was feeling uncomfortably full.
I exited the loo, to find my driver standing looking very much at sixes and sevens and signaled him to approach me. The time had come to find out more about him. God, but I love seeing the look of worry trying to hide itself on the face of a beautiful youth! I took the seat behind the desk and the driver stood to attention in front of it.
He had come from Volgograd where his grandparents had distinguished themselves in its siege during the Great Patriotic War. His parents had both gotten university educations out of their parents' patriotism with enough left over to get him into the Agency on the lowest level from which he expected to rise given time and opportunity. He'd get neither, he was mine now.
His grandparents were dead along with the greatest majority of their generation and his parents had retired from teaching careers. They were living on their state subsidies and just making it. The lump sum payment sent to survivors of service personnel who were declared to have died on active duty would be a real help to them, I'm sure.
I asked if his primary occupation in the Agency was as a driver? Oh, no he rushed to inform me. He was primarily an encoder and decoder of message traffic. No sooner had he made his declaration than I could see a sudden and very real trace of ill concealed panic race across his face.
Why would that cause a panic in this young soldier? Suddenly, it was as though a lightning bolt had landed in my lap. I spun the chair so that my back was to him and said, "The colonel is bringing me all the personnel files of everyone in this building, yours is sure to be among them. Were you a general purpose cypher clerk or were you assigned to specific traffic or to the traffic of specific individuals?"
His voice became small and although he tried manfully to control it, there was an unmistakable tremor of fear bordering on terror down below the surface. Many might have missed it, but I had too much experience in that perfect school for interrogators that this building's basement was, to allow it to go by unnoticed.
"Sir, I was attached to a specific individual and to his traffic only. I have the highest of clearances." A bit of pride and ill founded hope had managed to creep into his voice. Well, no time like the present to crush out pointless hope, it would only get in the way and slow the acceptance of his conversion into the first of my personal most private assistants.
"Did you encode and transmit the communiques detailing my promotion and priority status?" I asked knowing or at least deeply suspecting the answer he would now be forced to give. I could hear him draw breath and in a voice that betrayed his despair, he answered, "Yes, General." "Good, then you will understand when I tell you that as from this moment you are transferred to my direct command. You are now in a position from which it will be possible for you to rise to considerable heights or from which you could fall to almost unfathomable depths." I spun the chair back around and could see that there was a glistening around both of his eyes. His worst nightmares had been realized and confirmed. He knew exactly what my project was and that he'd been ensnared.
Pity, I couldn't take the time right now to solidify my victory and take him right here on the desk. But, there was too much to do and I needed him to help in the doing. But, later, later. . . .Ah, well the anticipation would contribute to the pleasure of the event (for me at least if not for him). I snapped out a number of orders that had him rushing to empty all the files and papers of the previous occupants of my new offices.
The colonel arrived and in a spirit of self importance gained from pushing around a clerk to whom he'd previously had to be respectful, he informed me that the second office would be ready for me within ten minutes, fifteen at the latest.
I fixed him with a dispassionate stare and brought him crashing back to reality with one short question. "And, the personnel files?" His eyes dilated and with "With the General's permission" he spun around and all that there was to see of him were his elbows and heels as he tore down the hall. I doubt that many there that day had seen a colonel run so fast, or for that matter run at all. Colonels are rather more used to causing others to run.
I had my driver pick up the phone and call a number I gave him, it was the number to the duty desk in the basement. He announced that he was the assistant to the Colonel General Andre Vasilieevich German and that the General would be on the line in a moment. He instructed whomever it was that answered the call to put the ranking guard on the phone. Once that was done he handed me the phone.
"This is Colonel General Andre Vasilieevich German, who is on the other end of this phone?" I demanded. There was a moment's pause and a voice I knew well responded, "I am Warrant Officer Mikhiel Petrovich Godon. What can I do for the Colonel General?"
As I had hoped it was somebody I not only knew, but he knew me and we'd worked and pleasured ourselves together in our happy basements. I told him the number of my offices and ordered him to present himself here in fifteen minutes time. "Don't worry if you've been working and are or will be a bit disheveled. Just come up here right away. We have a good deal to discuss." I passed the phone back to the driver and he announced that I was now off the line and suggested that the Warrant Officer might want to hurry and get up here as the General's clock was ticking.
As he hung up the phone I smiled my approval of his communications skills. He then went back to emptying drawers and stacking their contents in a corner of the room. The colonel arrived with four soldier-clerks each carrying a banker's box filled with files following close behind him. The chastened colonel announced the success of his latest mission and with a hand gesture had the clerks place the boxes on what had become my desk. I'm not sure who had this office before me but the area encompassed by its surface would have made a small family of peasants a very tidy farm.
I dismissed the colonel with instructions that he was to leave with my assistant, I indicated my driver, a phone number where he could be reached at any hour as my business for the Agency was urgent and I was uncertain when I'd need him next. There was a brief look of sad resignation that flew across his face and he tore a sheet out of some file which had served my predecessor and on its back he wrote a number then saluting me he left the office.
I told my assistant to safeguard that number as I was sure we'd need it again in the near future. I then turned to the four soldier-clerks who were standing at attention and instructed them to each come forward one at a time and pull his own personnel file and hand it to my assistant. That completed, I instructed them to go to the outer office and close the door telling them, "There will soon be a guard arriving from the basement. When he gets here knock on the door once, but do not allow anyone to open it. No one is to enter until or unless I specifically order the door opened.
With the door now closed and guarded I looked my driver over and said, "Alright driver, pull my chair out into the center of the room" while indicating the huge chair that the bureaucrat who used to have this office had used. He brought it forward and I sat in it. "Find your file and bring it and those of the four clerks to me. In a matter of only moments he presented me with all five files. I tucked the other four next to my thigh in the chair and opened his.
He stood in front of me at attention as I read his file. It corroborated the background he'd admitted earlier. But, it went further. I now had the name of the official whose cypher clerk he'd been. Actually he'd been one of a couple of dozen cypher clerks assigned to the Chairman's message traffic. He'd been detailed by the Chairman to be my driver after serving as one of his cypher clerks! Very clearly the Chairman was sending me a message. This must have been the clerk who decoded my original message to the Chairman. This callow youth knew everything about my project and if left at Headquarters he'd constitute a security problem. Either I take him with me, or he was going to have a terrible and fatal accident. This youth was a gift from the Chairman!
"Well driver," I started, "you know, can't go on calling you 'driver' all the time. What is your given name?" "Sir, it is Pavel Dimitriovich," he answered, his voice more than just a little tremulous. "Right then, Pavel it is," I said in my most jovial voice. "Pavel, we have a problem you and I. Don't we?" "Sir?" he almost squeaked.
"Don't play stupid with me Pavel. I hate stupid and can spot a lie or half truth coming a kilometer away. Now as I was saying, we have a problem, you and I. You were one of the Chairman's private cypher clerks weren't you? Ah, ha I thought so. You are the clerk who decoded my original message to the Chairman, right?" His shoulders sagged, his head drooped and in an only barely audible whisper he said, "Yes, General."
"Alright then," I continued, "you must be able to see the dilemma with which we must now deal, you and I. It is obvious that the Chariman has already decided how he wishes to deal with the security problem that you now constitute." His head shot up as one lonely tear made its way down his left cheek. "Yes, the Chairman has referred your case to me for a final and complete solution. I can either have you and your secret take the elevator down into the basements where I used to toil for the Motherland and where in the matter of only a few hours, a day or two at the most, you'd meet with a tragic but perfectly predictable accident and your parents would receive a package with your ashes, a heartfelt letter of condolence signed by the Chairman himself and your death benefits. They could probably use the check, eh? The alternative would be for me to accept your person as a gift from the Chairman to me. You deciphered my message so you know my proclivities, you must have an idea what your life with me would be like." He stood there rooted to the spot, his worst fears confirmed and nowhere to escape his fate. His big blue eyes approached the size of saucers, his head bobbed once.
"Pavel Dimitriovich, I will allow you to decide. Do you go to the basement or do you become my personal attendant? Just so there are no misunderstandings, you will be my slave. I'm sure the letter of condolence has already gone out to your parents, probably in this morning's mail.
If you decide for the basements when I've finished talking you are to go and stand at attention just inside the door. My old friend the Officer of the guard will shortly arrive and will, upon my instructions escort you below ground never to be seen or heard of again. If you decide to pick life, albeit life as a slave when I've finished talking you are to remove your boots and socks and stand at attention right there" I said indicating an area just in front of the chair. "I'm going to turn my back to you so you can make your choice. You've got 45 seconds, when I turn back you're either to be at attention at the door or barefoot standing at attention before my chair."
I spun around in the chair turning my back to him. Years ago, during a covert mission in the west I witnessed a television game show. The played a little musical ditty, I think they called it a jingle, while the contestant made up his mind. The idea was that when the jingle ended, the contestant had to have made up his mind and decided on his answer. It crossed my mind that we could have used a jingle at this point to help things along.
"Alright Pavel," I announced, "Time's up." and I spun in the chair. He was standing so close to the chair that I nearly hit him as I spun around. I looked down and his lovely pale feet were as naked as the rest of him was soon to be. You know, I don't believe I'd ever considered a person's feet as objects of beauty before, but Pavel's were, like the rest of him beautiful.
"I see you've decided to live, even if that life will only be as a slave. Is that correct Pavel?" "Yes, General," he almost whispered.
"When you were a boy, Pavel, did you like unwrapping your presents? I did, and in fact, I still do. Sometimes I used to shake the boxes to try and figure out what they held before I opened them. Remember, you, my Pavel, are a gift to me from the Chairman. I can't very well shake you, but I can let my hands roam about and see what they can tell me about my present before I unwrap it. That is before I unwrap you."
My hands began to trace his face. I felt his forehead which began where his luxuriously thick yellow/white mane ended and went to his equally thick but nearly transparent eyebrows. Below the eyebrows his eyes the color of hydrangeas were set like the jewels they were. Beginning just below and between them his thin, longish nose rose. It looked like it belonged to one of the old aristocrats before Stalin and Beria wiped them out. On either side of the nose his cheek bones high and noble gave definition to the sides of his face.
As I was taking my finger tip tour of his face another single tear rolled out of his left eye and started down his cheek. My right thumb arrested its downward progress and brought it to my lips. I kissed it, my tongue snaking out to taste this distilled essence of my Pavel. It was a little salty, but because it was his, it was sweet.
"Pavel have you ever had sex. . . Of any kind with another male?" I asked. His eyes were glistening with the tears he was trying so hard not to shed as he shook his head, "No." "With women, then my Pavel? Have you had sex with women?" "Yes, General?" I allowed a finger to trace his lips. It always amazes me how pink the lips of a really pale person can be and my Pavel was so pale he was nearly translucent, like a piece of really fine china. Were his nipples that same pink or the head of his cock?
"Tell me my Pavel, tell me of your first sexual encounter with a girl and of your last one with a woman, for make no mistake, your most recent encounter will prove to have been your last, unless of course, I decide to breed from you. ( I have found that it's always wise to give a subject a straw to clutch, to keep at least some little hope alive. As long as he has or believes he has reason to hope, he will be as malleable as possible in the endeavor to keep that thin shred of hope alive.) Tell me, Pavel."
By now my hands ere enjoying the softness of his throat, tracing the ligaments as they disappeared below the collar of his tunic. Poor Pavel prated on about some girl he'd met who'd let him into her bed but would not allow him to penetrate her. She owned a fear that sounded more like paranoia of getting pregnant and claimed to attach an incredible value to her hymen, declaring it was for her husband on their wedding night and no one else.
My hands now sandwiched his body between them. My left hand was sending me reports of the contours of his back, its mate was reporting the sculptured plates of his chest. As they sank lower, they reported to me of a strong and finely tapered back and a taut abdomen that sank below a belt into an equally flat groin and finally the well rounded rump and ample if momentarily flaccid endowment of a thoroughbred. Or, could it just be the layers of cloth that made up his uniform? I would know for certain, very soon. My Pavel's body would have no more secrets from me.
I reached up and began undoing the buttons of his tunic. I was so completely focused on revealing my Pavel's chest and back each button's opening built toward my growing excitement. Then someone knocked on the door. It had to be my old friend from the basements, we'd been sergeants together and now he'd risen to Warrant Officer. I, of course, had risen a good deal higher. Considering our comparative careers, I allowed myself a satisfied chuckle. I knew he'd be kept there in the outer office as I'd ordered until I gave the command allowing him to enter. I knew just how to welcome him into my private office, too.
I'd finished unbuttoning Pavel's tunic and slipped it off him. He stood there in his trousers and undershirt. I'm afraid that I made short shrift of his undershirt. I had it off in a trice. His beautiful chest was now there for me to see. My fingers had not lied. No ugly Schwarzenegger tits on him, no his chest was as planed and fine as they'd reported. And, since all the world knows that good agents deserve their rewards, I allowed those same fingers to return to the scene of their triumph for another tour of his torso.
His nipples were a paler pink than his lips and of a size perfect for sucking or slow and gentle torture. Oh, I was going to have so many hours of pleasure playing with his body. . . . I knew that already.
"The time has come my Pavel, I'm opening the top of your trousers. Now each button of your flies surrenders to my demands. There, the last button has given up its defense of your manhood. See, how easily they slide down your legs, your long and slender, sculptured legs. Now lift your right foot and kick it free of the puddle of cloth. Good, now the left. Ah, yes - stand there my Pavel. I want to experience you."
And, there he stood, did my Pavel, my gift from the Chairman. His body the natural pale body of a swimmer or runner. The beautiful planes of his chest giving way to the flat belly, the line of the finest spun gold that descends from his navel and disappears beneath his under shorts. A part of me would love to keep him like this with this oh so small area covered and mysterious. I allow my fiver fingered "eyes" to palpate and probe from outside the single layer of thin cloth.
Soon one hand with a mind of its own slowly insinuates itself through the opening in the front of the shorts. I can feel his soft sweet bag and for now gently maneuver its contents between my fingers. Pavel stopped talking some time ago. He just stands before me making no effort to halt my enjoyment of what is now my property.
I can't stand the suspense any longer and reach up, pulling the waistband of the shorts away from his skin, sliding them down to his ankles and onto his feet. Without being told, he steps out of the underpants and is now, finally, gloriously naked.
My Pavel is naked because it pleases me that he be naked. He has chosen to be my slave, to be used by me as it pleases me to use him. He has made his bargain and is keeping it. I heft his bag. "How long has it been since there were drained?" I demand. "I masturbated this morning before I went to pick you up at the airport, General" he responded.
"Pavel, you understand that you've elected to live and that means you have elected to become my slave?" "Yes, General" he answered.
"Pavel as a slave you own nothing. Not even the body you inhabit. I own your body, the way you might once have bought a bird in a cage and owned it, I now own you. I own your body and anything it produces. From now on you are forbidden to masturbate or bring yourself to climax unless I specifically order you to. Your cream is mine to do with as I please. Violate my rules and the punishment will be severe. It could even include my slicing off your bag and its contents and turning you into a beast of burden and a cum dump for the use of other men. You've seen oxen on the collectives, haven't you? If you wish to become one of them - violate my rules for you and see just how far I can go."
I had been playing with his bad with my right hand and as my left caressed his ass cheeks. They were wonders that rose out full and soft and beautiful from the tops of his legs, returning to his body at the base of his spine where they formed two of the cutest dimples ever seen on a human ass. Time constraints would force me to leave the investigation of his pucker for later once we'd finished the day's chores.
For now, I turned him to face me and was confronted with the sweetest looking young man's cock I'd seen in many years. His skin hung down well past the head forming a miniature elephant's trunk of one or two centimeters length. The body of the penis was firm, warm and pliable. He wasn't erect, but it did seem to me that he'd "plumped up" a bit.
I learned during my years in the basements that if you allow a man to strip himself, he retains a tiny kernel of hope and the idea that he can regain control of his life and surroundings. That is why as we prepared to work on a prisoner, to help him remember things he didn't even realize he'd once known we always began by having a team of really big guards come running at him, pummel him about and rip his clothing from him until he stood there naked. Involuntarily naked. It traumatized our prisoners and went a long way towards forcing them to realize just exactly how profoundly we were now in control of their lives.
With Pavel, I wanted him to learn the same lesson but with a deal less of the trauma. My object was to bring him to a deep realization of his slavery while bending him, hopefully through a modified Stockholm syndrome effect, until he arrived at the conclusion that slavery was his natural condition and obeying his master's orders his greatest good. So, I had stripped him. I took that out of his hands and control, but made it a soft and at least slightly pleasurable experience. While we are here I will arrange for him to see how it is done in the basement to reinforce for him how good he's got it versus those not fortunate enough to belong to this Colonel General.
Another thing I'd learned in the basements was that a penis ultimately doesn't care who is stimulating it. Any penis, properly stimulated, will respond no matter what it's owner might have thought. This too, we learned to use to our advantage when working on one of our college boys. He'd wonder why his penis was responding to manipulation by another man, or worse still to an internal prostate massage delivered by another man. Did that mean that he was a fag? We would, of course keep telling him that that was exactly what it meant and hammer and hammer again and again on his increasingly tenuous hold on his self control until suddenly it would crack open and he'd be ours
Now, I am the new owner of this luscious penis before me and I know I will enjoy my newest toy.
"Pavel, there is an officer of the guard waiting on the other side of that door. I want you to gather your clothing, place it in a pile in the corner over there. Then I want you to go and open the door slightly from behind. I will call him to enter and once he has you're to close the door and stand before it.
"You will respond to any order I give you when and exactly as I give it. Failure to comply will lead to an immediate trip into the basements. That rule will be your rule of life from now on. Go, stand behind the door and open it."
Pavel opened the door from behind exactly as I'd ordered and I called out, "Mikhiel Petrovich you old dog, come in and say hello to an old friend."
End of chp. 2.