verbalBTTM

During COVID, I was the chief of security at a Brooklyn homeless shelter—a festering shithole split into two buildings. One was crammed with your run-of-the-mill drifters and mild MICA (Mentally Impaired, Chemically Addicted) cases, and the other building is a story all to itself. Then came this Polish kid, 19, on conditional parole—shelter or back to prison. Six-three, short wavy blond hair, blue eyes piercing like ice. Shredded lean frame concealing a massive uncut Slavic cock. I know because he would walk down the hallways in worn-out basketball shorts, and the sun would cast a silhouette of his cock as he stumbled down the hallway. Patrolling the second-floor A-corridor became my favorite patrol for that view alone. During wellness checks before lunch, I'd catch him in bed, giggling, scratching his balls, reeking of K2. That monster would slip out of his shorts constantly—damn, it was a sight. When the George Floyd riots hit NYC, he joined the looting frenzy. He returned with fresh track marks riddling both arms. I asked, "What the hell happened?" He rambled about raiding stores, flipping the goods for cheap, scoring enough for a week-long hotel stay and heroin for him and his girlfriend. Boy, was he starting to itch, and I knew he was about to be involuntarily sent to a rehab by the director. So I told him he would most likely be going to rehab for a while since this place isn't equipped to deal with his withdrawals. He accepted that fate and basically knew that was in the cards for him. I said, "When you get out, I might have something for you." Puzzled, he asked what. I said, "Light work, off the books, something to help you out." Roughly two weeks later, he came back, and he wasn't a happy camper. The methadone eased his withdrawals, but he didn't care; he just wanted to go back out and get high again. (I know, no shit.) So I said, "I know a guy who might have some work as a personal assistant, a cash gig, something to put some money in your pocket." Knowing his P.O. (parole officer) was up his ass, it seemed like something better to do than hang out in the shelter all day. So I gave him the phone number and said he'll most likely have you move some boxes, shit like that. He said, "Cool," and thanked me. Little did I know, the guy, we'll call him Glenn, had other plans after they met. After the first day, I asked him, "Hey, how did it go?" He said, "He had me move some boxes and shit, easy stuff, you know." Thinking nothing of it, I went about my day as he went back out for another day of "work." A few weeks passed by, and I saw Glenn outside of the Boiler Room on East 4th Street and asked, "Hey, how is that kid working out for you?" He pulled out his phone and, with a guilty smirk, said, "See for yourself." The first video is of the boy showering in Glenn's bathroom, savoring the pressure, soaping his lanky frame, huge cock swinging freely. Aroused and wary of the ethics, I muttered, "Hotter than I imagined." My cock was throbbing as I sipped my beer, then he swiped left on his phone to another video of him jerking the kid off. Holy fuck, it was fucking hot. Just watching his facial reactions alone would have been enough, but fuck, that cock is nice. So naturally, I asked, "How did you manage to pull that off?" Glenn replied, "Simple, I gave him fifty bucks." My cock jumped and leaked precum even more when he put the third video on. There's Glenn sucking his cock while the boy is watching straight porn. Holy fuck, the way that boy's balls jumped when he blew his load is something I replay in my head whenever I need to get off in a hurry. Then Glenn puts on the fourth video of him eating the boy's ass out. His long slender legs are shaking as his cock is being edged with a tongue up his ass. God damn, Glenn is grooming this boy to be his fuck-boy. The load he shoots is nothing short of amazing, but the sounds he made are unforgettable. Completely transfixed on this collection of pure video gold, I looked at Glenn and asked, "You've got more, don't you?" His smirk could have been noticed by anyone on the block as he swiped left on his phone again. There, Glenn is bent over on his couch while the boy is just fucking him with his eyes closed. You can tell he hates this, but the money was obviously good enough. Glenn is holding his ass open, huffing on poppers, begging for that junkie's load. The boy didn't last long, but Glenn didn't care; he got what he wanted. The fifth video, I'm watching Glenn on the floor, and the boy looks fucked out of his mind, kinda dopey but definitely in an excited state. His eyes closed, fucking the shit out of Glenn, calling him a "stupid faggot" while not giving a fuck about him. Just using his ass like a cash machine, frantically pushing any button just for every dollar he can extract. Then Glenn swipes left again and shows me another angle of the same scene. Holy fuck, that boy has a huge cock. That, or the TV really does add 10 pounds. The length is impressive on its own, but the width is that of a prized porn star. Glenn might not be an Adonis himself, but in those videos, he's comparable to the hottest drugged-up twink being gang-fucked in a sex club you've ever seen. Happy as a pig in shit, Glenn buys me another beer and says, "If you have any other boys that need some work, let me know." I didn't feel so hot about the end result of my efforts, thinking some moral line had been crossed. When I thought about it, everyone was a consenting adult, no one was harmed, and in a weird way, I helped the homeless. Months later, after his P.O. eased off the monitoring, he went back to the smack after being made flush with cash. In the end, I was an unsuspecting pimp and, the boy's secret is safe with Glenn and I.

Penn Station has a ton of safety concerns, like people being thrown in front of oncoming trains by MICA (Mentally Impaired, Chemically Addicted) people, and open, rampant drug use. It's a real mess down there, plus all of the construction. Because Penn has amazing access to all of Long Island, it's a major drug transport hub, which is what I suspect ICE was actually going for.

The advise given here is excellent, however there is one thing neglected. You need to surrender your hole to your wants and say to yourself, "you want this". Your mindset is the key to overcoming any challenge, apply that and you will prevail. Give in to your wants, and surrender your hole to your top. Let him know that you trust him to give you that beautiful gift of pleasure that you so need. Let us know how things turn out, I know we all look forward to hearing of your joy.

Please write a story about it, I'd love to read how filthy your mind is at that time.

Was it the sex with the guy because he was Poz, or was it the risk factor the part that did it for you. (crossing a line you can't come back from) I'm asking since I've heard similar things before from other people that I've spoken to in person. Thank you for being honest with me, I'm utterly fascinated by this

If you don't mind me asking, what changed for you mentally that is?

Just sounds painful to me, but maybe I'll find someone like your ex did. Finding a pro who truly knows his craft isn't easy to come by, even in this town.

Exactly, plus you still have a few of those sleazy video places left a few blocks away. Cops never go in there, they already know the score.

Penn Station is pretty much a homeless shelter, and not very safe these days. Unfortunately it's one of the few places the hot guys from long Island insist on hooking up while waiting for their trains home. There was this North Carolina BBQ joint that was across the street that had a ton of action going on. Nothing better than a beer and a BJ. Unfortunately that place closed during Covid

Challenge accepted, just remember I warned you.

I might have to create a series chronicling my youthful adventures. Perhaps a "Confessions" section should be added for some of the things I've done. Lord knows I have stories for days, and I recall it all with extreme clarity. Some far less PC than this little tidbit.

So I should stop being a bitch and embrace the pain

Maybe as we mature our tastes as well as our bodies do as well.

Without getting lost in the weeds here, let's just face some cold hard truths. Condoms suck, raw sex is awesome, and breeding a guy completes the act. Without the fluid exchange, sex has the same quality as jerking off, except I have to exert myself for less feeling in my cock.

Back in the summer of 2003, my dad underwent knee reconstruction surgery—titanium implants and all—so I relocated back to New Jersey to lend a hand during his recovery. One Monday evening, I hit up Feather's in Hackensack, their legendary big night, and locked eyes with this adorable, soft-bodied blond Irish boy from across the upstairs bar. We shared a few intense kisses before heading to his place in East Rutherford: one of those generic, two-story strip habitats built with parking lots in mind. We tumbled inside, where his roommate was ostensibly crashed out on the couch. Things escalated quickly—clothes flying off, slamming to the floor in a frenzy. True to form (and as my moniker suggests), I wasn't holding back with my tongue, slapping him sharply and ordering him to his knees. His choking gasps must've roused the roommate, because I noticed his eyes reflecting the moonlight, squarely fixed on us. Midway through, I mentioned needing the bathroom. The guy stood up, bent over with a sly glance back, and whispered, "Just piss in my ass." Intrigued and aiming to be an accommodating guest I obliged. The pressure against my still-hard cock was intense, but either he'd misjudged my beer intake or was just that eager of a slut—probably both. He couldn't contain it; piss cascaded down our legs in a warm flood. I cut off the stream as I withdrew, and he swiftly tossed a towel down before guiding me to the bathroom. There, he dropped to his knees again and urged, “piss in my mouth." Gripping the back of his head, I thrust deep into his throat and let loose, listening to those rhythmic gulps as he swallowed every drop like a good boy. We returned to the main room, where I took him on the floor in position three in my playbook—slapping him relentlessly and hurling every filthy name imaginable until I buried myself balls-deep, breeding him with my signature shudder, shaking my cock off inside his fuck hole for every last drop.

Guess they needed someone to kick things off

Dude you had me at "leak a river of precum". I'd just get on my knees, look straight into your eyes as I nurse myself on your cock. Feeding myself like a hungry infant while twerking your nipples, just to extract as much from you as possible. Feed me poppers and talk dirty to unlock me for more degenerate behavior, yes I can go there. Nothing hotter than a cock just pumping out fluid into a hungry fag mouth. Obedience to CUM is life