homeless Fifty bucks, is fifty bucks.

[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.

[wilbur]

44 minutes ago, verbalBTTM said:

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.

Nice 👄 

[wilbur]

9 minutes ago, wilbur said:

Nice 👄 

I'd pay 50 for some fun like that💋