The Fried Chicken Whore

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In the bustling heart of New York City, where dreams and desperation collide, I work in the shelter system, a world teeming with characters as diverse as the city itself. Each has their own tale of struggle and survival, and on one particularly fateful day, I encountered a young man whose story was just beginning to unfold.

 

He sat alone at a table, his expression a mix of somber introspection and distant longing. Engrossed in the allure of fantasy websites, the glow of his laptop cast an eerie light on his face, hinting at the pornographic content that held his attention. Seeing an opportunity to connect, I decided to intervene, drawn to the silent plea in his eyes.

 

With a casual "hey," I broke the ice, and he responded with a guarded "hi." Years of experience in this system had honed my instincts, and I could sense the depths of his story, the unspoken struggles that weighed heavily on his young shoulders. This boy had clearly been through a lot, and his demeanor suggested that life hadn't been kind to him lately. Being the asshole I am, I couldn't ignore the obvious need for a helping hand.

 

So, I asked him to keep an eye on a few things while I stepped out for a cigarette, figuring he wouldn't be going anywhere soon. This is where our journey began. I started whisper-reading some of my stories and replies from this site to him, and I noticed his interest piqued. He would suddenly stop what he was doing, and I even caught him in a dreamlike state, lost in the words I was sharing.

 

Before long, I decided to break the ice further and asked him to read a chapter of my work. His reaction was priceless; a mix of acceptance, relief, and excitement played across his face. Then, I asked him what he was reading on his laptop. To my surprise, he was reading trashy gay sex stories about fantasy characters.

 

This was the moment he came out as a gay man, something he had never shared with anyone before. A sense of relief washed over him as he realized he wasn't alone and that it was okay to be who he was. In this environment, people often get their asses kicked for being a "fag," so many guys play it very cool and "down-low." But I could see right through him; I am, after all, a true predator.

 

A friendship started to form, and soon, I was having him read all of my work. His reactions were utterly priceless; he had never been exposed to the ideas and explanations I had been putting down. I started telling him about my wild adventures from my youth, which inspired him to explore his own desires.

 

He mustered up the courage to ask me, "How do you meet guys for sex?" I looked at him, realizing his need to experiment, and simply said, "Go type 'Sniffies' into your browser." He was puzzled, so I reiterated my suggestion as a command, which only excited him. This told me he was indeed a sub boy, and I didn't realize how hungry he actually was.

 

Before long, this kid was on Sniffies around the clock, feverishly clicking away at his phone. Wanting to be a proper mentor, I went on my stealth account and looked at his profile, where I then had to stop him. "No, boy," I said, "you need a haircut. You should have a better picture to properly represent yourself to the world."

 

So that weekend, I took him to a friend's place in Chelsea to get him properly styled. He was beside himself, not only for my kindness and generosity but also for that of my friend. In the hallway, I took a few pictures of him, and his youthful smile finally revealed itself thanks to a few smart-ass words coaxing it out. I showed it to him, and he couldn't believe it; he was smiling and proud of the way he looked. Now armed with a proper G-rated shot, he updated his profile and awaited his next adventure.

 

On the way back, I showed him around Chelsea and the West Village, pointing out places of interest like porn shops with buddy booths and various bars. We eventually made it to the Leatherman, where I had him try on various leather harnesses and showed him other items I thought might be of interest. He really liked the floggers (hint hint).

 

Afterwards, I explained the Stonewall riots as best as I could, but I think that little history lesson was lost on him as he was in full cruise mode. There was no denying that this boy was on the hunt, recording every word of mine that spoke of places to get some dick.

 

The next day, I saw him at his usual table, fidgeting with his phone, and I heard that familiar chime from Sniffies. This kept up for a while as I observed him from afar during my patrols. Later that night, I got a text from him stating that he’s no longer a virgin.

 

The next day, I saw him at his usual table, and the smile on his face told me all I needed to know as he shared the joys of feeling a man ejaculate inside him. His romanticization of having a load inside him made it clear that my stories had had an impact on him, for he followed my characters' love of cum to the letter.

 

So the next day, I sent him to Callen Lorde to get on PrEP. A couple of days later, I was back at the site, and every moment he had to spare was dedicated to getting fucked.

 

Fast forward to Thursday, 11/6, and again, he was absent from the cafeteria during dinner time. A few hours later, he came strolling in with that "I just got fucked" smile, holding a big bag of Popeye's.

 

Naturally, I interrogated him, demanding to know where he had been, only to happily boast of yet another glorious cum-filled adventure. Where he tells me he whored himself out for... You guessed it, some Popeye’s. A 3 piece, two sides, a biscuit, and a coke. To be honest, their mac and cheese is pretty good.

 

So as he was devouring his feast, he went on to say, he offered his twink hole to a guy for $20 saying that his Master ordered him to do that. So his story goes like this. He went over to this guy's place and offered himself up while reciting the submission speech from my story while putting my loaner collar on and then handed the guy his leash.

 

The guy, obviously excited by having a boy like this, ordered him to strip and begin cleaning the bathroom. While he was cleaning the bathtub, the guy pissed all over his backside. The boy responded like my main characters with gratitude. The guy then said, "Clean yourself up, faggot." The boy then showered himself in front of the man, paying special attention to his backside. Once clean, he took the boy's leash and led him to the bedroom where the boy naturally assumed position three, face down ass up.

 

The man began to slap his cock on the boy's hole while dripping lube on the target. The boy turned his head back and said, "My hole is yours, sir, please use me." The man then spit in his face and said, "Shut the fuck up, faggot," and poked his head in. The boy said he gasped, hoping for poppers, but none were offered. The man’s cock kept descending into him with lube drizzling, then out again.

 

He said this went on for a few minutes, each entrance a blessing of pleasure and pain, until he threw a bottle of poppers and said, "Take a hit, boy." He said he took a double hit, then put the cap back on. The man took full advantage of his chemically induced openness and rammed his cock all the way in and out.

 

He then slapped his ass and said, "What do you want, faggot?" The boy responded, "Your cum, sir, please use me, sir." The boy put his hands back, grabbing his cheeks and held his ass apart. The man buried his cock all the way in the boy's fuck-hole, with his face turned to the side, his youthful and innocent-looking face red from the pressure, slightly tearing up from the strain, said, "Thank you, sir."

 

The boy said the man then slow-fucked him for a good five or six minutes until either the boy's whimpers or his wants made him pile drive the boy's hole. He said once the pile driving began, he lost control and begged in the most pathetic way he could think of for the man’s load.

 

He repeated every phrase he read from my stories, "Oh yeah, fuck me, cum in my ass, my hole is yours, make me your faggot, sir." Over and over, the boy's submission to his cock deepened until that glorious moment where the man said in that excited way a top does, "What do you want, boy?" "I want your load, sir, please breed me, sir."

 

The man then took both of the boy's hands, lifting him back then releasing his glory. The boy said, "I could feel his cock pump into me; he said he could feel his hole slightly expand with each pump as he felt a slight warmth enter inside of him. When the man released his arms, he looked back and said, "Thank you, sir." The man withdrew himself, then collapsed beside him, out of breath.

 

The boy, under my expert tutelage, went over and cleaned the man’s cock off to ensure that every last drop of his essence was savored instead of being wasted. After a few minutes, the man got up and grabbed his wallet from his pants on the floor and threw a twenty-dollar bill at him and said, "See you next Thursday, faggot."

 

The boy understood his place, redressed, and exited like the cheap whore he knows he is now. With his hole properly used and filled with cum, he went to Popeye’s and ordered himself a proper feast. Upon his return is where I saw him, triumphantly walking towards me with a shit-eating grin and feast in hand.

 

Something about these small-town Midwestern boys, they are complete cum sluts once they hit the big city. Even as I type this out, I glance up and I see him on his phone, cruising for more cock. In the past two weeks after getting him his haircut, he has been fucked at least once a day. Amazing what a little support from a friend can do. For him, there is no turning back, for he has found himself and is accepted for who and what he is. No longer must he hide his true self.

 

With me, he confides everything, and without judgment, I offer my advice to him so he can proceed safely in this new world of adventure. Once he figures himself out and gets past his initial slut phase, I’ll be taking him around the city, especially the Eagle.

 

For the record, I let Daniel read this story before publishing it. So any words of encouragement will be passed onto him.