Pussyboy adventures : Part 1

They’d found me homeless on the streets of London. Things hadn’t gone right for me. One thing had led to another - redundancy, dwindling savings, eviction - and within a very short window of time I’d found myself sitting cross-legged on Oxford Street, with nothing but the clothes on my back.

I’d always walked past homeless people, feeling they belonged to a different universe, hardly acknowledging them. I reasoned that if I gave a pound to every beggar I passed I’d be penniless by the time I reached the other end of the road. So I gave nothing. And now I saw that same glazed-over look in each eye that met mine.

That’s when they came along. These two guys - they seemed about my age, maybe slightly younger. One dark, one blonde. They looked me up and down and exchanged glances. I didn’t dare ask them for any change. One turned to the other and said, “shall I do it?”, and the other replied, “yeah, he’s our guy.”

They asked me to stand up and accompany them around the corner. I guess I should have been hesitant, but, frankly, I had nothing to lose. My choice was simply to stay sitting on the cold wet pavement or go with these guys to see what they wanted. So I got up.

They had a proposition for me, they said. They’d been looking for a ‘House Pet’, as they called it, someone who would, in short, get full bed and board and be expected to keep the place clean, but, most importantly - and at this point they lowered their voices - “be our little breeding boy”. I’d basically be a walking arsehole for whenever the urge arose. “In the hallway when passing… just, you know, whenever.”

“And we’re big, mate,” one of the guys piped up with a smile when they saw that I wasn’t immediately horrified at the idea. “Six weeks in and your cunt will be a mangled wreck, how does that sound?” He looked over at the other.

I pondered it. I know I should have told them to go fuck themselves (or each other) but the words “full bed and board” were ringing in my sleep deprived head. A full minute passed in silence, the three of us standing just off the bustle of London’s busiest shopping street. We must have looked like drug dealers.

“You wanna let us know by the end of the day?” the dark haired one asked.

“How will I let you know? I don’t have a phone or anything.” Hearing my own voice I realized these were the first words I’d spoken.

“Here,” the dark one pulled a card from his pocket, diving back in to rattle loose change around. He offered me three glistening pound coins and said, “three quid mate.” It dropped into my open palm. “Either use it for a MacDonald’s or use it to call us. Your choice.”

They walked off.

It was 9:47pm when I found myself in a phone booth, carefully dialing the number on the card. John Stanmore, Window and Glass Specialist it said.

I recognized the dark haired guy’s voice at the other end. “John Stanmore?” he said, the upward inflection at the end of his surname replacing the need for a hello.

“I’d, er… I’d like to take the position,” I said into the line.

“Haha, I knew you’d call. You had pussy boy written all over you,” he laughed. The line was silent for a few seconds.

“So where do you want me to go?” I asked.

He told me the address. It was a tube and a bus ride away. Would probably take me fifty minutes. I felt in my pocket for change. Counted £4.23. That would get me there. I said I’d see them in about an hour.

“Oh, one more thing mate,” the voice said as I was about to replace the receiver.

“What?”

“Total pussy boy, yeah? That’s what we’re after. Forget your cock. Leave it behind.”

I put the phone down and headed for the tube station.

***

When I arrived at the darkened address I was sure I’d fallen victim to some cruel prank, that they were perhaps somewhere over the street watching me ring an old lady’s bell, bent double with laughter. I rang a second time and waited ten, twenty seconds. Eventually I heard footsteps and saw a shadow approaching through the frosted panes. The door clicked open.

The dark haired guy - John Stanmore - shirtless, barefoot, in faded jogging bottoms, stood aside to allow me to pass. He motioned me straight up the stairs. It was a maisonette - one of those houses chopped in two; I guessed the ground floor must belong to someone else. I headed up. He closed the door and followed.

“Dave’s out at work,” he informed me, as if I was on first name terms with them already. “You’ll be wanting a shower mate,” he said, looking me up and down. “How long you been on the streets for?”

“To be honest I don’t really know,” I replied, annoyed that my voice had retreated and I sounded scared. “Not that long; less than two months, I think.”

He motioned me to follow and led me to the bathroom. He turned on the shower with a big ssshhhwaaaaah. My skin tingled in anticipation of the hot jets of water running over my skin.

He turned to leave and, as an after thought, spun around once more. He pulled the waistband of his jogging bottoms down and revealed his gigantic manhood, riddled with bulbous purple veins even through a thick foreskin, a slight bend to the left, its tip glistening with precum, two dark hen’s egg balls hanging almost to his knees. He wasn’t wearing underwear. I had a feeling these guys never wore underwear.

“We’re starting right away. Make sure you clean that pussy out. Proper.”

***

That first night with John - and later Dave - was endless. He took me straight into the bedroom, still damp from the shower, and ordered me on my side with one leg up.

“Let’s see what that pussy of yours can do then,” he said.

Laying there like a whore, my leg lifted to expose my arsehole to this complete stranger, I seemed to somehow arrive at a moment of calm and acceptance. I’ve agreed to this, I thought. I can do this. They seemed like normal guys. John, I already knew, was a glazier, and Dave worked nights - what could he be? A night porter? Security? Barman? Perhaps they were a couple? They needed some passive flesh to share as they were both Arthurs? It did make a lot of sense to hire a housekeeper-slash-pussyboy. Win win. Two birds dead.

John fucked me four times in the two hours before Dave came home. The first time was excruciating - my arsehole hadn’t taken a cock in over a year, and John was enormous. But by the fourth time my cunt -as he called it - was open. “Nice and sloppy - Dave’s gonna love it.”

He told me to look him in the eye while he fucked me and explained the rules of the arrangement. With my leg raised and the walls of my cunt being torn up, pulled this way and that, I held his gaze and listened.

“We’ll get you some jockstraps tomorrow,” he said. “I notice you’re quite decently endowed” - he frowned and shook his head - “we don’t wanna see it. You’ll do well to lose your erection altogether, the sooner the better.” Slam slam salm, his pelvic bone colliding with the raw flesh of buttocks. “We’ll have you permanently in a jock, and as far as anyone in this house is concerned when you open your legs a cunt is displayed, nothing else.” He was out of breath, almost in a hurry, like he was trying to get in as many thrusts as he could before Dave came home.

“We’ll keep the house heated so you don’t have to wear clothes. You’ll be our perpetual pussyboy. When we say bend, you bend.” The soaked sheets between my legs were chafing my lower back. “Even when we don’t wanna fuck - we might call you in when we have a poker night and order you to show your mangled cunt to our guests; we might all finger it a bit, inspect it. You catching my drift?”

I was rocking with the convulsions of his thrusting and blurted a strangled, “yes”, my eyes not wavering from his gaze. He showed no signs of slowing. I was completely numb and wondered what my arsehole would look like after a year or two of this. At that point we heard the door downstairs opening and footsteps ascending the stairs.

Dave appeared in the doorway. A policeman’s uniform.

“Ah, Dave mate, this pussy is fucking fantastic,” John said, pulling off. Dave freed his manhood from his fly and approached, talking to John as if I wasn’t even in the room.

“He more obedient that the last one?” he asked as he descended on me, pushing the mushroom head of his cock into my swollen cunt.