San Francisco: The Crackwhore Years. Chapter 4

San Francisco: The Crackwhore Years. Chapter 4 San Francisco: The Crackwhore Years. Chapter 4

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

Lucid male escort drama

Summary

Lucid male escort drama

Content

Submitted: October 15, 2012

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: October 15, 2012

A A A

A A A


The next scene takes place in Miami in the summer of 1983, and in the year since I delivered Littleknob a lot had changed. Whilst I may not have gotten to Jerome Fingerblast - due to a betrayal on their part (they claimed to have made him up) - I was awarded fifteen thousand dollars, which was enough for me to splash out on Chinese prostitutes on a regular basis. I tended to eat out. My favourite ...
courses were the King Porn Curry and the Dry Fried Crispy Shredded Beef Curtains. Oh yes, they were the days. My looks had improved to a point where I was not even of human appropriation and I was admired my everyone that I came apon.

Although this was not to be the case for much longer. The sighting of the letters on Richards little knob had put me at worry, for I recall seeing them on the shafts of many of the men I had 'serviced', and many a man I had serviced. Also I had developed a gambling problem where I would bet hundreds of dollars sometimes on which male escort would be given the most sticky clothes by the end of the night.

I don't want to bore you with the details so I'll hop right on it... I was walking down a street on a hot Tuesday afternoon. The sun was going down but it was still nice enough for me to wear my favourite clothes; a trench coat. Just a trench coat because I am the kind of man who enjoys the wind in and around my pubis. Anyway I smiled to myself and thought how great my life had become. Now fate normally has a way of literally screwing you over, and this time was no exception. At that exact moment, four burly men jumped out at me and dragged me (not very easily mind you, I am a very strong and attractive man) into the dingy alley.

Now, I don't like to painfully describe rape. So I wont.

The men wrestled me to the ground and proceeded to remove my clothes. I felt instruments enter orifices that there existence I knew not of and the pain was excruciating and bloody. I hadn't experienced a rogering like this in years since my crackwhore years in San Francisco, and I tell you now I for once did not enjoy it. When the men had finished having their way with me and my holes of innocence, they dragged me to my knees. It was there that I noticed the same markings on every single one of their tips : "J.F"

At that moment, a man walked out of the darkness. His skin was so black, I could feel the innermost sanctums of my body retreat in fear. He was a tall and gracious man, but I could tell he had lived through grievous and slightly homoerotic experiences. As he walked towards me I noticed that he was wearing luxurious clothing and he had a small rip in the penile area, as if a victim had attempted to bite him into submission. It was there that I knew that I was in trouble and there was no one around to save me.

I got to my feet and looked Jerome Fingerblast in the eyes.

 


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