Tales of a Hustler Toy Soldiers Pt 1
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Tales Of A Hustler The Ins And Outs free porn video
Tales of a Hustler—The ins and outs
Things were working out pretty good. I had been in Dallas now about 6 months. The main job, making the porn, was going well. Everybody liked new meat—so your first year was usually the best. We would do one or two flicks a week. I started at $500 a flick, then after 3 months they doubled me up so I wouldn't leave them and go solo. Each flick usually had a photo shoot to go along with it. Mostly for pics on the covers of the VHS's, and maybe an obscure mag or local gay paper. That would pay about another $100.
Asides all that—the real big money was the set ups, where Mr. Johnny, or one of his “agents” (which was just a slick white people term for pimp) would set me up with one of the “high roller” types that had a lot of fucking money, and would pay high dollar for someone like me to full-fill their ultimate fantasies. Anything from a couple of hours to as much as a whole weekend, could get from $500 to over 5 GRAND. It was amazing. Mostly get drunk with some awfull old fat white guy, or maybe he would get you stoned, ultimately get hard, pull it out on his living room couch, and let him blow you off. Then blow ur wad all over his face. Most real live tricks didnt want to swallow, they wanted you to blow it on them so they could see how much jizz ya got—then brag to their friends about it. Which was kewl, cause that made a “referral” that I dealt with one on one, instead of “booking” it with one of the agents.
Then there was working at the club. I got the sweetest deal there, Just show up when I wanted, and work wherever they needed extra help. Typically I would wait tables, cause I didnt know shit about a mixed drink—unless it was 2 words, lol like rum and coke. I was a beer man—you know “real man” lol. May work stock, or even dance some in one of the elevated cages above the dance floor. I wasn't all that great, but they didn't care—they were just checking out that hairy ass or those amazing 8 pac of abs, or the biggest fucking bulge any of them had ever seen on a white boy stuffed into a pair of Speedo's.
Back at “the house” as we called it, I was the “president” I ran the house, gave the job assignments, collected “commissions” from the boys. Nobody had to pay any rent, per say—that just gave a bit of their earnings for house stuff—towels, TP, paper towels, soap and shampoo, stuff like that. I bought most of the real groceries, and in the summer we would cook out over most weekends.
Per the house rules—nobody was allowed to bring tricks, or even friends to the house. The house was a safe haven for the boys, and a secret location that no one knew about. If a trick were to ask one of the soldiers where they lived, they were to just answer “that's classified” lol. That was pretty much the answer to anything that the boys didn't want to answer. Pretty much the only outsiders allowed in were the boys dad—yup dad was allowed if checking on his sons welfare, or maybe to negotiate his coming home. Dad's were always allowed so we couldn't get accused of holding anyone there against their will. Dad had to agree that if his son just refused to leave, the dad had to leave without him. This was to continue a trusted relationship between the boy, the house, their president, and their dad's
So to do the deal, you had 3 options. Back of the parking lot, down one of the trails if all the John wanted was some quick dick n nut. In his car, if you could find a safe place to park—then they could suck dick and then maybe fuck as well. Or, if more relaxed or involved either the Johns house, or motel room. Either had to be approved by the house president, mostly for the safety of the trade. Either we knew the motel, or a look out had to accompany the trade to the tricks house. This increased the fees by 50%. If this was a repeat customer, or referral by a previous customer, the this was not usually necessary.
I know I've babbled on, on this one a bit, but I was just kinda getting into it, and just wanted to express that like a lot of jobs, what you see on the streets, or in a bar, is not all there is to being a hustler. There is a lot of background—kinda like a dope dealer. And I though it might just interest some of you. Like a dope dealer, male hustles aren't usually the guest on The Today Show, so it's kinda a mysterious to most.
The working day was made up of two shifts. You could work daytime or nights, and whichever you wanted to do was not dictated. The only rule was that one boy had to remain at the house at all times, to answer calls, and do basic house cleaning or to respond to any emergencies he may get word about. When it was time for “shift change”, all the boys that had turned tricks, gave the “house boy” a part of their earnings. (Bet you didn't know that's where that term originated—it had nothing to do with “daddy-boy”) This was a “tip” usually about a twenty from what they made out working. Similar deal applied if one boy “referenced” another, cause maybe he wasn't exactly what the John was looking for. Usually if a customer wanted a 3-way with two of the boys, we would give him a 50% discount on the second boy. But they would then split the total evenly.
Damm—too much detail ?? Well I'll try to think of a short one now to throw in on this chapter. Coming up soon will be some of the more elaborate and detailed stories.
So it's Saturday night, late fall. Pretty cold out, but not unbearable. Traffic looking for trade never lets up. They're driving around in their warm cars, and you are standing out in the cold. And they know that—and think they can get you for cheap. But I always tell the boys—NEVER drop your charge. If they's only 3 of you out, then that makes you more valuable, not less. Most weren't old enough to get into the bars, so the streets, or referral was all they could do.
Im leaning on the corner of the building, right at our main parking lot. Not a lot of traffic, cause it was drizzling a bit, and cold. It was rare, but I actually had a coat on, lol. I'm looking down street, instead of facing across the street. Not sure why, cause I wouldn't see a car slowing down unless it pulled in. Which it just did ! And guess what—a red 69 Camero. Holy fuck—it was Jinney. Wonder if her boyfriend has been bad again and needed some disaplin, or maybe Jinney was sneaking out to get another dose of Taz 10” dick. So there's a couple of toots of the horn, and I trot over to the car. The door pops open, just like the first time. (I think she had a hitchhiker fetish). I jumps in the car and close the door, then look over, smiling. Oh shit---it ain't Jinney. It's Ron, her boyfriend. And Im staring down the barrel of a 9mm. I swallow hard, without saying anything.
“Loose the boots” he commanded, pretty convincingly. I start pulling on laces fast as I can. “Socks too, punk” Off come the socks, now Im just sitting there. “They stink “? He asked with a shit eatin grin. I answer pretty softly, “Ya--- probably” “Excellent” he responds, and then continues “stuff um”. He didn't elaborate, but I figured what he meant, so I stuff my sweet funky smelling socks into my mouth. Little did he know, that at least for that part, it kinda made me a bit horny. “Roll down your window”. Again I follow orders without saying anything. “Tie your boots together” I tie the laces together, same fashion I would do back in football, to throw the pair over your shoulder. “Excellent punk---now toss them---over towards the building” I do as he told me, and tossed my boots as hard as I could , side-armed, towards the wall of the building. Hopefully, If I lived through the night, I would be able to find them.
“Good boy—ur not so stupid at all” He shifted the gun from his right to left hand, just long enough to put the car in first, and then back to the right hand. So far his gun had not left my temple. Easing out on the clutch, he eased towards the back of the parking lot. “Loose the coat” I came out of the coat pretty quickly. I was ready to get this done. “Aight, now the shirt” I pull my shirt up out of my jeans, and start to unbutton it from the bottom. “Uh-uh punk—rip the buttons” I wasn't sure, but I guess he meant “pop” the buttons, like you would a pair of 501's, so that's what I did. I quickly removed the shirt, and kinda waded it up in my hands. He chuckled a bit and then went on--”aight come on punk, loose um”. I threw my coat out the window underhanded—like softball, towards the edge of the parking lot, and followed with an over pitch with my shirt” “Damm you follow orders real good---I guess when you get paid to be somebody's bitch, you get good at it” I just glared out the windshield of the car, not saying anything.
With just enough space at the edge pf the parking lot, Ron proceeded to do a 180, and then proceeded to the other end of the parking lot, on the street side. There was a row of trees down the sidewalk, so the lot wasn't clearly visable. Still holding the gun on my temple he spitefully says “OK homeboi, lets see if you can guess what's next” I cleared my throat, and swallowed again, and calmly responded, in my deep throaty voice, “jeans” “Very good punk—you got 10 seconds” I popped the buttons on my 501's, and quickly tossed my jeans ahead of us, into the tree row. At least they would be hid.
Ron paused for a minute, as if thinking what his next move was going to be. “Reverse” was all he said. I responded with “huh”? Kinda irritated he goes on with “the stick punk—reverse. I know you know how to drive it” “Oh ya—ok”
I put the car in reverse while he still held the gun to my head. He gently let out on the clutch again, and backed up to the far back corner—right where we walk into the lot from the house. He didn't waste any time once there. “Boxers” I quickly pull off my boxers, and held them, waiting for the order. He put the car in neutral, and then set the parking brake. He switched the gun again to his left hand. Im still holding on to my boxers, and then he orders me to drop them to the floor. I did as he told me, and then noticed my foot funk getting stronger from the floor board heat still running. “Roll up your window” Again I did as told—goddamm this is going slow. I wished he would just get to it.
“Damm you fuckin stink fag boi” I just kinda grinned a bit, and then Ron tapped me on the head with the gun. “Get the fuck out” I opened the door, now shaking from real fear. I figure he was gonna drop me right there, and then take off. As I'm standing by the car he demands I stand at attention, and close the door. I did as he told, and he came out of the car on his side. “If you fucking flinch I'll put a bullet in your chest---you got me fag boi”? “I got ya” I stood as still and rigged as I could, shivering a bit from the cold.
Ron walked around the front of the car, and came right up to me. Placing the gun now on my chest, he ordered me to walk backwards to the back of the car. As we got the the back he then placed himself between me and the car. He leaned back with his butt on the trunk deck. “Drop bitch” He now had the gun placed at the top of my head. He unzipped his Levis with his left hand, and hooking his thumb in the waistband, lowered his jeans just to his thighs. He was freeballin', so he was hanging free. Pretty hairy legs, which I had not really noticed before. Not as big as me, but pretty impressive under normal measurements. Ha looked to be about half hard already—so Im guessing he came in at about 8” Applying a bit of pressure on my head he simply said “suck”
I did as told, pulling my socks from my mouth and dropping them to the ground, started workin him up as fast as I could. Though I rarely sucked dick, I was actually pretty good at it. Back home I loved sucking my lil bro's dick. Like me, he was way big for his age. I went up and down on Ron's shaft---all the way to the pubes. At the top I would swirl my tongue around his piss slit. He seemed to like that, as it made him kinda jerk a bit. “Ya, just what I thought. Real badd boi—but one fine cocksucker. Bet you been sucking cock since you was 10 huh”? I just nodded my head up and down, just to appease him. He now grabbed me by my mohawk, just like I did him in the 3 way with Jinney. He started skull fuckin my throat, and his head started swelling up. At least, I thought, this probably won't last much longer. He actually fucked throat pretty hard Im thinking—he would make a good hustler. I figured he was trying to get down my throat, but he really wasn't as big as he probably was in his head. In an effort to maybe get him off faster, I started making some choking sounds, and snot sounds with my throat. It worked—soon as I started that he jabbed my throat extra hard, muttering “oh fuckin ya” He blew about 3 shots in the first second. His jizz went straight down my throat. I kinda choked up for real this time, but he just chuckled and kept fucking my throat. He shot about 3-4 more squirts of his jizz, pulling out a bit now to make it land in my mouth. He was pretty sweet—like he had ice cream every day for a week.He now seemed to trickle off jizzin, so I figure he was about done nuttin now.
He let go of the grip on my hair, but quickly moved it to the back of my head. He stared me in the eye and said “Im sure you need to wash that down”. With that he instantly started pissing down my throat. Hot, strong, and fast his piss came like he hadn't cut loose all day. I gulped it down as fast as I could. Applying more pressure to my temple again, he just muttered “don't spill it, pig”
His piss was rancid, and bitter. He had been drinking whisky. It just came and came as I gulped it down as fast as I could. Just a bit escaped my mouth, and trickled down my chin, to drip to my chest. I don't think he noticed since there was very little light in the parking lot.
Finally he finished up. He pulled his dick out of my mouth, but still held me by the back of my neck. He worked up a good size “wooly” and then spit his slobber and snot right into my face. Still on my knees he commanded me to pull his jeans up, and zip him up. Ron finnally told me to stand up. “I hope you enjoyed our little hook up Taz. You can look forward to us meeting up every now and then” He then moved in behind me, dragging the gun down to between my shoulder blades. He brought his left arm up, right over my shoulder, and to the side of my head. He pointed ahead, like I guess he was pointing at the light about 4 buildings down. He didn't say anything else, except ”RUN”
Things were working out pretty good. I had been in Dallas now about 6 months. The main job, making the porn, was going well. Everybody liked new meat—so your first year was usually the best. We would do one or two flicks a week. I started at $500 a flick, then after 3 months they doubled me up so I wouldn't leave them and go solo. Each flick usually had a photo shoot to go along with it. Mostly for pics on the covers of the VHS's, and maybe an obscure mag or local gay paper. That would pay about another $100.
Asides all that—the real big money was the set ups, where Mr. Johnny, or one of his “agents” (which was just a slick white people term for pimp) would set me up with one of the “high roller” types that had a lot of fucking money, and would pay high dollar for someone like me to full-fill their ultimate fantasies. Anything from a couple of hours to as much as a whole weekend, could get from $500 to over 5 GRAND. It was amazing. Mostly get drunk with some awfull old fat white guy, or maybe he would get you stoned, ultimately get hard, pull it out on his living room couch, and let him blow you off. Then blow ur wad all over his face. Most real live tricks didnt want to swallow, they wanted you to blow it on them so they could see how much jizz ya got—then brag to their friends about it. Which was kewl, cause that made a “referral” that I dealt with one on one, instead of “booking” it with one of the agents.
Then there was working at the club. I got the sweetest deal there, Just show up when I wanted, and work wherever they needed extra help. Typically I would wait tables, cause I didnt know shit about a mixed drink—unless it was 2 words, lol like rum and coke. I was a beer man—you know “real man” lol. May work stock, or even dance some in one of the elevated cages above the dance floor. I wasn't all that great, but they didn't care—they were just checking out that hairy ass or those amazing 8 pac of abs, or the biggest fucking bulge any of them had ever seen on a white boy stuffed into a pair of Speedo's.
Back at “the house” as we called it, I was the “president” I ran the house, gave the job assignments, collected “commissions” from the boys. Nobody had to pay any rent, per say—that just gave a bit of their earnings for house stuff—towels, TP, paper towels, soap and shampoo, stuff like that. I bought most of the real groceries, and in the summer we would cook out over most weekends.
Per the house rules—nobody was allowed to bring tricks, or even friends to the house. The house was a safe haven for the boys, and a secret location that no one knew about. If a trick were to ask one of the soldiers where they lived, they were to just answer “that's classified” lol. That was pretty much the answer to anything that the boys didn't want to answer. Pretty much the only outsiders allowed in were the boys dad—yup dad was allowed if checking on his sons welfare, or maybe to negotiate his coming home. Dad's were always allowed so we couldn't get accused of holding anyone there against their will. Dad had to agree that if his son just refused to leave, the dad had to leave without him. This was to continue a trusted relationship between the boy, the house, their president, and their dad's
So to do the deal, you had 3 options. Back of the parking lot, down one of the trails if all the John wanted was some quick dick n nut. In his car, if you could find a safe place to park—then they could suck dick and then maybe fuck as well. Or, if more relaxed or involved either the Johns house, or motel room. Either had to be approved by the house president, mostly for the safety of the trade. Either we knew the motel, or a look out had to accompany the trade to the tricks house. This increased the fees by 50%. If this was a repeat customer, or referral by a previous customer, the this was not usually necessary.
I know I've babbled on, on this one a bit, but I was just kinda getting into it, and just wanted to express that like a lot of jobs, what you see on the streets, or in a bar, is not all there is to being a hustler. There is a lot of background—kinda like a dope dealer. And I though it might just interest some of you. Like a dope dealer, male hustles aren't usually the guest on The Today Show, so it's kinda a mysterious to most.
The working day was made up of two shifts. You could work daytime or nights, and whichever you wanted to do was not dictated. The only rule was that one boy had to remain at the house at all times, to answer calls, and do basic house cleaning or to respond to any emergencies he may get word about. When it was time for “shift change”, all the boys that had turned tricks, gave the “house boy” a part of their earnings. (Bet you didn't know that's where that term originated—it had nothing to do with “daddy-boy”) This was a “tip” usually about a twenty from what they made out working. Similar deal applied if one boy “referenced” another, cause maybe he wasn't exactly what the John was looking for. Usually if a customer wanted a 3-way with two of the boys, we would give him a 50% discount on the second boy. But they would then split the total evenly.
Damm—too much detail ?? Well I'll try to think of a short one now to throw in on this chapter. Coming up soon will be some of the more elaborate and detailed stories.
So it's Saturday night, late fall. Pretty cold out, but not unbearable. Traffic looking for trade never lets up. They're driving around in their warm cars, and you are standing out in the cold. And they know that—and think they can get you for cheap. But I always tell the boys—NEVER drop your charge. If they's only 3 of you out, then that makes you more valuable, not less. Most weren't old enough to get into the bars, so the streets, or referral was all they could do.
Im leaning on the corner of the building, right at our main parking lot. Not a lot of traffic, cause it was drizzling a bit, and cold. It was rare, but I actually had a coat on, lol. I'm looking down street, instead of facing across the street. Not sure why, cause I wouldn't see a car slowing down unless it pulled in. Which it just did ! And guess what—a red 69 Camero. Holy fuck—it was Jinney. Wonder if her boyfriend has been bad again and needed some disaplin, or maybe Jinney was sneaking out to get another dose of Taz 10” dick. So there's a couple of toots of the horn, and I trot over to the car. The door pops open, just like the first time. (I think she had a hitchhiker fetish). I jumps in the car and close the door, then look over, smiling. Oh shit---it ain't Jinney. It's Ron, her boyfriend. And Im staring down the barrel of a 9mm. I swallow hard, without saying anything.
“Loose the boots” he commanded, pretty convincingly. I start pulling on laces fast as I can. “Socks too, punk” Off come the socks, now Im just sitting there. “They stink “? He asked with a shit eatin grin. I answer pretty softly, “Ya--- probably” “Excellent” he responds, and then continues “stuff um”. He didn't elaborate, but I figured what he meant, so I stuff my sweet funky smelling socks into my mouth. Little did he know, that at least for that part, it kinda made me a bit horny. “Roll down your window”. Again I follow orders without saying anything. “Tie your boots together” I tie the laces together, same fashion I would do back in football, to throw the pair over your shoulder. “Excellent punk---now toss them---over towards the building” I do as he told me, and tossed my boots as hard as I could , side-armed, towards the wall of the building. Hopefully, If I lived through the night, I would be able to find them.
“Good boy—ur not so stupid at all” He shifted the gun from his right to left hand, just long enough to put the car in first, and then back to the right hand. So far his gun had not left my temple. Easing out on the clutch, he eased towards the back of the parking lot. “Loose the coat” I came out of the coat pretty quickly. I was ready to get this done. “Aight, now the shirt” I pull my shirt up out of my jeans, and start to unbutton it from the bottom. “Uh-uh punk—rip the buttons” I wasn't sure, but I guess he meant “pop” the buttons, like you would a pair of 501's, so that's what I did. I quickly removed the shirt, and kinda waded it up in my hands. He chuckled a bit and then went on--”aight come on punk, loose um”. I threw my coat out the window underhanded—like softball, towards the edge of the parking lot, and followed with an over pitch with my shirt” “Damm you follow orders real good---I guess when you get paid to be somebody's bitch, you get good at it” I just glared out the windshield of the car, not saying anything.
With just enough space at the edge pf the parking lot, Ron proceeded to do a 180, and then proceeded to the other end of the parking lot, on the street side. There was a row of trees down the sidewalk, so the lot wasn't clearly visable. Still holding the gun on my temple he spitefully says “OK homeboi, lets see if you can guess what's next” I cleared my throat, and swallowed again, and calmly responded, in my deep throaty voice, “jeans” “Very good punk—you got 10 seconds” I popped the buttons on my 501's, and quickly tossed my jeans ahead of us, into the tree row. At least they would be hid.
Ron paused for a minute, as if thinking what his next move was going to be. “Reverse” was all he said. I responded with “huh”? Kinda irritated he goes on with “the stick punk—reverse. I know you know how to drive it” “Oh ya—ok”
I put the car in reverse while he still held the gun to my head. He gently let out on the clutch again, and backed up to the far back corner—right where we walk into the lot from the house. He didn't waste any time once there. “Boxers” I quickly pull off my boxers, and held them, waiting for the order. He put the car in neutral, and then set the parking brake. He switched the gun again to his left hand. Im still holding on to my boxers, and then he orders me to drop them to the floor. I did as he told me, and then noticed my foot funk getting stronger from the floor board heat still running. “Roll up your window” Again I did as told—goddamm this is going slow. I wished he would just get to it.
“Damm you fuckin stink fag boi” I just kinda grinned a bit, and then Ron tapped me on the head with the gun. “Get the fuck out” I opened the door, now shaking from real fear. I figure he was gonna drop me right there, and then take off. As I'm standing by the car he demands I stand at attention, and close the door. I did as he told, and he came out of the car on his side. “If you fucking flinch I'll put a bullet in your chest---you got me fag boi”? “I got ya” I stood as still and rigged as I could, shivering a bit from the cold.
Ron walked around the front of the car, and came right up to me. Placing the gun now on my chest, he ordered me to walk backwards to the back of the car. As we got the the back he then placed himself between me and the car. He leaned back with his butt on the trunk deck. “Drop bitch” He now had the gun placed at the top of my head. He unzipped his Levis with his left hand, and hooking his thumb in the waistband, lowered his jeans just to his thighs. He was freeballin', so he was hanging free. Pretty hairy legs, which I had not really noticed before. Not as big as me, but pretty impressive under normal measurements. Ha looked to be about half hard already—so Im guessing he came in at about 8” Applying a bit of pressure on my head he simply said “suck”
I did as told, pulling my socks from my mouth and dropping them to the ground, started workin him up as fast as I could. Though I rarely sucked dick, I was actually pretty good at it. Back home I loved sucking my lil bro's dick. Like me, he was way big for his age. I went up and down on Ron's shaft---all the way to the pubes. At the top I would swirl my tongue around his piss slit. He seemed to like that, as it made him kinda jerk a bit. “Ya, just what I thought. Real badd boi—but one fine cocksucker. Bet you been sucking cock since you was 10 huh”? I just nodded my head up and down, just to appease him. He now grabbed me by my mohawk, just like I did him in the 3 way with Jinney. He started skull fuckin my throat, and his head started swelling up. At least, I thought, this probably won't last much longer. He actually fucked throat pretty hard Im thinking—he would make a good hustler. I figured he was trying to get down my throat, but he really wasn't as big as he probably was in his head. In an effort to maybe get him off faster, I started making some choking sounds, and snot sounds with my throat. It worked—soon as I started that he jabbed my throat extra hard, muttering “oh fuckin ya” He blew about 3 shots in the first second. His jizz went straight down my throat. I kinda choked up for real this time, but he just chuckled and kept fucking my throat. He shot about 3-4 more squirts of his jizz, pulling out a bit now to make it land in my mouth. He was pretty sweet—like he had ice cream every day for a week.He now seemed to trickle off jizzin, so I figure he was about done nuttin now.
He let go of the grip on my hair, but quickly moved it to the back of my head. He stared me in the eye and said “Im sure you need to wash that down”. With that he instantly started pissing down my throat. Hot, strong, and fast his piss came like he hadn't cut loose all day. I gulped it down as fast as I could. Applying more pressure to my temple again, he just muttered “don't spill it, pig”
His piss was rancid, and bitter. He had been drinking whisky. It just came and came as I gulped it down as fast as I could. Just a bit escaped my mouth, and trickled down my chin, to drip to my chest. I don't think he noticed since there was very little light in the parking lot.
Finally he finished up. He pulled his dick out of my mouth, but still held me by the back of my neck. He worked up a good size “wooly” and then spit his slobber and snot right into my face. Still on my knees he commanded me to pull his jeans up, and zip him up. Ron finnally told me to stand up. “I hope you enjoyed our little hook up Taz. You can look forward to us meeting up every now and then” He then moved in behind me, dragging the gun down to between my shoulder blades. He brought his left arm up, right over my shoulder, and to the side of my head. He pointed ahead, like I guess he was pointing at the light about 4 buildings down. He didn't say anything else, except ”RUN”
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