Bent Fiction – It’s My Job – Part 4 By Les Lea


This the fourth and final part of our escort Sam’s story of his early days in the rent boy business and some of those punters he aims to please.

As I mentioned last time, I may have been in love with my new boss but he was far more practical. He told me we could be fuck-buddies but that work always had to come first. I’m not sure if that was his attempt at humour or a double-entendre but he wanted me back to business straight away.
However, I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t have any doubts. I was worried that… well… like after that first ‘working’ day, I would be getting shagged at least a couple of times every 24 hours and, had to be enthusiastic (as far as Steve was concerned this was a definite attitude his boys had to have) no matter who was doing it. I still wasn’t 100% convinced and thought that all I might become was a rented arsehole that he made money out of.  So, I reasoned to myself, obviously, the more cocks that got to stuff me, the more money he made. I wasn’t sure I could cut it but Steve assured me that wasn’t how he worked. He wasn’t a ‘slave labourer’ and that the clients he had were used to paying top price for nice, pleasant and healthy young men.  True to his word, he set me up with some real nice gents over those first couple of weeks. I had a total of six clients, all with different needs, but none that I wasn’t happily surprised to go along with. One just wanted to wank as I stripped down to my cartoon briefs (Steve knew his fetish for this particular style of underclothing). The man was almost on the edge of orgasm when, dressed in just those childish ‘Toy Story’ underpants, he bounced my slim taut frame up and down on his knee. He loved the feel of my warm skin in his hands, while his hard and pulsing dick rubbed against the cotton undies wrapped tightly around my ‘young’ bum.  He came in a vocal and semen explosion all over the seat of them. When he’d finished cumming I kissed him and thanked ‘Uncle Desmond’ for being nice to me and he gave me a bag of sweets as a thank you. The bag contained £250 in fivers so, I let him keep my cum-tainted pants as a reward and he almost came again with gratitude as he clutched them to his face.
Mr Wilkinson wanted a schoolboy. Sorry, but that’s what he ordered and so, when I showed up in grey shirt, grey flannel shorts, school tie, blazer and cap looking every bit of an innocent schoolboy, he looked happily surprised. Anyway, as I sat at a table wrestling with the ‘homework’ he’d set, he stood in front of me rubbing his considerable cock through his trousers. As a rule, I think that was enough for him. He would watch and grope himself, as the ‘sweet boy’ naively got on with his schoolwork unaware of what the naughty teacher was actually up to. Then, when it all got too much for him, he’d explode inside his own pants and that would be that. However, I interacted with him, asking if he could help me with a particularly difficult math problem I was having. “Please Sir,” I said sort of whiny, childlike and pleading, “can you help me with this hard… er… this hard…” Then I looked up at him with my big brown eyes. “It’s just too hard for me sir.” He came and stood behind me resting his stiff dick against my back. As he looked over my shoulder he saw that I’d drawn a big hard veiny dick in my school book. “Yes, that does seem… hard,” was his response noticing that it was pointing at a small puckered arsehole, “let’s see what we can do to er… to er..” He never finished the sentence as his hands slipped from my shoulders, pushed my school tie aside, thrust inside my shirt and tweaked my left nipple. “Oooh sir.” I could feel him rubbing his hard cock against my back and I have to say my cock was erect but held in place by my very tight grey school shorts. He squeezed my tit again and I felt him cum as he frantically rubbed his stiffness up and down my spine. I desperately wanted to finish myself off but it was his fantasy, not mine, so I stayed throbbing in my school uniform as he filled the front of his pants. He held me tightly for what seemed like ages and I could feel the length of his dick throbbing and pulsing against my back as he let his hands roam over my hairless chest. Eventually he let out a huge sigh, stood back and looked at me; “I think that will be all Davies (my character) but I think you still need extra tuition. I’ll call your headmaster (Steve) and arrange another lesson soon.” So I packed my school bag, thanked him for taking time to teach me new things, rearranged my own dick through my shorts and left. He’s  one who has become a regular and he likes it best when I arrive in my school P.E. kit. Something about my little tight white shorts has an unbelievable effect on him.
It’s strange that I now love dressing up for my clients. Don’t get me wrong, I love just getting shagged but putting on a costume is far more fun. I feel like I’m performing and taking on a character that I have to make as convincing as possible. Of course, most of the men who book me only want one thing so my arse does often get stuffed without any ceremony or theatrics.  Sometimes I’m in and out, like the client himself, in a matter of minutes. Once they have cum very few of them want me to hang around for very long. I don’t mind, they pay the same for a few minutes or the full hour so I do what I’m told. Of course, not everyone wants to screw me. Some want to talk, others just wank, others want the company of a cute escort to some function or other. If I had a motto it would say – You’re paying. So, how can I please you? Not a brilliant motto but I like to think I am providing a real service. Am I deluded? I might be but in the nine months I have now been doing this job, I have never been happier.
Any person who has in any way been affected by this story and has any worries about their own situation should contact the Blast Project.  http://mesmac.co.uk/blast

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