Jobs for the Homeless

Jobs for the Homeless by Matt Thomas

"How long have you been out her, son?"

I looked up into the face of a man in (I would guess) his mid-to-late thirties.

"Three months, sir. Can you spare any change?"

It hadn't been a pleasant three months, living on the streets, trying to get money for food, trying to get hold of cardboard or an old coat or blanket to keep me warm at night. I never seemed to be able to get a place in a hostel, and I always had to fight to keep my little corners to beg from and sleep in.

"I can spare you something much better than that. Why don't you get up so I can have a proper look at you?"

Let me explain. My name is Pete and I'm 18. I was thrown out of home by my bastard parents when I told them I was gay. When I left home, all I'd done was a fumble with one mate and given a blow job to another. I slept on friends' floors for a bit, but people soon get fed up of having an extra body around. Eventually, I had decided to come to London to see whether I could get a job.

Bad mistake. No home equals no job. No job equals no money. No money equals no food or home. I couldn't see any way out of it all.

I stood up. I've been told I'm quite good-looking. Tall, thin, dark wavy hair, friendly grin. Mind you, I was so used to being grimy and dishevelled that I doubt I looked like anything much. Still, the man gave me a good look up and down, as though he was really admiring me.

"Right," he said, "I can provide you with a comfortable home, food, clothes and a hot bath. All things I would guess you're desperate for."

They sounded very attractive, but I was suspicious.

"Why? What's in it for you? What's the catch?"

The man put up his hand to stop me and smiled.

"So many questions! There's no catch. I just ask my guests to do some little jobs round the place. Nothing too stressful."

I was hooked, I had to admit. Maybe a little part of my brain was screaming at me to be careful, but most of me just wanted off the streets, especially as it was late autumn and the temperatures at night had really started dropping lately.

"It sounds okay," I said, cautiously, "What happens if I don't like it or I can't do the jobs?"

"You'll be free to go at any time you want, I promise. You're under no commitment to me at all."

Food, clothes, shelter, a hot bath - it all sounded too good to be true, but they were things I was desperate for.

"Okay."

"What's your name, son?"

"Pete."

"Good. I'm Francis. Come with me."

I followed the man.

We soon arrived at the entrance to some city centre flats, where he punched a number into the keypad and the door swung open. We took the lift to the sixth floor. Francis opened a door and showed me what was beyond. The room was luxurious - a huge bed, a settee, a television with satellite receiver. And off the room was a bathroom with a large bath in it. I turned to Francis.

"Is this like some sort of hotel?"

"Not exactly. Now, I want you to have a long bath and clean yourself up. Have a look in the wardrobes, there's bound to be something in your size that you'll like. Then come and get some food - down to the fifth floor and through the door marked `Dining Room'."

He closed the door as I gaped round the room in wonder.

After a lovely bath, the first decent wash I've had in three months, I looked through the wardrobes and the drawers. There were incredible numbers of different types of clothes (all top brand names) and they seemed to all be in the my size. Even the underwear drawers were full of briefs, thongs, jockeys and boxer shorts all in different colours and styles.

I put together a set of clothes, white Fruit of the Loom briefs, white socks, grey Reebok tracksuit bottoms, an Adidas T-shirt and a Nike sweater.

Dressed, I made my way out of the room and down to the fifth floor, easily finding the Dining Room. Francis was sat on a sofa reading a newspaper. He glanced up as I arrived and smiled, before moving behind the counter to dish out a plate of eggs, bacon, sausage, fried bread, toast, tomatoes, beans and hash browns.

"Cooked breakfast, okay?" I nodded. "Leave anything you don't like."

I have to admit I wolfed it down pretty quickly, always aware of his watchful eye.

"Anyone ever told you you're a good-looking lad?"

I nodded as I polished off the latest of the sausage and lay down my cutlery.

"That was great - I can't remember the last decent cooked meal I had."

Francis smiled again.

I leaned back in the chair.

"So, what are these jobs I have to do, then?"

"Cut straight to the chase. Yes, I like that. Okay, what my guests do here is basically help me run a brothel."

I shot out of my seat.

"What?"

His hand came across and rested on my arm.

"Just hear me out a moment. You're gay, right?"

Guardedly, I answered: "Yes."

"You like sex?"

"Yes."

"Like having money to buy things for yourself?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Fancy the idea of free accommodation for a very small cut?"

"Ummm..."

I sat down slowly. I was beginning to see where he was coming from - and perhaps it wasn't such a bad place.

"How often would I have to do it?"

"Well, it depends on you, but clients here pay pretty well, so probably no more than two or three times a week. Unless you need extra money, of

course." He smiled.

That didn't sound so bad, I guess. And it had to better than spending the winter out freezing on the streets.

"No commitments?"

"None. You can walk out of here at any time. It wouldn't do for my guests to be unhappy - the clients soon recognise that."

"Okay." I stuck out my hand. He shook it.

"Right, there's some training before we send you out to do the job. So meet me in room 3 on the third floor tomorrow at ten. You're free till then. Oh, and come and get food from the kitchen" (he indicated where it was) "any time you're hungry."

I made my way back to my room. Training? Francis made it sound like a career with job prospects and promotions...

The next morning I was at room 3 just before ten o'clock. Francis arrived shortly after me, smiled and unlocked the door. Inside was a just a small room with a few chairs and another door beyond. Francis indicated me to sit down.

"Okay, Pete, I need to explain how this training works. Basically, it gives you a chance to learn how to satisfy men, so they will pay the high levels we charge here. It may seem a little strange to you at first, but after a bit you'll understand how it will help you."

I nodded. He stood up and opened the inner door.

"Take your clothes off before you go through."

"Huh?"

"Well, you don't have sex with your clothes on, do you? And don't worry about me being here - seen it all before. You'll soon be used to having your kit off in front of people."

With slight reluctance I undressed and pied my clothes on a chair. Francis led me through the door.

It was medium-sized room, plain except for the contraption in the middle - the likes of which I'd never seen before. It was made out of various jointed sections of metal, including a long middle section with a hole at one end and four pieces of metal hinged out from it, two near the top, two at the bottom. There were various other smaller bits attached.

I looked at it, my jaw dropping, and then looked at Francis.

"What the fuck?"

"This is our training device. It's very sophisticated because it can be bent and rotated in various different ways." He saw the uncomprehending look on my face. "You see, some of our clients aren't interested in bed or foreplay or anything other than pure, unadulterated sex - sticking their cock in a hole, if you like. Trainees develop their skills by working with these customers, learning how to satisfy them and adapt their own bodies to serve others. This device helps you do that. Lie down."

I lay face down on the metal and realised the four hinged sections were for my arms and legs, the hole in the long piece was for my cock and balls to hang through. The long piece supported my neck but went no further. Francis fastened a few loops over parts of my body - purely to support me and keep me from falling, he explained.

Francis continued, "During the next hour, some men will come in - they're clients, but quite easygoing about breaking new talent in. I want you to work out how to accommodate them. Oh, and don't worry if they move parts of the device - it'll just give you more chances to try different positions out."

He patted my arse and walked away. I wondered if I was doing the right thing getting myself into this. Still, the thought of free board seemed preferable to being on the street - I decided to give it a go.

The door opened and a man walked in. He came straight to my face, dropped his trousers and boxer shorts and stuck his cock in my mouth. I can do this, I thought, and began to suck and to tenderise his length with my tongue. He snorted and pulled out.

"Not just that - use your hands. He pressed a button on a control panel and my arms started to bend round. Eventually they ended up with my hands resting against his buttocks. Oh, right. I could see what he meant. I went back to trying to give him the best blow job I could, all the time kneading his arse with my hands. I became a little more daring after a bit and stuck my tongue out to wash his balls. At the same time I allowed a finger to trace delicately up and down his arse crack. I could feel my cock begin to swell and was glad that a hole had been left for it, otherwise it would have been crushed.

I felt the man's cock begun to jerk and suddenly spurts of spunk were shot into my mouth. I waited until he had finished and then licked over the tip of his cock before loosening my hold on it.

"Pretty good blow job for a novice," he said, patting me on the head. I grinned to myself: maybe my training wouldn't be so bad.

Another man came in. He pressed a control and I felt the long metal section bend so that I ended up as if on all fours - with my arse point out behind me. Another control moved the leg pieces so my thighs were widen open. I began to feel worried. I really hadn't thought about anyone fucking my arse. What if it really hurt?

I felt the man's cock against my sphincter, pushing hard. Almost panicking now, I tried to clench my buttocks as close together as I could in this position. The man grunted and I could feel the effort he was making to push inside. His cockhead began to gain entrance and I let out a huge yell. He was killing me! Splitting me in two! I begged him to stop. He pushed a little further and then stopped and pulled out. I heard a muttered complaint as he left.

Oh dear. I'd been so proud of my training after the first man. Now I was an abject failure. Maybe I should just ask to leave.

Another man came into the room. A control whined and the device slowly collapsed back so I was flat again. Another control and I was turning over as if on a spit. I ended up facing the ceiling. A final control and my legs bent over on top of me until I was almost folded in half. Again my arse was exposed. The man walked up to me and I again felt the pressure at my pucker. Again I couldn't do anything and felt agonising pain. The man persisted a little longer than the previous one, but soon withdrew what little he'd got in and left.

I heard the door open once more and the controls move me back into the `doggy' position. Francis appeared in my line of vision.

"You've got to learn to relax and open your arse up. You won't have the pain and you'll find you can actually enjoy it."

He walked round behind me and I felt his finger tracing delicately up and down my arse crack. I began to wiggle in appreciation.

"That's better."

He began to draw smaller and smaller circles around my pucker with his finger until he was resting gently on it. I felt more relaxed than I had done before and realised I had some control over those muscles. I willed myself to relax them. His finger popped in suddenly and I hardly felt a thing. All I had was a great feeling of great relief and happiness. He eased one and then two more fingers in.

"My, what a tight virgin butt you have, Grandmother," he said teasingly.

"All the better to eat you up with," I grinned back.

"I don't usually do this with my guests, but..."

I felt him remove his fingers and then something else was resting against my arsehole, waiting for an invitation. I knew what I had to do and willed myself to relax again. This time there was a little amount of pain as his cock entered me, followed by a great deal of joy.

"I never realised it felt so good."

"Sh."

He began to rock backwards and forwards, gaining a rhythm and pounding my arse. It was fantastic - like heaven. Finally I felt him squirt great globules of spunk into my arse and then withdraw.

Francis came back into sight.

"I don't usually do that with guests, but you're... special." He kissed me softly on the lips. Then he was gone.

Well, after that it was easy. I spent the next two weeks in the device - an hour in the morning and an hour in the afternoon. I learnt how different men try to enter your mouth or your arse and how to make the job easier and more pleasurable for both them and me. I was fucked in many different positions, thanks to the device: flat out with a man lying along me, doggy position, flipped over and bent double, upside down and horizontal - you name it, these men tried it, some gently, some less so. I learnt how best to use my hands, my tongue, my lips, my arse - until I felt like an old pro.

When I wasn't in the device I was mostly free to do what I wished, although there was a rule that guests should spend about an hour a day in the gym, just to keep in shape.

Two weeks after I had arrived Francis took me to a hairdressers and got my hair cut short and bleached blond - I could hardly recognise myself in the mirror (but secretly I thought it looked great). He took me back to my room and talked me through the sorts of clothes to wear when collecting clients: tight, figure-hugging T-shirts or vests, tight black or white briefs, tight white jeans or combats.

That evening he took me out to a gay pub and helped me choose my first client. We came back to my room and spent several hours with me giving him blowjobs or him fucking me - and, in between, me exploring and playing with his erogenous zones.

He paid very well - enough that I didn't have to worry too soon about rushing out to get another client.

The next day Francis popped in.

"Well, Pete, I think I've got the makings of a first class star in you. You realise, of course, that your training is over."

My face fell, and he saw it.

"You really like working on the device, don't you?"

"Yeah. I love just concentrating on the sex without any other distractions."

"Well, it doesn't pay as well, but I don't see why you couldn't still put in your two hours twice a week."

"Three times and it's a deal."

"Cheeky." He paused. "Okay. You're too special for me to be messing you around." He patted me on the arse and then kissed me. Then he left.

I'm going out to collect a client tonight. Which do you think - the white T-shirt or the black one?