Date: Mon, 22 May 2006 23:50:54 +0000
From: David Rose <methuselahproductions@hotmail.com>
Subject: How my little brother learned to be a whore

"How much do we charge for this?" my little brother asked -- with a low moan
-- as he felt my cock slide into him, my balls slapping against his ass for
the first (but certainly not the last) time. "Nobody does this to you except
me," I said, ramming my cock even harder up inside him, and relishing his
scream. The long journey to this moment -- when I finally broke him in
tonight, on his sixteenth birthday -- had begun a year and three weeks ago,
when Nick found the diary I had, listing all my boys' appointments with
their clients.

I had been pimping boys out ever since I was seventeen, when a middle-aged
guy in a gay bar sidled up to me and asked if I was "in charge" of the boy I
was with. He pointed towards Enrique, my boyfriend, who was in the year
below me at school, a sweet-lipped, tight-assed bottom-bitch. Maybe it is
because I am black and look a little older that he assumed I was a pimp.
Enrique was pretty innocent -- he had only ever been fucked by me and one of
my friends -- but in that moment, the idea that had never crossed my mind
before, the idea of pimping out his fresh ass, made my cock stir.

Enrique had wandered over to the bar to buy us both a drink; he could not
hear our conversation. I nodded as nonchalantly as I could, and the guy
asked, "How much?" I sucked my teeth and muttered, "He's a really fresh
piece of ass. Tight. I tried him out myself this morning. He'll cost you." I
guess I had learned conversations like this from movies; hearing the words
pass my own lips had given me a full-on boner. I had no idea how much men
paid for sex, but I was determined to bargain it up. "Safe, or raw?" he
asked. "He only does safe. I don't want anyone damaging the merchandise," I
said. He nodded sagely, his eyes fixed hungrily on Enrique's sweet curved
ass. "Okay, three hundred bucks for an hour, and I get to use his ass and
throat," he said, offering his hand to shake on it.

I pushed my hand forward and shook, imaging everything I could do with that
cash. I had been working for three bucks an hour in Tower Records. "Meet me
at the exit in five minutes," I said. I walked up to Enrique from behind,
and placed my hand on the small of his back as I approached. He turned and
kissed me full on the mouth. "Babe, you know how this morning you said you'd
do anything to please me?" I said. "Oh yeah," he said, placing his hands on
my hips. "I meant it, boss." I liked him calling me that; it made me feel
powerful. "Well, I just met a guy who... I want you to fuck. It would make me
really hard." His hands fell from my hips; his eyes widened.

"You serious?" he said. This irritated me. I decided I wasn't going to
reason with him. He was my bitch. I broke in his ass. I owned him. He was my
fucking property. That's what he had said. Now was the time to test his
words. "Listen bitch, you are going to do what I tell you. You are going to
come to the exit with me and you are going to do whatever this guy tells you
to. I will be in the next room, and I will make sure you aren't hurt. But
you have no choice. Your ass and your throat are mine, to do with as I
please."

And so that night I became a pimp. I listened through the door to Enrique's
ass being ripped open -- the guy was big and aggressive, I found out later --
and slowly rubbed my cock. I gave Enrique thirty dollars and used the rest
to buy myself a proper pimp's outfit -- Armani -- befitting my status as the
big-cocked boss. Since then, I have added eleven other high-quality bitches
to my stable, and I earn on average $45,000 in profit a month.

But when my little brother -- rummaging for some porn mags -- stumbled across
my bank book and my rota in my bottom drawer, I didn't know what to say. I
was putting all my money into an account to spend when I graduate from
college next year, when I'm planning to set up a legit business. I have
hardly bought anything for myself except some clothes to make me look the
part. "How the fuck did you make so much money? There's so much money here...
What did you do, win the lottery? Shit, I gotta tell mom about this," he
said. "And what does this mean -- 2pm, Jason doing oral and ass, Mr
Limbaugh"?

Then he paused and looked up, swallowing hard. "Are you... I mean, do you...?"
"Bro, this is none of your business," I said, closing the book and shutting
the drawer. "Now if you agree to shut up about this, maybe I can help you
out." He was still speechless. "You know that skateboard you been begging
Mom for? Well, it's yours tomorrow if you shut your mouth."

Bought off with a skateboard and some skater gear, my little brother lay low
for the next few weeks. Fifteen year olds are easily appeased with status
symbols. But then one night I came home late after rescuing one of my
bitches from a rough client who was trying to claim more than he'd paid for,
and found my brother lying on my bed. "Bro, I been thinkin'", he said before
I could ask what the hell he was doing in my space. "You makin' a lot of
money. A hell of a lot of money. And I'd like to be doin' the same."

I was tired and irritable. I picked up a Diet Coke that had been open from
this morning and swigged it. "You want another skateboard? Maybe a new
computer? It's yours. Just get the fuck off my back," I said. "No, you don't
get it. I don't want more shit given to me. I want to earn my own cash. I
want to be the man, like you. I want to earn it." I paused and looked
closely at him. He was lying on his front in tight Levi jeans -- normally he
wore super-baggy -- and smiling. Was he showing off his ass? Was he trying to
flirt with me? I immediately wiped the thought from my mind. He's your
brother, man, your little fucking brother.

"Well, there ain't any openings in my line of work," I said coldly.
"Really?" he said, running his hands down onto his ass. "That's not what I
hear. I hear a young guy with a tight ass and a big dick fetches a real good
price." I immediately felt my cock twitch, and then suddenly felt angry at
it. At myself. "Get the fuck out of here before I kick that ass of yours," I
snapped. He got up wearily, and sauntered out, muttering, "Okay, but this
topic ain't finished." As the door closed behind him, I slumped into my
chair, perplexed, my dick pressing against my jeans. If I was assessing him
objectively -- as a work proposition -- he was superb. Lush, wet lips, smooth
skin, defined abs and a bubble-butt. I could get five hundred an hour uptown
easy. But he is your freakin' fuckin' brother. Shut the fuck up, man.

I closed down this internal monologue and got on with my everyday work.
After four months I assumed my brother's proposal had just been another one
of his crazy fads, like the time he became obsessed with the guitar for a
few weeks, only to leave it festering in the attic today. But then one
weekend my mom went to stay with our aunt Rochelle in Pitsburgh and the two
of us were left alone in the house. I assumed he would bring his homies
round for a long dope-smoking session, so I was surprised to get home at one
am on Saturday night to find the house quiet.

I cracked open a beer and switched on the TV. I started watching a Seinfeld
rerun and just as I was relaxing into it my brother walked into the room.
The small white towel seemed to glow against the hard ebony of his flesh.
When did his abs get so tight? When did his arms get so rippled? I chased
the thoughts away and turned the volume up on the TV, pointedly ignoring
him.

"Have a good night, bro?" he asked, sitting next to me, putting his long
legs up on the table, the towel rippling around him. "I'm watching the TV,"
I replied. "Did you whore out any boys tonight?" I ignored him and turned
the volume up even louder. The laughter track was almost hurting my ears. He
was staring at me. I could feel it. "I bet none of them had a body like
this," he said, running his fingers around his nipples. I refused to turn my
head but I could see them, tight and perfect, beneath his finger tips. He
was smiling. "I bet they didn't have a ripplin' six-pack..." his fingers ran
over it. "Or soft hair below their belly button..." I was determined not to
look. "And I bet none of them had a cock like this," he said, tugging the
towel away from his cock. It was jabbing into my eye sight, its huge
purpling head hard before me. I knew having a big cock ran in our family -- I
saw my dad's once, before he ran away, and stared at it in silent awe -- but
this was something else. I couldn't help but thinking -- I could get six
hundred an hour for this one. I immediately cursed myself and stared even
harder at the TV, now into ad breaks.

He began slowly jerking off, his fist gripping his cock and slowly,
nonchalantly pumping. Then he rolled slightly onto his side. "I bet none of
them had an ass like this," he said, his tight butt cheeks slightly parted
as though waiting for a cock -- for my cock, my hard groaning cock -- to
thrust between them. I couldn't help myself -- I turned to look, just for a
moment. "Yeah, I knew you liked that," he said with a satisfied smile.

"I don't like nothin'," I said. "I like watching the TV. I like Jerry
fuckin' Seinfeld." "Oh yeah?" he said, moving now, manoeuvring himself so he
was kneeling in front of me, his big brown eyes looking up, his ass hanging
in front of the TV, the towel now orphaned on the floor. "Then you won't
like this," he said, unbuttoning my jeans quickly. Before I allowed myself
to object, he was plunging my cock right to the back of his throat. He had
clearly done this before. The bitch was good. But I still couldn't look
down. I couldn't accept that my little brother was a superb cock-sucker,
taking my big prick into the back of his throat, bobbing back and forward
like a whore. Sure, he wasn't properly trained like one of my boys. I only
put a boy on the market once I've trained him up to the highest standards.
But, damn, he had potential.

Through the whole third act of Seinfeld he blew me, his thick sweet lips
running up and down my shaft, his throat closing around my cock, and during
the end credits -- as I was finally about to shoot -- he put his head up and
said, "Bro, I want you to put me on the street. I want to work for you." I
made eye contact with him for the first time that night. He had my pre-cum
on his chin. "You're fifteen," I said. "I don't put fifteen year olds on the
street." He ran his tongue slowly along the head of my cock. "I am sixteen
later this year. Will you pimp me then?" I answered by ignoring his
question, putting my hands on the back of his head, and getting him to
finish blowing me. "Now you best swallow, bitch," I said. "All my boys
swallow."

After that he blew me at least once a day, and we had an unspoken agreement
that some day soon he would start working for me. I was working on getting
rid of his gagging reflex. But I had a limit. I wouldn't fuck him until he
was legal. Night after night he placed my hands on his ass, trying to push
my fingers up him. While I lay on my side, he would try to manoevre himself
so my cock parted his ass cheeks. One morning, I woke up with a boner and
found he was trying to get his ass on top of it, to feel his big brother's
big dick finally break into his hole. I understood why he wanted it -- I have
a prime piece of meat, and have been offered plenty of cash for it over the
years -- but I have rules. So he insisted that I break him in on the night of
his sixteenth birthday, and I didn't take much persuading. When he was
asleep next to me I let myself run my hand along his ass cheeks, imagining
how great it would feel to make it mine. I wanted to really pound that ass
to get it ready for retail, so I decided to book a hotel room where his
screaming would not be noticed by mom.

But from the first moment my dick finally slid up his ass and his fist
tightened in mine, I knew this was something special. I have fucked a lot of
ass in my time, but this was the tightest, purest piece I had ever known. So
when he cried in our swanky hotel room, his yell echoing around the marble
walls, wanting to know how much I would charge for it, I thought -- no. No
client is going to get a piece of this. This bitch is going to be mine and
nobody else's.

Later that night, as he thanked me for the best birthday present he had ever
received, I explained I was going to have his ass tattooed. `Property of
Leroy Jones. Access strictly forbidden except to owner.' I had it done a
week later. You might see us around, my boy and me. I'm the one with the
sharp suit and the big dick. He's the one with the tight ass, staring at his
brother with silent love, ready at a moment's order to drop to his knees or
to part his ass cheeks for his boss. If you see us, come say hi and get your
wallet ready. I have lots of fit, prime boys you can buy -- and one very
special one you can't.