Date: Wed, 05 Apr 2006 17:40:32 +0000
From: Moore
Subject: My Thong Brings a Throng

MY THONG BRINGS A THRONG
BY MOORE

CHAPTER
ONE

As a queer kid I used to wear an old jock strap under my
jeans when I went out to make some money in the men's
bathroom at Penn Station. The pouch was already stained
when I found the smelly old jock in the trash and I've
added a few cum and piss stains of my own. The jock strap
was like a magnet, commuters came running when I dropped
my jeans to piss and lined up for five dollar blow jobs
when I set up shop in a stall. On a good day, in addition
to the great dicks I got to suck and the multiple loads
of creamy cum I love to eat, I could pocket an easy
hundred bucks.

Now that I've grown to six feet tall and weigh almost two
hundred pounds, the message isn't always clear when I
drop my jeans at the urinal. I haven't changed inside;
still a submissive faggot, still love to suck dick and
eat cum, which I now do for free. I'm still an eager and
willing cocksucker, a pussy boy too for any man who wants
to use me for his pleasure. Trouble is, as a big, sixteen
year old fag, I don't look like a submissive kid anymore.

Wearing a jock doesn't do it anymore, men think I'm a
tough guy and leave me alone.  Wearing nothing at all
under my jeans is uncomfortable and gets me nothing but
a lot of laughs, my dick stopped growing at four inches,
but not many men who will follow me into a stall for a
blow job or a fucking. So I'm wearing something else
these days, Y-back thong underwear that's new to the
men's market. If the salesman I went down on in the store
where I bought it is any indication, I'll be sending the
right message to the men in the men's room.

"You don't want that," the salesman said when I asked how
much it cost.  "Nobody but a woman or a fag would wear a
thong."

Perfect, I thought, just the message I wanted to send.
His eyes lit up in disbelief when I said I'd take two of
them.

"You're a fag? A big fellow like you? I don't believe
it."

Ten minutes with me on my knees, his dick in my mouth in
the dressing room made a believer out of him. He was so
pleased with the blow job that in addition to the big
load of tasty cum, he gave me a third thong for free.

CHAPTER
TWO

Men are staring at me, at my naked ass with the thin
strip of fabric between my cheeks.  I won't make the
first move though, too dangerous. Undercover cops patrol
the men's room just waiting to haul in a queer who offers
his services. They can't arrest me for being queer, a
cock-loving, cum-eating queer or for simply wearing faggy
thong underwear. The buzz all around me says the message
is getting out. I won't have to wait long for a guy to
approach me.

"Last stall, faggot," the black man on my left whispers.
"Lose the pants and shirt, cocksucker...leave on the
thong. A queer should look like a queer."

A steady throng of men follow the black guy into the
stall. White men in pinstripe suits mostly and a few
construction workers with hot, sweaty balls that demand
to be licked. The thong got it started, word of mouth
about my queer mouth kept the throng of hard cocks
cumming and the hot sperm flowing during the afternoon
rush hour.  Quincy, the black guy that started it all was
waiting when I crawled out of the stall after servicing
one final commuter.

"Got any plans for tonight, cocksucker?"

"No, sir."

"You do now, faggot. Get dressed and follow me."

"Can I wash my face?" I ask, glancing in the mirror. The
last guy I blew was in such a big rush to make his train
that he completely missed my mouth. My face is splattered
with cum.

"Forget it, cocksucker, your face looks fine the way it
is. Like the inside of a used scum bag."

We don't go far, to a building that only seems deserted
because of the blacked out windows. Once the heavy door
swings open in response to Quincy's knock, we're met by
a guard in a rent-a-cop uniform who looks at me from
behind his desk and bursts out laughing.

"Big faggot, ain't he?  Aside from the cum on his face he
don't hardly look like a queer boy."

"Look again, Bubba," Quincy replies as he pulls out a
knife and cuts away my pants and shirt. "Queer as a three
dollar bill."

"So I see," Bubba says, coming around the desk for a
closer look. "Fags and thongs is made for each other. You
want a collar set and clamps for your queer?"

Quincy leads me down a long hallway, jerking on the short
leash that's attached to my collar when I ask him to
loosen the clamps on my nipples.  "Pain's good for you,
faggot," he says. "Keep you sharp and focused on all the
dicks you're going to be sucking at tonight's party."

Dicks and sucking, Quincy has said the magic words. I can
still taste the cum, feel the pubic hairs stuck in my
teeth from the Penn Station blow jobs, but a cocksucker
can't suck too many cocks or eat too much cum. He's got
to hold me back now as I hurry towards the sound of music
and the promised cocks.

The men throng around me laughing at my thong. "How we
gonna fuck the faggot, Quincy?" One fellow asks as he
unzips his pants and hauls out his big dick.

"Like a bitch dog in heat," Quincy responds, using his
knife to cut away my thong.