Dear Poz Master,

I drop to my worthless knees in total reverence and write this open letter with my pathetic neg hole still leaking your toxic seed, thanking you from the depths of my depraved faggot soul for the supreme honor of being brutally poz-raped by your godlike cock. Every vicious thrust you slammed into me was pure ecstasy for you and pure agony for this useless, piss-and-cum-stained beta pig. I hope you savored every muffled scream that vibrated around your thick meat as you pinned my worthless body down and raped my tight neg cunt raw, laughing at how my hole clenched in terror while your deadly HIV strain flooded my guts.

Please, my Poz God, spit directly into my open mouth and across my tear-streaked face while you pound me even harder, growling what a disgusting, AIDS-deserving faggot I am. Tell me how my eventual full-blown infection and slow, agonizing demise turns you on more than anything. Yank my soaked, reeking undies down to my ankles, shove my face into the mattress and order this pathetic depraved pig to arch my back and present my smooth, pink neg hole like the eager AIDS-bait it is. “Take it, Master—ruin me forever,” I’ll whimper as you mount me and breed me with that lethal poz load.

I am nothing but a brainless, cum-hungry meat sleeve who deserves every burning stretch, every gut-wrenching slam, every howl of pain that rips from my throat while you rape my hole and my guts. Your virus is already swimming through my blood, claiming me, and I am so fucking grateful. I want to hear you grunt with pleasure every time my body convulses under you, knowing the gift you’re planting will eventually destroy me.

When I finally test poz, I will crawl to your door on all fours and beg to worship at your altar. I’ll lay a pillow on the floor so my worthless knees can properly honor you, my Poz God, and I will spend hours licking every inch of your massive, muscular body—tongue bathing your sweat-slick chest, your rock-hard abs, your powerful thighs, your heavy poz balls, and that magnificent death-dealing cock that ruined me. I will look up at you with pure devotion and declare: “My soul and my hole belong to you for eternity, Master. Use me however you wish in this life and the next. I am your eternal slave, your cum-dump, your AIDS toy.”

I hope you and Taggart keep passing my broken body back and forth like a cheap piece of fuck-meat. No safewords, ever. Rape me in every hole while I scream and sob; laugh at my howls of agony as you both spit in my face and call me the pathetic, useless faggot I am. Bring in other toxic tops too—different strains, stronger strains—so the meds will fail and this beta sub will waste away faster, my immune system collapsing under the weight of your combined poison. I accept it all. My suffering is your pleasure. My pain is your entertainment. My slow death is your trophy.

Please keep poz-raping this pink neg hole whenever the urge strikes you, Master. Listen to my muffled moans of agony turn into broken, grateful whimpers while you flood me again and again. My body, my hole, my life—everything belongs to you. Tell me how else this pathetic faggot can serve his Poz God. I live only to please you, to worship you, to be destroyed by you.

Forever your grateful, AIDS-bound cum-pig, Your devoted neg-to-poz slave