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Need a nice long black one, or two or 3, or maybe more 😵

I want/need a doctor like this to Poz me.

I am interested in which addresses and locations I can find places where there are glory holes for men. Where are there public toilets with GH, are there parks, restrooms in parks where there are glory holes. I'm interested in all the places where I could suck cocks. I'm not interested in gay clubs and the like, only sex shops that have GH and other places. all in New York City, as well as in NJ. If anyone knows, please send addresses and places. Here or on email. I am also looking for a married couple where I would suck his dick and her pussy and ass. zizipostman@aol.com Thank you!

I am interested in which addresses and locations I can find places where there are glory holes for men. Where are there public toilets with GH, are there parks, restrooms in parks where there are glory holes. I'm interested in all the places where I could suck cocks. I'm not interested in gay clubs and the like, only sex shops that have GH and other places. all in New York City, as well as in NJ. If anyone knows, please send addresses and places. Thank you!

Loving where this is going.

Visiting the BB Hall of Fame March 2026 in town two nights looking for a ‘doorman’ to help me get fucked. please?

If you can make it to killington area we can make it work

Awesome story. I was hard the whole time. More please

I need to go to Alberta….

A few years ago I was approached on a snowboard trip in Vermont, was asked if I was “open” I said sure why not. He basically wanted to watch me take complete advantage of his wife while He watches. We ended up 69ing and he was fucking her and then all of a sudden his dick was in my mouth. It was new to me. We never got to him finishing or me but that opened up me wanting to try to go further.

What a beautiful story!! could someone please arrange for me something similar to this.. maybe 5-10 tops, black, Brazilian and German mix.. definitely not POZ though. But I definitely want to get screwed mercilessly!!

The lighter flicked twice before the flame caught, illuminating Travis's face just long enough to see the nicotine stains on his fingers. He exhaled sharply, the smoke curling around his knuckles like something alive. Behind the dumpster, half-hidden by a torn mattress someone had shoved against the brick wall, he palmed himself through his jeans. The denim was stiff with dried sweat, the kind that came from too many days worn in a row. His thumb rubbed slow circles, just enough friction to make his breath hitch. The alley smelled like piss and old fries, but he didn’t care—his thoughts were elsewhere, tangled up in the kind of fantasies he’d never say out loud. A cold draft snaked down the collar of his jacket. Travis ignored it, shifting his weight against the wall. The brick bit into his shoulder blades, but the discomfort was secondary to the heat building low in his gut. He thumbed the button of his jeans open, just enough to slip his hand inside. The first stroke was always the best, that split second where his brain emptied of everything but sensation. He bit his bottom lip, teeth pressing hard enough to leave marks. His free hand fumbled for the cigarette again, dragging deep as if the burn in his lungs could match the one between his legs. Something moved in the dark—a scuttling sound, too deliberate to be rats. Travis barely registered it, too caught up in the rhythm of his own hand. But then the air shifted, thickening like oil, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up. His pulse kicked harder, though not from pleasure this time. Something was watching him. The cigarette fell from Travis's fingers, ember sputtering against the wet pavement. His hand stilled inside his jeans, but the heat didn’t fade—it spread, crawling up his spine like fingers dragging nails over bare skin. Shadows pooled thicker between the dumpster and the wall, coagulating into shapes that twitched unnaturally. A wet, clicking noise echoed from the darkness, like tongues peeling off teeth. Travis tried to step back, but his boots stuck to the asphalt as if glued. His breath came in shallow bursts, fogging the air in front of him. The cold wasn’t just in the wind now—it was inside him, filling his lungs with every gasp. His fingers twitched against his thigh, the urge to keep touching himself warring with the primal need to run. Then the whispers started. Not from any one direction, but from everywhere at once—inside his skull, under his fingernails, between the clenched muscles of his jaw. They weren’t words, not exactly. More like the memory of words, hissed through a throat that hadn’t been human in centuries. Travis groaned, his cock jerking against his palm despite the terror clamping his ribs tight. Pleasure and dread coiled together in his gut, inseparable. The first spirit slid into him like smoke through a keyhole. There was no resistance—his body opened for it, muscles loosening as if welcoming a lover. Travis arched off the wall with a choked cry, his back bowing as the thing settled deep, tendrils threading through his nerves. His vision fractured into jagged bursts of color, and suddenly he could taste copper and semen and the acrid sting of meth cooking in a dirty spoon. More came. They pressed against him, insistent as hands shoving him to his knees. One forced his mouth open wide, cramming itself down his throat until he gagged around the intrusion. Another peeled his jeans down his hips without touching the fabric, the denim splitting like rotted meat. Travis’s cock jutted out, already leaking, and the spirits crooned in approval. He felt their hunger—not for flesh, but for degradation, for the slick slide of pain turning to pleasure under their influence. His fingers scrabbled at the brick behind him, nails breaking as they searched for purchase. The spirits didn’t let him fall. They held him upright, puppeteering his limbs as they peeled back his humanity layer by layer. Travis’s head lolled forward, blond hair sticking to his sweat-slick forehead. A laugh bubbled up from his chest, raw and giddy. He didn’t recognize the sound. Didn’t recognize the hunger gnawing at his insides, either—the sudden, vicious need to be filled, to be marked, to burn through his veins whatever poison they offered him. The last thing he saw before his vision went black was his own hand reaching for the discarded cigarette butt. His lips wrapped around the filter, sucking hard as if he could draw the rot straight into his lungs. The spirits sighed in unison, satisfied. Their new toy was learning fast. The spirit hit him like a cattle prod to the base of his spine—a white-hot jolt that arched Travis’s back so sharply he heard vertebrae pop. This one wasn’t content to slither in; it hammered itself into his pelvis with the force of a railroad spike, fusing to the nerves around his cock in a searing weld of possession. Travis’s scream tore through the alley, but it dissolved into wet laughter halfway out. His hands flew to his hips, fingers digging into flesh as if he could claw the thing out, but all he succeeded in doing was smearing precome down his own thighs. His dick hadn’t softened since the first spirit entered him—if anything, it had grown thicker, the veins standing out like ropes under skin gone dusky red. Now it twitched violently, spewing another thick strand of fluid that hit his chin. The spirit inside him purred, a sound like a chainsaw idling, and Travis realized with dawning horror that it wasn’t just riding his body. It was rebuilding it. His cockhead split open like an overripe fruit, revealing a second glistening slit beneath the first. Something moved inside the new opening—a barbed tip, testing the air. "Fuck—fuck, no—" Travis rasped, but his protest turned into a moan as the spirit yanked his hips forward, grinding him against nothing. The friction shouldn’t have been enough, but it felt like sandpaper on every raw nerve, pain and pleasure short-circuiting his brain. His knees gave out, but the spirits kept him upright, their grip on his limbs as unyielding as steel cables. The new entity wasn’t satisfied with passive ownership—it wanted collaboration. Travis’s fingers, twitching and spasming, wrapped around his mutating cock without his permission. "Harder," the spirit hissed through his own teeth, and Travis sobbed as his hand obeyed, jerking himself with brutal strokes that tore skin. Blood welled up, mixing with the slick dripping from his new slit, but the spirit only crooned in delight. "Deeper." His free hand scrabbled at the jagged edge of a broken bottle nearby, fingers closing around glass that sliced his palm open. He didn’t drop it—couldn’t drop it—as the spirit forced his arm down, dragging the bottle’s edge along the underside of his cock. Travis’s vision whited out as the pain detonated in his groin, but his hips kept rutting into his fist, the motion now slick with his own blood. The spirit was laughing now, a sound like gasoline igniting, and Travis realized with dizzying clarity that it wasn’t just controlling him—it was rewriting him. Every brutal stroke carved another piece of his humanity away, replacing it with an insatiable hunger for violence and violation. His teeth ached; when he ran his tongue over them, they’d sharpened into points. His nails were blackening, curling into claws that scraped grooves into his thighs as the spirit redoubled its assault on his nerves. The impact came from above—a sudden, skull-cracking weight that drove Travis’s forehead into the pavement hard enough to split skin. Blood dribbled into his eyebrows, hot and sticky, but the pain barely registered over the pressure mounting inside his skull. Something was in there, wedging itself between bone and brain like a crowbar. His scalp prickled, then burned, as if someone had poured lighter fluid down his part and struck a match. Travis clawed at his hair, nails scraping over swelling ridges that hadn’t been there seconds before. "Fuck—fuck, what’s—" The words dissolved into a wet scream as the ridges split open with a sound like tearing leather. Twin spires of bone erupted from his forehead, jagged and uneven at first, then smoothing into glossy black curves as they lengthened. The spirit in his head purred, grinding his own teeth together in a mockery of speech. *Yes,* it seemed to say, *yes, better.* Travis could feel every inch of growth, the horns curling backward like a ram’s, the tips sharp enough to draw blood when they brushed his shoulders. Travis's body locked up mid-spasm, muscles seizing as if plugged into an electric socket. His cock pulsed violently, ropes of cum splattering his thighs and the filthy pavement beneath him, but he couldn't move to touch himself—couldn't even twitch a finger. The air around him congealed into invisible shackles, pinning his arms wide and his legs spread like some fucked-up specimen display. His breath came in ragged gulps, each one shallower than the last as something tightened around his throat. Not hands—no, this was slicker, colder, like a wet leather strap cinching shut millimeter by millimeter. The pressure hit that perfect edge between panic and pleasure, cutting off just enough oxygen to make his vision speckle but not enough to knock him out. His cock jerked again, spitting another pathetic dribble of fluid as the spirit materialized in front of him—or rather, *through* him. Its form flickered in and out of his chest, a grinning smear of smoke and teeth that smelled like burnt rubber and meth sweat. A clawed finger, blackened and too-long, tapped the hollow of Travis's throat where his pulse rabbited beneath the skin. "Look at you," the spirit crooned, its voice a wet rasp that vibrated inside Travis's skull. "Dripping like a bitch in heat and you haven't even been properly broken in yet." It pressed closer, its form solidifying just enough to let Travis see what it held—a syringe, the barrel filled with 0.7 of murky liquid that caught the dim alley light. The needle glinted, too thick for comfort, the kind meant for livestock or leatherworkers. The spirit twirled it lazily, letting Travis track every movement. "Gonna make you *sing,* piglet. Gonna carve the devil's choir right into your veins." Travis tried to scream, but the pressure on his throat reduced it to a wheeze. His hips bucked involuntarily, still trying to fuck into the empty air, his cock now an angry purple-red and leaking continuously from both slits. The spirit laughed, low and mean, and trailed the needle down Travis's sternum, leaving a thin red line in its wake. When it reached his navel, it paused, pressing just enough to dimple the skin without breaking through. "See, most junkies start with the arms," the spirit mused, tapping the needle against Travis's jugular now. "But you? You're gonna *graduate* straight to the neck. No half-measures for our new little hog." It leaned in, its breath like a lit match held too close to gasoline fumes. "Feel that? That's your blood begging for it. That's your *soul* begging for it." Travis's vision swam, his body caught between terror and some fucked-up anticipation that made his cock twitch. The spirit's free hand—if you could call the twisted, jointless thing a hand—grabbed his jaw, forcing his head back to expose his throat fully. The needle hovered, the tip kissing his pulse point, and Travis realized with dizzy clarity that he wasn't just scared. He was *harder* than he'd ever been in his life. "Attaboy," the spirit purred, catching the realization in his eyes. It licked a stripe up Travis's neck, the tongue rough as sandpaper and tasting like battery acid. "Now hold still while I make you *forever.*" The needle punched in. Travis's back arched off the ground, his scream finally ripping free as the plunger depressed. The rush hit like a freight train—not just in his veins, but in his bones, his teeth, the fucking *horns* now curling from his forehead. The alley blurred into streaks of neon and shadow, the spirits' laughter harmonizing with the sudden, deafening static in his ears. His cock erupted untouched, cum spraying in arcs that sizzled where they hit the pavement. The spirit wrenched the needle out, tossing it aside to clamp both hands around Travis's throat as he convulsed. "That's it," it growled, shaking him like a ragdoll. "That's my good little hog. Now *breathe* it in." Travis did. And the world went black. And then— And then it came back *brighter.* The first thing Travis registered when consciousness slammed back into him was the absence of air—not because he wasn’t breathing, but because his lungs no longer needed it. His chest rose and fell in ragged bursts anyway, a useless habit of a body that was rapidly becoming obsolete. The second thing was the weight between his legs, a throbbing, grotesque pendulum that swung heavy with every twitch of his hips. His cock had split open further, the twin slits now gaping like hungry mouths, dribbling fluids that hissed against the pavement. The veins pulsed black beneath the skin, writhing like worms under a magnifying glass. The spirits hadn’t left. They were *in* him now, knitting themselves into the marrow of his bones, stitching their hunger into the fabric of his thoughts. Travis tried to scream again, but what came out was a guttural squeal—the sound a pig makes when it feels the slaughterhouse knife. His fingers, claws now, scraped at his own thighs, carving trenches in flesh that healed too fast, the skin knitting back together darker, tougher. The needle’s poison swam in his veins, rewriting his DNA strand by strand, and Travis realized with dizzy euphoria that resistance wasn’t just impossible—it was *unthinkable*. His cock twitched violently, the barbed tip emerging fully from the lower slit to curl against his stomach like a scorpion’s tail. It was *hungry.* Travis could feel it, a separate entity grafted onto him, demanding to be fed. The spirit draped over his shoulders chuckled, a sound like gravel in a blender, and pressed a filthy, half-crushed cigarette between Travis’s lips. He sucked instinctively, the ember flaring bright—except it wasn’t tobacco burning anymore. The smoke hit his lungs like napalm, and his vision fractured into overlapping layers of heat and need. His cock swelled another inch, the base thickening until it strained against the remnants of his jeans, now little more than frayed straps digging into his hips. "Look at you," the spirit crooned, its voice slithering out of Travis’s own throat. "All that pretty pink flesh hardening up just right." A claw—his claw—traced the new ridges forming along Travis’s forearms, the skin there splitting open to reveal glossy black chitin beneath. "Gonna need a stronger fix soon, hog. Gonna need to *burn* to keep growing." As if summoned, a second syringe materialized in the air, this one glowing faintly with something that wasn’t quite liquid. The spirit guided Travis’s hand to it, folding his fingers around the barrel with obscene tenderness. "Go on. You know where it goes now." Travis’s hand shook, but not from fear. Anticipation coiled in his gut, a live wire sparking against his spine. The needle found his femoral artery without hesitation, sliding in like it was coming home. He depressed the plunger with a whimper that turned into a roar as the new drug hit—this one wasn’t just meth. It was *them,* liquefied and burning, a thousand screaming souls distilled into half an ounce of pure corruption. His back arched off the ground, muscles locking as his cock *surged,* the shaft now ridged with pulsating knots and the tip crowned with a ring of needle-sharp barbs. Cum geysered from both slits, splattering the alley walls in arcs that steamed where they landed. The spirit holding him down laughed, its form flickering in and out of Travis’s own body like a bad transmission. "There we go," it rasped, licking a stripe up the side of Travis’s neck where the skin had split to accommodate new gills. "Now you’re cooking." Travis’s jaw unhinged with a wet pop, his scream dissolving into a series of grunts as his teeth lengthened into tusks, his tongue thickening into something that could *taste* the filth in the air and crave it. His arms bulged, the bones cracking and reforming to accommodate the new weight of corruption settling in his marrow. Somewhere, in the last shrinking corner of his mind that still remembered being human, Travis recognized the truth: he wasn’t being *possessed* anymore. He was being *replaced.* The thing panting in the alley, its cock twitching and dripping onto its own distended belly, wasn’t Travis—it was a hungry, hollowed-out skin suit waiting for its next hit. And as the spirits leaned in, their mouths full of fresh needles and darker promises, it *smiled.* Travis's scream died in his throat as invisible hands clamped around his wrists, pinning him spread-eagle against the alley wall. His toes barely grazed the ground, the muscles in his thighs twitching uselessly. The spirits had him suspended like a bug on a pin, his cock jutting obscenely from the ruin of his jeans, swollen and glistening under the flickering neon. Another set of phantom fingers wrapped around his shaft, stroking slow and deliberate—far too slick to be human, the frictionless glide of something that had never known skin. His hips jerked instinctively, but there was no leverage, no resistance—just the maddening tease of pressure without release. The spirits crooned in his ears, their voices overlapping in a chorus of static and broken glass. *"Come on, hog. Let us see you drip."* The hand on his cock twisted, the motion wrenching a wet gasp from Travis's throat. His vision swam as the base of his spine *moved*, vertebrae popping one by one as something thick and cordlike pushed against the skin just above his ass. The first wingtip punched through with a sound like tearing denim, followed by a gout of black fluid that sizzled where it hit the pavement. Travis convulsed, his cock pulsing in the unseen grip, but the spirits tightened their hold—not letting him cum, not yet. The wing unfolded in jagged segments, more carapace than feather, the edges serrated like a butcher's knife. Every stroke of the phantom hand sent another segment snapping into place, the chitinous plates grinding together wetly. Travis's breath came in ragged bursts, his chest heaving as the second wing began its agonizing emergence. This time the spirits didn't wait—they *pulled*, yanking the membrane free with a wet crunch that sent white-hot pain lancing up his spine. His scream shattered into a dozen pitches, his vocal cords splitting and reforming mid-wail. The new wing flared wide, dripping ichor that reeked of meth and spoiled meat, and the hands on his cock moved faster, twisting just under the barbed crown. *"Almost there,"* the spirits hissed, their breath like lit matches in his ear canals. Travis's balls drew up tight, the pressure coiling at the base of his cock unbearable now. His wings shuddered, the membranes stretching taut as the final joints locked into place—and then the spirits *squeezed*, their fingers pressing just behind the knotty ridges near the base. Travis came with a sound that wasn't human, wasn't even animal—a wet, grinding shriek that shook the alley bricks loose from their mortar. Cum shot in thick ropes, arcing high enough to hit the fire escape three stories up, each spurt accompanied by another segment of wing hardening into place. The spirits milked him through it, their grip unrelenting even as his cock swelled beyond human limits, the barbs along the shaft now dripping something that wasn't semen. The final tremor wracked Travis's body as the last wing joint sealed with an audible *click*. His chest heaved, lungs burning with air he no longer needed, and the spirits finally released his wrists. He collapsed forward—only for the wings to snap open on reflex, holding him aloft a foot above the ground. The motion sent a fresh wave of pleasure-pain through his ruined nervous system, his cock twitching weakly against his stomach. *"Good hog,"* the spirits murmured, their hands now petting along the veined membranes of his new wings. Travis shuddered, his body humming with overloaded synapses and the dregs of whatever they'd pumped into his veins. The alley stank of him now—musky and chemical-sharp, the scent clinging to the bricks like a second skin. His wings flexed without his command, testing their span, and the spirits laughed as he accidentally sliced through a dumpster's corner with one serrated edge. *"Now,"* they whispered, crowding closer, their forms flickering in and out of his peripheral vision. *"Let's see how high you can fly."* Travis's vision doubled, then tripled, as a fresh needle slid between his knuckles—no syringe this time, just the naked point dripping with something that smoked where it hit the ground. He reached for it without thought, his claws closing around the shaft as the spirits guided it toward the throbbing vein in his inner thigh. His own voice, ragged and eager, surprised him: *"More."* The relief hit Travis like a bucket of ice water—sharp, shocking, and utterly destabilizing. His cock pulsed one last time, spitting out a pathetic dribble of something too thick to be cum, before the monstrous appendage began to *shrink*. The barbed ridges smoothed over, the twin slits sealing shut with wet, sucking pops until only a single, human-looking slit remained. The veins faded from black back to blue under his skin, and the throbbing weight between his legs settled into something closer to normal. Almost. Travis gasped as his body rebelled against the transformation’s reversal, muscles spasming as bones ground back into place. His wings retracted with a series of sickening cracks, folding in on themselves like collapsing umbrellas before dissolving into his shoulders, leaving only raised scars behind. His horns splintered, crumbling away like rotten wood, and the tusks receded until his teeth were just teeth again—sharp, but not inhuman. He slumped forward onto his hands, panting, his sweat-slick skin steaming in the cold alley air. His reflection in a puddle of fetid water wavered, then clarified—blond hair, buzzed short now, his jawline squared off with brutal efficiency. His body had filled out, not softer, but *harder*, like someone had taken the wiry junkie he’d been and replaced him with a prison-yard brawler. The spirits weren’t gone. He could feel them, coiled in his marrow, whispering in the hollow spaces between his thoughts. *"Good hog,"* they murmured, their approval like fingers tracing his spine. *"Now go. Hunt."* Travis stood, rolling his shoulders, testing the limits of this new-old body. His cock, still heavy and thick—too thick for a human, really—swung between his thighs, half-hard with anticipation. He wiped a hand down his face, smearing blood and sweat, then reached for the shredded remains of his jeans. They wouldn’t do. A flicker of movement in the shadows, and a bundle of fabric hit the ground at his feet—black boots, cargos, a wife-beater stretched tight over a frame that wasn’t his own. Travis dressed mechanically, the clothes clinging to him like a second skin. The boots were steel-toed, scuffed from use. Perfect. The bathhouse loomed at the end of the alley, its neon sign flickering erratically, casting sickly pink light over the cracked pavement. Travis flexed his fingers, feeling the remnants of claws beneath his nails. The air smelled like chlorine and sweat, but underneath that—*hunger*. He pushed through the door, the humidity hitting him like a slap. The locker room was empty except for one guy—tall, broad-shouldered, towel slung low on his hips. He glanced up, eyes narrowing for half a second before recognition flickered in his gaze. Not of Travis, but of what was coiled inside him. Travis grinned, all teeth. The guy didn’t run. *Good.* The spirits purred in Travis’s skull, their voices dripping with anticipation. *"Show him."* Travis’s hand shot out, gripping the guy’s throat before he could react, slamming him back against the lockers hard enough to dent the metal. The guy choked, but his cock twitched against the towel, already leaking. Travis leaned in, inhaling the stink of fear and want. *"You ever slam with the devil?"* he whispered. The guy’s pupils dilated. Travis’s cock throbbed. The spirits laughed. And the real fun began.

Yes i have. I was in need of funds to see my kid. And hosted a play day with a donation box to help fund my trip. Anther time i had a few regulars all give me money to play so i could go see my kids.

Nice one!

Fuck yeah. It’s so hot and beautiful. What an unison of moanings can be heard there. I already was in a ff chain but we were only 4.

Moderator's Note: The original poster cannot seem to grasp the rules of the forum. I am closing this thread.

Yes, I was 23 and after living in a major city for a few months I was quickly realizing my shitty little job just wasn’t paying enough. Started escorting and did really well for 6 months or so. Had a few of regulars - both good and not so good. All in all a pretty positive experience for me and now I love the reactions I get now 30+ years later when I tell people what I did way back when.

Looking for poz tops who want to convert my neg ass, will have a nice motel room in the city

Very horny indeed!

Great piece of work. Straight sex doesn’t really turn me on for w long time but I got a hardon while I was reading this

Fucking hot. Very happy for you! Soon enough you’ll be hooked and become a total pig and cock whore.

If you edge a guy several times, you're guaranteed to get a huge, creamy load in your mouth. Playing with the guy's balls adds to his pleasure, but edging gives you what you want. I sucked a young, black guy's cock for more than an hour before he rewarded me with his gift of "gold." When on the verge of shooting his load, I'd stop sucking, then I'd start again. I sucked on an ice cube before continuing to suck his cock. I did that several times, then he pleaded with me to just take his load. At that point I sucked his cock more vigorously and he just filled my mouth with an incredibly huge load. He hasn't stop calling me. He has also told his friends that if they really want an awesome blowjob they should come to me. I've had several hot times with young, handsome, physically-fit black guys who love feeding me their gorgeous cocks.

Exactly how I want it!

I have not been fisted yet but when I do get the opportunity I definitely want to have it filmed

Guess I live in the wrong city 😢