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Such good writing and so incredibly horny

Yes, of course you would need more than one night, and that would be such a hot night!!! Ecstasy is feeling the hot pleasure of letting a top feed a hungry pussy. Love what you send me!!!

yeah i like that one. I kept the compilation videos out of my favorites since it sometimes cut the video off....and they are easier to find! 🙂 the video names on some of the posts are absolutely insane!

My minimal amount of videos is here: I uploaded a bunch more months ago but they don't show up. [think before following links] https://barebackbastards.com/users/ToxicVersPozPig/

Fuck yea girl . Imma need more than one night with that Pussy tho . No doubt . That Pussy made for black Dick

[think before following links] https://barebackbastards.com/83576/compilation-best-verbal-pozzing-and-poztalk/?playlist=16337

Yes, I do get plenty of black dicks. My profile picture shows cum dripping from my pussy. The picture was taken immediately after 4 black guys had deposited their loads deep inside my pussy. The white guy holding his cock was waiting his turn to breed me. He left pretty satisfied with what I had done for him. I think you would really enjoy spending a hot weekend with me - right?

Part 9: Reconnecting with Mark: Taming the monster to make one line two The message hangs on your phone for a week, a dark promise: "I know what you did! I am back in town next week... We need to talk!" When the day arrives, you don't feel fear. You feel a sense of calm, of arrival. You're going back to the scene of your greatest disappointment to maybe finally get what you originally came for. Mark opens the hotel door. He's exactly as you remember him from that first moment: shirtless, in just a pair of well-worn jeans that hug his powerful thighs, his toned, hairy chest a canvas of masculine perfection. His bare feet are nicely manicured, a subtle sign of his fastidious nature. He looks... softer. More at peace. It doesn't feel like meeting someone you've only been with once. It feels like coming home to a good friend with whom you share a deep, unspoken connection. "Hey," he says, his smile genuine and warm. "Come on in." The lighting is dim, music is playing low. The air in the room is warm and thick with the rich, earthy scent of sandalwood and leather—Mark's cologne, a smell that is both grounding and dangerously masculine. It's a scent you immediately decide you could get used to. On the table are two glasses of red wine and a pre-rolled joint, an offer waiting to be accepted. You sit, you smoke, you drink. The wine is a rich, velvety Cabernet, its dark fruit flavors filling your mouth, a taste of blackberry and a hint of dark chocolate. The weed is high-quality, and the smoke fills your lungs, smooth and sweet, with a faint, skunky undertone that promises a potent, hazy float, melting away the last vestiges of your anxiety. The wine and weed work in tandem, a warm wave of relaxation that loosens your muscles and softens the edges of the room. You're sitting on the couch, and the space between you feels charged. Mark takes the joint from your fingers, his knuckles brushing against yours. The touch is deliberate, a small spark in the hazy air. He takes a slow drag, his eyes never leaving yours, and then leans in, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his skin. He exhales a plume of sweet smoke not away from you, but towards your lips, a shared breath that feels more intimate than a kiss. That's all it takes. You close the distance. Your first kiss is slow, deep, and tastes of red wine and cannabis. It's not a frantic kiss, but a settling one, like two pieces of a puzzle clicking into place. His hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair, holding you gently but firmly. You melt into him, your body molding against his. The world outside this couch, this room, ceases to exist. You break for air, and he pulls you closer, guiding you to lean back against his chest. His arm wraps around you, a solid, comforting weight. You can feel the steady, strong beat of his heart against your back. His other hand finds yours, his fingers lacing through yours, and he just holds them. There's no urgency, only a profound sense of coming home. You rest your head against his shoulder, nuzzling into the warm, crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. You stay like that for a long time, just listening to the music and the soft sound of your breathing. His free hand begins to move, tracing slow, lazy circles on your stomach through your shirt. Each pass of his palm is a brand, a quiet claim. His touch is a question, and your body's response— the soft sigh that escapes your lips, the way you arch into his hand— is the answer. He shifts, turning you both to face each other. His eyes are heavy-lidded, shining with a gentle, uncomplicated lust. He reaches for the hem of your shirt and pulls it over your head in one smooth, deliberate motion. Your hands explore each other's torsos—mapping the solid muscle, the sensitive skin. Your chests press together, skin on skin, a friction that is both comforting and electrifying. Soon, your jeans and his are the only barriers left. He stands, taking your hand and pulling you up with him. He undoes his belt and lets his jeans fall, kicking them aside. He's commando, and his magnificent cock hangs thick and heavy between his legs, a promise of what's to come. You follow his lead, shedding your own pants until you are both standing in the dim light, wearing nothing but your vulnerability and your desire. It's in this state of raw, relaxed honesty that he finally speaks, his voice a low murmur that vibrates through you. "You took it," he says softly. You meet his gaze, your own voice raw with the memory. "I was so disappointed," you confess. "You were perfect. You were everything I thought I wanted because you were safe. But when you pulled out that condom... I realized that's not what I wanted anymore. And then when you told me you were poz... and you wouldn't... I was so desperate to have what you were denying me that I had to take a piece of it." As you speak, you see it. His cock, which had been hanging thick and heavy between his legs, begins to stir. It slowly lifts, hardening with every word you say, until it's standing fully erect, a thick, rigid column of flesh pointing directly at you. A hard cock never lies. Your confession is arousing him deeply. Mark's smile fades, replaced by a look of profound vulnerability. "You think I wasn't tempted?" he says, his voice low. "You have no idea how much I wanted to breed you. To see you walk out of here carrying my load. But I couldn't. It was too new for me. My diagnosis... my viral load... it was a monster I was still terrified of. I wasn't ready to be that monster for someone else. I was afraid of what it would turn me into." He looks at you, his eyes clear. "You were braver than I was. You ran towards the fire. I was still running from it." He reaches into his nightstand drawer and pulls out two small, flat boxes. "But things are different now," he says. "For both of us. And I need to know that you're sure about what you want. For my own conscience... for my own peace. I need us both to be clear-eyed about what we're doing here." He opens one box, revealing a quick HIV test. "I need us to both know where we stand. Right now." He does his first. You watch, your heart pounding, as the drop of his blood travels down the test strip. A dark, forbidden impulse flashes through you. As he's about to wipe his finger, you gently take his hand. Before he can react, you lean in and lick the tiny smear of residual blood from his fingertip. It's coppery, metallic, primal. He lets out a sharp, shuddering breath, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and arousal. His hard cock bobs in response, a thick bead of precum welling up at its slit. It's a promise. A taste of things to come. You both watch the two lines appear, dark and immediate. Positive. He looks at it, not with fear, but with a sense of confirmation. A proud, immutable fact. He places it on the desk, a physical testament. There is no ambiguity here, no room to ignore what is at stake. It's a definitive statement of his body. Then it's your turn. Your fingers tremble as you prick your own finger. You squeeze the drop onto the test strip. The minutes feel like an eternity. This is it. The first tangible proof of your journey. A single line appears. Negative. Still negative. A wave of something washes over you—not relief, but a strange, hollow disappointment. You're still on the outside looking in. And yet, your own cock is as hard as his, a rigid, aching testament to the fact that your body knows exactly what it wants, regardless of the test result. Mark looks from your solitary, stark line to his own pair of lines, sitting side-by-side on the desk like a grim, undeniable prophecy. The contrast is a physical thing. Your lone mark of clean health next to his double-line signature of the virus. He looks from the tests back to your face, his expression unreadable for a moment. His gaze drops down, taking in the sight of both your hard cocks, standing at attention like two soldiers ready for battle. "Now that we see it, laid out so clearly... are you still sure?" he asks, his voice low and serious. "Do you want to cross that line with me, as much as I want to take you there?" You nod, your voice firm. "More than anything." A slow, beautiful smile spreads across his lips. It's not a smile of pity; it's a smile of pure, predatory delight. "Good," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "That means I get to be the one. I get to be your ground zero. I get to be the one who changes you. Thank you for choosing me." He stands and holds out his hand. "Let's not have any more disappointments," he says. "Let's do what we both wanted to do that night." He leads you to the bed. The atmosphere is reverent, almost sacred. You sit on the edge, and he kneels before you. He looks up at you, his eyes full of adoration, and then leans in, pressing his face against your chest. You feel his hot breath against your skin a moment before his tongue makes a slow, wet trail up your sternum. It's an act of worship. You pull him up onto the bed with you, your hands finally free to explore the body you've only dreamed of. Your fingers slide over the solid muscle of his shoulders and down his arms. And then, you feel it. His chest hair. It's softer than it looks, a dense, wiry thicket that you run your fingers through, a living carpet of masculinity that tickles and teases with every shift of his weight. You bury your face in it, breathing in his clean, musky scent mixed with the sandalwood of his cologne. It's even better than you remembered. He moans, his hands roaming your back as you explore him. He pushes you onto your back, his body covering yours, and that soft, wiry hair becomes a delicious friction against your own smooth skin, a constant, tantalizing reminder of his raw, masculine power. You're both hard, your cocks trapped between your bodies, kissing deeply, your tongues exploring. He reaches down, his fingers gathering the slick fluid. He finds your PA, the heavy steel ring you wear, and he moans his appreciation. "So beautiful," he murmurs. He uses his precum as lube, coating your piercing, his fingers rolling the heavy steel, tugging gently, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. He pushes more of his fluid onto the ring, using his slickness to coat your own slit, the sensitive, thin skin tingling with the intimate violation. You're leaking now, too, your fluids mixing with his. He takes his cock in his hand and slides it up and down your crack again, coating you. His cockhead, slick and insistent, knocks at your backdoor. He pauses, letting it throb against you, and you feel another pulse of his hot precum ooze directly into your opening, getting your asslips slick, making them swell with anticipation. You can't help it. You push back slightly, extending your lips, a silent, physical invitation for him to enter. "Is this what you really want?" he whispers, his voice a low growl. "You want me to breed you? To make you poz? Once you have those two lines, you can never go back to one. Are you sure?" "Yes," you breathe, the word a prayer. "I'm sure. Please, Mark. Convert me." He begins to push. The entry is a slow, deliberate sinking, a moment of mutual surrender. The feeling is radically different from last time. There's no condom, no sterile barrier preventing you from fully connecting. You feel every ridge and vein of his cock, the thick, prominent lines protruding from his shaft, a topographical map of his desire. You feel the distinct, flared edge of his head as it rubs against your prostate, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. You feel his cock pulling on your asslips with each backstroke, a possessive, intimate tug. He pushes deeper, and you feel him press against your inner sphincter. A sharp, sudden pain makes you gasp. "Easy... easy now," he murmurs, his voice gentle. "Breathe. I'm there. Not going anywhere. Let it drool... slick you up. Push back... let me in." You do as he says, and with a final, deliberate push, he's through—moaning deep in your ear. He sinks deeper, inch by inch, until he's fully seated, his heavy balls resting against yours. He stays there for a moment, letting you adjust, letting you feel the weight and the heat of him, a perfect, living presence inside you. The first fuck is slow and emotional, a correction of the past. He moves in you with a gentle, rhythmic grace, his eyes locked on yours, his hands stroking your face. It's about healing the disappointment, about replacing the memory of the condom with the reality of his flesh. But the climax is what truly matters. He begins to move faster, his breathing becoming ragged. You can feel his cock swelling inside you, getting even harder as his thrusts become more urgent, more demanding. He slows his thrusts to a maddening, teasing rhythm, his eyes boring into yours, searching. "Are you... sure?" he groans, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Tell me now. Pull out? Once this... it's done. You're mine. Forever." "Don't..." The refusal is instant, fierce. "Don't you dare." You grip his arms. "Breed me. Mark. Give me..." You swallow hard. "...that toxic load." "God. God, I want to," he moans, his forehead resting against yours. "But... wanna enjoy this. Savor it. Okay? Slow down... just for a minute? Relish it?" You can only nod, your breath caught in your throat. "Good," he whispers, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He begins to move again, but not with the rhythmic thrusts of before. Now he's grinding, circling his hips, stretching you from the inside. "Let me stretch you... little longer," he murmurs, his voice a low, hypnotic rumble. "Open you up. Tear you... just a little. Make you perfect. Warm home... for my babies... so they can enter... even better." His voice drops even lower, a possessive growl against your ear. "Remember? The monster? I was so afraid? Not anymore. And now... gonna set him free. Inside you." His words are a litany of beautiful filth, driving you both to a higher plane of arousal. "Can feel it," he continues, his voice thick with lust. "My toxic seed... it’s boiling up. Spilling into your guts… Not just cum… Everything… Every viral particle… Will paint your insides... mark you. Inside out. Soon... every drop... poz. Your own load... turns toxic for me." The idea is so intoxicating, so real, that your body arches against him, a silent plea for more. "Please, Mark," you beg. "Please… Give it to me." He pulls back almost all the way, leaving just the tip of his cockhead inside you, teasing your swollen rim. "Tell me," he commands, his voice dominant. "What do you want? Tell me… you want my poz seed." "I want it," you repeat, your voice a desperate chant. "I want it so bad… All inside me. Want you to convert me… Be yours." That's all it takes. With a guttural roar that seems to come from the depths of his soul, he slams back into you, hilt-deep. "That's what I wanted... wanted to hear," he growls. "What I wanted to do... last time... only didn't dare." And now, it happens. His cock pulses, a powerful, rhythmic throb deep inside your guts. A searing, wet heat floods you as he roars his release. It's not just cum; it's a transfer. A gift. A sacrament. You feel every spurt. "Feel it... Feel my high-viral-load... invading you," he gasps. "Million toxic particles... spreading... connect us... forever." It's the most intimate, profound moment of your life. Your own cock erupts without being touched, spraying your chest as your ass milks him for every last drop. It's equally special for him; you see it in his eyes, a look of awe and possessive love. You relax, coming down from the intensity of your pozzing high. He collapses on top of you, his body heavy and solid, his heart hammering against your chest. For a long moment, you just lie there, tangled together, breathing in the scent of sex and sweat. Then he shifts, rolling to the side but keeping an arm draped heavily over you. You collapse back against the bed, your skin slick with sweat, and feel the cool, crisp percale of the hotel sheets against your back. The high thread count is a luxurious, stark contrast to the raw, filthy act that just transpired, a small island of civilization in the sea of depravity you've willingly drowned in. The room is quiet except for your soft, shared breaths. But Mark isn't done. He moves down the bed, his movements purposeful. He gently pushes your legs apart, and you feel his hot breath on your still-sensitive hole. You're swollen, puffy, and well-used, a warm, slick trickle of his precious load slowly oozing out of you. He doesn't just wipe it away. He lowers his head and you feel a hot, wet shock as his tongue laps against your swollen rim. It's not a hungry, devouring act, but a slow, reverent one. He's giving you a well-deserved, cooling massage with his tongue, lapping at your stretched, tender flesh. He's careful, taking his time, using the tip of his tongue to gently push every stray drop of his cum back inside you, as if not a single drop is allowed to be wasted. It's a possessive, tender act of worship that makes you feel cherished and claimed in equal measure. After he's satisfied that you're clean and full, he moves back up your body. He leans in and kisses you, and you immediately taste it—the salty, musky flavor of his own cum. But there's something else. A new, underlying note. A faint, distinct metallic taste that you instantly recognize. The taste of blood. Not from him, but from you. A tiny, intimate tear. The microscopic proof that he's done enough damage, that the final barrier has been breached. It's not proof of conversion, but the proof of opportunity. The gateway is open, and now his potent seed can do its work. You both freeze for a fraction of a second, the realization passing between you in that shared, intimate moment. His eyes lock with yours, and they are blazing with a triumphant, possessive fire. He knows you've tasted it. He knows you know. The damage is done. The seed is planted, and now it will grow inside you. He crushes his mouth to yours, the kiss no longer just tender, but fierce and celebratory. His tongue pushes into your mouth, sharing the taste of his successful load with you in a deep, filthy, perfect kiss. As you're still tangled in that kiss, you feel his fingers drift down, tracing the curve of your ass until they find your hole. He gently circles your sensitive rim, gathering the last of the fluid. Then, with a tender, deliberate pressure, he begins to massage it back into you. His fingers push his own seed against your skin, massaging it deeper, into your gut. The pad of his finger finds your prostate, still swollen and sensitive, and he presses against it, sending a deep, resonant wave of pleasure through you. You gasp, your body arching slightly as a smaller, but just as profound, orgasm shudders through you, a slow, deep pulse that leaves you trembling. He's breathing deeply in your ear, a low, satisfied rumble. Finally, Mark reaches for the joint and the lighter, sparking it up. He takes a long, slow drag, his chest expanding. Instead of passing it to you, he leans in, pressing his lips to yours. He exhales a thick plume of sweet smoke directly into your waiting mouth. You breathe it in, a shared, hazy breath that feels more intimate than words. You take the joint from his fingers, take your own drag, and return the favor, leaning up to blow the smoke back into his mouth. You pass the joint and the smoke back and forth this way, your lips meeting in soft, lingering kisses, the haze wrapping you both in a warm, peaceful blanket. You both need to piss. Last time, this was the moment you were in the bathroom, alone, stealing his filled condom from the wastebin and inserting it up your ass in a desperate, shameful act of longing. No need for it this time. You have all you ever wanted inside of you, spreading freely—no rubber barrier in sight—to take you over. This time, the act wasn't one of theft, but of gift. And the feeling is not of shame, but of profound, peaceful completion. An hour later, you're at it again. This time it's a celebration of shared pleasure, a joyful contrast to the intense, ritualistic first fuck. The energy is lighter, more playful. You're on top, riding him, your hands splayed across his powerful, hairy chest. You can feel the steady, strong rhythm of his heartbeat against your palms as you bounce on his magnificent cock, the weight of your PA ring making your own cock swing up and down. He's looking up at you, his eyes shining with pure, unadulterated joy and lust. He's laughing, moaning, calling you his "beautiful convert," his "perfect creation," each word a benediction. The sight of him so happy, so lost in the pleasure of you, sends you over the edge. Your own cock erupts, spraying thick, white ropes of your cum all over his chest, matting the dark fur of his pecs and abs. The sight triggers his own release. With a loud, happy groan, he grips your hips and thrusts up deep one last time, and you feel another warm, toxic flood coating your insides, a second gift to seal the deal. You collapse onto his chest, both of you breathing heavily, slick with sweat and cum. You're not done. You begin to nuzzle and lick his chest, tasting the salty, bitter tang of your own release. He moans, his hands stroking your back as you rub your own cum into his thick fur, marking him as thoroughly as he has marked you. It's a messy, intimate, perfect exchange. You stay like that, tangled together, his softening cock still inside you, your head on his chest, and you fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. In the dead of night, you wake to him rolling on top of you. It's a sleepy, primal act of possession. He enters you again with a sleepy groan. This fuck isn't about emotion; it's about ownership. It's quiet, just the sound of skin on skin and soft moans in the dark. "Even when you go home tomorrow," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble in the dark, "you'll still be full of me. You'll go back to your husband with my poz load swimming inside you. He'll be kissing your mouth, but I have been poz-kissing your ass all night. You're mine now. Everywhere." It's Mark staking his claim, reinforcing the transformation while you are both half-asleep, in a state of pure instinct. Your hole is soft, puffy, and completely open to him now, accepting him with no resistance. It's a natural, perfect fit. With each encounter, you become softer, more vulnerable, more perfectly his. You wake up in the morning tangled together, the sun streaming into the room. There's no shame, no regret. Just a profound sense of peace and rightness. He makes coffee. The rich, bitter aroma fills the small kitchen area, a domestic, comforting smell that feels more intimate and real than anything that happened the night before. You act like a couple. You are finally at peace with yourself. When it's time to leave, you share a final, deep kiss. "I have to go," you say. "My husband will be home this evening." Mark understands. He doesn't push. He just holds you. "I know," he says. "But you know where to find me, you have my number. You know where you belong. This isn't a one-time thing," he says. "We're in this together now. This connection we have... it's separate. It doesn't challenge anything else. But it's real. I'll be here. And I'll breed you again and again, if that's what you want, until it takes. And when it does... we'll be brothers in arms. There's a whole world out there we can explore together. Others we can share this with. I told you I wanted to see you walk out of here carrying my load. Now I want to watch you walk through the world with it. The window is usually two to four weeks. Call me if you get the flu. I want to be the first person you tell when your body starts to change. Think about it." You leave the hotel and go home. Your house is empty, quiet. Your husband won't be back for hours. Everything is as usual, except for the warm, secret presence of another man's toxic load deep inside you. That evening, your husband arrives. He's happy to see you. He asks about your night. You smile and play the part perfectly. That night, you lie in bed next to your sleeping husband. Your cunt is still swollen and puffy, a tender, constant reminder of the night's raw pleasure. Even now, if you move your head just right against the pillow, you can catch the faintest trace of sandalwood and leather on your own skin, a ghost of his possession. And although you know Mark's babies have already been absorbed and are doing their job deep inside you, you still have the distinct, filthy feeling of being loaded, of being permanently claimed. You feel the phantom weight of your husband's secret life from the rest stop. And you feel the phantom echo of the leather biker's rough, primal claim in the woods, the one who first showed you the way. You are a man living a perfect lie, holding all the secrets. You are the bridge between their worlds, and the power is intoxicating. You haven't chosen a new life. You have simply become the master of your old one, who will be—sooner or later—armed with a power no one can ever know about.

@viking8x6 i'm not posting about hardcore stuff, just asking questions about the site - if I fucked up putting it here, let me know. I AM SICK AND TIRED of our Gay Websites. And yet so thankful for them at the same time. A lot of these sites were born out of bringing difficult communities together by someone who was passionate about it. Hosting and maintaining an online platform for others is hard work, and that's before you consider regulations on the subject matter/etc. I try my darndest to support administrators, provide meaningful and helpful feedback, and even solutions. I've worked in cloud/AI/tech for 25 years now so I've got some knowledge that might be valuable. But why are there these issues?- there are plenty of people on these sites that have tech backgrounds that could chip in and help. Barebackbastards has been down for a while. NKP was offline for about 1.5 weeks for certain users. Moreover, most of the sites out there feel like 1980s had a wet dream about the internet. NKP is the worst. I'm gonna try and chip in, reaching out and seeing if there's anything I can do. Thanks to everyone in the BZ admin team for all you do! IN THE MEANTIME: Does anyone know any contact at barebackbastards? I've uploaded a shit ton of videos (months and months ago), they are counted on my dashboard, but are stick in some limbo. I can't access them or see them. I tried the "WRITE US" link on the site but it is worthless because you can't prove you're not SPAM.

I have LITERALLY no recollection of that - I'm sure I was. I remember he was wearing shitty khaki pants and a really ugly lump sweater and he was overweight white dude with bad hair.....and the smell of the Jergen's Almond lotion.

I was 20 he was in his early 50s. Really boce guy knew I was an anal virgin. Went slow, letting me blow him while he lube. Lingered and used various toys on me. Fucked me slowly the first time and shot a huge load of cum in me. Spent lots of weekends at his place trading cum in our holes. Even had a few threesomes with him and other guys. 2 of the ones I remember the most, one was a huge black guy 13-14 inch cock. My guy held my legs back and let him hammer me balls deep. Until he came inside me. 2nd was an 18 year old virgin we got to come meet us. He let me take the boys cherry. We got the kid to fuck us both 3 times each that day.

Fucking hot Buddy. Do you remember how you felt as he was forcing each inch of his cock inside you? Were you hard? I was.

Wow - similar to @Bokkierob - he was 34. I knew I wanted to get fucked, this was 1994...dial up modems and text only chat rooms. I rode my bike there. I didn't really think much it...he invited me inside, pulled down my pants, gave me head, i did the same, Jergen's almond hand lotion for lube (I can still smell it in my mind), a few minutes and I was back on my bike headed home. I don't think either of us actually took off our clothes. I could tell you where the house is, not who he was. It was a shitty house by the mall and he lived in some converted garage as a renter. It wasn't monumental for me - it was more like "breaking the seal" after which I really did never stop.

I was 14, he was 34. I knew what I wanted so I made it obvious to him so I guess I picked him up. He started me off sucking his cock. After a couple of weeks when he saw how much I enjoyed it he told me “next time I’m gunna fuck you”. Next time he stripped me naked, ate out my hole and slathered a big wad of lube on it. He fingered it into me. That was the first time I’d ever been penetrated. He lubed his cock and put me on my belly. He got on top of me and pressed his cock on my hole. He warned me it would feel weird or uncomfortable and might even hurt a bit but he wouldn’t pull out or stop until he was balls deep and had finished inside me. I was nervous as fuck but horny as hell. He kept up the pressure until my hole relaxed and opened up and his cock slid in. He slowly pushed every inch into me. He felt fucking enormous but was probably average, about 6 inches. Once he was all inside me he stayed still until I was used to him, then he started fucking me slowly. It wasn’t exactly painful but I felt “full”. He fucked me gently for about 10 minutes then grunted “I’m gunna cum” and he shot his load into me. I loved it and it was a great introduction.

daddy btm in twin cities, looking for a couple young guys to take turns breeding me