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What i was attempting to do in that particular post was to make a point that there are different types of authority, not just focus on one definition. i think we are on the same page? Ultimately, i think it comes down to the individual attitude and approach. How one wields words and position. In that way, i think "one" can apply to anyone. Even something as obscure as an exchange between people on a BZ forum can contain examples of what i am trying to say, where one can express as fact or truth or feeling or thought. "Fact or truth," can come across as more authoritative, instructive, than expressing individual "feeling, opinion or thought" on a topic. i used religion and, often, use healthcare because they are two areas i have more experience and knowledge about. In religion, many respond to a "pastor" as a position of authority. Some religious even have special or particular garb, uniforms of a sort, that can have the effect of imbuing them with an automatic authority (with some). E.g., though two people might have and use the same exact title: "pastor," the way they utilize that title can be very different. One might assert they speak for "God," while the other more simply shares a belief. It's a vast topic, eh? Between individuals, each has their own personal cognitive and emotional response to perceived authority. Taking it back to the political/governance arena. i think there are more than "two political extremes" at play? Or, if i were to reduce it to two extremes, it would not be republican vs democrat, or conservative vs liberal. At this point i see it as fascism vs democracy. But really, i think part of what complicates this is the many individuals that result in many groups that authorities are attempting to manage. i think trump, and many of his power structure, call/ed themselves "republican" to give them broader appeal. But i think fascist better describes him/them. And by saying that, i'm not excusing any particular party of what i perceive as nefarious motive.

Fuck yeah!! In a heartbeat

Hey, pigs. Newest instalment. Remember Spencer from the first Intermission chapter? He's back, and this should put a few puzzle pieces together for you. ------- Chapter 23: Poz Me Up Before You Go-Go City Streets. 20:14 MST. 31-Oct-20XX. REDACTED location. Stag had deliberately wandered away from the rest of the group of infected smilers, set on following his own agenda. Instead of waiting for suitable clothing to wear in the chilly late October air, Stag had elected to wear only his camo pants and boots, leaving his muscular blackened torso exposed for all to see. He also chose not to stick to shadows, but to walk abroad in front of the rest of the world like nothing had changed for him. Doing this in secret was never going to be an option for the corrupted horny soldier. As he passed storefront windows, he occasionally caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the glass. One particular pane caused him to stop in his tracks. Stag had been passing by a main street restaurant that hadn’t been open in weeks, and the light from the street had hit him so perfectly that he could see, for the first time, exactly what he looked like in full. His ginger hair had darkened considerably, and his face had taken on a shade of grey that could only be described as “storm cloud”. His exposed skin, in fact, had this same shade all over his body. His veins spread out like black spiderwebs. He grinned in evil satisfaction. Cheaper than any tattoo I could have got!, he thought. And way more fun. As he observed his reflection with a wicked, impressed grin plastered on his face, he took the time to examine his teeth. The jaw had widened some to accommodate the new molars and fangs, and each tooth looked sharp and deadly to the touch. He could barely make them out, but the whites of his eyes were completely gone, and he looked positively possessed. The lanky, sinewy form he previously carried had grown into a muscular beast rivaling the best of Crossfit enthusiasts. Thick veins throbbed beneath the surface of his skin, and Stag started to get hard at the sight of himself. He reached into his pants and fondled his swelling member lightly, knowing he carried an instrument of mass destruction. He had a victim in mind for his first conversion, and had to stop himself from further pleasuring himself to save his demonic seeds for that gratifying moment when he shared them with his prey. Stag continued his bold march through the city to the warehouse district until he came in sight of the nightclub known as InfraRED, a popular gay bar with a dubious reputation. On this night, attendance would be as high as many of the patrons, and with a Halloween party in progress, Stag could do what he needed to without the need for secrecy or violence. Hookups were part of the everyday routine in this place, and no one would bat an eye or clutch any pearls over him having sex in a very public space. In fact, it was almost expected, but so were drunks, drug deals, fist fights, and barroom brawls, and harassment by the homeless who hung around the area. He came to the block, and saw that a canopy had been set up outside the club to funnel guests inside. This made it easier for club employees to screen guests for arriving intoxicated, and to keep the place from filling up too quickly, but Stag would not be deterred. He went to the back of the line, and spoke to no one as the line slowly moved forward. In his boredom, he lit a cigarette, and no one seemed to object to it. One man, dressed as a unicorn, turned around and saw Stag in all his toxic glory. Having nothing else to do while they waited, the unicorn opened conversation with him. “Damn, dude! That’s a really cool costume.” Stag nodded his head only once in acknowledgement, and did not wish to engage with anyone. He took another draw off the cigarette. “What are you supposed to be? You kinda look like a toy army guy.” Stag smirked without revealing his teeth. You have no idea, he thought. —-------- Dressing room at InfraRED. 20:09 MST. 31-Oct-20XX. REDACTED location. Spencer adjusted his tight nylon armbands, placed a blue baseball cap on his head, and checked his shiny baby blue shoes one more time before appraising himself in the mirror. For nearly three years, he had been gogo dancing at InfraRED, and tantalizing horny men with his erotic dancing and powerful physique. Gogo dancing had been a means to an end - surely someone who came into the club would be his ideal, but so far, the perfect man had eluded him. The pay for dancing was decent, and so were the tips that were frequently shoved into his G-string, but it wasn’t fulfilling. He made enough money to live comfortably, but as time wore on, this mode of living wasn’t going to be satisfactory for much longer. As he stared at his reflection, he ran his left hand over his thick chest, and sighed. “Is there more to life than this?,” Spencer wondered aloud. He then adjusted his girthy member inside the gold lame underwear, twisted the hat ever so slightly, and looked one more time in the glass. He had decided against wearing any costume; the unnecessary bulk, combined with his own overdeveloped bulk, could exhaust him physically before the night was over, and he needed to make some cash for car repairs. He had been a beefy satyr at last year’s party, but he was sweating so hard after the first hour that the hair had stuck to him, and he resorted to doing a sexy striptease of the costume. He felt the investment in his elaborate costume had been a waste of funds, and he wouldn’t make that costly mistake a second time. Taking a final swallow of water from a large jug, Spencer sighed with discontent that he was stuck in a rut. His physical growth had hit a plateau, and the sex work with no sexual gratification left him frustrated night after night. Satisfied that he was ready for the public, he nodded at his reflection in silent approval of at least his appearance, and went out from the dressing room to the auditorium. The beats and the constant thumping of heavy bass was already quite deafening, and he had danced to it a thousand and one times. Just another night, another dollar. He climbed up on his usual gogo box, and settled into the beat. —------ Stag scowled slightly when the bouncer closed the rope against him after the unicorn was admitted to the club. The bouncer could allow only five enter at a time, and Stag just happened to be the sixth. He glared at the bouncer silently anyway as the man clicked his meter five times. At least a few minutes would pass before Stag could enter, so he mentally reviewed his plan one more time. Meanwhile, the bouncer couldn’t take his eyes off the corrupted creature before him. Wow, this look is fucking hot, the bouncer thought to himself as he felt his heart beat increase in envious lust. I need to jump this dude’s bones. It must have taken forever to put all that makeup on. I wonder if he’s available. Stag was slightly shocked, amazed he could almost hear the man’s thoughts with ease. He smiled back at the man, enjoying the discovery of his newfound power. “Sick costume, bro,” the bouncer squeeked, his voice somewhat betraying his lack of confidence. Hearing himself catch in his throat, he cleared it once, and hocked a white goober to one side. “Sorry. That’s really sweet.” Stag locked eyes with the bouncer. “Thanks,” he growled. “You know,” the bouncer began in a playful voice, “zombies aren’t supposed to talk. Try to stay in character, it’s sexier that way.” The smirk indicated no malice behind the words, and Stag gave no reply. Instead, he answered the criticism with a toothy grin. The bouncer wasn’t expecting Stag’s costume to be so thorough, and his mouth opened slightly with awe. “This is killer. Do you mind if I get a pic? I’ve gotta show my roommate. He does makeup and special effects for drag performers, and he’d get such a kick out of this.” The bouncer was already taking out his phone, and turning on its camera. Stag nodded his head once, giving non-verbal permission, and came in close with the bouncer. Up went the phone, and with a press of the button, he now had a head and torso shot of the corrupted soldier in its memory bank. Then Stag stood by his side as the bouncer took a selfie of the two of them. “Thanks, man,” the bouncer said gratefully. “I ‘preciate it.” “App-preciate,” Stag corrected him in a growly voice. I should just spit on this fag and let myself in. Stag prepared to launch a volley of the neutralizing saliva, but stopped short of the act. Nope, can’t do that. Too many witnesses. It can wait. They’re all doomed, anyway. Stag showed admirable restraint and swallowed it back down when he returned to the front of the line. “You with your boyfriend tonight?” Stag looked back at the bouncer, staring daggers at him. He was still uncomfortable with the idea that he was gay, after years of protestation and repression, but after his orgy with his squad and forming a plan to violate someone he once crushed on, he decided he had better start accepting it and getting comfortable with the idea. ‘Boyfriend’ sounded strange to his ears, like a word meant for someone else. He shook his head once, again giving no verbal reply. “Ah, single, then?” Stag nodded once. “If you don’t score tonight, what say you and me take a little trip to hell afterwards?” Stag raised an eyebrow with interest. Stag grinned again. When he finds out what I am, hoo boy, he’s gonna regret those words. He blinked once, and then remembered. No! Stay focused. Your quarry is inside. HE’S the one you want. “We’ll see,” Stag answered, non-commitally shrugging his sculpted shoulders. No! an intruding voice commanded. He wants it - give it to him. Infect them all! Stag just felt like he had been caught cutting class. Sorry, Alpha. There will be time for both. You better remember our deal, the voice warned. Just then, the bouncer opened the velvet rope and unbarred the door, gently motioning for Stag to enter with the other revellers in the line behind him. “You five are next. Have a good night!” As Stag passed him, the bouncer winked at him flirtatously. Stag forgot the bouncer as soon as they were apart. —---- Interior of InfraRED. 20:30 MST. 31-Oct-20XX. REDACTED location. “Great costume, stud! Let me buy you a drink.” Stag had heard this line four times by now, and was no more invested than he was on its first three offers. This time, it came from a little twink who was dressed as the Good Witch in an off-pink tule gown, complete with a star-shaped magic wand and glittering tiara. Stag waved the offer away. “Not interested.” The Good Witch looked puzzled, but tried to entice him by tapping the wand to Stag’s forehead gently. “I want you to be changed for good.” Stag frowned at this deliberately silly act. “Oh, sister, I have been changed. For good. There’s no going back. Piss off before I drop a house on you. You don’t deserve what I have to offer.” The Good Witch looked things unutterable at him in great offense, then turned back to the bar. She silently took her glass, swallowed its entire contents, and replaced the glass on the bar. Stag was looking in the opposite direction when the Good Witch said in a surprisingly masculine voice, “Fuck you, asshole. Guys like you should be eaten by other zombies,” and stormed off. Stag walked away from the bar and toward the dance floor. As the EDM continued to pulse through the club, and the room swarmed with writhing bodies, Stag forced himself to stand in one place and scan the room. His wild appearance had drawn a great deal of attention, and Stag brushed it all off completely, sometimes with a joke, other times with his usual outright asshole remarks. After a few seconds, he beheld his intended victim, cluelessly dancing away on a gogo box. There he is. Beautiful and massive as ever. I’m going to give him such a surprise, and he’ll never see it coming. Like any good predator, Stag just observed the dancer. Watching with devious eyes and a wayward heart. Watching for any weakness, any opening that would give him a signal to act, Stag invented a number of schemes to trap his prey. His blackened eyes never left the muscular dancer. —------ As Spencer continued his gyrations, he suddenly felt like something wasn’t quite right with the world. The music shifted to something that had no percussion track in its first minute, and he momentarily lost the beat. He wiped the sweat from his brow, and then felt a familiar urge. Spencer climbed down from his gogo box, and making sure to swing his hips a little as he walked, he went in the direction of the bathroom. Stag noticed the exit instantly. Recognizing it as his opportunity, he followed Spencer at a distance. As Spencer entered the bathroom, he paid no attention to the skeleton man and the Jedi man making out just inside the doorway. The room smelled of piss and stale pizza and bleach, all mixed into one foul concoction. The stalls, though in good condition, were a covert invitation to gloryhole sex, and Spencer was working, so he went to the trough on the far right wall. Looking down, he observed that it was again filled with ice, sending up a chill that made him frown. Why the fuck do they do this? No one wants to drink piss on the rocks. Then he amended his thought. Well, maybe. Some pig somewhere must like that. Spencer extracted his eye-popping dick from his underwear, and began to relieve himself just as Stag came into the bathroom. The costumed couple left without a word, and Stag was grateful to them for the privacy he would need. Spencer continued his stream, but was getting annoyed that he had filled his bladder, and now couldn’t finish pissing fast enough. Come on, dammit. Every minute I’m in here is a minute I’m not getting cash. Hurry up! He closed his eyes in frustration, hoping a little concentration would force the remaining urine out. Stag silently positioned himself to stand directly behind Spencer, who was completely unaware of someone behind him. He grinned devilishly, savoring the moment. The last drops of piss finally left him, and Spencer lightly sighed with relief. He let the waistband of the underwear snap back to his hips, and made to turn around when something wet and sticky hit his face. “The…! The fuck is this…?!”, he exclaimed, his vision suddenly hazy. Before he could be fully sedated, he equated the view to looking through a window where the rain was so hard you couldn’t see through the running water. Stag spat at Spencer a second time, and the dancer was down for the count in seconds. —------- As Spencer started to come out of the fog, he was aware of a grinding sensation on his lower body. It felt familiar and good, and as he slowly came to the surface of his consciousness, he was also aware of the feeling of cold concrete underneath him, and the muffled sound of the thumping bass in the next room. On my back… Did I fall? The grinding sensation continued, and Spencer felt a comfortable warmth to contrast the hardness of the floor. The room smelled different. Gone were the acrid scents of the bathroom, and replaced with light dust and metal and something he could only describe as a deep red smell. Something masculine. Something rich and bold, not unlike the scents of whisky and tobacco and leather and man musk, all rolled into one. Stickiness was also registering in his mind, but he gave no thought to its source. There was also a weight on top of him, and his feet were elevated in a position he would never find himself in except during… Oh shit… He slowly opened his eyes, and what met his view was not something he expected. Something was fucking him and holding him down with both hands. Something with chemically-formed muscles, and a gargantuan dick, and it showed no signs of slowing down. Stag had dragged the comatose Spencer to the dressing room unobserved by others in the nightclub. No time was wasted in removing what little clothing Spencer had been wearing, and with another dose of spit on the dancer’s hole, he had got to work quickly. Now Spencer was starting to wake up. Neither of them was aware of how much time had passed. “W..What in the absolute fuck are you?” Spencer exclaimed, barely able to get the words out. Stag bared his teeth as he smiled wickedly while continuing to thrust his toxic dick into his victim. “What the hell are you doing to me?”, he demanded next. “Shhh, Spencer,” Stag cooed, “you’re just having a dream. Go back to sleep.” He stroked the man’s skull gently with one clawed hand, as if soothing a child that just woke from a nightmare. “Hhhhhow the fffffffuck… do you know… my name?” Awareness was settling in, and Spencer felt real fear for the first time in his life. To Spencer’s mind, his assailant was a mix between a bull and a man with the features of neither, save for the meaty cock that was tearing his hole apart. An unnaturally dark-skinned man with horns on his head and claws for hands was raping him in his nightclub. He didn’t understand the black eyes or the venomous teeth, or why both had liquid black streaming from those orifices. Nothing about this costume makes sense. “You fell off your gogo box, and hit your head,” Stag continued. “I’m just making you feel good, and giving you a little upgrade as a bonus.” Spencer became aware he was completely naked, save for his baby blue shoes, now elevated above his head, his shoulders pinned against the floor. He raised his head enough to see Stag’s girthy dick, and quickly determined that this was, in fact, not a dream. “No! Stop!” Spencer managed to yell. “Get off me!” “Take it, bitch,” Stag growled without missing a beat or a thrust. “Am I good enough for you now, Spence?” The words had a venomous bite to them, and Stag clearly intended to hurt his victim both physically and verbally. Spencer couldn’t connect the dots, the punishing thrusts of Stag’s infected cock clouding all coherent thought. Spencer never imagined he’d be a rape victim. But the powerful physique captivated his interest, and overrode his morality meter. When his head finally cleared, he was impressed by the bulging muscles of his rapist, and the black veins pushing against the surface of his skin. Stag was sweating like a pig, and thrusting harder with every minute. Spencer gradually became less resistant to the intrusion and the violation of his body, but his rational mind kept invading the moment. This guy seems to know me. Do I know him? Why are you letting this happen, Spence? This is a monster, a demon, and you’re enjoying having sex with it? Are you fucking crazy? HOOOOOOLY FUCK ON A STICK THAT’S HUGE! Stag had withdrawn himself fully, and then penetrated Spencer’s hole with his engorgement with great force. Spencer cried out. Stag licked Spencer’s face with his forked tongue. Spencer saw it coming at him. That’s funny. A tongue like a snake. That’s kinda cool. The chemicals in the saliva worked quickly, and Spencer began to relax again. Ah, that’s the stuff. Like… poppers? How did he do that? With his victim properly sedated just enough to keep him quiet, Stag resumed the infection process. During the first few thrusts, Spencer’s mind was all over the place: he experienced fear, great lust, excitement, and joyous sensations that didn’t match anything he had felt in his entire life. He’d have one hell of a story to tell in the morning. But there was the other side of it - the very act was terrifying, but so erotic and seductive, and beyond all his previous experiences. He thought for sure he was going to die from all the sensations and the terrible pain in his rectum and balls and prostate. That’s it, he thought. I’m done for. Goodbye, perfect body, goodbye perfect health, hello oblivion. But I swear I know this guy. Why can’t I remember? Between the assault on his sexual organs and how quickly this escalated, Spencer couldn’t get his brain to work. A strange yet familiar voice rattled through his head. No thoughts. Just focus on my cock. Stag fucked Spencer without mercy - Stag knew what he was capable of, and he needed a partner who could match his sex drive while already having a great physical headstart. The white hot pain was intense, and Spencer began to have second thoughts. His hands trembled as he tried to push himself upright, panic flooding in fast and unfiltered. His thighs hurt, his back scraped against the cold concrete, and Stag’s massive body loomed above him— black skin catching the light like wet latex. Spencer shoved at his chest. “S-stop— just stop— This is wrong. I don’t want this after all.” Stag didn’t budge. His grip tightened reflexively, overpowering Spencer without effort. The instinct was pure dominance—brutal, unquestioning, physical. He mentally began to try and force Spencer to stay, feeling like with just enough force, he could make Spencer do whatever he wanted with just a thought. Suddenly, Spencer let out a scream as he felt like a vice was squeezing his brain, a small trickle of blood flowing out of his nose. A flood of images slammed into his mind, with what he could swear was his ex’s voice echoing inside his head on repeat. Spencer gasped, tears beginning to flow down his face as fear began overtaking confusion. “STOP! IT HURTS! Get off— please— you’re hurting—” The words and mental feedback hit Stag harder than the physical resistance. His brow furrowed for a fraction of a second, like a wild animal momentarily recognizing it had bitten too deep. The growl in his throat weakened, replaced by something almost conflicted. His thrusts gradually slowed. He stared down at Spencer, lips parted, nostrils flaring. Then the guilt hit—blunt and uncomfortable. This wasn’t how he had imagined this going. Not with screaming. Not with terror. He was supposed to want the gift. Crave it. Break open willingly. And Spencer—Spencer was someone he had cared for before. Stag exhaled slowly, releasing the pressure without pulling away entirely. He shifted his weight so Spencer could breathe again, his hands flattening against the floor beside him instead of pinning his arms. When he spoke, it wasn’t aloud. It slid into Spencer’s skull like heat poured behind the eyes. Babe. You always wanted more than this. Spencer blinked hard, confusion warring with pain and adrenaline. Stag’s voice felt like memory rather than words, flooding synapses directly. Images flickered—unbidden, sharp: Spencer in the mirror, flexing his arms. Always complaining about needing more definition. Countless Google searches for “muscle growth cycle”. Stag walking in and hearing him whispering to himself, “Someday I’ll look like that.” Spencer’s breath hitched. “Stop—don’t— I didn’t say—” He shoved at Stag again, weaker this time. The mental pressure increased—not painful this time, but warm, insidious, sliding beneath the fear like oil. You wanted to be bigger. Stronger. Admired. You wanted everyone to stop and look. More images flooded in: Strip lights illuminating sculpted abs. Hands grabbing him at the club, not for pity flirts but hunger. Stage tips piling up. Cameras pointed at him. The struggle to walk through a doorway without getting hit on either side. Strangers staring in awe in public places. Spencer whimpered, overwhelmed. “That doesn’t mean I want—” Stag leaned closer, his voice now both in Spencer’s mind and in his breath against Spencer’s cheek. “We both know you wanted to be transformed. This is so much better and easier than all those rounds of steroids and bulking and cutting. I’m giving you exactly what you always wanted. Just trust me for once.” The fight faded from Spencer’s limbs. Not because he accepted, but because the promise wrapped itself around his desire like wire—tight, clever, exact. Stag’s guilt softened into confidence. He changed tactics completely. Instead of forcing Spencer down, he slid a hand to the back of Spencer’s head, not to hold him still but to steady him—an anchor rather than a restraint. “I could break you,” Stag murmured, sounding almost apologetic. “I can feel it. Just a hard enough squeeze and you’d be nothing but a mindless meat puppet. But that would ruin what I’m giving you. What I want for both of us to share.” Spencer swallowed hard, adrenaline fading into tremors. “What… what are you giving me?” Stag smiled, slow and certain. Everything you wished you could become. He fed images of Spencer’s skin turning black and shiny, muscles growing upon muscles, just like all the pictures Stag had found in the browser history on Spencer’s laptop when they were dating. His cock turning massive, balls becoming huge like a bull. Being able to shoot neverending streams of black foul cum out of his cock with ease. A proverbial sex demon. Outside, the crowd screamed at a bass drop. Inside, Spencer’s last attempt to crawl away dissolved into something breathless and hungry as Stag let the imagery grow richer, deeper, irresistible: Veins rising under skin, biceps thickening, chest and back growing ever wider. Dancers staring instead of ignoring, photographers chasing him eager to get another shot of his massive muscular body. Crowds chanting his name. A glass case filled with physique trophies. And the impalement of the hottest men in the world with his freakishly large dick. Stag fed Spencer one last image: an oily pair of discarded posing trunks with a large circular button pinned to the waistband, bearing the number 7. Next to them, a hastily-removed pair of combat boots, a half-filled bottle of wine, and a single red rose. Spencer needed no explanation for what that meant. His tears dried. His shaking stilled. He reached for the monster above without realizing he had done it. And began to push his ass back, moaning. Now he understood. This was truly a gift. Stag smiled as he felt the mental changes take root inside Spencer’s head. Things would go much smoother now. And with that, the conversion truly began. It had been so long since Spencer had sex with anyone and actually enjoyed it. The surprise hookup and incredible violation of this person battled in his heart, and lust won out. Spencer grabbed Stag by the horns and stared into his abyssal eyes, getting more into the sex than was probably safe. Screw it - let him keep going. This… this is too good. I’ll complain later. Good thing tomorrow isn’t legs day, or I’d be walking funny. Oh, God, I swear he’s in my second hole. Even my toys at home aren’t this big. Stag's jackhammering cock was tearing Spencer's hole apart, but neither of them cared. Spencer’s breath came shorter and shorter, his eyes rolled back in his head more than a couple times, and what began as hate sex and rape turned to a full-on glorious rectal assault that he didn’t want to end. Stag suddenly stopped his thrusting, and abruptly withdrew himself from Spencer again, and stayed out this time. Both men lay gasping, and Spencer’s vision was hazy. The sedating effect of the spit had long worn off, but the mental coercion had done its part, leaving Spencer wanting more. Spencer stared at the ceiling, gasping for air. Stag pulled down hard on his own scrotum, his hand acting as a cockring, and preventing his load from blowing prematurely. “Why… why did you stop? Did you cum?” Spencer asked, almost breathless. He could already feel the corruption spreading inside him while Stag took a break. “No, I’m too close,” Stag answered him. “Good,” Spencer answered, surprising himself. “I want to keep going. I need you to load me up.” Stag only smirked without looking at Spencer. I can feel it working in him already. He’ll be a fucking monster with all that mass, and what I’m giving him on top of it. But let’s savor the moment. Ten bucks says he’ll thank me in the morning. Spencer’s vision cleared enough for him to give another glance to his breeder. “This is driving me crazy. I have to know - do we know each other?” Stag smirked lightly. “You don’t remember? Think carefully, Spence. You really don’t recognize the sound of my voice in your head?” Try as he might, the name wouldn’t come to him, and Stag’s appearance had changed so much that he couldn’t possibly be recognized by someone Spencer hadn’t thought of in a long time. Out of sight really was out of mind. He had nothing to go on to even guess. After a minute of pondering, he had to admit it. “No clue.” “It’s Bryce. The army guy you decided wasn’t good enough for you, so you just threw him away like an old cum rag.” Spencer raised his head slightly in disbelief, and stared directly at Stag, trying to see the man that he rejected so harshly. “Holy shit… No fucking way!” “Oh, yes fucking way. I’ve been upgraded, and I wanted to show you my improvements,” Stag said wickedly. He sat up, and spread his arms out widely so Spencer could see everything. Spencer was in awe of the creature before him. He remembered someone too lanky and lean with a penchant for asshole behavior. And he couldn’t abide his smoking habit, either. It couldn’t possibly be the same guy. His skin wasn’t this color, and he had none of these body mods, especially not the meat on his bones. He would never have worked so hard to look like this and get me turned on. Way too self-centered. Did he do all this just for me? Spencer couldn’t give voice to his thoughts. The memory and the present reality were just too juxtaposed. But the sex so far had been mindblowing. Spencer had never been fucked like that before, and he was discomfited to realize he needed more from the mutated Bryce. While Spencer processed this, Stag could already see the corruption taking hold in the massive dancer. His toxic precum was working its magic, and Spencer’s skin had a different glow to it. The ice blue eyes were darkening, but still bore traces of the whites, and what little body fat Spencer carried was already starting to burn away. It will be a slow infection, but it’ll hit him hard when I fully empty my balls. Stag crawled back toward Spencer, ready to begin another round. “I will get you there, and I’ll be by your side for all of it. You deserve it. Now raise your legs back up. Time’s a-wasting.” Spencer could only comply, tempted with the prospect of getting bigger, and the hunger for the demon’s cock. He…yes. This. I think this is what I wanted to look like all this time. Why settle for what I am when I can evolve into something better? The temptation to exceed his potential outweighed any negatives, and with that, Spencer’s fate was sealed. “Take it easy this time, okay?” Spencer asked in a light voice. Get big, or die trying, right? Those were his last thoughts before he surrendered to Stag completely.

If I could be a 24/7 cumdump, I would. I'm constantly craving it and I'm definitely a no loads refused boy

let's not get twisted. taking precautions to keep oneself healthy is smart. intentionally risking another persons health secretly/non-consentually is morally wrong. end of. saying anyone who gets bred is taking the risk of being pozzed on himself is = to saying anyone in a sexy outfit deserves to be raped. sorry. stealthing is kinky exactly because the stealther knows it's morally wrong and is getting off on doing something bad. and this is an opinion hill im willing to die on.

Trombeta Baths in Lisbon. Got several BB fucks and loads there

I do too I want it directly from the pussy or cock

I’m in London this Sunday (25th) and can accommodate in my Hotel. No load refused from Vanilla to Kink. Happy to be filmed/streamed.

The Unicorn! Yes. Thanks!

Bert Kreischer

Pretty sure I'm a sex addict.

I hope you write more soon!

Hey man, Middle TN here...also looking for friends in the area. DM me if you want.

I see the terms Wataa and Chudai used on social media posts and was hoping to see a definition here.

Keep going, I want to read more!

Freddy Mercury

Wow, there are some I haven't heard for a long time and a bunch I've never heard.

All ways wanted to be a raw bottom cum dump for a group, can travel to most places Just a message away

I didnt realize there where so many terms, I guess being in the south I don’t see a lot of those terms.

Couple of my kinks now can easily be traced back to when I was like 12. I would often piss into a glass and try and drink it, and I loved being naked, especially outdoors. I'd take my pyjamas off so I slept naked and put them back on in the mornings so my parents didn't catch me, and I'd sneak out into the back garden, get naked, and lie down in the grass and wank myself off. I'd also sneak out the front door and go walking round town at night, normally shirtless, hoping to find someone who would take my virginity. Also when I went cycling I'd sometimes go off a footpath or something, strip and have a wank. I distinctly remember doing this on the hottest day of the year when I was 15, going just off a footpath not too far from mine and finding tree that gave a good amount of shade. I completely stripped down and spent like half the day rolling round in the dry dirt wanking myself off. Then I got home to discover my hamster had died, and I was still agnostic/ sort of believed in god, and felt really guilty as I thought it was my fault cause of what I'd been doing! Wasn't much later I stopped thinking like that though lol.

You are definitely not alone. I think there is a most likely many factors. I started young and with my step father. This as well as becoming hiv positive at a young age etc. are definitely things to look at. At this point in my life it has k not gotten in the way of my happiness so I just go with it.