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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey, pigs. Here begins Season 2 of "The Master Pathogen". Expect a new episode every Friday from us. We appreciate your sticking with the story, and the Christmas Special. Happy reading! (And wanking, as the case may be.) Without further adieu.... ------------------------ Chapter 21: A New Kind of Army Clearview University Medical - Dumpf Tower, basement. 19:44 MST. 31-Oct-20XX. REDACTED location. In 1874, the prominent Prussian-based Dumpf family built a hospital and convalescence center for survivors of the American Civil War. At the time, it was considered revolutionary and shined like a new penny, but as the decades rolled on, the structure began to weaken and show its age. Rooms felt cramped, as 19th century patients had no experience with big medical equipment that began to fill hospitals in the 20th century; ceilings were often too low, it became outdated, and big building construction technology had improved considerably since its founding. By mid-century, the plumbing needed to be gutted entirely and replaced with non-lead pipes, but the walls were filled in with asbestos and other material that is now considered hazardous. The state refused to let go of the facility, and in the later half of the 20th century, the Dumpf Medical Tower was under seemingly constant renovation. One area would be fixed only for another to need attention, and it was much like chasing roaches around a slum. Among the many problems with the decaying hospital were regular issues of black mold, faulty plumbing and water leaks, frequent electrical problems, an antique elevator that always seemed to be out of service, and a crumbling foundation. Financial needs also became an issue, due to the expense of constant upkeep of the building, and Clearview University stepped in to give the place some measure of support to keep running. It was renamed Clearview University Medical Dumpf Tower to show this support to the public, but the locals still referred to it by its old name. Several investors also pledged to donate different wings, but only two were built in the years that followed: the Schott wing, a secure wing for mental health patients, and the Gussler wing for pediatrics. Clearview subsidized these building projects as well, and the name remained attached to the new places. By the 21st century, the building was considered “vintage art deco”, but a rising water table on the site forced the county to find a new permanent home. Finally, a new medical facility broke dirt early in the decade for what would become Clearview University Medical. Millionaire Robert Steighn contributed hugely to the fund for the construction project, and a wing of the hospital was named for his family. But the Dumpf Tower remained, providing healthcare for very specific needs, and was eventually abandoned within a few years. While preservationists worked round the clock on getting Dumpf Tower a historic landmark status to prevent a total demolition, medical professionals and patients alike appreciated the shiny new facility, which had none of the difficulties of the crumbling old hospital. Dumpf Tower became a cold relic that only collected dust and cobwebs. Despite being initially saved for storage, Clearview didn’t see the value in keeping the place operational insofar as the heating and working plumbing. In this space, the Alpha and his converts had relocated their base of operations. A perfect place to hide out until a more permanent situation became available. The soldiers and scientists, worn out from their abrupt move and the orgies, had slept most of the day. Night had fallen, and as they were waking from their slumber, the Alpha came into what was formerly a cafeteria, now stripped completely of furniture and fixtures, save for a single large chair perched upon a naturally-occuring rise in the floor. It would serve as a dais for the Alpha to oversee his team, and he came in with a somewhat guilty look on his face. “Apologies for the delay,” the Alpha explained without being asked. “A few loose ends needed tying up. Our prisoner has been sedated and locked in the Schott wing, and we can now proceed without interference.” “Welcome back, boss,” Stag said warmly. “You’re looking particularly sinister tonight.” Gravestone only looked at him with distaste. A little early in the night to be licking boots, Stag, don’t you think. “Are you all ready for a night of chaos? Tonight we make our move,” the Alpha asked, calmly but cold, clapping his hands once, commanding. Gravestone was the first to answer. “Yes, Alpha, but we are starving. This place has no food or running water. We need to do something about it.” Lockjaw quickly appeared at his side, stroking his floppy cock all the while. “We can’t fuck on an empty stomach. Feeding off each other’s loads can go on for only so long.” The Alpha only stared back at them, silently weighing his options. When he finally spoke, the darkness of the room seemed to bend around him. “You’re right. We feed, like any predator. Nothing less.” Stag snickered. “Alpha, if I may. I’ve got a great idea. Let’s just Doordash everything, and recruit the delivery driver as well. Make it a full-on gangbang. He’ll never see it coming.” His smartassed comment actually raised a short, sharp laugh from the others in the room, but the Alpha only raised an eyebrow in response. That’s pretty fucked up, Stag. Buuuuuuut… The Alpha pursued his lips, and shook his head. “No, we’ll do better than that. I like that you’re thinking with your dick, but it’s too passive for my taste. I was thinking of something more aggressive and active. We’ll take what we need directly.” “What do you have in mind, Alpha?” Lockjaw enquired. “We will go out and get supplies. Men of Black Sigma, you are the best-suited to this task, and will serve as our First Strike team. Sticks and Lockjaw, you will pay a visit to the Mega Mini-Mart on 32nd and Broadway. Take Patch and Pixel as backup, and carry whatever food you can bring back here. Get enough for a few days.” Pixel turned his head to Lockjaw, and then back to the Alpha. “Alpha, none of us have any money on us to buy anything. Do you want us to steal?” The Alpha gazed out over his team from his elevated rise. “Your greatest weapon is within you. Use it. Silence those who oppose us, and dominate the weak. If they survive, they are worthy, and can be made to join us. Do not bring substandard specimens on, but recruit the best you find. Only the worthiest. All of you are charged with this task.” The many smilers nodded silently. The worthiest, huh? Stag thought. I know just the one, and he’ll never see it coming. Stag’s chest heaved as he inhaled deeply at the exciting thought of spreading the infection. “What are we going to wear?” Patch asked. “We can’t go around the city completely naked. Some of us brought our military fatigues, but others like Zero or some of the older brothers don’t have a stitch of clothing on them.” “He’s right,” Lockjaw confirmed. “And with our physical improvements, people will certainly see us as we are.” The other smilers murmured in agreement. The Alpha wasn’t expecting this level of resistance and questioning from his new recruits. “Did you forget it’s Halloween night? This is a lucky coincidence - if done right, the ‘normal people’ will just think you have an elaborate costume. But you do raise a valid point, we can’t go around naked. It’s too high profile, and public nudity isn’t legal here. Much easier to work in stealth and not draw unwanted attention. Gravestone, advance.” “Alpha?” Gravestone stepped forward, and instinctively snapped at attention as a soldier should. Shit, I haven’t done that since before my promotion to ‘commander’. Not even for Krell. The Alpha smirked with approval. He’s accepted it. Very good. “You, Zero, and Beau will pop into the clothing stores downtown. Grab whatever you can that might fit, but not for yourselves. These will be for the men I personally converted. Except for Stag.” Fuck you, Alpha, Stag thought defiantly. Leaving me out? Then Stag remembered his own gear was stashed away, brought over when they changed hideouts. “What about the rest of us?” Garrett asked while shifting his weight. “Some of you will stay here with me,” the Alpha continued. “We need to keep our guest restrained, and I would not have him get away before we’re done with him. I want this to be a covert operation, so no side-trips or going back home. And don’t fucking kill anyone. That’s high profile. No converting women, either. Oh, Stag, go find us a water supply. The plumbing here was turned off after they all moved to the new hospital, so we must have something to drink. I can’t piss down your throats on an empty bladder.” “You got it, boss,” Stag answered with too much enthusiasm. He had no intention of following orders. Finding water is work for one of these other pissants. I’ve got bigger fish to fry. And I do mean “bigger”!, he thought with a deviant smirk. The Alpha, having heard this thought, eyed Stag suspiciously, but did not answer him back. “You have your orders. Now get dressed, and get ready for a night of hell on earth,” the Alpha concluded, taking a seat on his makeshift throne. “You there,” he said, snapping his clawed fingers once. “Get over here, and nurse my cock.” A smiler who was wearing only one shoe silently drew near the Alpha, fell on his knees, and wrapped his lips around the deeply infected dick. The recruits got dressed, but some of them found that their old clothes which they had worn comfortably a day ago were now almost too tight. Patch’s uniform was quickly discarded by him, and the baggy pants got passed to Stag, who found them a little too short, but his newly-formed muscular quads filled out the rest nicely. As the soldiers and scientists passed misfitting clothes between them, only Sticks, Patch, and Garrett had a complete ensemble at the end of it. Others were topless, or wearing shirts too small for their large, distended frames. One smiler was completely naked, nothing available fitting him at all, and another found himself standing in boots two sizes too large. He clomped around the floor in them, much like a small child trying on his father’s shoes and making a joke of it. The Alpha ignored the annoying sounds, and focused only on the pleasure he was receiving from the smiler on his knees. He closed his eyes, and sent out a message to all his followers. Go now. Find food, and recruit. Bring a new friend back with you. His head raised slightly as he remembered something important. He focused on Zero, who was uncomfortably standing idle and waiting for his commander to lead him, until he had the soldier’s attention. Zero, come here. Only you can hear my voice right now. You were not naturally made one of us. Prove your loyalty. Zero approached the Alpha quietly, expecting he would have to perform oral sex on him when the other smiler was finished. I do not trust Stag to stay on mission. When you can, break away from the others and follow him in secret at a respectable distance. Stop him if he means to betray us. —--- Elias and Trevor’s apartment. 31-Oct-20XX. 19:52 MST. REDACTED LOCATION. Elias’s head began to ache again. Then the mysterious voice came into his head from seemingly nowhere. His eyes had been closed, his head resting back on the cushion on the couch, and when the voice appeared, he raised his head and snapped his eyes open at once. “Holy shit,” he said with awful realization. “They’re mobilizing for Halloween night.” How the hell do I know that? Am I becoming… telepathic? Elias forced himself up from the couch, pushing his headache aside. “I’ve got to do something,” he said with desperation. “I can’t just sit here and let this happen.” He put his shoes on, grabbed a light jacket, and put his water glass in the sink. Shoving his hands into the pockets of the jacket, he found his keys. Then he raised his face to the ceiling as he processed a new thought. What do you think you’re going to do, Eli?, he thought. Do you even know where they’re going? No one’s going to believe you if you try to warn them. ‘Halloween shenanigans’, remember? He sighed with frustration as he discovered there wasn’t anything he could possibly do to prevent the smilers from spreading the infection and wreaking havoc. He sat back on the couch, trying to think of locations where the smilers might go, and how he might intervene if he encountered them. He cast his eyes to the window, and saw only darkness without. They could have done this at any time. Why wait til nightfall? Because they’ll be harder to spot? He closed his eyes once, trying to get his mental gears turning. But Elias came up empty. I don’t know where they will be. Not even a clue to get me started. May as well just sit here and think. He considered calling Tex, but he doubted he would have any guesses, either. Elias was wracked with indecision. No! You must go out, and infect, too! You’re part of the team, like it or not. Go NOW!, the mysterious intruding voice commanded. Whoever you are, fuck off! I’m not doing your dirty work. Elias shot back. Tell me who you are! The voice didn’t answer, but Elias imagined its source laughing at him. “If you’ve got nothing else to say, then we have nothing to discuss,” he said aloud without realizing until he’d said it. “Get out of my head!” Elias felt a bestial growl welling up inside him. “Nobody’s controlling me!” He jumped to his feet, and decided. I’m going out, but not to be part of the chaos. They must be stopped. We can start with downtown. Better go out prepared. Elias marched with determination to the bedroom, his heart pounding in his ears, and instantly went to the closet. He took down a small metal box, and after inserting the key, he opened it. Pulled out a small revolver, and checked the barrel. No bullets. Elias opened a second metal box containing only ammunition, and with shaking hurried hands, he struggled to load the weapon. Eventually the bullets went in, and he closed the chamber. Something stronger than tranq darts this time, he thought as he inserted the last one. Setting the loaded revolver down gently, Elias took a shoulder holster down from the shelf, and put it on, then placed the gun into it. He promptly put on the jacket over it, knowing his concealed carry license and active duty made it okay to go out armed. Elias then tried to send out his own telepathic message to its unknown source as he went back to the front room. Whoever the fuck you are, consider this my desertion. If you want me so badly, you’ll have to get to me first. I’m not part of your army, and I won’t fight for you. Elias was equally surprised when he got a response of dark laughter. We’ll just see about that. You’ve already recruited one. You won’t be able to resist getting another. A shudder went through Elias’s full body as he realized the voice was right. An angry fire began to grow in his heart, and it was matched by an urge to fuck anyone unlucky enough to cross his path. It would be so much easier if you just cooperated. So much more pleasurable for you. “It would, wouldn’t it,” Elias answered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. His burner phone suddenly rang, causing him to jump with alarm. “Hey, it's me,” Tex said in almost a panic. “I just watched Dr. Grant get kidnapped by a smiler! I tried to chase after them, but these fuckers are fast!” “You've gotta be shitting me,” Elias said incredulously. “What happened?” “He was acting weird when we closed up at the camp, so I tailed him. He went to a corner store and bought some flowers, and then he took them to the cemetery. He was… visiting someone. A friend, I think.” “Are you there now?” Elias asked. “Yep,” Tex answered. “I kept my distance, but he knew I was there the whole time.” Tex stopped for a breath. “Eli. He knows who we are. He saw last night’s mission brief, and outright accused you and me of lying to our superiors, and he knows we were there.” Elias knew this was bad news, but surely not the end of it. Tex continued, “He knows my codename, and knows we escaped the quarantine. And all of a sudden, this figure descended on him, and spirited him away. It looked like a smiler. I think they are looking for him, too. There's no way that was accidental.” “Shit,” Elias whispered. “Stay there and out of sight. I'm on my way.” Elias dashed out the door, slamming it without meaning to in the process. His footsteps were heavy, and echoed loudly as he charged toward the stairs, causing a neighbor to poke her head out a door. “Hey, where’s the fire?”, she demanded. Elias didn’t bother to answer her, and hit the door at the bottom with all his bodyweight. It made a loud sound as the two collided, and Elias was out in the autumn night in under a minute. Elias practically sprinted to his car, and jumped in. He shoved the key into the ignition with a little more force than was needed, and as soon as the engine turned over, he put the car in reverse, and backed out of his usual parking spot in a flash. Then the car zoomed out of the neighborhood, completely ignoring any speed zone rules. — The first thing Clark Grant noticed when he came back to himself was the smell. Old antiseptic. Rust. Damp plaster. That unmistakable rot that settled into abandoned buildings long after the last human breath had left them. It clung to the back of his throat, thick enough that swallowing felt like work. He opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn’t. The ceiling above him sagged, cracked tiles yellowed with age and water damage. A fluorescent light buzzed weakly, flickering just enough to keep him from forgetting where he was. Hospital. Or what remained of one. His wrists were bound to the metal rails of the bed—too loose to hurt, too tight to ignore. “No,” he breathed, the word leaving him before he could stop it. Not here. Memory surged back in fragments: the graveyard, cold mud soaking through his shoes, headstones looming like crooked teeth. The sudden pressure at his back. Hands—strong, deliberate—guiding him down, not rough, not gentle. Certain. Then darkness. Clark tried to sit up. The bed creaked in protest, chains rattling softly. His pulse spiked, not with fear, but with a sharp, burning anger that settled into his chest like a live coal. Of all places. His gaze drifted, unwillingly, to the far wall. The peeling paint. The rusted IV stand. The old heart monitor shoved into a corner like trash. He knew this room. He had memorized every flaw in it once, had sat here counting cracks in the wall while pretending not to watch the life drain out of the man he loved. “You son of a bitch,” Clark muttered. The door opened. Not slammed. Not creaked. It opened smoothly, as if the building itself obeyed him. The Alpha stepped inside. He looked wrong in the room—not out of place, but too present. Like the walls had bent around him to make space. His posture was relaxed, hands loose at his sides, expression calm in a way that made Clark’s teeth grind. “Well,” the Alpha said mildly. “You’re finally awake.” Clark barked out a laugh, sharp and humorless. “You drag me out of a graveyard and dump me in a fucking corpse of a hospital, and that’s your opener?” The Alpha smiled. It wasn’t cruel. That somehow made it worse. “You were difficult to catch,” he replied. “I don’t enjoy chasing. Or maybe I do. I haven’t decided yet.” “Let me go,” Clark snapped. He pulled against the restraints again, metal biting into his skin. “You don’t get to do this. Not here. Anywhere but here.” “Yet here you are, Clark.” Clark’s vision blurred for just a second. He forced it back into focus, jaw tightening. “You always were a bastard,” he said. “Always. Even before all of this. You think I don’t see it? Think I don’t know what you are?” The Alpha tilted his head, studying him with something like curiosity. “And what am I, Doctor Grant?” “A coward,” Clark shot back. “A control freak hiding behind fear. You take what you want and dress it up like destiny.” The Alpha chuckled softly and stepped closer. The air felt heavier with every pace he took, pressure settling over Clark’s skin, his lungs, his thoughts. Clark refused to look away. “You put me in this room on purpose,” Clark continued, voice shaking now despite himself. “You knew exactly what you were doing. You think this will break me? That I’ll beg for you to let me go?” The Alpha stopped at the foot of the bed. His smile didn’t falter. “No,” he said gently. “I think you’ll remember every last detail.” Clark snarled, straining forward. “You don’t get to talk about him. You don’t get to use this place like some sick leverage. I saved lives. I watched him die in this room. You don’t get to—” The Alpha leaned in close enough that Clark could see the faint glow in his eyes, feel the hum of something ancient and vast just beneath his calm exterior. “When you feel like cooperating,” the Alpha said quietly, “I’ll come back.” He straightened, turning toward the door. “Until then,” he added, glancing back over his shoulder, “consider this… a reminder of what happens when you refuse to accept what you are.” The door closed behind him with a soft, final click. Clark lay there, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling as the light flickered overhead. The room pressed in on him, heavy with memory, grief, and something darker still. Slowly—carefully—his breathing evened out. “Idiot,” he whispered to the empty room. Because the Alpha thought he’d brought him here to break him. And Clark Grant would never tell him how wrong he was.

Exactly!

Thank you @PozToxVersPig for compiling this. This is very helpful…. Also highlights potential confusion with people depending on what communities they may be in (highlighting the need to be “bilingual” as it were ….) they key word I found was “party play” … where a lot of guys (especially some on this site) might think that it was the combination of bdsm play and drugs (which is often referred to as “partying” or “parTying”) so with that - best to be clear what you mean.

Favorite positions to bottom is missionary, using my hips to direct the cock directly on my cum button — being on top is good to get worked up, but it’s harder for me to shoot hands free if I have to think about riding… being on the bottom missionary lets me close my eyes and focus on the build up inside my ass and cum hands free.

add my name to the list - love WS 🐷

I cum 3-4 times a day so usually not much of a mess… if I’m home a lot of times I jack into a pair of briefs I’ve shot hundreds of loads in or just on my belly. Never wipe it off, love feeling it dry up

I have a very sensitive prostate — usually have a hands free wet orgasm after five or so minutes when getting fucked. immediately leak tons of precum soft, then get rock hard right before shooting. Extremely intense orgasm compared to when I top. prefer average length (5”) with girth and a curve…. The ridge of the head scraping my prostate on the pull out and then pushing back against it is a Surefire way for me to make a huge mess in my jockstrap. almost always wear a jock when bottoming so the top doesn’t touch my cock, and I love how gay I feel knowing that I cum from being fucked. Probably that psychological headspace of being so gay I can cum from being fucked is what pushes me over the edge!

2nd one is a vintage Michael Phelps pic. I know he's retired now

The web site is back working but some of the videos that were uploaded in last few days the sound is off 😩

I really love your story tell and build up to what we all want to read LOL.

2 for 1 💦! [think before following links] https://barebackbastards.com/93586/alpha-top-breeds-two-pnp-cumdumps-in-a-gay-sauna/

Always loved the smell, so gave water sports a try and almost immediately was swallowing. Now I love drinking from the tap as often as I can!!

Excellent point there, a "non-formidable" person was responsible for the downfall of Thatcher. I think you just decided to say as many nonsensical things as possible to make the other person give up and go away, a lot like Angela No-Brayner.

Counting apps! Tally’s it up all yeah long

No she was definitely being homophobic. Chavs hate gays (and most things to be honest), Angela Rayner is a chav. You don't know anything about how UK "culture" works and you're telling me what she was and wasn't saying. She was saying "stop saying the truth, saying truths I don't want to hear makes you a "right homo, mate". But just like..... to pretend your version is the truth .In the 13 months that have passed since the "man" made this post. Has anybody been able to actually explain why Rayner or anyone else would want to go around sounding like a 1950s private detective, who says "listen here, you fruit!". According to leftists she supposedly lives in a "multicultural 21st century city" etc. Why the Humphrey Bogart impression? Why would anyone wanna do that? (I know the answer's no, you can't explain...)