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Dear Poz Master, I drop to my worthless knees in total reverence and write this open letter with my pathetic neg hole still leaking your toxic seed, thanking you from the depths of my depraved faggot soul for the supreme honor of being brutally poz-raped by your godlike cock. Every vicious thrust you slammed into me was pure ecstasy for you and pure agony for this useless, piss-and-cum-stained beta pig. I hope you savored every muffled scream that vibrated around your thick meat as you pinned my worthless body down and raped my tight neg cunt raw, laughing at how my hole clenched in terror while your deadly HIV strain flooded my guts. Please, my Poz God, spit directly into my open mouth and across my tear-streaked face while you pound me even harder, growling what a disgusting, AIDS-deserving faggot I am. Tell me how my eventual full-blown infection and slow, agonizing demise turns you on more than anything. Yank my soaked, reeking undies down to my ankles, shove my face into the mattress and order this pathetic depraved pig to arch my back and present my smooth, pink neg hole like the eager AIDS-bait it is. “Take it, Master—ruin me forever,” I’ll whimper as you mount me and breed me with that lethal poz load. I am nothing but a brainless, cum-hungry meat sleeve who deserves every burning stretch, every gut-wrenching slam, every howl of pain that rips from my throat while you rape my hole and my guts. Your virus is already swimming through my blood, claiming me, and I am so fucking grateful. I want to hear you grunt with pleasure every time my body convulses under you, knowing the gift you’re planting will eventually destroy me. When I finally test poz, I will crawl to your door on all fours and beg to worship at your altar. I’ll lay a pillow on the floor so my worthless knees can properly honor you, my Poz God, and I will spend hours licking every inch of your massive, muscular body—tongue bathing your sweat-slick chest, your rock-hard abs, your powerful thighs, your heavy poz balls, and that magnificent death-dealing cock that ruined me. I will look up at you with pure devotion and declare: “My soul and my hole belong to you for eternity, Master. Use me however you wish in this life and the next. I am your eternal slave, your cum-dump, your AIDS toy.” I hope you and Taggart keep passing my broken body back and forth like a cheap piece of fuck-meat. No safewords, ever. Rape me in every hole while I scream and sob; laugh at my howls of agony as you both spit in my face and call me the pathetic, useless faggot I am. Bring in other toxic tops too—different strains, stronger strains—so the meds will fail and this beta sub will waste away faster, my immune system collapsing under the weight of your combined poison. I accept it all. My suffering is your pleasure. My pain is your entertainment. My slow death is your trophy. Please keep poz-raping this pink neg hole whenever the urge strikes you, Master. Listen to my muffled moans of agony turn into broken, grateful whimpers while you flood me again and again. My body, my hole, my life—everything belongs to you. Tell me how else this pathetic faggot can serve his Poz God. I live only to please you, to worship you, to be destroyed by you. Forever your grateful, AIDS-bound cum-pig, Your devoted neg-to-poz slave

With my cousin. We were both 13. Will never forget that night. No, he didn´t cum in my mouth. That was some years later.

Chapter 4 - Baiting the Hook It became something of a process. Jordan made profiles and then he deleted them. Each with a different number or later name, each just a little more daring than the last. Exposing a little more about himself, finding sexy pics to post, writing about how he wanted to find a cruel dom daddy, maybe a bunch of cruel dom Daddies. Nobody had really responded until he started posting pics. Then they did - then they told him just what they wanted to do to him and that was sooooooo much fun!!! Sometimes a single line and sometimes huge long rants about how they'd take him and tie him up and destroy his tight little virgin hole. How they'd film it all and sent it to all of his contacts on his phone. How they'd destroy him. Just thinking about it was so exciting! You quickly found out that if you wanted [banned word] you had come to the right place. One guy had wanted to dress him up as a baby and then crap on him. No thanks!!! Also what was it about feet? I mean each to his own and no doubt feet could be fun but he knew now that there were way more exciting ideas out there and there were many rather more adventurous deviants who could just push Jordan's buttons the way he liked his buttons to be pressed. He stored such ideas away in his mind - thought all the time of just how it would be to live them for real. He had great fun teasing the BZ men with his specially selected pics and his posts, public AND private! But then someone would recognise a photo and angrily call him out on it or someone would try to get a little bit too insistent about meeting in real life. Jordan would get scared again and would delete his profile. The mods got used to him begging them to delete the pics he had posted and they always did. Every time, every time, he would swear to himself that it was the last time. Every time, every time, he would be back after a few days usually but that last time it was two or three months. He tried his best, he really did, he knew the dangers of discovery and the even deeper, darker, dangers of letting himself go too far. The BZ men were good about that. They never tried to hide just what they wanted to do to him. It wasn't their fault that he found so many of their ideas so enticing, so tempting, so more-ish. Besides he wanted to read those stories again - especially the one about the ruined boi bride. The moment the boi found out all of the men there to fuck him were Poz, had come just to destroy his boi pussy and ruin him beyond repair. Fuck that was soooo HOOOOOTTTTTT!!!!! He loved the fact the femboy was called Jordyn - that was almost HIS name! Maybe that was why the story resonated so much - why he had lived it so often in his dreams - why he wanted to live it for real in the darkest, strongest, areas of his consciousness. Why it was so dangerous for young Jordan Myers and why it was so utterly irresistible. So in June he made his fresh account and he really thought about it this time. First, he wanted a name and not a number. Three words had been colliding in his brain again and again over the last three long months away from the BZ. He mashed them together to make his new online persona, 'BoiFagBarbie.' That was so fun and so perfect for teasing all those dirty old men on the forum! He wished he was brave enough to put his real picture up. His cute pretty face, nicely made up, his slim pale body and especially his perfect little virgin boi pussy. He knew that they would love that and he knew it would inspire them. They'd tell him all their filthy ideas and he SOOOOOOOOOOO lived for that! He didn't do it of course. He couldn't risk being found out - even while he desperately yearned for the moment when everyone knew the real Jordan Myers, the filthy deviant little boi slut that he really was. His classmates, the church congregation, the townsfolk and especially, especially, his parents. They all needed to know - but he was scared and he knew he couldn't be that brave. If only someone would just take charge - like in the story. But that wasn't going to happen. He knew that. Previously, of course, he had found pictures that he found hot and that he knew the men on the site would like too. However, he wasn't dealing with just any forum here. Private Messages told him that they knew that he had 'borrowed' the pictures. These men knew their porn, were connoisseurs of fine young boi flesh. Posting up a borrowed image was OK but you wouldn't ever get ALL of their attention unless you put up the real thing. That posed problems but not the obvious one. The pictures he had chosen were indeed as similar to himself as he could find. He was a young man and his youthful looks meant he could still pass easily for eighteen and he was handsome, or rather he was pretty in an undeniably cute way, while he had a perfect pale complexion free of blemishes or imperfections. If you wanted an image of a young beautiful boi just aching to be corrupted then you couldn't find a much more perfect image than himself. The problems posed were not his inability to attract the attention of the men he wanted, not a fear that he would not excite them. He had seen others on the forum attract a lot of attention when they were not one fraction as hot as he knew he was. Instead, it was that simple fear of discovery. He'd never break through that all by himself. So pics were tricky but he could write and one day, left alone, he sat down and began to do just that. He wrote and he wrote and he wrote, feeling such joy at being able to put down just how he felt onto paper, or rather onto his screen. He read it through and nodded. Then he read it again and again and again until he thought it was perfect. Until it truly represented exactly who Jordan Myers REALLY was. He thought up a nice thread title that would attract just the sort of men he wanted to take notice of him. 'Self Destructive VIRGIN fagdoll with MAJOR Daddy Issues'. That should get some attention! Then he paused and really thought about whether he wanted to post it. He used the time to hunt into the recesses of the web looking for a new profile pic. He wasn't quite sure even how he got to that particular site but suddenly he saw the perfect pic and he knew he recognised the beautiful young boy in it. It was the Russian boy from that original video! The one that looked REALLY like him! It was perfect and he saved it and a few others from the same place. He didn't know when the picture was taken of course. Before the boy had been fucked and pozzed by the two men or after? He was pretty sure the answer was 'before'. That picture might even have been the thing to draw the two men's attention. It might have led to that other image of the beautiful boy, covered in spit and sperm, his boi pussy gaping and wrecked and filled with Poz seed. Jordan found the idea incredibly exciting. Such a cute little image had led to the boy being ruined and that made it perfect for his profile pic. So he made it just that. His thread title and his new profile pic were sooooooo perfect! It made it impossible to even think of chickening out now. He made his new thread and then copied the whole, incredibly nasty, piece he had written and pasted it into the forum submission box. A deep breath and he submitted the post and saw it appear on the public forum. He was a boi on a mission now. He gathered up the rest of the pics he had found, even daringly found the one experimental pic he had taken months ago of his own cute perfect bubble butt, then posted the lot to an album on his profile. What could he call it? It came to him in a flash. 'Virgin Fagdoll 4 Mean POZ Daddies.' He was really on a roll now. Let no-one say Jordan Myers couldn't do marketing! Suddenly the moment passed. Terror flooded through his veins and he wanted to delete all he had posted again but this time he fought the impulse and instead closed his machine and just let things wait until the next time he was alone and could seen any responses. That evening he was sat on his bed, naked and stroking his little pink penis between two fingers. There had been a lot of responses. He seemed to have attracted the attention of lots of men that wanted to fuck him, even if rather too many had that 'Neg' status indicated. His fantasies had dominated his brain for so long that 'Neg' was rather a turn-off nowadays. A Poz status just naturally went with the sort of experienced, perverted, Daddy Dom Master of his fantasies. Well, aim high - right!!! The public responses were almost all one-liners. Some were almost worshipping his cuteness. He didn't want that - he needed someone to ruin him! Hadn't they read his fucking piece at all! Didn't they see his album was subtitled, 'Born to be RUINED'! He was here to find a Dom Master to degrade him not a cute boyfriend to cherish him. He felt his little penis shrink and soften back into its regular status as a dicklet. Then he saw the notification. He saw its words and in that instant his little penis, useless as it basically was, became hard as a rock. 'We've been waiting for you!' A private message from an account named '730 Boi Wrecka.' Below that name the word 'Poz' and then 'Not on Meds'. Fuck yeah - that was more like it! The profile name was hot enough but those words, 'We've been waiting for you!' The message that first lured the virgin boi bride to his destruction in the story he loved so much! He felt the blood pumping through his veins, felt the excitement in every part of his young body. He opened the message. 'I been reading your posts and also posts from certain deleted accounts that have that 'BoiFagBarbie' flavor. You say you are looking for a certain kind of man. Well you found him. I can arrange EVERYTHING you been talking about. I got my name for a reason - you won't be my first time to the dance. You maybe got more ambitious notions than most but I can meet them. Meet them and a lot more.' 'So are you fronting like some of them pics or are you for real and who are you? You see there's three kinds of young faggots here.' 'First - there's them that turn up, front awhile and then get chicken shit. They delete their account and try to forget it ever even happened. Try to go back to being what they was and still could return to be - a nice young man, a credit to their parents.' 'Then there's them that enjoy the forum, enjoy the community, enjoy the illicit little danger of even being here. But do anything like that - fuck no. They might talk about it all day and every day but they way too smart to burn their fingers that bad. They can have fun here for years.' 'Then there's the little faggy fembois unlucky, or lucky, enough to get the attention of a certain kind of man. They get what they deserve. They get totally fucked up. With no mercy and no way back.' 'So which one are you 'BoiFagBarbie'? I'm only interested in the third kind - the dumb little faggot sluts on the road to ruin. Convince me you are worth my time. So no-one is in any doubt tell me just EXACTLY what you want done to you. Then - if you impress me and I agree to make the arrangements - tell me what you are willing to do to make it worth my time.' '730 Boi Wrecka' *** If anyone had deliberately tried to bait a hook for a naive little would-be femboy slut like Jordan Myers then he couldn't have picked a better strategy. But then this was a man who had done this before and who understood just how horny little sissies like Jordan thought. You didn't get to ruin as many young faggots as this man had without understanding such things. A dumb little cunt like Jordan might have felt he was nice and safe teasing the BZ men but all the while he was just being set up to take the lure. Only one person here was the hunter and only one person here was the prey. '730 Boi Wrecka' had baited the hook and now he waited for the little slut to bite. That first answer was always the vital moment. Once they responded to him, if they were worth it, he was always skilled enough to land them. From that moment they were pretty much doomed. *** Jordan Myers looked at his screen. He couldn't really believe it. How long had he dreamed and fantasized about just this? He only had to respond. He really wanted to respond. But was he brave enough and what could he say?

I most DEFINITELY want footage if it ever happens! Preferably from 2 or 3 cameras. Get all the angles!

Love to hear more of your adventures

happiest when filled with a stranger’s cum

Stunning

I met this guy Steve at one of the gay bars through a mutual acquaintance and we hit it off pretty quickly and were flirting pretty heavy throughout the night. He was out with some friends and eventually they went off to another bar while he stayed chatting with me. Eventually he invited me back to his apartment which was only a few blocks away from the bar, he gave the rational of drinking for cheaper, but we both knew it was for more. We got inside and he asked me what I wanted. I was feeling bold so I just went up to him and kissed him. We made out for a minute and then he pulled me into his bedroom. We both stripped completely naked with him revealing a meaty 7 inch cut cock with a slight upward curve. He pushed me back on the bed and he got on top of me, his cock mashing up against my 6 inch cut cock. We kissed like that for a bit with our tongues dueling each other. He eventually kissed his way down my neck, chest, and stomach and took my cock in his mouth, gently sucking it. After a few minutes he rolled over on his back and I returned the favor, taking his cock into my mouth and pleasuring him. After a couple minute of that I laid down next to him on my back with my cock in my right hand and his in my left and slowly stroked us both. He grabbed a bottle of lube from his bedside table and lubed up both our cocks as I continued to stroke us both. After a couple minutes he rolled on top of me and started heavily making out. Our lubed dicks were sliding against each other again as he was gently thrusting his hips. He pulled back on one thrust and his cock slipped between my legs and started rubbing along my crack. I felt the bare head connect with my hole and he started a steady pressure pushing at it. I was in my early twenties at the time and was mostly topping, so I hadn't even prepared for bottoming. Also, I was insisting on guys using condoms so I could stay STI free. "You're gonna need a condom for that," I told him. "No problem," he said, and started looking through the drawer in his bedside table. After a few moments he said "fuck, I thought I had some." He got back on top of me and started kissing me again. Even though I wasn't bottoming much at the time I was hella horny and this guy had a great dick and I was kinda hoping he would fuck me. "Can I put it in just for a minute?" He asked me, his cock once again teasing my hole. "That's really risky," I told him. "I know but you're ass is so fucking hot," he said. "Let me just feel it for a minute and we can do a proper fuck another time," he said. It was the combination of alcohol and horniness that made me agree. "Fine," I said, "but just for a minute and you have to rim me first." "No problem," he said. He rolled me over on my stomach and spread my legs a bit apart as he got between them. I felt his tongue connect with my hole and immediately relaxed as I had been clenched pretty tight. He gave me an expert rim job for a few minutes that had me squirming beneath him. Eventually I felt him kiss his way up my back and to my neck and felt his ample cock nestle in my crack. He gave a few subtle thrust and I told him "use more lube." He got off my and a moment later I felt him spread my cheeks apart and cold lube dribbled on my hole. There was a pause where I assumed he was lubing his cock. I felt the slippery head connect with my hole and as if my sphincter had a mind of its own it spread open easily as he slid his raw cock slowly to the hilt in one go. He laid his full weight on my back and held himself there balls deep in my unprotected ass. "Oh fuck," I moaned. Normally it kinda hurts when I take a cock, but this time for some reason it went in easy, and my cock was rock hard from the combination of the risk of having a raw dick in my ass and said dick pressing against my prostate. He held still for about thirty seconds while kissing my neck, then I felt his hips start to move slowly and he started a shallow fuck. "I thought you were just gonna hold it there for a minute," I told him, "I don't want you cumming in me." "Don't worry, I'll pull out before I cum," he said, "I'll just fuck you long enough for you to get off. It feels good, doesn't it?" "Yeah," I said. Actually, it felt amazing. He started longer strokes and moving faster, this was quickly spiraling out of my control. The combination of the danger of having a guy I just met barebacking me and the fact his cock was perfect stimulating my prostate meant I could probably cum really fast in order to minimize the risk. "Let me up so I can jerk off," I told him, and started pushing my self up on to my hands and knees. He stayed inside me and got up on his knees as well. He had a mirrored closet door next to the bed and I looked over at the reflection of us as he started vigorously fucking me and I started jerking my cock. He noticed me looking and looked over as well. "Look how fucking hot we are," he said as he pistoned his bare dick back and forth in my hole. "I'm gonna blow my load across your back in no time." I watched in the mirror as his raw dick went in and out of me and felt like such a slut, knowing how risky this was but completely succumbing to my lust, telling myself it was fine because he was going to pull out and I was on my way to having a fantastic orgasm. Our bodies started to glisten with sweat as his hips pounded against my ass cheeks. This had started a few minutes ago with me thinking I'd just have a bare cock in me for just a minute and now this stud was full on fucking me to orgasm. I felt it started to build and knew it was going to be a good one when suddenly Steve slowed to a stop in my and kinda hunched and put a hand on my back. I looked back at him while wildly jerking and said "keep going, I'm almost there." "But," he said as I felt the intensity of my building orgasm start to diminish a little. "Fuck me!" I cried. He grabbed my hips and started thrusting again and I felt my orgasm start after a few thrusts and I heard him say "oh fuck I'm gonna cum" and he started to pull out. "Don't pull out yet ," I said, "I'm coming." My cock started spraying cum all over his bed as my orgasm crashed over me as Steve's cock perfectly ran back and forth over my prostate. "I'm cumming," he said but I barely registered what it meant as I collapsed down on the bed in a pool of my cum and Steve fell across my back, his cock buried deep in me. "Did you cum in me?" I asked after a few moments. "Yeah, sorry, my orgasm started right when you said don't pull out," he said. My rectum was full with a strangers load due to my horniness. He slowly pulled his cock out of me and rolled over on his back. I was surprised at how clean is cock was since I hadn't prepared at all. "Is that your first time barebacking?" He asked me. "No, a couple guys have fucked me bare before," I told him. "Did they shoot in you?" "One did," I told him, "I had the others pull out. I usually use condoms though." Our cocks had started to soften and we chatted for a few minutes. I asked to use the bathroom and even though I had that feeling of needing to take a dump, all that came out was his load. As I flushed it down my cock started to harden. I walked back into the bedroom. "That was quite a load," I told him. "Yeah?" he said, his cock starting to harden as well, "did you like seeing it come out of you?" "Yeah," I said, "not gonna lie, it's hella hot being bred even though it's risky." He grabbed his cock which was now at full mast. "Probably because it is risky," he said, "want another one? I can go again." I walked over to him and got on the bed and straddled him. "Probably shouldn't," I said as I grabbed the lube and lubed him up again. I could tell myself that the first time things had just gotten out of hand, but as I slid down his dick again I knew that I had no such excuse this time. He started fucking me again. "I'm not pulling out this time," he said as his raw cock once again massaged my prostate. I started jerking my own cock. I looked over at the mirror and then had him adjust so I could look back and see his cock thrusting up into my ass. Five minutes later he shot another load into me and I shot another one on his stomach. He scooped up my load and placed it on his cock and fucked it in to me. "There, that's three loads in you," he said. "When can I get a fourth?" I asked him. I had to wait until the morning for that one.

He is getting there, Rick is right he is going to be so FERAL come Saturday!!! Can't wait like many others following this epic story!!!

Dan is so ready to get knocked up

ANON TOTAL BOTTOM Cum Dump *Mon. 3/4 from Noon - ?* Be downstairs Hungry & Waiting. Stop thru after 12 noon. Just message me so we confirm link. Its also POSTED in the "EVENT" section. Cum unLOAD your stress...

It's a massive turn on for me. Have an older fuck buddy who I do dad and son roleplay with

I love it, gets my dick hard smelling a guys pissed and cummed undies or jockstrap

one more hot cliff hanger, nice

Fuck that was hot, wonder what was slammed into him. Still looking for my first ever heavy chemming

I wont deny a man the use of my hole(s) just because he is ugly

Nice lstory - woul like it to happen

Hot start, more please.

I'm a bottom but I'd love to fuck you

Do you like to get record too maybe you should video call me while doing it i love to see it

Tommy adjusted the straps on his backpack for the third time since leaving the subway station. The weight of the gear inside made his shoulders ache, but it was a familiar discomfort, one he welcomed like an old friend stopping by unannounced. His sneakers scuffed against the pavement as he rounded the corner, the neon sign of Club Z buzzing faintly in the distance. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows, but the heat hadn’t let up—sweat dotted his temples, and he swiped at it with the back of his hand, careful not to smudge his glasses. He wasn’t usually the type to arrive this early, but tonight was different. The sling room wasn’t cheap, and he’d spent the last two weeks meticulously planning what he’d bring, what he’d wear, and how he’d set everything up. The ad had gone live three hours ago—already, his phone had buzzed twice with responses, but he’d ignored them. First things first: the room had to be perfect. The bouncer at Club Z barely glanced at his ID, just waved him through with a bored nod. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of disinfectant and something muskier underneath—like leather left too long in the sun. The club wasn’t busy yet, just a few early birds nursing drinks at the bar or lounging on the sofas near the back. Tommy kept his head down as he made his way to the stairs, the backpack shifting awkwardly against his hips. Room 309 was smaller than he’d expected, but the sling dominated the space, bolted to the ceiling with thick straps dangling like an invitation. He dropped his bag onto the vinyl-covered floor, the sound muffled but heavy, and took a slow breath. The adrenaline was starting to prickle at the base of his skull, that familiar mix of nerves and anticipation. He unzipped the backpack with practiced efficiency, laying out the cuffs, the gag, the toys in neat rows on the dresser. His phone buzzed again. This time, he checked it—a message from someone with a wolf emoji in their username. *Saw your ad. Still looking?* Tommy bit his lip, then typed back, *Yeah. Room 309. Give me twenty to set up.* He hesitated, then added, *Bring your worst.* Tommy’s fingers trembled slightly as he fastened the last strap of the wrist cuffs to the sling’s frame, giving it a firm tug to test its hold. The metal D-ring didn’t budge. Good. He stepped back, surveying the room—the harness draped over the dresser, the ball gag gleaming under the dim overhead light, the gas mask with its fogged lenses staring blankly at the ceiling. Everything was in its place. Almost. He adjusted the blindfold, folding it neatly beside the rest, then wiped his palms on his thighs. The room was warmer now, the air thick with the scent of rubber and his own nervous sweat. A knock at the door made his stomach lurch. Too soon. He hadn’t even changed yet. Tommy hesitated, then called out, “Twenty minutes, remember?” The knock came again, harder this time, followed by a low chuckle. “Yeah, yeah. But you said *worst,* pigboi. You really wanna keep me waiting?” The voice was rough, edged with amusement, and Tommy’s breath hitched. He crossed the room in three strides, yanking the door open before he could second-guess himself. The man on the other side was taller than he’d expected—broad-shouldered, with a close-cropped beard and eyes that flicked over Tommy like he was already taking inventory. He wore a fitted black tee, sleeves rolled to show off thick forearms, and a pair of boots that looked like they’d seen more than a few dungeon floors. “You’re early,” Tommy said, and immediately cringed at how breathy it sounded. The man grinned, stepping inside without waiting for an invite. “And you’re not even dressed.” He nudged the backpack with his toe, then picked up the harness, turning it over in his hands. “Nice gear. You break it in yet?” Tommy shook his head, pulse thudding in his throat. The man’s presence filled the room, his energy like a live wire. “No. It’s—it’s new.” Another chuckle. “Good.” He tossed the harness back onto the dresser and closed the distance between them in one stride, crowding Tommy against the wall. His hand came up, calloused fingers brushing Tommy’s jaw. “Blindfold first,” he murmured. “Then we’ll see how much of that *worst* you can take.” Tommy's breath stuttered as the blindfold was pulled tight over his eyes, the sudden darkness making his other senses flare to life. The man's calloused thumb traced the hinge of his jaw before gripping his chin, tilting his face up. "Eyes on me, pigboi," the man murmured, though Tommy couldn't see a damn thing—just the heat of his breath, the press of his body pinning him to the wall. A shiver raced down his spine when the man's other hand slid down to his belt, working the buckle with a practiced flick. The leather hissed as it was pulled free, and Tommy's stomach tightened. He'd expected commands, roughness, maybe even a slap—but the slow, deliberate way the man undressed him was worse. Every brush of fingers against his skin felt like a brand. His shirt was tugged over his head, the cool air hitting his sweat-damp chest, and then the man's palm flattened over his sternum, pushing him back until his shoulders hit the sling's straps. "Arms up," came the order, and Tommy obeyed without thinking, his wrists slotting into the cuffs dangling from the frame. The metal clicked shut, snug but not biting—yet. A low whistle. "Look at you." The man's voice had dropped, rough with approval. Tommy could hear him circling the sling, boots scuffing against the vinyl, and then a warm hand gripped his hip. "You even shaved for this." The touch trailed down, teasing along the crease of his thigh, and Tommy jerked against the restraints, his breath coming faster. The man chuckled, the sound dark with promise. "Gag next. Open." The ball gag was slick with spit before it even touched his lips, the man pressing it into place with a thumb hooked under the strap. Tommy whined around it, the stretch of his jaw immediate, the drool already pooling under his tongue. The man patted his cheek, almost affectionate. "Better." Then, without warning, a sharp slap landed on his bare thigh—stinging, bright, just shy of too much. Tommy gasped, his body arching, and the man hummed. "Oh, you *like* that." Another slap, higher this time, and Tommy's cock twitched against his thigh, shame and want twisting together in his gut. The sting of the slap still burned on his skin when the man's fingers dug into Tommy's hips, yanking him forward until his back left the support of the sling. The sudden shift made his shoulders protest, the cuffs biting just enough to remind him they were there. A grunt escaped around the gag, muffled and wet. The man’s laugh was close, his breath hot against Tommy’s ear. "You’re gonna take what I give you, yeah?" Not a question. Tommy nodded anyway, his throat working around a swallow. "You gonna rush so hard pig" SLAMBOSS ordered. The first touch of the harness against his bare chest made him flinch—cold leather, stiff with newness. The man made a tsking sound as he adjusted the straps, pulling them tight enough to make Tommy’s ribs ache. "Breathe," he ordered, and Tommy did, shallow and quick, as buckles were fastened with methodical precision. The harness hugged him like a second skin now, the D-rings digging into his flesh with every expansion of his lungs. A finger hooked under one of the straps, tugging sharply. "Color?" The word was clipped, no-nonsense. Tommy forced out a garbled "Green," around the gag. The man’s hands dropped lower, palming Tommy’s cock through his briefs, and he arched into the touch with a whine. "Eager," the man mused, then yanked the fabric down in one rough motion. The air hit Tommy’s exposed skin like a shock, his cock twitching against his stomach. A thumb swiped over the head, smearing precome, and Tommy’s hips jerked uselessly in the sling’s hold. The man chuckled, stepping back just out of reach. "Not yet, pigboi." The clink of metal made Tommy’s breath hitch—the cock and ball toys, he realized, being lifted from the dresser. The man’s hands were sure as he fitted the ring around Tommy’s base, the cold steel a sharp contrast to his heated skin. Another whimper built in his throat as the man tightened it just shy of painful, then attached the weights with a satisfied grunt. "There." A slap to Tommy’s inner thigh, lighter this time, almost playful. "Now you’ll remember who owns you tonight." The weights swung heavily between Tommy’s thighs, each slight movement sending a jolt through him, the metal cool and unyielding against his overheated skin. The man’s boots creaked as he stepped back, and Tommy strained his ears, trying to track him in the darkness. A hand suddenly fisted in his hair, yanking his head back. "You’re shaking," the man observed, voice dripping with dark amusement. "Good." The grip tightened, forcing Tommy’s throat into a vulnerable arch just as something smooth and cold—the gas mask—was pressed over his nose and mouth. The straps cinched tight behind his head, the rubber sealing with a faint suction. Panic flared for a split second before the man’s thumb stroked his temple. "Breathe," he murmured, and Tommy did, the air hissing through the filters, his own exhales loud in his ears. The world narrowed to touch and sound. The man’s calloused palms dragged down Tommy’s chest, tweaking his nipples through the harness straps until they ached, then lower, tracing the divots of his hips. A finger prodded at his hole—dry, just shy of cruel—and Tommy jerked, a muffled noise escaping the gag. The man chuckled. "Uh-uh. You don’t get to decide when." He withdrew, and Tommy heard the rustle of fabric, the clink of a belt buckle. Anticipation coiled in his gut. A slick sound—lube, Tommy realized—and then two fingers pushed into him without warning, stretching him open in one ruthless thrust. He cried out, the sound trapped behind rubber and silicone, his body clamping down instinctively. The man shushed him, working his fingers deeper, crooking them just enough to make Tommy’s toes curl. "There it is," he muttered, pressing harder, and stars burst behind Tommy’s eyelids as pleasure sparked up his spine. The fingers withdrew abruptly, leaving him clenching around nothing. The head of the man’s cock nudged against him, blunt and insistent. Tommy braced, but there was no slow build—just one relentless push, seating the man to the hilt in a single stroke. The gasp that tore from Tommy’s throat was ragged, his body arching against the restraints. The man stilled, his breath hot against Tommy’s ear. "Fuck, you’re tight." A hand gripped Tommy’s hip, holding him in place as the man pulled out almost entirely, then slammed back in. The pace was brutal from the start, each thrust jolting Tommy forward in the sling, the D-rings of the harness digging into his flesh. Tommy’s body jerked with each thrust, the sling creaking under the force, his wrists pulling against the cuffs until the metal bit into his skin. The pain was sharp, bright—a counterpoint to the pleasure coiling tighter in his gut with every snap of the man’s hips. The gas mask fogged with each ragged exhale, the filters hissing, and Tommy could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, louder than the slap of skin against skin. The man’s fingers dug into his thighs, holding him open, and Tommy could feel the sweat dripping down his chest, pooling in the hollows of the harness straps. A particularly rough thrust knocked the breath from his lungs, and the man growled, low and approving. “That’s it—take it.” His voice was gritted, strained, like he was holding back just as much as Tommy was. The thought sent a fresh wave of heat through him, his cock twitching against the steel ring, the weights swinging heavily between his legs. The man’s hand slid up, gripping the harness straps at Tommy’s chest, using them like reins to yank him back onto each thrust. “Fuck, you look good like this,” he muttered, his breath hot against Tommy’s ear. “All trussed up and taking it.” Tommy whined around the gag, his hips canting up helplessly, trying to meet the man’s rhythm. The man chuckled, dark and knowing, and slowed his pace deliberately, drawing out each stroke until Tommy was writhing, his muffled pleas lost in the rubber of the mask. “Patience, pigboi,” the man murmured, his thumb brushing over Tommy’s bottom lip where it stretched around the gag. “You’ll get what you came for.” The sudden change in angle was brutal—the man shifted, lifting Tommy’s legs higher, and the next thrust hit *just there*, forcing a choked scream around the gag. Then, like a switch flipped, the man pulled out completely, leaving Tommy trembling and empty. The absence of the man’s cock left Tommy shuddering, his body straining against the restraints, every nerve alight with frustrated need. Then—a new sound cut through the haze: the sharp *click* of a lighter, followed by the acrid, chemical tang of smoke curling into the air. Tommy’s nostrils flared beneath the gas mask, the scent unmistakable. His breath hitched, and suddenly, the filters clogged—thick, cloying smoke flooded the tube, pouring into his mouth and nose with each desperate inhale. Panic spiked through him as his lungs seized, the smoke scorching his throat. He jerked against the cuffs, his gagged cries muffled by the mask’s rubber seal. The man’s voice, now laced with something darker, slithered into his ear: "Breathe, pigboi. You wanted my worst." A rough hand gripped the back of the mask, tilting Tommy’s head back further, forcing him to swallow the smoke as it coiled deeper into his chest. His vision swam, the edges blurring with tears, but the man didn’t relent. "That’s it—take it all." A second voice, unfamiliar and rasping with amusement, cut through the fog. "Look at him—goddamn smoke pig." Fingers, calloused and reeking of nicotine, tapped the mask’s lens. "You ready to really earn that name?" Tommy’s pulse hammered in his throat. He hadn’t known there was someone else in the room. The realization sent a fresh wave of dread—or was it excitement?—coursing through him. The sharp bite of the needle was unexpected—Tommy jerked against the restraints with a muffled yelp, the sting radiating from the base of his cock like a lit fuse. The man—no, *SLAMBOSS*—grunted, his fingers pressing hard against the injection site to stem the tiny bead of blood that welled up. "Trimix'take the edge off," he muttered, though the rough edge of his voice suggested it wouldn't be the kind of relief Tommy was used to. The drug hit fast, a slow burn spreading through his groin, his cock twitching against the steel ring as it began to swell beyond its usual limits, the weights swinging heavier between his thighs. Cold lube splashed over his balls, dripping down his perineum in thick rivulets. Tommy gasped around the gag as SLAMBOSS's fingers spread it roughly, coating every inch of his sac and the tight furl of his hole with slick, clinical precision. The man's chuckle was low, predatory. "Gonna milk you dry, pigboi." The words sent a jolt through Tommy’s gut, his cock throbbing in time with his heartbeat, the trimix turning every pulse into a slow, aching throb. The milking began without ceremony—SLAMBOSS’s fist closed around Tommy’s cock, stroking with brutal efficiency, the lube making every pull a slick, torturous slide. The trimix turned his nerves into live wires, every drag of the man’s hand sending sparks up his spine, his balls drawing up tight. The second man exhaled another plume of smoke directly into Tommy’s gas mask tube, the fumes mixing with his ragged panting. "That’s it," the stranger crooned, tapping ash onto Tommy’s bare chest. "Let it fuck you up." Tommy's orgasm coiled tight in his gut, a white-hot wire about to snap—then the cold, blunt press of the dildo breached him, spreading him wide just as SLAMBOSS's fist twisted brutally around his cock. The sensation tore a garbled scream from his throat, the gag muffling it into something pathetic and wet. His hips bucked wildly, the sling's straps creaking under his thrashing, but the man holding him didn't relent. The dildo pushed deeper, the ridges catching on his rim with each merciless inch, stretching him beyond what he thought he could take. A rubber strap slithered around his right bicep, tightening with a sudden, clinical *snap*. Tommy flinched, the pressure sharp enough to make his fingers tingle. The second man's breath was hot against his ear as he adjusted the strap, his voice rough with amusement. "Gotta keep that arm still, smoke pig. Wouldn't want you squirming out of your fun." The strap bit into his flesh, the restriction oddly grounding even as the dildo began to move in slow, deliberate thrusts, fucking him open with methodical precision. SLAMBOSS's grip on his cock shifted, his thumb pressing hard against the slit, smearing precome in tight circles. "Feel that?" he growled, the dildo hitting a spot that made Tommy's vision whiten. "That's your fucking prostate. Gonna milk it like a cow." The comparison should have been humiliating—but all Tommy could focus on was the relentless rhythm, the way his body clenched around the intruding toy, the way his cock pulsed in SLAMBOSS's fist like it was trying to fucking *beg*. The second man exhaled another lungful of smoke into the mask's tube, the acrid haze flooding Tommy's senses just as the dildo twisted inside him, pressing hard against his sweet spot. His back arched, his toes curling, and for a terrifying, exhilarating moment, he teetered on the edge—right there, *right there*—but SLAMBOSS's hand stilled abruptly, his grip turning punishing. "Nuh-uh," the man growled, his thumb digging into the slit of Tommy's cock, smearing precome in slow circles. "Not yet." The words hit Tommy before the pain did. *"You're not Tommy anymore,"* SLAMBOSS growled, his voice grinding against Tommy's eardrums like gravel. A rough hand twisted in Tommy's hair, yanking his head back until his throat strained taut. *"You're PIGBOI now. Say it."* Tommy tried to shake his head—or thought he did—but the gas mask's straps bit deeper into his skull as SLAMBOSS tightened his grip. The dildo inside him pulsed, some sadistic remote setting making it twitch against his prostate. His vision swam, the trimix turning his cock into a swollen, aching weight between his legs. *"P-Pig—"* he garbled around the gas mask, drool soaking his chin. SLAMBOSS's laugh was a dark, wet thing. *"Good start."* His other hand trailed down Tommy's chest, nails scraping over the harness straps before pinching a nipple hard enough to make Tommy jerk. *"PIGBOI doesn't think. Doesn't say no. Just takes—cocks, drugs, fists, whatever the fuck we stuff in him."* The second man—still nameless, still circling like a shark—exhaled another lungful of smoke into the mask's tube. Tommy coughed, his lungs seizing as the acrid fumes coiled deeper. *"Look at him,"* the stranger mused, tapping ash onto Tommy's heaving chest. *"Already halfway there."* SLAMBOSS's fingers dug into Tommy's jaw. *"Gonna make sure you don't come back."* He leaned in, his breath hot against Tommy's ear. *"Gonna fuck you so dumb, you'll beg for it."* The syringe glinted under the dim red light as SLAMBOSS tapped it with a fingernail, the plunger already drawn back to the 70cc mark. The liquid inside was thick, honey-colored, clinging to the glass in viscous streaks. PIGBOI’s breath hitched behind the mask, his chest rising and falling too fast—he knew what that was. Knew what it *did*. SLAMBOSS’s thumb brushed over the needle’s tip, testing its sharpness. "Last chance, pig," he murmured, though the words weren’t kind. They were a blade held to PIGBOI’s throat, a dare disguised as mercy. "You tap out now, you walk away with your pretty little brain intact." He leaned in, close enough for PIGBOI to smell the nicotine on his breath. "But once this hits your vein, you’re *mine*. Not Tommy. Not even PIGBOI. Just a fucked-out hole waiting for orders." The second man chuckled, his boot nudging PIGBOI’s splayed thigh. "Bet he’s already gone," he mused, flicking ash onto PIGBOI’s chest. "Look at him—*dripping*." SLAMBOSS’s fingers wrapped around PIGBOI’s bicep, squeezing until the vein bulged under his skin. The alcohol swab was cold, the sting of it sharp and fleeting. Then—the needle’s bite, deeper this time, sliding home with practiced ease. PIGBOI whined around the gag as SLAMBOSS depressed the plunger slowly, *so slowly*, the drug burning its way into his bloodstream like molten lead. "Count," SLAMBOSS ordered, his voice rough. PIGBOI tried. He *tried*. But the numbers dissolved before they reached his lips, his thoughts turning to sludge as the rush hit—a tidal wave of heat, of weightlessness, of *nothing*. His vision blurred at the edges, the room tilting dangerously. SLAMBOSS’s face swam above him, distorted and grinning. "Good boy," SLAMBOSS crooned, withdrawing the needle with a final, cruel twist. He pressed a thumb to the puncture, smearing the bead of blood across PIGBOI’s skin. "Now let’s see how much of you’s left." The second man stepped forward, his shadow falling over PIGBOI’s prone form. "Think he’ll remember his name?" he asked, voice laced with mock concern. SLAMBOSS snorted, cuffing PIGBOI’s cheek lightly. "Doubt it." He leaned in, his breath hot against PIGBOI’s ear. "Who are you?" PIGBOI’s mouth worked uselessly around the gag, spit pooling under his tongue. The words wouldn’t come—or maybe they weren’t there at all. His thoughts slithered like eels through the thick syrup of the rush, impossible to catch. SLAMBOSS grinned, wide and predatory, and gripped the gas mask straps. With one sharp tug, the mask came free, the cold air hitting PIGBOI’s sweat-slick face like a slap. Before he could gasp, thick rubber pressed over his eyes—a hood, its interior lined with something slick, sealing tight with a *pop* as SLAMBOSS worked it down over his skull. PIGBOI whined, the sound muffled and wet, as SLAMBOSS’s fingers pried his jaw wider. The dog bone gag clicked into place, the metal frame forcing his mouth open in a permanent, drooling gape. "Better," SLAMBOSS murmured, running a thumb over PIGBOI’s bottom lip. "Now you look like what you are." The rush hit harder then, a tidal wave of heat and static crashing through PIGBOI’s veins. His cock throbbed against the steel ring, the weights swinging heavy between his thighs, but the pleasure was distant—secondary to the *emptiness*, the yawning void where his thoughts used to be. His hole clenched around nothing, greedy and open, as if begging to be filled. The rubber-gloved hand pressed into PIGBOI’s hole with no preamble, slick lube smeared in rough circles before two fingers breached him without warning. He gasped around the dog bone gag, his body jerking against the restraints as the fingers twisted inside him, spreading him open with clinical efficiency. The stretch burned—just shy of too much—but the sting was already fading under the drug haze, his body yielding like warm wax. Above him, SLAMBOSS exhaled sharply, his free hand wrapping around PIGBOI’s cock with a grip that bordered on cruel. The trimix made every nerve hypersensitive; even the callouses on SLAMBOSS’s palm felt like sandpaper as he stroked PIGBOI’s length in slow, deliberate pulls. Precome dribbled from the slit, slicking SLAMBOSS’s thumb as it swiped over the head in tight circles. PIGBOI’s hips bucked helplessly, the sling’s straps creaking under his thrashing, but the fingers inside him didn’t relent. They crooked suddenly, pressing hard against his prostate, and PIGBOI’s vision whited out for a split second, his cry muffled by the gag. SLAMBOSS chuckled, dark and low, his thumb rubbing punishing circles into the sensitive spot under PIGBOI’s cockhead. "Look at him," he muttered, more to the second man than to PIGBOI. "Already fucking ruined." The fingers withdrew abruptly, leaving PIGBOI clenching around nothing, his hole twitching with the ghost of their presence. SLAMBOSS’s hand on his cock didn’t stop—if anything, the pace increased, his grip tightening just shy of painful. PIGBOI’s breath hitched, his balls drawing up tight, the pleasure coiling in his gut like a live wire. He was close—so close—but SLAMBOSS’s thumb pressed hard against his slit, smearing precome in slow, torturous circles. "Nuh-uh," SLAMBOSS growled, his voice rough with amusement. "Not yet, pigboi." The second man’s shadow fell over PIGBOI’s prone form, his boot nudging PIGBOI’s splayed thighs wider. "Think he can take it?" he asked, his voice laced with mock concern. SLAMBOSS snorted, cuffing PIGBOI's cheek lightly. "Rule's simple, pig," he growled, his breath hot against PIGBOI's ear. "Every load I pump into this greedy hole"—his fingers twisted inside PIGBOI without warning,, wrenching a garbled cry from his throat—"you pay back. One for one." He withdrew his fingers with a wet *pop*, holding them up to the dim light, glistening. "Starting now." The cold press of lube against PIGBOI's hole came next, slick and thick, before SLAMBOSS's cockhead nudged at his rim, blunt and unrelenting. PIGBOI's breath hitched behind the hood, his body straining against the sling's straps—but there was no preparation, no easing in. SLAMBOSS sheathed himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust, the impact rattling PIGBOI's teeth around the gag. "First," SLAMBOSS grunted, his hips already pistoning, each snap of his pelvis driving PIGBOI deeper into the sling's unforgiving embrace. The pace was merciless from the start, the slap of skin echoing off the padded walls. PIGBOI's cock twitched against his stomach, swollen and aching, the steel ring biting into his base as the weights swung heavily between his thighs. SLAMBOSS's hand closed around PIGBOI's length on the next downward stroke, his grip tightening just shy of painful. "Pay up, pig," he snarled, twisting his fist on the upstroke, his thumb pressing hard into PIGBOI's slit. The dual sensation—SLAMBOSS's cock hammering his prostate, his hand working PIGBOI's oversensitive flesh—threatened to unravel him instantly. PIGBOI's toes curled, his back arching, but SLAMBOSS's free hand planted firmly on his chest, pinning him down. "Not yet," he warned, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "Gotta earn it." The rhythm was relentless, SLAMBOSS's hips driving forward with punishing precision, his hand matching the pace on PIGBOI's cock. Every drag of his palm sent sparks up PIGBOI's spine, every twist of his wrist pulled another broken sound from PIGBOI's gagged mouth. The drug haze made it impossible to focus—pleasure and pain blurred into one searing, all-consuming feedback loop. SLAMBOSS's breath hitched suddenly, his thrusts losing their brutal precision. His fingers dug into PIGBOI's thigh, nails biting deep as he buried himself to the root with a guttural groan. Heat flooded PIGBOI's insides, the wet pulse of SLAMBOSS's release triggering a full-body shudder. SLAMBOSS didn't stop. His grip on PIGBOI's cock tightened further, his strokes turning ruthless. "Your turn, pig," he panted, his hips still grinding shallowly, milking his own orgasm as he worked PIGBOI toward the edge. The overstimulation was excruciating—PIGBOI's cock ached, the steel ring constricting his base, the weights tugging mercilessly at his swollen sac. The second man laughed, low and dark, his fingers trailing through the mess on PIGBOI's chest. "Think he'll pop just from being pumped full?" he mused, smearing SLAMBOSS's come across PIGBOI's trembling abs. SLAMBOSS's grin was all teeth. "Let's find out." He leaned in, his breath hot against PIGBOI's ear. "Gonna milk you dry, pigboi." His fist twisted brutally on the upstroke, his thumb pressing hard into PIGBOI's slit—and just like that, PIGBOI was gone. White-hot pleasure detonated at the base of his spine, his vision whiting out as his cock pulsed violently in SLAMBOSS's grip. Nothing came—the ring saw to that—but the dry orgasm wracked his body all the same, his hole clamping down on SLAMBOSS's softening cock in erratic spasms. SLAMBOSS chuckled, dark and satisfied, as he finally released PIGBOI's oversensitive flesh. "One for one," he murmured, dragging his fingers through the mess on PIGBOI's stomach. "And we're just getting started."

Two sniffies tops in the same neighborhood unloaded in me back to back earlier this evening. In a pup hood, jock, athletic gear for both. Came in, stripped, and took a load from each 7.5" and 8" cock at their separate apartments, received two "good boy"s