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Chapter 8 The brand on his forehead was gone, washed away in the shower that morning, but the mark remained, seared onto his soul. Nate looked at his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window of his corner office. The man staring back was familiar—the dark hair, the square jaw, the expensive suit—but his eyes were different. They were cold, clear, and predatory. The world of Dallas finance, with its posturing and cowardly ambition, now looked like a petri dish. And he, Nate, was the contagion. His phone buzzed. It was a text from Brandon. Target acquired? Nate typed back a single word. Soon. His target was Marcus Thorne. For years, they had been nemesis, two alpha dogs fighting over the same scraps of corporate meat. Marcus was a man of impeccable control, his life a fortress of discipline and achievement. But Nate, with his new eyes, could see the cracks. He saw the desperation in Marcus's eyes during their last video call, the tremor in his hand as he signed a deal. He saw a man starving to death in the middle of a feast. He invited Marcus to his office for a late-night drink, to "discuss a truce." It was a lie, of course. There were no truces in their world, only acquisitions. Marcus arrived at 9 PM, his posture rigid, his smile a thin veneer over his suspicion. "Nate. To what do I owe the pleasure?" "To a new venture, Marcus," Nate said, his voice smooth as silk. He gestured to the bar in the corner of his office. "I've acquired a new asset. I thought you might appreciate its... unique properties." He poured two glasses of Macallan 1926, a bottle so rare it was worth more than a man's life. As he turned, his body blocked Marcus's view. In one glass, he dropped a single, small shard of the clear crystal. He watched it dissolve, invisible. He handed the tainted glass to Marcus. "To new horizons," Nate toasted, clinking their glasses. Marcus took a sip, his eyes closing as the peaty smoke of the scotch filled his senses. Beneath it, the chemical fire began its silent work. They talked business, but Nate was steering the conversation, using the language Marcus understood. "Our companies are at an impasse," Nate began. "Sometimes, to move forward, you need a hostile takeover. Not of a company, but of yourself. You need to acquire the one asset you've never had the courage to put on the books: your true nature." Marcus frowned, taking another larger sip of the scotch. The potent liquor, mixed with the crystal, was already softening the sharp edges of his mind. "What are you talking about, Nate?" "Leverage, Marcus. Risk. The thrill of the unknown." Nate stood and walked around the desk, leaning against it in front of Marcus. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, then his shirt, revealing the sculpted muscle of his torso. He turned, slightly, giving Marcus a clear view of the biohazard trefoil inked above his waistband. Marcus's breath hitched. His eyes widened, a flicker of shock and something else—fear, recognition, a horrifying curiosity—in their depths. "What... what is that?" "This is the real asset, Marcus," Nate said, his voice dropping to a low, hypnotic rumble. "This is the Biohazard Brand. It's a promise. It's a brotherhood of men who have stopped playing the game and started living the truth." He walked closer, kneeling in front of the stunned man. He took the glass from Marcus's trembling hand and set it aside. "You're tired of being in control, aren't you? You're tired of the constant performance. We can offer you something else. We can offer you surrender." From his pocket, Nate produced a small, prepared syringe with a dissolved booty bump. "This is the first step," he whispered, his voice a caress. "This is the key. Let me show you how to unlock the door." He reached for Marcus's belt. The older man didn't resist. His mind was a fog of scotch and chemicals, his body humming with a terrifying, exhilarating new energy. Nate undid his trousers, pulling them down. Marcus's cock was already hard, a traitorous response to the forbidden thrill of it all. Nate turned him over the leather sofa, exposing his firm, untouched ass. He was a blank canvas, a prime piece of real estate waiting to be developed. "Relax, Marcus," Nate coached, his voice echoing Kyle's from the other night. "Breathe. This is what real power feels like. This is the poison that will set you free." He pressed the syringe against Marcus's tightly furled hole and pushed the plunger. Marcus gasped, a sharp, electric jolt shooting through him as the chemical fire spread through his most sensitive tissues. His hole began to pulse, to ache, to hunger. "That's it," Nate murmured, his finger tracing the twitching ring. "You feel that? That's your body telling you the truth. It wants this. It needs this." He leaned down, his lips next to Marcus's ear. "You're going to join us, Marcus. You're going to take the gift. You're going to be one of us." He didn't fuck him. Not yet. He simply knelt there, a possessive hand on Marcus's lower back, feeling the tremors of the man's surrender. He watched as his rival, the titan of industry, broke down in his arms, a low moan escaping his lips—a sound of defeat, and of absolute, total release. The revolution had begun. And Marcus Thorne was its first willing casualty.

Chapter 7 The click of the marker cap was the final sound in the symphony of the night. It was the period at the end of a sentence that had been writing itself for twenty years. Brandon watched Kyle step back, his work complete. There, on his twin brother’s forehead, stark and undeniable against the sweat-sheened skin, was the symbol. The biohazard trefoil. A brand more profound than any inked into flesh, because this one was applied by a brother, witnessed by a son, and consecrated by a mentor. It was a holy trinity of ownership. Nate lay in the sling, his body limp and radiant, a vessel finally filled. His eyes were closed, but a serene, beatific smile graced his lips. He wasn't the hedge fund manager anymore. He wasn't the worried father or the grieving widower. He was pure, unadulterated potential, a man reborn in the crucible of his own deepest desires. Brandon felt a surge of love so potent it was almost painful. He had done this. He had brought his brother home. His gaze shifted to Geoff, who stood like a guardian at the head of the sling. The boy was truly gone. In his place was a man, his son, his nephew, his brother-in-arms. The pride in Geoff’s eyes was a mirror of Brandon’s own. He had claimed his father, not out of spite, but out of a profound, filial need to complete the circle. He had given Nate the key, and Brandon had provided the door. And Kyle. Their old friend, their coach. The man who had been the silent third in their youthful triad, the one whose eyes had always held a knowing, predatory glint. Brandon remembered the locker room showers, the way Kyle’s gaze would linger a second too long, the unspoken tension that hummed between them all. Kyle had been the first to find the path. Years after graduation, long before Geoff was even a thought, it was Kyle who had taken Brandon to a place just like this, who had held him down and whispered, "This is what we are, Brandon. This is our real strength." It was Kyle who had given Brandon his first taste of the Scorpion's gift, the lineage that now coursed through Nate’s veins. The circle wasn't just complete; it was a perfect, sacred geometry. This was never just about sex. The straight world saw their symbols, their acts, and called them toxic, dangerous. They were right, but not in the way they meant. Their world was the poison. The mortgages, the performance reviews, the endless pursuit of a hollow, sanitized perfection—that was the real plague. The Biohazard Brand was the antidote. It was a commitment to a truth so raw and powerful it felt radioactive. It was about finding strength in submission, power in surrender, and a family in the shadows. They weren't spreading a virus; they were spreading a revelation. A soft knock came from the door. The observers. The men who had been waiting in the hall, their anticipation a palpable force. This was the next step. The transition from the intimate rite to the communal welcome. Brandon nodded to Kyle, who opened the door. The men who filed in weren't a horde of lust-crazed animals. They moved with a quiet reverence. They were brothers, each with their own story, their own brand. Some had scorpions, some had spiders, some had the trefoil like Nate’s new mark. They didn't descend on the sling. Instead, they formed a respectful line. The first man, a heavily tattooed biker, approached Nate. He didn't touch him sexually. He simply leaned down, pressed his lips to the biohazard symbol on Nate's forehead, and whispered, "Welcome home, brother." The next did the same. And the next. It was a receiving line of the damned, the saved, the chosen. Each man paid his respects to the initiate, anointing the new mark with their breath, their welcome, their shared identity. Brandon watched as Nate, barely conscious, received this communion. A single tear traced a path through the sweat on his temple, a tear of pure, unmitigated release. As the last man paid his respects, Brandon’s mind was already racing toward the future. Nate was initiated. Now the real work began. His brother wasn't just a member; he was a weapon. A man of immense wealth, influence, and discipline, now utterly and completely loyal to the brotherhood. Brandon could already see the list of names, the men in Nate’s world who wore the same mask of quiet desperation that Nate had worn for years. Business partners, rivals, members of his exclusive country club. Nate would be their shepherd. He would bring them to the slaughter, and in doing so, he would grant them salvation. The Biohazard Brand wasn't just a mark. It was a promise. And tonight, they had just gained their most powerful apostle. The revolution had just begun.

My suggestion would be just to indicate that the story was created with an LLM/AI. That way people can know and if they choose not to read it because of that, it's clear, up front. I appreciate that on BDSMLR when people say that pictures/vids are LLM created.

It’s kind of funny to answer cause I don’t really think of it as “men I’ve had sex with,” because that makes it sound like I’m dating or fucking one-on-one, which I rarely do. I’m a cumdump. I count loads and cocks that have used me, not “men I’ve had sex with.” So the real answer is, I have no idea how many individual guys have been inside me, haha. I stopped keeping track of total loads somewhere north of 2,000 a few years ago. Probably closer to 3,000 by now. A lot of those cocks I never saw a face to, never spoke to, don’t even know if the same guy came back for seconds or thirds. So yeah… definitely in the thousand different loads range, probably pushing two or three thousand cocks that have dumped in me or on me. Every single one raw of course or I’d never count it. Still chasing the next thousand. 😊

Probably about 500 fucking me and about 100 fucking

I’m definitely an ass-first cumdump. 99% of the time I just want raw dick up my hole and left there to dump. But the second I see an uncut Top who hasn’t retracted or washed in a while, something flips in my brain and I drop to my knees like a starving whore. That cheesy look and smell under the foreskin makes my mouth water before he even pulls it out. I love peeling the skin back myself and watching the thick yellow-white paste clinging to the head, stuck in every fold. I’ll love tongue-bathing it, working the smegma loose, swirling it around my mouth, chewing on the bigger chunks. lol The taste is so nasty in the best way. So yeah I’m a cumdump first but give me a crusty uncut dick and I turn into the most eager cocksucker on earth. Only thing better is when he fucks my ass right after without wiping, so all that smegma and spit gets shoved up my cunt as lube. 😅

Love you already.

Yes and have. If he’s got a dick and wants to dump a load, I don’t care about much else. I’ve had Doms offer me up to take loads in alleys, behind dumpsters, wherever he tells me to bend over. Some of the roughest, most selfish breeds I’ve ever taken came from evidently homeless guys who hadn’t nutted in days and used my hole like it was the first warm thing they’d felt in a while. lol I’m a cumdump, not a chooser. If he needs to unload, my hole available.

Of course, but then there’s have your cake and eat it too, right — I don’t think our current relationship will wane as long as there is good communication.

looking to get spun and be a cumdump. Need a host!

That was fucking hot! Ever tell him?

ANON CUM DUMP TAKING LOADS IN SUNSET PARK BROOKLYN AT "SUNSET VIDEO" I'll be there around 9:30 pm (SAT. 12/6/25) Looking to have this HOLE FLOODED & FLOODED. In area or close? CUM MAKE A MESS IN ME!!!

I had my first fuck with a known poz guy yesterday. Beautiful black man with a beautiful dick, very animal. He loves behaving as a gooning monkey. While fucking him, I pissed and then came in his ass. He has not been tested for over 6 months, so no idea what other STI he may have. He's undectable, so no risk for HIV sadly. It was very freeing to be able to discuss it freely. To have someone tell me he'd love to gift. But he'd prefer to just fuck people who don't ask any question, and not tell them, so that they don't know who pozzed them. that's safer according to him. I asked why he didn't take a med pause, for example to gift as much as possible at DarkLands (he has not yet been there, but seems a dream to him), and he answers that he knows if he pauses, he'll never start again. I told him that's even greater. He's young (26) so hopefully, if he never meds again, I could see a very young people get sicker and sicker, and hopefuly even die of AIDS if he gets very determined, that it would be so sexy. Right now, I don't think he'd do it, even if the idea excited him a lot. I sucked him a long time, while playing with nipples and alternating with dirty talk. but while hard all the time he could not get to cum. I would have loved him to fuck me, but I was only supposed to top and my ass was not reading for a dick that would go through my second ring.

The sad truth of this, guys, is that I did let Tina get the better of me and make me a slut who got pozzed cheating on his lover, the love of my life. He stuck by me for 5 years of affairs, psychosis, rehab, relapse, his own eventual self inflicted psychosis and diagnosis of schizophrenia, got sober, stayed sober and finally left me. And here's the saddest truth of all.....he was a good man that I broke into pieces because of my naivety and unwillingness to stop running around, and you know what kids? I'm the broken one now. I wake up crying for him still, 2 years later...I lost something good, maybe the only good thing I would ever have, because I let Tina get bigger than me. I let out my inner slut and killed our love, our trust and our future. Heed my words, this lifestyle comes with a price and even if you're not prepared to, everyone always has to pay the piper.

I'm in Essex. Id love to get fucked by homeless guys

hellya homeless guys are hot

I was in a neighboring city and needed to cum before driving home. Messaged several bottoms but nobody was ready. I clicked on one popular cumdump motels in Snifffies because there were several guys there and it was lit up as active. There was a public message that said "blindfolded anon bb bottom. door open as long as this message is posted".. The room number was there too. The profile posted had no pics and was off-line for over an hour. I was so horny and it wasn't too far so I went, figuring I could just leave if I wasn't into the guy. I go to the room and the bottom is getting fucked and two tops are waiting. Older guys is naked fucking and the other two are waiting with their dicks out, clothes on. Neither wanted to be touched. Older guy finishes and one of the tops moves in. I get a better look at the bottom, he's close to my age, fit and has a nice hairy ass. He's blindfolded, as advertised. The top that moves in had a big dick, probably about 8" and thick. He pushes straight in, one thrust, no lube in a way that probably wouldn't have felt good even if opened up and a bit cummy. This cause the bottom to yelp a bit and he speak, basically telling the top that his dick is dry and he needs lube, spit or cum on it. When this happens I immediately recognized the voice and take a closer look. Bottom is a close friend who I never knew had a slutty side. This makes my dick rock hard. The big dick top fucks him for a while before he finally releases and it's a big fucking load. I can see the grundle throbbing and when he pulls out I can see the cum leaking out a bit. The other guy moves in, average an unremarkable guy. He cums really fast - big dick top had barely gotten out of the room. He ask asks my friend how many loads and he says he lost count at 18. My turn, I'm so hard because I love a loaded hole and this is my friend who is pretty cute and there's no way I would have get to fuck him in the dynamics of our friendship. I'm also nervous. I can't speak and what if he lifts the blindfold.... I slide my cock in and he's pretty tight considering the day he's had. Once I'm in, his hole is just so slick and oozing cum. It's take my time because I want to savor fucking him and I build up a nice rhythm. Feel great for me and he's moaning in a good way. I felt like I was going to nut the whole time and was really trying to hold it back but after about 5 minutes I reached the point that I couldn't hold it back without stopping and even though I wanted to go longer it just felt to good to stop. I shot a really nice load in him, felt bigger and longer than normal. My balls were dripping cum and my bush was soaked. I zipped up and left covered in cum. As I was leaving the motel, another top was heading that way he was really unattractive and hit was kind of hot knowing that my friend was going to take this guys load. I ended up sitting in the car for about 45 minutes where I could see the room door. I decided to go back up and get another load out of me. Ugly guy was still fucking him but he stopped and gave me his ass. I was able to fuck longer this time and gave him another load.