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This may not be the right place, but are there still any over the counter pills to use periodically for ED? I know there used to be Stamina RX, which I tried once, but I think that is no longer available. It definitely helped to keep me up longer. It also seemed to make my hole more sensitive and receptive.

I’m more than happy to spread my legs for an 18 or 19 year old dick. Fill me up! The young guys who rudely dismiss older men are fools. Hopefully, they will be old and alone, or see the light before then.

Chapter 32: Imposters and Alibis Clearview University Medical. Steighn wing, ER Waiting Room. 00:19 MST. 1-Nov-20XX. REDACTED location. Jack sat hunched in one of the molded plastic chairs in the emergency room waiting area, his injured foot stretched out stiffly in front of him, trying to keep pressure off the ankle that throbbed with every pulse of blood through it. The fluorescent lights overhead were painfully bright after the darkness he had spent crawling through, and the steady noise of the ER—phones ringing, muted conversations, distant overhead pages—felt overwhelming, like his senses hadn’t quite caught up with the fact that he was somewhere safe. Safe. At least… relatively. His head still felt thick and foggy, like he’d just woken up from a bad hangover that refused to fade. Every so often a wave of irritability rolled through him, sharp and unpleasant, followed by a strange heaviness in his limbs that made him feel sluggish and unsteady. The slime. Or whatever the hell that thing had spit on him. He could still remember the first moment it hit his face—warm, viscous, and wrong. The smell alone had nearly made him gag. Even after wiping it away, the effects had lingered. His thoughts had slowed, emotions blunted and distorted, until eventually the haze had begun to thin. Now that it was finally wearing off, the irritation was coming back with a vengeance. Jack rubbed a hand over his face, jaw tightening. Across the waiting room, a television mounted near the ceiling quietly played a local news broadcast. A reporter stood somewhere downtown, speaking in that carefully controlled tone anchors used when they didn’t want to admit how little they actually understood about what was happening. Words drifted through the room. “…multiple disturbances reported across the city tonight…” “…witnesses describing groups of men wearing what appeared to be black, venom-like suits…” “…police are investigating whether the incidents may be connected…” Jack stared at the floor tiles instead of the screen when the press conference showed a picture of him demanding anyone who saw him to call the police. If anyone in the room looked too closely at him right now, they might start making connections he couldn’t afford. He focused instead on breathing through the dull ache in his ankle. And trying not to think about what he had just escaped. But the memories kept clawing their way back anyway. He had woken up in that abandoned hospital wing disoriented and alone. The place looked like it had been closed for decades. The air smelled stale and damp, the walls streaked with old stains where paint had peeled away in curling strips. Broken office furniture had been shoved into corners and stacked haphazardly along the walls like someone had simply abandoned the place mid-cleanout. At first he thought he was alone. Then he heard them. Movement. Voices. Something heavy scraping across the floor somewhere deeper in the building. Jack’s stomach twisted at the memory. The Smilers. And the thing controlling them. He hadn’t waited to find out how close they were. The only idea that had come to him was the ceiling. The ward still had old drop panels, thin and brittle squares meant to hide wiring and plumbing. If he could reach them, maybe he could crawl somewhere the monsters couldn’t follow. So he started stacking furniture. Office chairs. Metal filing cabinets. Half-collapsed desks that screeched loudly as he dragged them into place. The pile swayed dangerously as it grew taller, but eventually it was high enough. Jack climbed. The ceiling panel cracked loudly when he forced it upward, dust and insulation raining down over his head as he shoved himself into the narrow crawlspace above. And the second he pulled himself fully up— The entire stack collapsed beneath him. Metal slammed into tile with a crash that echoed through the empty ward. Jack had frozen instantly, lying flat against the beams above the ceiling tiles, every muscle locked in place. Below him, something moved. Voices stirred. The sound of footsteps. He hadn’t dared breathe. And even if he wanted to climb back down, there was nothing left beneath him but wreckage. Forward was the only direction left. So he crawled. Slowly dragging himself along the narrow beams, careful not to put too much weight on the brittle tiles beneath him. Pipes scraped against his back, insulation clung to his clothes, and every movement made the ceiling creak softly under his weight. Time blurred. Minutes. Hours. He had no idea. Eventually the sounds beneath him changed. The echoing emptiness of the abandoned wing gave way to something else. Electric hum. Voices. A working part of the hospital. Jack found another ceiling panel and pushed it aside. The drop looked manageable. He lowered himself slowly— Then his grip slipped. He hit the ground hard and pain shot through his ankle as it twisted violently under his weight. For a moment he couldn’t breathe. Stars exploded behind his eyes and a strangled cry tore out of him before he could stop it. But the adrenaline came rushing back just as quickly. Jack forced himself upright and staggered down the hallway, half-limping until he found a stairwell. The emergency exit door had opened without resistance, and surprisingly no alarms sounded. Cold air had hit him immediately. He stepped outside and realized he wasn’t just outside the building. He was on hospital grounds. Jack had limped across the campus in a crooked path until he found the glowing red sign for the emergency department. And now he was here. Alive. Probably safe. His stomach growled loudly enough that the woman sitting across from him glanced over with mild annoyance. Jack ignored her and leaned forward, rubbing his temples. God, he was hungry. Not just normal hunger either. It felt deeper than that, like his body had burned through everything it had left just trying to survive the last few hours. Like he hadn’t eaten for days. Across the waiting room, the vending machines hummed quietly. Jack stared at them for a moment. Food sounded like the best idea he’d had all night. Jack pushed himself up from the chair with a quiet hiss as his injured ankle protested immediately. The joint felt stiff and swollen now, each step sending a dull throb up his leg, but the hunger gnawing at his stomach was stronger than the pain. He limped across the waiting room toward the vending machines, one hand braced briefly against the wall for balance as the strange groggy heaviness still clung to the edges of his mind. The machines hummed quietly beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, rows of candy bars and chips stacked behind scratched plastic windows. Jack fished a few crumpled bills out of his pocket and shoved them into the slot of the snack machine. The mechanism whirred and clicked as he punched in a number, watching the spiral coil begin to turn. A bag of chips tipped forward. Then stopped halfway. Jack stared at it. The bag hung there stubbornly between two coils, tilted at an angle like it had simply decided it wasn’t coming out tonight. Like it was mocking him. For a moment he just blinked at it, the fog still clinging to his thoughts slowing the reaction. Then irritation surged back to the surface. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered. “I just want something to eat!” He slapped the front of the machine once. The bag didn’t move. Jack hit it again, harder this time. Still nothing. Behind him, a few of the people sitting in the waiting area glanced over with mild curiosity. Jack leaned closer to the glass, squinting at the stuck bag like it had personally insulted him. “Oh, no,” he said under his breath. “No. No, no, no.” He shoved his hand against the side of the machine and rattled it. The bag wobbled slightly. But it didn't fall. The irritation that had been simmering in his chest since the slime started wearing off flared instantly into something hotter. Jack slammed his fist against the front of the machine. The metal frame rattled loudly. Still the bag didn’t move. “Oh, come on! Quit being a stubborn bitch!” He kicked the side of the machine in frustration. Pain exploded up his injured ankle the moment his foot connected. Jack let out a strangled yell and hopped backward, grabbing the edge of the machine to keep from falling over. “Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!” The shout echoed across the waiting room. Now everyone was staring. A woman holding an ice pack against her forehead scowled openly. An older man sitting with his arm in a sling shook his head with quiet disapproval. Jack barely noticed. He was too busy glaring at the machine like it had personally wronged him. His stomach growled again. The sound made him even angrier. “Stupid piece of shit machine—” He slammed his fist against the glass again. The machine rattled loudly, the snacks inside shifting slightly. Still nothing. Jack kicked the side of it again, immediately regretting it as pain shot up his ankle once more. “Goddammit! Just give me my food!” His voice rose louder than he meant it to. “Do you know how much money these things make?” he snapped at no one in particular. “You’d think they could at least give you what you pay for!” A couple sitting nearby exchanged an uncomfortable look. At the check-in desk, one of the nurses frowned and leaned toward a coworker. Jack jabbed a finger at the machine like it was personally responsible for everything wrong with the world. “I just want food,” he snapped, voice rising as frustration boiled over. “Is that too much to ask?” The nurse behind the desk sighed quietly and stood up. Across the room, a security guard had already started walking over. And just behind him, another nurse grabbed the sleeve of a passing doctor, leaning close enough to whisper something urgent. Both of them glanced toward the vending machines. Toward Jack. — Tex had been halfway down the corridor when the nurse caught his sleeve. He stopped automatically, turning as she leaned close and spoke in a low voice meant not to carry across the waiting room. “Sorry, Doctor Kade,” she said quickly, nodding toward the vending machines. “I know you're probably busy, but we’ve got a situation out here. That guy’s getting aggressive and security’s tied up with another patient. Think you could take a look?” Tex followed her line of sight. A man stood at the vending machine with one hand braced against the metal frame, breathing hard like he’d just finished a sprint. The machine itself rattled as he slammed a fist against the glass again, muttering curses loud enough for half the waiting room to hear. Tex started walking toward him automatically, already preparing the standard mental script for dealing with an irritated patient. Calm voice. De-escalation. Ask about symptoms, redirect the frustration. He could do that. Then the man shifted slightly. Tex saw his face. And stopped dead. Jack Blaine. For a split second, Tex’s brain simply refused to process it. Jack was supposed to be— Missing. Possibly dead. Most likely the Alpha. Instead he was standing in front of a vending machine in the ER waiting room, limping, disheveled, and looking like he hadn’t slept in days. Security reached the scene first. “Sir,” the guard said firmly, stepping between Jack and the machine, “I’m gonna need you to calm down.” Jack spun around, ready to argue. His eyes landed on Tex. Recognition hit instantly. “You— I remember you. You left me there, wouldn’t help me get out of the lab from those monsters! It’s your fault!” The words came out loud enough that several heads in the waiting room turned. Tex moved without thinking. He stepped forward quickly and grabbed Jack’s arm in a grip that looked professional but felt anything but gentle. “All right, sir,” Tex said loudly, cutting him off before he could continue. “Let’s get you somewhere private so we can take a look at that ankle. Sorry, everyone.” Jack blinked at him, stunned. Several people let out a sigh of relief, likely glad to not have to deal with Jack attacking a machine and breaking the quiet of the waiting room. Tex leaned in just enough that only Jack could hear the next words. “Shut. Your. Mouth. Or I will put you down in front of everyone here.” Jack froze. Security relaxed slightly, assuming the doctor had the situation under control. Tex didn’t give Jack time to react. He turned and started walking, guiding—no, dragging—Jack toward the hallway leading deeper into the ER. Jack stumbled after him, forced to keep moving as Tex maintained the iron grip on his arm. They passed through the swinging doors separating the waiting area from the treatment wing. The noise of the waiting room faded behind them. Tex pushed open the first empty exam room he found and shoved Jack inside. The door shut behind them with a quiet click. Jack turned toward him immediately, anger and disbelief colliding in his expression. “What the hell—” Tex reached behind his back. The gun appeared in his hand so fast Jack barely saw it happen. Tex pressed the barrel hard into Jack’s ribs. “Say one more word,” Tex said coldly, “and I will personally sedate you with something that’ll put you down until Tuesday. You already saw what I did to two of your lackeys, and I have plenty more where that came from.” Jack went completely still. Tex didn’t waste a second. He stepped in close and pressed the gun harder into Jack’s ribs beneath the drape of the lab coat. The metal was hidden from anyone outside the room, but the message behind it was unmistakable. Jack froze instantly. For a moment neither of them spoke. Tex studied him carefully. Up close, Jack looked like he had crawled out of a disaster zone. His clothes were smeared with grime and dust, streaked with dark stains Tex couldn’t immediately identify. His hair was matted with sweat and insulation fibers. The faint sour smell clinging to him suggested something worse than just a long night. Tex’s nose wrinkled slightly. Sewers. That was the only thing that made sense. The city was being attacked by things crawling out of the dark. Jack shows up looking like he’s been living underground. It fit too neatly. Tex’s voice came out low and controlled. “We all know you’re the Alpha. Have to admit, the act in the lab was rather good.” Jack blinked. “What?” “Don’t,” Tex snapped. He shoved Jack backward into the exam table, the metal frame rattling loudly. “Do not start that innocent act with me.” Jack’s eyes darted toward the gun pressing into his side. Tex leaned closer. “Do you have any idea how many people those things have turned tonight?” he said quietly. “How many of my friends I’ve watched get hauled through this hospital? Or worse, have sent chasing after me on your orders?” Jack swallowed hard. Tex didn’t stop. “And now the guy running the lab where this nightmare started just magically shows up in my ER looking like he just crawled out of a storm drain.” Tex’s expression hardened. “You want to tell me that’s a coincidence?” Jack shook his head weakly. “No—no, you’ve got this completely wrong—” Tex gave a humorless laugh. “Oh, I’m sure I do,” he said. “You’re really selling the part, too. Limping around, screaming at vending machines, pretending you don’t know what’s going on.” He pressed the gun harder into Jack’s ribs. “But I’ve seen what those things can do, Jack. I’m not stupid. I know I turn my attention for even a second and you’ll slime me as well.” Jack stared at him, stunned. “So let’s skip the theater,” Tex continued. “Quit acting like you’re innocent.” Jack let out a shaky breath. “You think I’m controlling them?” he asked. “Yes.” The answer came instantly. Jack gave a short, disbelieving laugh, his motions sluggish. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Tex’s grip tightened slightly. “I barely made it out alive,” Jack said hoarsely. “I woke up trapped in that place with them. Those things were everywhere.” Tex’s expression didn’t budge. Jack ran a hand over his face, frustration creeping into his voice. “I climbed through the ceiling to get out,” he said. “Stacked furniture, broke through the tiles, crawled through the crawlspace until I found another wing.” He pointed weakly toward his ankle. “Fell through when the stack collapsed. Twisted my ankle on the way down.” Tex’s gaze flicked briefly to the injury, then back to Jack’s face. Jack gestured toward the hallway outside. “Then I limped across half the campus trying to get here.” Tex remained silent. Jack’s voice rose slightly. “You think I want anything to do with those things?” Tex tilted his head slightly. “Given that you’re the one who built the lab where this started? That they took you with them when they escaped containment? That you seem perfectly unharmed?” he said flatly. “Yeah. I do.” Jack stared at him for a long moment. Then something shifted in his expression. “You… you don’t actually know who it is, do you?” he said slowly. Tex didn’t answer. That was answer enough. Jack blinked. “Oh my god,” he muttered. “You really don’t. He said he’d make me pay. That everyone would blame me.” Tex’s jaw tightened. “If you know something,” he said evenly, “now would be the time.” Jack nodded quickly. “Yeah,” he said, suddenly urgent. “Yeah, I do.” He leaned forward slightly. “It’s not me. It’s him. He… he… he said—” The words slurred halfway out of his mouth. Jack blinked. His eyes suddenly lost focus. Tex frowned. “What?” Jack swayed on his feet. “Huh… I don’t… I don’t feel so good. I feel dizzy.” The adrenaline that had kept him upright all night finally gave out. His knees buckled. He collapsed forward onto the floor before Tex could react. The room fell quiet again. Tex stared down at him for a long second. “Really?!…You have got to be fucking kidding me.” — Clearview University Medical - Dumpf Tower, basement. 00:03 MST. 31-Oct-20XX. REDACTED location. Dr. Grant could not move. His body stood rigid in the middle of the old hospice room, arms hanging uselessly at his sides, fingers trembling faintly but never quite lifting. The Alpha held him there like a puppet with invisible strings, forcing him to watch the same moment repeat over and over again. Julian lay in the bed. The sheets were still drawn up to his chest, the same way the nurses had left them when they realized there was nothing left for them to do. The monitor beside the bed was silent now, its screen dark, but Grant could still hear the echo of that final flat tone ringing in the back of his mind. Julian’s eyes were open. Empty. Color had already begun draining from his skin, leaving him pale and still beneath the dim yellow glow of the bedside lamp. “You didn’t save me.” The voice came from Julian. But his lips didn’t move. Grant’s chest tightened painfully. “I tried,” he whispered hoarsely. “I did everything I could. You know I did.” Julian’s head turned slowly on the pillow. Dead eyes fixed on him. “You didn’t do enough.” Grant tried to step forward. His body refused to obey. “You let me die.” A tear slipped down Grant’s cheek. “You failed me.” The words struck harder this time. “You essentially built up my hope and killed me.” Grant squeezed his eyes shut— and they snapped open again instantly. The Alpha would not allow him even that mercy. Julian’s corpse continued staring at him, unblinking. “You were supposed to save me.” Grant’s shoulders trembled with silent sobs. For a long moment the only sound in the room was the uneven rhythm of his breathing. Then Grant’s head tilted slightly. The movement was subtle. Wrong. A faint smile began to form across his lips. “Awww…. So much guilt,” he murmured softly. The voice was Grant’s. But the tone was not. Grant felt the Alpha moving inside him like a second shadow, something cold pressing against the edges of his mind. The illusion around them flickered faintly, the walls of the hospice room distorting like reflections in water. Grant’s eyes shifted toward Julian again. “You’re not going to win,” he said quietly. The smile widened. “Oh, I don’t know,” the Alpha replied. He leaned closer, Grant’s body bending toward the bed as though speaking intimately to the corpse. “I think I already have.” The Alpha straightened slowly and turned toward the door, as if preparing to leave. Then he paused. Grant felt the presence settle deeper inside him, pressing firmly against the edges of his thoughts. “You know,” the Alpha said conversationally, “I think I’m done borrowing your mind.” Grant’s breath caught. The Alpha leaned closer to the mirror of the illusion, as if examining the borrowed face. “I’ll just be borrowing our body for a little bit,” he continued calmly. “It will work much better for what I have planned. I know just the thing I need to draw out our little anomaly.” The words echoed through Grant’s skull. The room shattered. The illusion collapsed like glass breaking apart in slow motion. The hospice room dissolved around them. Julian vanished. The bed, the lamp, the walls—everything faded into nothing. When reality returned, Grant found himself standing in a different place entirely, feeling himself pulling on his clothes. A cracked mirror hung over a rusted sink. The air smelled damp and stale. A neglected hospital bathroom in the basement. Grant stared at his reflection. His face looked pale. Eyes red from crying. The faintest traces of black veins receded under his labcoat as his teeth shrank and eyes cleared. He felt panicked, watching at how easily the signs of infection disappeared. But the expression shifting across it was now calm. Too calm. Grant lifted one hand slowly, flexing his fingers as if reacquainting himself with them. “Much better,” the Alpha murmured through his mouth. “This form of our body does have some perks.” Inside his own mind, Grant screamed. The Alpha felt it. He smiled at the mirror. “You really do make this so entertaining,” he said softly. Grant’s reflection stared back helplessly. The Alpha straightened Grant’s… no… their shoulders and studied the reflection carefully. Then he began to rehearse. Fear. He widened Grant’s eyes. Panic. He quickened the breathing. Desperation. He let Grant’s shoulders sag slightly, lips parting as though he had been running. The Alpha watched each version critically, adjusting tiny details until the performance felt convincing. Grant felt every movement. Every stolen breath. Finally, the Alpha nodded to himself. “Yes,” he murmured. “This will do nicely, I think.” Grant’s body turned away from the mirror and stepped out into the dim basement corridor. Grant’s memories unfolded easily now. Hallways. Stairwells. The route to the emergency department. He walked calmly through the hospital, humming softly as he went. Then he saw someone ahead in the hallway. A man in scrubs moving quickly. Trevor. Grant’s heart lurched violently inside his chest. The Alpha smiled. Perfect. Couldn’t have planned it better. The humming stopped. His expression shifted instantly into panic. He broke into a desperate run. “Trevor!” he shouted. “Help!” — Trevor Kade moved quickly down the corridor, one hand still holding the small insulated case against his side as he scanned the hallway ahead. The hospital had that strange late-night stillness that only came after midnight—when the ER never truly slowed down, but the rest of the building seemed to hold its breath between emergencies. His mind was racing, attention split. Half on the doses he had just retrieved. And half on the fact that Toby was currently impersonating him while General Krell prowled around the hospital asking questions. Trevor exhaled slowly, trying to organize the next steps in his head. They had proof now. The drug worked. They had more doses. A weapon against those infected. Mason Hawke’s eyes had changed. His skin had begun to normalize. It wasn’t a full reversal yet, but it was enough to interrupt the infection’s progression. If they could stabilize Toby and Elias’s commander the same way— “Trevor! Help!” The voice echoed sharply down the hallway. Trevor turned instinctively. A man was running toward him from the far end of the corridor. His tattered lab coat flapped behind him as he ran, breath ragged, face pale and drawn with fear. Trevor blinked in disbelief. “Dr. Grant?” Grant stumbled the last few steps toward him and grabbed the edge of the wall as if he needed it to stay upright. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, one hand clutching the front of his coat. “Trevor—thank god,” he gasped. “I thought I wasn’t going to find anyone.” Trevor stared at him. Clark Grant wasn’t supposed to be here. The last he had heard from Toby, Grant had disappeared earlier that evening. Carried off by those things. “How did you—” Trevor began. Grant shook his head quickly, cutting him off. “No time,” he said breathlessly. “I barely got away.” Trevor frowned slightly. “Away from what?” Grant leaned closer, lowering his voice as if afraid someone might overhear them. “Follow me and I can explain everything,” he said. “What happened at the lab, the virus, all of it. The thing controlling them—” Trevor felt his pulse spike. Something was off. Since when did Clark Grant ever refer to him by his first name? Trevor frowned as his mind rushed to put the pieces together. Grant swallowed hard. “It’s what I was trying to tell you earlier,” he continued quickly. “In the text message.” Trevor went still. The hallway suddenly felt much quieter. He stared at Grant. “…The what?” Grant blinked. “The text message,” he repeated, voice tight with urgency. “I sent you—” Trevor’s eyes hardened. “You didn’t send me a text.” Grant froze. For a brief moment the panic on his face seemed to falter. Trevor’s voice dropped, cold and controlled. “You sent me an email. The real Clark Grant would know that. And he never called me by my first name. Just who the fuck are you?” Silence stretched between them. Grant’s expression slowly shifted. The fear drained from his eyes. His posture straightened slightly. Then he sighed. “…I should have known,” he murmured. Trevor took a step back. “Who are you, really?” he asked quietly. Grant tilted his head slightly. “He always was meticulous about details,” he said calmly. “Of course he would intentionally misremember things like that just to throw another wrench into the fray.” Trevor’s stomach dropped. The thing wearing Grant’s face stepped closer. “Fortunately, it won’t do anything to my perfect plan. Unfortunately for you,” it continued mildly, “he’s not the one driving right now.” Trevor reacted instantly, stepping back another pace. But the Alpha moved faster. A thick strand of black, viscous slime shot from Grant’s mouth before Trevor could fully react. It splattered across his face. The smell hit him first—sharp and metallic and wrong. Trevor gagged instinctively. The world tilted violently. His muscles suddenly refused to respond. “What—” His knees buckled. The last thing Trevor saw before the floor rushed up to meet him was the calm, almost amused expression on Dr. Grant’s face. Then everything went dark. The Alpha looked down at the unconscious doctor at his feet. For a moment, he simply studied him. Then he crouched and lifted Trevor easily, draping him over his shoulder like dead weight before grabbing the case that had fallen to the ground. “Well,” he murmured thoughtfully, adjusting his grip. “This one should do nicely. Time to call the cavalry back in.” He started walking again, humming softly to himself as he headed back toward the older wing of the hospital. “Let’s see how that stubborn little anomaly and your brother react to this.” END OF THE THIRD ACT.

It's a real accomplishment to make a story this hot and filthy and sweet and touching all at the same time. Thanks!

I've learned the same as you, I been in BZ JAIL before.

**This is a work of fantasy and fiction. Any similarity to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental. Nothing in this work should be construed as medical advice in any way** My previous story “The Ten” in intertwined with this story. You can read that here: [think before following links] https://breeding.zone/topic/77207-the-ten/ CHAPTER 7: “AT LAST…IT HAD TO BE HIM” Matthew Hill, MD and the nurse from his practice, Keith, who featured prominently in the airplane dream Dr. Hill had, waited by the baggage carousel for Dr’s bags. Matthew had met his handsome nurse and poz alpha predator Keith at the airport and blurted out what Keith had longed to hear – that it was Keith’s powerful strain of HIV that the young doctor wanted to get him over the line. Keith had waited a long time to hear that – ever since he fucked the young med student through the glory hole at the infamous bathhouse back in college. Oh, Keith knew who he was fucking then, and he knew who Matthew was when he went for the nursing job in his office. He took special pleasure and pride in pozzing up the ones who initially resisted…it was a personal challenge to him to break down the defenses and to get his infected seed deep up a guy’s hole and into the bloodstream where it can flourish. Turning guys poz was an indescribable and hedonistic delight, and once poz, as every member of The Ten finds out, it becomes a basic necessity to spread the gift of HIV as often as possible, to as many as possible. Keith, and all of The Ten, was part of that new community of poz brothers, impelled by sheer biological need to replicate their viral status. And spreading it was something Keith was especially good at, as evidenced by the 7 dark X’s tattoed across his furry belly. He was pozfather to at least 70 guys already but this latest endeavor with Matthew would be extra special for him. “I don’t know, “Matthew began, still waiting for the bags to arrive, and after a few moments of an uncomfortable silence, “it doesn’t make sense medically, but maybe I was waiting somehow for you to be the one.” He leaned in close to Keith who wrapped his muscular hairy arms around the young doctor and whispered to him “I know I’ve been waiting….all this time so conflicted – wanting you to go poz from one of the other guys, but at the same time, hoping against hope you’d have to come to me to make it happen. And now it will happen.” Finally, they gathered up the luggage and went out to Keith’s car parked in the airport garage, but instead of the front seats, they both headed for the back seats. Keith was going to plant the poz flag into Matthew’s ass right here and now, in the parking garage. His thick cock strained against his jeans and as Matthew undid the button-fly and released the pozzing tool, the 0g PA glistened in the faint light of the parking garage. As Matthew went to get in the back seat of the car, Keith interrupted him: “Change of plans - no, not in the car - up against that column!” pointing to a cement pillar. The young doctor did as he was told and leaned up against the pillar, dropping his trousers and exposing his round little hole for the poz predator man about to inseminate him. “Risky fucking is so much more hot, I’m gonna seed you all over town, starting here in this garage,” Keith said, as cars passed by on their way to parking spaces, the two men fucking in the corner, only partially shielded by the other vehicles. If anyone came to claim their car in the vicinity of the pair of writhing sex gods, they’d get quite an eyeful and earful, as Keith plunges his pierced toxic AIDS-gun deep inside Matthew’s hole, a deep and violent hip thrust accompanying the entry into the young doctor’s pussy. “Yeah, I got a three-day load saved up…it’s been years since I went more than a few hours without spreading my seed…ever since I pozzed up, you just need to breed and replicate. But I held off for you, Matthew” Keith exclaimed, pistoning his fat poz dick in and out of the doctor’s hole. “Getting close, whore,” he said as his breathing heightened and Matthew’s moans of pleasure and pain filled the stagnant air of the garage. Keith unloaded his massive three-day load of HIV deep up the doctor’s cunt, slamming his body against the cold concrete column. It was only after a few more minutes of grinding and thrusting that Keith withdrew the pozzing tool, dripping with lube and a few drops of toxic seed, some of which was from Solomon, the motel clerk, and Mitch Greene from Boston, which fell onto the dirty garage floor. Matthew saw this and got down and licked the drops of precious semen off the dirty, oil-stained garage floor. This surprised even a pozzing pro like Keith, who admired the young doctor’s dedication in not wasting a drop of the viral prize. As the two disentangled themselves and pulled their clothes back on, a round of applause rang out and they turned around to see 2 older guys, each around 70, wheeling luggage behind them, and obviously a long-term couple, smiling and one saying to the other: “Remember, Bill, when we were pigs like that!” and they went on their way. Getting back into the car, the two of them exited the garage, Matthew’s head resting in Keith’s lap and reaching a hand into Keith’s unzipped shorts and holding the poz penis that Matthew knew would bring him into the beautiful brotherhood of poz men seeded and pozzed by The Ten, which had chapters all over the world now. How many men the world over have been impregnated with HIV by The Ten, Matthew wondered as Keith silently drove. Few words were exchanged, but Matthew and Keith already felt the deep bond of chaser and pozzer. Keith drove on, and eventually arrived at the next pozzing spot he had planned – the old bathhouse where over 10 years’ prior, Keith first fucked and bred Matthew through a glory hole – the special glory hole that local chasers knew, and still know, is where you go for a toxic load of cum in one’s hole. And so it was in less than 15 minutes later that Keith deposited the second enormous load of toxic poz cum deep up the cunt of his employer, Dr. Matthew Joon Hill. But of course, for a alpha poz predator like Keith, 2 fucks was never gonna be enough, especially after waiting 3 days to unload, which might not be a long time for most guys, but for a poz predator breeding machine like Keith, it felt like an eternity. After a brief rest in their shared tiny compartment at the sex club, Keith led Matthew to an open area where live sex shows would occasionally be held. Propping him on the fuck bench with his hole, already laden with two HIV loads, was exposed for the gathered clientele to see. Keith made an announcement that brought all the men over to where they were. “Hi boys, I’m gonna fuck and breed my boyfriend here with a big poz load of cum. You’re free to use his mouth if you want, but his hole is for me and me alone, so we know for sure I’m the one who upgrades that ass to poz status!” With that, men formed a line at Matthew’s mouth and by the time Keith had gotten his cock into the hole for the 3rd time today and started to thrust, Matthew had already taken 3 loads of stranger cum in his mouth. The mouth assault continued as Keith neared his inevitable poz climax and with heaving thrusts and loud bellows, he loaded the young doctor up with a third unmedicated volley of poz seed, while Matthew’s mouth worked overtime to serve the row of men lined up. He took 12 loads of rando cum down his throat to match the 3 AIDS-brews Keith dumped in his hole. “Thanks, guys,! Keith called out as the last man, an elder Daddy of about 80, shuddered and shook and shot his load into the doctor’s mouth. “Show’s over,” gotta get this whore home and continue the breeding program!” Once they got back to Keith’s apartment, he threw Matthew onto the bed. “Yeah, whore, all that risky sex gets me so fucking hot,” Keith remarked, pulling down Matthew’s trousers and opening up his legs to reveal a well-worn hole, beads of sweat and cum clinging to the lightly furry opening. Keith dove his tongue deep into the cunt of his prey, now a perfect O-shaped repository for his viral, unmedicated AIDS-seed. His fat pierced cock growing to full-mast yet again, Keith plunged it up the doctor’s worn out pussy and resumed the deep, methodical unmerciful pillaging of Matthew’s insides, more HIV-laden pre-cum already flowing from Keith’s engorged cockhead into the young doctor’s negative hole, and then soon followed by yet more cumsplosions of virus deep up the doctor’s guts. Keith added a few more deep thrusting motions for good luck and as he withdrew, he replaced his dripping pozzing tool with a buttplug to keep all the beautiful HIV jizz inside the young doctor, soaking into his bloodstream. Keith felt like finally, after literally hundreds of loads from scores of toxic poz men, that his employer, the young doctor, would finally see 2 bright red lines on the home test in three weeks, and finally see an official lab confirmation a few days after that. But he was having too much fun impregnating the young doctor, once such a fierce condom and “safe-sex” advocate, and doing so in all sorts of risky places: One night they snuck into their old college dormitory, now co-ed, after being male-only when they were in school. The showers on the 4th floor was where Keith got pozzed way back over 10 years ago by Ric and/or Mateo. He remembered those days fondly, for the thrill of his chase, while not as long as Matthew’s was today, still gave him such excitement even after all these years. Once Keith did poz up, the virus was near-unstoppable inside him in the quest to be spread to as many men as Keith could. That night in the glory hole where he first bred Matthew he remembered fondly, as that was the first sex after he got over his fuck flu. His strain was especially virulent so soon after infection, and he fucked and bred 5 guys that night, the young med student Matthew being the last one. Oh, he knew who Matthew was then -- he was the one Ric and Mateo couldn’t get to, and it filled him with devilish glee that his poz cum was first up inside the young Matthew and not his makers Ric and Mateo. After the escapade back at the dorm showers, he dragged Matthew out to the track oval and in the dim light of 2am, fucked him and sent another AIDS-armada deep up Matthew’s cunt, right there in the open. Was anyone watching? Keith didn’t care. His bug demanded to be spread, where and when it wanted. And more risky encounters followed: The back of the abandoned mall, the restroom of a fancy restaurant, the aerial tram up the mountain from Palm Springs…guys coming down the mountain in the other tram got an eyeful and broke into cheers and applause as they passed the two men writhing and fucking suspended in the air. By this time, Keith had been inseminating Matthew a few times per day for several weeks. The big “retirement from pozzing” party for Eric in Lake Tahoe was coming up and Keith knew his BF (for they were BFs by now), would surely get many toxic loads there. Poz disruptors like Randy, Sir Mack, 5-shot Frankie and others were all going to be there…but he was determined to be the pozzer of Matthew and so when Dr. Matthew Hill came down with flu-like symptoms and took to bed for a few days, Keith smiled with pride at his handiwork, which they later confirmed with the home test and two bright lines! “Thank you, thank you!” was all the young doctor, laden with 102F fever and chills could say as Keith stroked his hair and fed him chicken soup. Their bond complete, Keith and Matthew went from being “Doctor and Nurse,” or ‘Employer/Employee,” to lifelong partners. So when the Tahoe weekend rolled around, Keith brought along Matthew and they pretended Matthew was still negative…they’d spring the happy news of the poz test at the end of the weekend, so Keith could claim his prize. Matthew spent the Tahoe weekend being passed around and used at will by the gang of poz toxic men. He was thrilled to take repeated loads from his friends Sir Mack and Frankie as well as the original pozfather of this group of The Ten, Eric the tattoo artist, and his patient Randy, now joined to Matthew as poz brothers carrying Keith’s potent HIV seed inside them. On the final night of rampant fucking, Keith announced to all there that the young doctor got his positive results and proudly displayed the 3 home tests they took. They handed one of them to Eric, for Matthew Hill had decided his first poz-centric tattoo would be one of the test kit with it’s 2 bright red lines, the lines being barbed-wire and pointy, a few tiny drops of blood dripping from them. All the assembled pozzers broke out in applause at Matthew’s conversion and he and Keith left Tahoe and all the way back to L.A. in the car, they hardly said anything, but their connection and bond was unmistakable. Matthew’s conversion was long – years and years, actually, with hundreds of poz-toxic loads in the process, from many men. He surmised it had actually begun by knowing Ric and Mateo all those years ago in college – the seed being planted in his mind, if not his hole. A few weeks later, a beautiful “Happy Father’s Day” card arrived in the mail for Keith, from Ric and Mateo, living their best poz life on the ranch. Circles closed and completed, with new ones forming - the poz brotherhood and Matthew continued on in his thriving medical practice serving out, proud, poz men - some on meds, some not, he understood now the pull of poz, having experienced it for himself. Naturally, Keith and now Matthew continued to poz up chasers at will, bringing more and more men into the wonderful poz brotherhood. It made him a much better doctor, and he and Keith worked side-by-side in the practice for years to come, in love and proudly POZ. THE END

Oh wow - now that really has notched things up another gear again... poor Chad... 😈🤣

Can't wait for the next chapter...

Was a few months ago. Met a 30-something latino guy at his apartment. He said he likes to fuck raw but I asked him if he could wear a condom since I wasn't on PreP at the time. When I got there, I started blowing him. I saw the condom on his bed side table. Not long after, we were ready to fuck. He spinned me around doggy, lubed up his cock and started rubbing it against my crack. I was so horned up, I never asked him to put the condom on when he started to slide in. 20 minutes later, after a rough pounding, he shot his load inside me.

Woah that deserves all my attention 😛

I'm now in my late 20's, but have been meeting older men since I was 19. I have met men 50+, several over 60. So widest age gap would be about 45+ years. I prefer to fuck with more mature men, they seem to know what they are doing and know what they want.

On Wednesday I met a leather dom top and friend. I arrived and got practically raped as my pants were taken off and got bound to his bed over a few pillows. Tied up my balls tight. They went to town on my ass for when it seems an hour. Got a few good loads after my hole was wrecked. Still sore today

I use Mpreg Speak all the time. Most Bottoms wish they could have Babies too if possible. Why should females let alone Straights have all the fun 🤨? If dudes could get pregnant for realsies, I'd already be a Dad & Grandad starting in my 20's...🤔although there is The Matter of Financing. Fixed Income can only do so much ye know. Is it wrong for me to worry? Just a Bottom carrying My DNA inside THEIRS alone is well worth it, is it not? Bottoms do want to be "The Girl" in a way, why would They let themselves be fucked otherwise? If such didn't, waste each other's time I would not.

Is everyone on here a bottom?

Let them do it! It’a a marvellous feeling being pissed into the arse. I‘ve never had multiple fillings - but that must be heaven! And: Being fucked into the piss-filled hole is so much fun! Would love to be the filled object!

Excellent writing, no spelling mistakes and good grammar... Very hot descriptions of the sex...

So, a coworker who I’ve let fuck me before is planning on bringing a few friends over this weekend to use my holes. Coworker is from Eritrea with a very nice 9” BBC. He currently lives in migrant accommodation and is bringing a few guys from his place. Anyway, he told me that they want to piss in my ass. Not something I’ve ever had done to me before, but I’m not about to turn this guy down and potentially lose a very good BBC fuck buddy. Presuming that there are no translation errors here and they do indeed want to piss in my ass, what exactly should I expect and how can I prepare? Anything I should know about the aftermath? Any advice is greatly appreciated! thanks!

48 years difference... as far as i know. i've had a FB who breeds me 3-4x a week going on 6 years now, and there's 41 years difference between us. i'm a critical care nurse... i have patients in their 70's, 80's and 90's and i have patients in their 20's, 30's 40's and 50's, It's not uncommon for the younger to be in worse shape than the older, age is only one of many factors when it comes to health, and is by no means the primary cause of ill health where one needs a "nursing home." Oh, and the guy who said that has obviously never been to a gym.