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I screwed up guys, sorry. The second mare in the last chapter is Felix. That's what I get for writing so late at night! I'll keep that sorted out better for the rest of the story. Apologies!🥴

You should add the 'brothers' and 'incest' tags to this thread (assuming that this is where it is going)

Yes William Frawley

If I'm wanking with a guy I like to shoot a hot load over his dick to use as his wanking lube. Weirdly, the curious guys who want to wank together but no touching dicks and things sometimes love getting a hot load shot all over their dick. When it's just me wanking I like different things. Mostly I wank in the morning because I'm waking up hard and want to cum. Feels good to stretch out in bed, legs wide and slowly wank until I shoot all over my chest and beard. Sometimes I grab some boxers and wrap them around my dick to wank and cum in, feels nice and warm and easier to clean up, but sometimes it just feels great to let it go everywhere and make a mess. If I'm traveling on a team trip with shared rooms I'll wank in the shower and shoot a load on the wall.

I have dentures I can pop out and I’m able to take a cock down my throat. Once I get a cock in my mouth I’m in absolute heaven and get so into it, I won’t stop till I get that prized load. I get so into it I there ends up being spit on his cock, balls, groin, my mouth, chin, my throat, my chest!!!

From what you say both of you signed a contract! It is about to be broken, so you are no longer bound by it. The answer seems very simple!

I had a regular fuckbuddy, a big young bear who always fucks me brutally. In the last couple of times he fucked me twice within 2-3 hours (he’s a long runner, fucks me at least for an hour before breeding). His orgasm is always incredible and when his shots touch my hole I literally feel pain. It’s needless to say it’s a kind of enjoyable pain. 😈

I’m sure there are more similar tops, but I swear this top bred me more times. I won’t be surprised if we had sex with the same people. If you regularly visit Maspalomas you will have some recurring partners years by years.

All you fellow chasers know the cycle: one day you're consumed by the primal urge to get bred and pozzed, the next you're shattered by regret and vow to be safe forever. The chase is a constant, brutal up and down of desire and shame. And so after that shattering midnight experience in the public toilet, I went to the STD clinic the next day, seeking penance or perhaps just the next chapter in the story. Part 7: The Hard-On in Scrubs: Hippocratic Oath Versus Primal Urge The midnight experience at the public toilet was a nightmare. You're devastated. You will never do that again. The "real thing" was a cold, hollow violation that left you feeling more alone than ever. You want to stay safe. The next day, a Friday, you go to work but leave early at noon, the shame from the night before a constant, nagging presence. You drive straight to the STD clinic. The waiting room is a purgatory of sterile, antiseptic smells and hushed, fearful silence. You sit among the other faces, each a mask of shame and regret, just another number in a system designed to manage consequences. When your name is finally called, you follow a nurse down a stark white corridor and into a small, windowless office. The doctor gestures to the hard plastic chair opposite his desk. He can't be more than thirty, with the kind of youthful, earnest face that belongs on a medical school recruitment poster. He looks up, and his expression is one of polite, professional curiosity. He clicks his pen. "So," he begins, his voice flat. "The nurse tells me you're here for a PEP prescription. Let's go over it. Tell me about the exposure." You swallow, your throat dry. "It was... last night. Unprotected anal sex." He nods slowly, making a note. "Receptive or insertive?" "Receptive," you mumble. "Receptive." He repeats the word, and as he leans back in his leather chair, the movement stretches the thin fabric of his scrub top taut across his chest. That's when you see it: two nipple piercings. And peeking from the collar of his shirt is a dusting of thick, black chest hair, a stark, masculine contrast to his youthful face. You force your eyes back to his. "And how many partners were involved in this... encounter?" The word "encounter" makes it sound so clinical, so detached. "Two," you say. "And me." He looks up, a bit surprised by the specificity. "Two. Okay. And the status of these partners? Were any of them known to be HIV-positive?" You hesitate, the images flashing in your mind. "Not sure... probably both…" The doctor's pen stops. He leans forward slightly, his interest suddenly piqued. "Probably both? What makes you say that? Did they tell you? Or are you guessing?" "There were signs…." "Signs?" His voice is a low growl now. He stands. You see the powerful, rounded bubble butt in his scrubs for a second before he moves around the desk, leaning against it right in front of you. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the unmistakable bulge—a thick shape snaking down his left pant leg. It's so defined you can almost make out the ridge of his head. He's commando, and he's either hung or getting hard right here. The thought hits you like a lightning bolt. "What kind of signs?" You feel your face flush. "One of them... he looked... wasted. Very thin, gaunt." The doctor nods, his face unreadable. "Okay. That can be a sign, though it's not definitive. Anything else?" Your voice drops to a near-whisper. "The other one... he called himself 'BREEDER'. He had a... a biohazard symbol. Tattooed." The doctor's eyes widen almost imperceptibly. He lets out a slow, heavy breath. "I see. A biohazard tattoo." He makes a note on the chart, his pen pressing hard into the paper. He looks back at you from above, his gaze now sharp, cutting through you. The bulge in his pants seems to have grown even more prominent, a thick, commanding presence right in your line of sight. "And these signs... this knowledge... this did not hold you back?" You can only shake your head, the shame a physical weight. "No…" He leans forward again, his voice dropping lower, more serious. "I have to ask you this, and I need you to be honest. Did they rape you? Were you tied up? Forced in any way?" "No," you say, your voice cracking. "Nothing like that." "Then you deliberately engaged with them?" he presses, his words precise and damning, his body radiating a tense, authoritative energy. "Knowing what you saw, you still chose to participate?" You look down at your hands, unable to bear his stare. "Deliberately…" you confess. He leans back against the desk, letting out a long, weary sigh. For a moment, he is silent. You risk a glance up at him, and his expression has changed. The clinical disappointment is still there, but it's now layered with something else. Something almost... knowing. Almost empathetic. "Look," he says, his voice softer, almost conspiratorial. "I get it. On some level... I can see how the fantasy is hot. The [banned word], the risk... the idea of being corrupted. I'm not immune to that." Your heart hammers in your chest. He understands. And then you see it happen. As he speaks, his eyes flick down, almost involuntarily, to his own crotch. He suddenly becomes aware of it. The thick, hardening bulge straining against the fabric of his scrubs, right in your line of sight. A brief, almost imperceptible flash of panic crosses his face. He shifts his weight, turning his hips slightly as he crosses his arms over his chest—a casual, defensive move designed to obscure the very obvious evidence of his arousal. The awkwardness hangs in the air for a split second, thick and suffocating. You both know. You both saw. He pushes himself off the desk, his movements suddenly stiff and deliberate. Without another word, he retreats, walking back around to his own chair and sinking down into it. The desk is once again a barrier between you. He picks up his pen, his knuckles white as he grips it, a physical anchor to his professionalism. "But a fantasy," he continues, his voice now sharper, more forceful, as if to compensate for the momentary loss of control, "is not reality. And in reality, what you did was a stupid, very stupid mistake. A man your age... you lived through the worst of the AIDS crisis. You saw the ads, you knew people who died. To be this reckless now... it's almost willful—" He stops abruptly, catching himself. He closes his eyes for a second, takes a breath, and when he opens them, the professional mask is back in place, firm and unyielding. He proceeds in a colder, more clinical tone. "Let's stick to the medical facts..." He continues his lecture, but you barely hear the words. The brief moment of connection, his admission that he "gets it," and the raw, physical proof of his own arousal has done more damage than all his judgment combined. It confirmed that the world you crave is real, and that he, the man who embodies it, is just as susceptible to its pull. All you can see is the glint of his nipple rings, the confident set of his jaw, and the memory of his hardening cock. You leave the pharmacy with the little paper packet, the doctor's lecture a cold, hard weight in your mind. But it's not his words that are echoing. It's his confession. "I get it." And the image of him retreating behind his desk to hide his own hard-on. You feel a sick, confused heat spreading through you. Your own cock is hard. What the fuck is wrong with me? The shame is still there, but now it's tangled with this bizarre, humiliating arousal. The doctor, the voice of reason who understands the fantasy and gets hard from it, has become the ultimate twisted fantasy. You pass the sign for the rest stop. Your foot hovers over the brake. You think of the PEP in your pocket. Then you think of the doctor's piercing, his humiliatingly sexy authority, and the words "I… get… it." You signal and pull off the road. You need to fuck this feeling out of your head. You need to find something so dirty, so depraved, it will erase the memory of the one man who understands the fantasy but would never, ever, be a part of it.

Gonorrhea and the guy was so fuckin sexy

Around 700 different dicks

Creampie more women, maybe make some women preg

What’s up yall? I’m looking for someone that can host me and slut my cunt out! I’m totally okay with doing it at a hotel as well. I just know that my hole needs to be used and abused!!!!

When the load is very big you feel it as a silky lube liquidy feeling inside you. The same from taking about 4 or more normal loads gets you there as a very big one. I’m on vacation now in Gran Canaria and at least half the time it’s feeling wet like that. Several cum fart accidents 💦. Otherwise it’s what the other guys wrote here, you feel the pulsing of the dick with your ass, fantastic feeling.

worth the wait

Been with several- most were escorting but a few were just extremely lucky moments for me- like Bobby Blake lol. But I am dying to try out Chase Coxx - id love to hear about the experiences of those lucky bitches who’ve had him. Most recently I have seen adonisboss wolftitan master and diamondboyzz

Hell yer - sounds awesome. To be proper sleazy, gatehouse or subway is probably best.