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Chapter 8: Advanced Skills Training Thor came awake, his eyelids unsticking and opening with great reluctance. He woke up a little more when he focused on Lars, who was leaning over and shaking him with a look of concern on his face. “Oh, good, you’re back with us. I was starting to worry.” “Oh my god,” Thor groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead. “What time is it, anyway?” “Half past twelve. You’ve been sleeping for nine hours.” Thor struggled to remember the events of the previous night. Two things were clear right away. His headache was telling him that it had been a night to remember – although at the moment he had no clear recollection of visits to the bar any earlier than the three glasses of champagne at and after midnight. That stuff always gives me a headache, but I never learn my lesson, he thought ruefully. The even more insistent ache in his ass jogged his memory about his time on the fuck bench, although he still had no clear picture of just how many cocks had entered him, how many guys had bred him, how many loads of sperm he had absorbed into his body. “I feel like I could sleep for ten hours more with no trouble.” “I know just what you need. Sunlight. Get out there and hit the pool and the beach, that will cure your headache faster than anything. And plenty of water into your stomach.” Thor groaned again, more at the ache in his ass than anything else, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. “I’ll go get showered up and then head out to the pool.” “That’s the spirit, Thor!” Three quarters of an hour later, Thor appeared on the pool deck, walking with care but at a reasonable speed. He’d felt a little self-conscious about putting on the broad straw sun hat Lars had left for him, but seeing many of the apprentices and members wearing similar hats made him feel a bit better. Everyone was also wearing the darkest sunglasses they owned, and that had Thor chuckling at the realization that he wasn’t the only one suffering. He smiled again when he glanced around and saw very few cocktail glasses, but plenty of oversized water pitchers, on the chair-side tables all around him. By half past two, Thor and most of the others had recovered enough to jump into the pool. Idle chat among those leaning on the sides, and a lively game of water volleyball in the middle, slowly brought the assembled men back to full life. Thor left the volleyball game after ten minutes or so and relaxed against the side of the pool, on the shallow water ledge. As he stood there in the cool water, an older, dark-skinned man came to stand alongside him. Abdul. For all the time Thor had spent hanging out with Farouk. he’d never met his friend’s sponsor before. “Hello, Thor.” “Nice to meet you, Abdul.” Thor could tell he was being sized up. In his usual forthright way, he took the bull by the horns. “Like what you see?” Abdul laughed. His dark-skinned face looked totally different when wreathed in a smile, the lines crinkling around his eyes, the mustache quivering with his amusement. Thor felt his heart skip a beat at the sight. “I do, no question.” The voice was sultry, Thor noticed with amusement, but with a cultivated Oxford-and-Cambridge accent. It was easy to guess where Abdul had received his higher education. “But I wanted to talk with you about something else, Thor.” Here, he looked quickly around and then lowered his voice. “It’s about Farouk. I’m not supposed to tell you things like this, but I wanted to let you know because he regards you as a friend, an important friend. I’m actually his uncle.” Thor looked startled and Abdul laughed – a bitter, humorless laugh. “No, not that uncle. I’m his mother’s older brother.” Thor took a moment to absorb this. “Why are you telling me this?” “Because I broke the club rules by bringing a new apprentice with whom I already have a connection. I wanted to see if I could help him out.” “Are you sure you want to talk about this here?” “Smart man. Let’s go inside.” They walked back into the main resort, and out onto the sun terrace overlooking the pool and beach on the second floor. It was empty. They sat down facing each other over a glass table and Thor looked at Abdul with question marks on his face. “Here’s why I did it. He’s been struggling for years, ever since it happened. Not just his sex life, either, although I don’t really know any more than he’s told me there. But in school, at home, trying to hold down a job – it’s all been an unending string of challenges. While he’s here, he’s made some good contacts among the full members, but what really matters to me is that he’s got a link now to several of the younger guys – and you, most of all, from what he says about you. He made a big point of how much you showed that you worried about him, caring about what happens to him. So I thought I should put you into the picture a little more, so you can see even more clearly why your contacts with him, whether long or short, are so critical.” Thor pondered all of that for a few very long moments. Abdul was old enough and wise enough to let him take his time thinking about it all. At last he spoke. “Thank you for telling me all of that. Farouk told me the outline of what happened, of course, but nothing of the bigger picture in his life as a whole. I’ll certainly be better prepared if he needs to talk at any time, going forward.” “Thank you. That’s all I ask.” Abdul paused. “Well, not quite all. There is one other thing.” He said this with a sly grin, and Thor guessed that the conversation was about to shift ground. And sure enough, it did. Thor felt a sudden but subtle pressure against his groin. Glancing down through the tabletop, he saw Abdul’s outstretched leg with the toes massaging the bulge in his swimsuit. Thor laughed. He went right where I expected him to go he thought, laughing inwardly. “It’s just after four right now. Do we have to wait till five?” “Not at all. The rooms are prepared and available any time from lunch on, actually.” “Now they tell me!” They both laughed. “Well, then….” Thor stood up, took Abdul’s hand, drew him to his feet, and headed back downstairs and over to the party wing. Inside his visiting room, he turned down the duvet on the bed (Why do they even bother? he thought as he set it aside) while Abdul set the privacy sign and the door lock. Then Thor stood up, turned, and drew his guest into an embrace. He quickly realized that Abdul was different from many of the older guys he’d met, his technique subtle, his every move and touch aiming at giving his younger partner maximum pleasure. He’d had moments of it from Lars, of course, and from Dimitar, but Abdul took that aspect of his sexual technique to a whole new level. Right from the moment their lips met, Abdul let his fingers do the talking, going to all sorts of unexpected places around Thor’s head and further down his body, and finding all kinds of intriguing hot spots that Thor had never even thought to try. It was also plain that Abdul felt inclined to move at slow speed, to take all the time a man could want, since they had well over three hours to go before dinner time. Everything he was doing was slow, purposeful, gentle, seeking to elevate Thor’s pleasure in any way he could. Unlike many men, he was keeping his tongue to the mouth, but those skilled fingertips were giving Thor the shivers all over. His cock was rock hard again, his aches and pains all forgotten. At some point, Thor found himself lying on his face on the bed as Abdul gave him a slow, thorough massage. He had no clue how or when he had gotten there. This man’s magic fingers had him floating in tranced state, in a never-never land of ecstasy and sensation such as he’d never experienced. Now Abdul was using his tongue, and lying down full length along Thor’s back, his own hard cock nestled in Thor’s crack. But he was still taking his time, still teasing and touching and getting at all the sensitive spots that Thor hadn’t even known he had. The warm oil between their bodies allowed Abdul to slide smoothly up and down, and from side to side, letting Thor’s buns caress his tool while the rest of his muscled chest stroked easily all over Thor’s back. Abdul raised his hips slightly, positioning the head of his tool against Thor’s knot, which was already much looser. A bit of gentle pressure and the knot opened, allowing him to slide with one easy glide all the way down into Thor’s body. He continued working his way up and down Thor’s back while his cock, planted inside Thor’s hole, kept him anchored. And then he began slowly pulling out and pushing back in. That’s when Thor finally realized that he was getting fucked again. No, wait, I can’t take another one, not after last night! His initial panicky thought was quickly overcome by all the incredible sensations that this slow, gentle man was arousing in him. This should hurt, but it doesn’t. This feels amazing! Abdul continued his slow-paced fucking, varying the angle and depth of his strokes, but with no break in the hypnotic rhythm of the act. And Thor began responding, working with his butt muscles to stroke Abdul’s cock, to caress it, to give to Abdul the same elevated pleasure that Abdul was evoking in him. Then Abdul pulled out, rolled Thor over onto his back, and slid back inside. “Show me what you’ve learned from me.” Thor understood at once. He lifted his hands and began working with his fingertips along Abdul’s back, using touch as a means of arousing passion. As Abdul worked slowly in and out of his hole, he moved as slowly across Abdul’s body, noting the moments when Abdul gave out a little gasp or a slight moan. Then he would work on that spot for a time before moving on to another. And another. As Thor plied and manipulated his mentor’s body with his fingertips, he became aware of a new level of sensitivity in his fingers, of a new awareness of slight variations of heat and split-second moments when quivering of the skin under his touch gave him new messages. Again, he was drifting away from the normal consciousness of the world as he became more and more involved in sensing the pleasure he was giving his partner. And now came a change. Abdul began moving a little faster, thrusting just a little harder. As he did so, his fingers sought out a particularly sensitive spot on Thor’s body near the armpits and went to work there. Without even thinking about it, Thor responded in kind, zeroing in on a highly responsive hot area on Abdul’s back, just above his ass. He knew that he was about to get bred again and increased his focus on that particular place. Abdul gave just one loud gasp for air and Thor felt the cock inside him swell up and pulsate. He was ecstatic at getting filled with this man’s sperm in a way he couldn’t remember feeling since one of his earliest experiences – when he was fucked and filled by an older friend during a hike in the mountains. At last, Abdul eased out of him and lay down at the side, still caressing Thor’s body with his gentle touch. Thor felt a different sensation as Abdul’s fingers moved across his abs, and reached down himself – to find that he was covered with cum. At the look of surprise on his face, Abdul chuckled. “Yes, Thor, you came too.” “That’s crazy – I didn’t even feel it happening. Your technique is incredible!” “Not so incredible as that. It’s just a question of focusing on some other person. You’ve just discovered that for yourself.” Now that he had completely emerged from the tranced state of his encounter, Thor suddenly realized that he was tired, so tired that he was almost falling asleep. “Want to sleep….” “Yes. It consumes much energy to concentrate that intensely for that long.” Abdul rolled onto his side, pulled Thor into a close embrace, and the two of them let themselves go. Thor awoke an hour later. As soon as his eyes opened, he remembered every moment of that fantastic sexual encounter, even before he turned and saw Abdul still peacefully sleeping, a childlike smile of happiness on his face. Checking the clock, though, Thor saw that it was already drawing towards seven o’clock, and he knew that they both needed to clean up. He gently nudged Abdul towards wakefulness. “Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty. We need to get cleaned up before dinner time.” As they were washing off in the shower, Thor asked, “Do you always do that full-on sensory experience with your partners?” Again, Abdul gave that crinkly-eyed smile that made Thor’s heart jump. “Not at all.” He seized Thor by the shoulders, spun him around, and kicked his legs apart. Thor had just time to plant his hands firmly against the shower wall before Abdul thrust back into him. This one was fast, hard, even brutal. Abdul worked right up to full ramming speed in no time, driving fiercely into Thor’s ass, thrusting deep, pounding hard. Thor was gasping for air at the surprise assault, but quickly got his hand fastened onto his own cock which was standing right up to his abs. As Abdul drilled him, Thor jacked his cock at full speed. It took not much more than two minutes, and Abdul was blasting another load into Thor’s overworked gut as Thor’s own cock sprayed out all over the wall. For a minute or two, both of them gasped for air – then Abdul carried right on with soaping and washing himself as if nothing had happened. Thor laughed. “Well, that answers that question.” At dinner, Thor found he was sitting at the same table as Kristian. They’d crossed paths from time to time, but they hadn’t had any further extended contact since that first night of the week. Every time Thor saw Kristian, though, he’d found the young Dane’s swelling ass attracting him almost as if it were a giant magnet. That was particularly so now, as his own ass was definitely yelling at him to give it a rest. As they had done with others all week, they conversed while eating, sharing observations about the older men they’d met and the things they’d done. Thor’s brief tale of his unusual session with Abdul captured the attention not just of Kristian but of everyone at the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Farouk watching from the adjoining table as he spoke. The smile of proprietary pride on Farouk’s face showed Thor plainly that Abdul had also given his nephew the entire treatment, shy of actually getting into his ass. And, as Thor was the first to admit, getting fucked was almost a side dish to the main banquet of Abdul’s incredible, sophisticated hand technique. As they were wrapping up the meal, the Governor made an announcement. Tonight was going to be a free-for-all. Rather than waiting in their rooms for visitors to come, the apprentices were free to celebrate the end of the week by meeting up with anyone they wished to approach, including each other and the older men. Thor at once looked with enquiring eyebrows at Kristian, and as quickly received a nod of approval. The two of them walked off towards the rooms together, leaving a surprised Lars, a resigned Dimitar, a no-longer-jealous Farouk, and a disappointed Xolani behind them. As it happened, Thor had noticed Xolani eyeing him with determination. Under other circumstances, he’d have been happy to give the strapping Kenyan and his impressive manhood a test drive. But after the New Year’s Eve party and today’s additional two fucks, his hole was definitely “Closed for Repairs” for an indefinite period. Fortunately, Kristian had made it clear at the start of the week that his whole interest centred around getting fucked, and the more the better. Thor decided that this was a good time to give his newly learned skills a test run, to try to nail down what he’d learned from Abdul. By the end of an hour and a half, Thor reluctantly let himself slide out of Kristian’s lush ass after having cum inside Kristian twice. Kristian lay there on the bed, gasping for air. Thor had absorbed his afternoon lessons so thoroughly that his fingers had driven Kristian into a nonstop wave of orgasms that went on and on. He couldn’t tell by watching whether Kristian had cum three times or seven, or if it was all just one super-orgasm that only stopped once the convulsions used up all the energy in this devoted bottom boy’s body. “What in heaven’s name did you just do to me?” Those were Kristian’s first words once he’d recovered his breath and gotten a good look at the huge pools of his own sperm all over his chest and belly. But Thor was too busy to answer. He was already down between Kristian’s upraised knees, sucking his own flood of cream out of the ass he had just bred and filled. At last he came up from that job, drooled all that cum out into the pools on Kristian’s body, and said, “Dessert, anyone?” “Give me some of that mixed cream sauce.” Thor spent the next ten minutes licking up all the spooge on Kristian’s abdomen, swilling it around in his mouth, and then sharing it with Kristian in intense, sloppy snowball kisses. “So was that what you learned from Abdul this afternoon?” “I hope so. I did my best to put it all into action.” “Even if that’s just an imitation of the master, I can see why you raved so much about him.” Thor smiled contentedly as he slurped up the last big mouthful of semen off Kristian’s body, which was still quivering from every touch of his tongue. As he did so, he was thinking that his budget, once he got home, could probably stand a weekend trip to Copenhagen in the not-too-distant future.

I get it, we cum dumps can be disappointing. But many of us want a great experience for both of us. I’m literally offering up my body for this. I work really hard on hygiene and i get complemented on that. But I still had the very occasional accident. Some are self inflicted though. I had a top who twice decided to shove half a big bottle of lube in my ass and give me a lube enema. Since he was large, he then plunged me with his dick for 30 minutes and then dump his load inside me. Of course it’s going to be sloppy. I cleaned out to get laid, not a colon transplant. At least for me, if my top is not going to communicate, it could be a bad lay for both of us. If i ask if your close it’s because i truly want to get you off and worked up for it. I’ll also say it is ok to cum inside me because I constantly get guys asking if they can cum inside me. I mean that is the whole point. I’ll ask you for your favorite position because I want to know and I will try to accommodate you better. But sometimes our bodies are mismatched and I can’t always do the position you like. And while i don’t mind rough, I am not looking for a perforation or a prolapse lol. And if you want to leave bite marks, or slap me, whip me, tear apart my clothes or flat out assault me, you better ask first because, at the least, you’re going to get tased. I’m a cum dump, not a crime victim of your twisted mind. I get sometimes during the deed silence is golden. But while setting things up get all the issues out of the way. A little communication during is a huge help. I have more than one regular where never talk at all anymore during the deed because we worked it all out ahead of time and it makes for a hot experience. But don’t take this the wrong way, I truly love being a bottom and a cum dump. It is my essence and reason for being

My fantasy, getting stretched enough to take a foot.

New and fairly inexperienced guy here, getting bred has been my kink since I can remember, but it's not easy to achieve it in my area. I will be spending some time in London, UK in March and I was hoping to talk before the visit with more experienced guys about the scene and the best places to get your holes filled as a first time goer (would appreciate any kind of guidance and advice). Apart from breeding I'm also into many other things (it is really not possible to list them all), but my main goal is always to serve and worship another man and give him pleasure in whatever way he wants it, in both sexual, and non-sexual ways.

cum as lube

yes, the clip isn't that graphic at all (barely a hole is seen) but the groaning and the fact they managed it is extremely hot. I hope the world record gets broken soon.

If you could change one thing about your cock, balls or arse, what would it be? I really admire tops with lowhangers and when they fuck, that banging - the feeling, the sound. I would choose to have a pair of droopy nuts that need scooping into my jock strap.

This... some tops get discouraged if cocksucker is struggling, but that's the point, you own that throat at this moment, enjoy that struggle. It's just another breeding hole. Push it all and smash your sweaty nuts on my nose while you unload.

Well, then, let's leave it at racism is racism. Extremism begets extremism.

Definitely valuable information in this thread.

If the top have specific wants/turnoffs they should let the cumdump know ahead of time. Or at least as soon as it becomes an issue. As a cumdump, I always want to know what I can do to make it the best experience for every top. I get off on them getting off. That's why I'm interested in this thread. I airways want to improve as a full service bottom cumslut.

Hope there are more chapters added to this story soon

my fisting fantasy is to actually be able to take a fist armpit deep. I'm up to taking a 1" diameter toy 22" deep or a 2" diameter toy 18" deep, but can't seem to get past the 2" mark at stretching the inner ring. That's what is making armpit deep a fantasy instead of a reality.

Perfect!

The best!

Very hot!

I enjoy choking a cocksucker. My cock curves up so I love to put him on his back on the bed with his head hanging over the edge. When I thrust deep down his throat my balls are pressed hard over his nose so he can’t breathe through his mouth cuz it’s stretched over my cock and he can’t breathe through his nose cuz my balls are pressed over it. He can breathe when I pull back ready to thrust in again. I expect him to hold his breath when I’m rammed in deep shooting my load. I like to be well sweaty so he gets to smell my nuts when they’re hard on his nose.

Sounds like the PERFECT situation to me. That's my absolute dream demographic!! Maybe someday you'll get a group of them for a blowbang.

How do you feel about face fucking those of us who don't gag or choke or retch or any of that? Is it still a turn on to you if the cocksucker has learned to take it with no difficulty? Other than of course holding his head down tight with your cock all the way in so he cant breath. Seeing him desperately try to pull back to get air

Long chapter here, but stick with it. Take it in small doses if you have to. --------------- Chapter 27: Monsters Inside Us Dressing room at InfraRed. 31-Oct-20XX. 22:08 MST. REDACTED location. The dressing room behind the InfraRed stage still pulsed faintly with the club’s rhythm, bass traveling through concrete and shelving in dull, physical waves. Colored light seeped under the door in smeared streaks of red and ultraviolet, painting the stacked liquor crates and tangled cables in uneasy shadow. The air carried heat, sweat, and disinfectant—but beneath it now lingered something else, metallic and sharp, like ozone after a lightning strike. That and the unmistakable smell of sex. Spencer leaned back against a tower of supply boxes, breathing hard. He had never been small. Even before tonight, Spencer’s body had been the kind built to command attention under strobes and mirrors—thick, stage-trained muscle layered across chest and shoulders, arms heavy with size, thighs carved dense from years of performance and conditioning. He’d always moved with the heavy grace of someone aware of how much space he occupied. Now that body was changing. Stag watched the shift with fixed, unwilling focus. It began as swelling—subtle only in comparison to how large Spencer already was. The muscle across his chest thickened further, pecs lifting and rounding until the skin stretched tight and gleaming. His shoulders broadened visibly, deltoids pushing outward into exaggerated domes of mass that seemed almost too large for his frame. Veins surfaced along his arms and across his torso, darkening beneath skin that was losing its warmth and sliding toward an unnatural grey. Spencer’s abdomen flexed as he drew in a breath. Even the deeply-cut definition there deepened, each segment of muscle pressing forward more prominently, as though something inside him demanded expansion. His biceps swelled when he shifted his hands against the concrete, bulging larger than they had any right to be—thick cords stacked atop one another, veins crawling over them in blackened tracery. The transformation didn’t make him misshapen. It made him excessive. Grotesquely, overwhelmingly muscular—like a bodybuilder pushed past biological limits and then hardened further into something denser and more powerful than flesh alone should allow. What had been a gift from God before was now a twisted, corrupted thing straight from hell. His fingers curled slightly where they rested. The nails had changed. Longer. Sharper. Edges no longer smooth but faintly hooked, catching the leaking club light in thin, dangerous glints. When Spencer inhaled again, his chest expanded wider than before, ribcage stretching to accommodate the new mass. His throat moved as he swallowed, and when his lips parted, Stag saw the shift in his teeth—canines lengthened, points clean and predatory against the darkening tone of his mouth. Spencer’s eyes opened slowly. They were darker already, the color draining toward black, depthless and reflective. Awareness settled into them with frightening speed—not confusion, not fear, but a clear recalibration, as though he were assessing a new body and finding it entirely acceptable. They landed on Stag. And stayed. The connection ignited a heartbeat later. Stag felt it move through him—the thread snapping taut between them, the newly shared awareness brushing along his mind. Spencer’s perception bled faintly into his own: sound sharpened, heat signatures of moving bodies beyond the door, the living press of the club outside the walls. Spencer pushed himself upright. The motion was smoother than it had any right to be for someone whose mass had just increased so drastically. His center of gravity had shifted, but he compensated instantly, spine straightening, shoulders rolling back to test the new range. The muscles along his back bunched and slid under greying skin, thicker than before, layered like armor plates. He looked bigger standing than he had lying down. Not merely tall or broad—but heavy with power, density packed into every line of him until he seemed carved rather than grown. Stag felt the instinctive claim rise in him before he could stop it. Mine. He crushed the thought down immediately, jaw tightening. Spencer took a step toward the door, gaze already drifting outward toward the living movement beyond the room—the dance floor, the bodies, the pulse of potential hosts. Stag moved in front of him without thinking. The gesture wasn’t aggressive. It wasn’t overtly controlling. But it blocked the exit all the same, his body placed between Spencer and the club beyond. Spencer paused. His head tilted slightly as he studied Stag with those deepening black eyes. There was no fear in him, no lingering confusion from the infection. Only recognition—and the faintest edge of detachment. The new network hummed between them. Spencer’s awareness touched Stag’s thoughts lightly, almost curiously, and Stag felt the subtle pushback beneath it: not rejection, not anger—simply independence reasserting itself inside the bond. Stag felt something colder than victory settle into his chest. Spencer’s gaze moved past him again, toward the door. Toward the world. And Stag, watching the man he had just remade grow larger, stronger, and already slipping beyond his reach, understood with sudden clarity that infection had not made Spencer his. It had only made Spencer more himself. The storage room door burst open hard enough to rattle the metal shelving. The music from the main floor flooded in for a second—sweat, lights, bodies—before the door slammed back against the stopper. The club owner stood in the doorway, face flushed and furious, shirt half-unbuttoned and tie hanging loose around his neck. “What the hell is going on back here?” he snapped, eyes jumping from the overturned crate to Spencer—then lingering there. “Spencer, get your ass back on stage. You’re up in three minutes. I don’t pay you to hide in the back with—” His gaze shifted to Stag, dismissive and irritated. “—whatever the hell this is.” Spencer didn’t move. He stood in the flickering light, newly broadened shoulders rising and falling slowly, breathing steady now. The stage-trained grace was still there—but it had been sharpened, weaponized. His muscles looked even more obscene under the harsh fluorescent light, chest thick and striated, arms swollen beyond their already impressive size. The grey tone of his skin was more noticeable now, veins crawling dark beneath it like fault lines. The owner either didn’t notice—or refused to. “Spencer,” he barked again, stepping into the room. “You don’t get to pull this diva crap tonight. Halloween’s our biggest revenue draw. If you don’t get back out there, I’ll have security drag you—” Stag moved before the sentence finished. One second he was standing still. The next, his hand had closed around the owner’s collar, fingers digging in hard enough to wrinkle fabric and flesh beneath it. He lifted him clean off the floor and slammed him back against the metal door with a crack that echoed through the room. The owner’s feet left the ground. His mouth snapped shut mid-threat. “Back off,” Stag growled, voice low and resonant, something monstrous rumbling beneath it. The owner struggled, kicking uselessly, eyes wide now—not with anger but with dawning realization that this wasn’t a drunken customer dispute. “You—put me down—security—” Stag tightened his grip. The door behind the owner bowed under the force, hinges whining. For a split second, Stag considered crushing his windpipe entirely—silencing him permanently. A flicker of approval moved faintly through the network. Spencer watched. Not afraid. Not shocked. Interested. That look—the way Spencer’s darkened eyes tracked Stag’s strength, the way his head tilted slightly as though assessing—sent a surge of pride through Stag that he immediately masked as rage. “This doesn’t concern you,” Stag said, voice dangerously calm. “You don’t touch him.” The owner opened his mouth to respond, but Stag released him only to throw him. The man hit the far wall hard enough to knock over a stack of empty crates, collapsing in a heap amid splintered wood and scattered plastic. Silence followed. The bass from the dance floor thudded on, oblivious. The owner groaned once, tried to push himself up—and failed. His head lolled to the side, consciousness slipping away. Spencer stepped forward slightly. His expression had shifted. Not softened—refined. There was something in his eyes now that Stag recognized immediately: admiration layered with something colder. Approval of dominance. Evaluation of power. And beneath that—distance. Stag felt it like a knife pressing just under his ribs. He told himself the reaction surging through him was satisfaction. That he’d protected Spencer. That he’d handled it. But the truth pressed closer: He hadn’t acted because Spencer needed protecting. He’d acted because he couldn’t tolerate someone else exerting authority over him. The connection between them pulsed again. Spencer’s awareness brushed his—cool, expansive, outward-facing. The club owner lay unconscious at their feet. And for the first time, Stag felt the faint, creeping sense that he had not just created something powerful— He had unleashed it. The approval Stag had expected never fully came. Instead, something colder slid through the network. A pressure. Subtle at first—like a hand settling at the back of his skull. Then firmer. Heavier. Commanding attention. Why are you alone? The Alpha’s presence did not need volume. It did not need to shout. The voice threaded through Stag’s mind with smooth, suffocating clarity. Stag stiffened, jaw tightening. Spencer felt it too—he straightened slightly, eyes unfocusing as the connection widened. You were sent to spread the gift. The temperature in the room seemed to drop to Stag. And yet you hide. Infecting one. Causing spectacle. Stag’s lips peeled back slightly, not quite a snarl. “Handled it,” he muttered under his breath, though the words were half-thought, half-spoken. “He was interfering.” The Alpha’s attention sharpened. You were not tasked with protecting. You were tasked with multiplying. Spencer shifted his weight, head tilting as if listening to someone just out of sight. The glow in his darkened eyes deepened. For the first time, Stag realized with a flare of irritation that Spencer could hear this—could feel the reprimand flowing through him. The Alpha pressed harder. Why only one? A pulse of suspicion edged the mental voice. Why this one? Explain yourself… Bryce. Stag’s jaw clenched. “Does it matter?” he shot back, reflexive and sharp. The response was immediate. Pain lanced through his skull. Not physical—worse. It felt like something squeezing inward from all sides, compressing thought itself. His vision blurred at the edges as the Alpha tightened its grip, punishing the back talk with cold precision. Stag staggered a half-step, a broken sound tearing out of him before he could stop it. Spencer’s head snapped toward him. The Alpha’s tone dropped lower. You forget yourself. The pressure increased just enough to force Stag to one knee. Do not confuse attachment with loyalty. The word ‘attachment’ hit harder than the pain. Spencer watched him now—not with sympathy. With assessment. And that burned worse than the psychic vise. The Alpha shifted focus. You, newly awakened, it said to Spencer. Spencer inhaled slowly. His chest expanded, grotesquely full and powerful. You will go forth. Spread the love. A directive. Clean. Absolute. Spencer nodded once. Stag’s head jerked up. “No.” It slipped out before he could stop it. The Alpha’s presence flared. You do not command him. I do. Remember that. Stag forced himself upright despite the lingering ache in his skull. “He’s not ready,” he said through gritted teeth. Spencer’s gaze flicked to him—confusion there, faint and fleeting. The Alpha’s reply was almost amused. He is more than ready. Another presence joined the mental space—heavy, blunt, observant. Lockjaw. You will not operate alone, the Alpha continued. Lockjaw will supervise. Since you clearly can’t be trusted to follow my orders. The implication hung in the air: You are being watched. Stag swallowed the urge to say something reckless. Spencer took a step toward the door. His movements were smooth. Confident. Eager. He didn’t look back at Stag. Lockjaw appeared in the doorway moments later, broad frame filling the space, black eyes unreadable, horns threatening to breach the black skin. He glanced from the unconscious club owner to Stag, then to Spencer. “New one?” Lockjaw asked aloud, voice flat. God, he’s huge. Fuck. Stag forced his expression into something indifferent. “Spencer,” he said curtly. “Just some random slut I … needed to teach a lesson to. Gave him what he deserved. He had it coming.” Spencer turned and gave Stag a silent glare, then turned away with distaste. The dance floor lights flickered against his sharpened features as he stepped into the corridor, already scanning for his next target. Lockjaw’s gaze lingered on Stag for a moment longer. “You look tense,” he observed. Stag scoffed. “Mind your business, asshole. Shouldn’t you be worried about your ever-missing boyfriend? He run off again or something?” Lockjaw quietly looked over at him before rolling his eyes and looking back at Spencer. But through the network, he could feel Spencer’s thoughts beginning to branch outward—curious, calculating, predatory. And for the first time since infecting him, Stag felt something dangerously close to regret. Not for what he had done. But for what he might have lost. The nightclub swallowed Spencer almost immediately. InfraRed pulsed with Halloween chaos—strobes cutting through fog, bodies pressed together on the dance floor, glitter and sweat and cheap latex costumes blurring under red light. The music was loud enough to rattle bone. To anyone watching, Spencer looked like he had simply rejoined the crowd. Only Stag could feel the difference. Through the network, Spencer’s thoughts flickered—quick, curious, newly sharpened. The infection had stripped hesitation from him. What remained was appetite. Who first? Ready to use a willing hole. The thought drifted across the link like a lazy ripple. Stag tried not to react. Lockjaw stood beside him near the hallway entrance, arms folded, silent and observant. Not interfering. Just watching. Spencer moved with predatory ease now, his grotesquely expanded frame parting dancers without effort. His skin had deepened to that slate-gray sheen, veins faintly pronounced under the lights. His teeth flashed too white when he smiled. Stag felt the moment Spencer’s attention locked onto someone. Oh. That one. The thought carried a flicker of amusement. Across the room, leaning against the bar, was a punk rocker with a bright red mohawk and nose ring, tunnels in his ears, tattoos and a leather jacket and chaps completed the look. The guy looked familiar in that vague way club regulars often did. Spencer’s thoughts sharpened again. I heard about him. Used to do adult films. Says he can take anything. Even hit me up a few times at the gym wanting to worship me. Now he can have his chance. The implication curled darkly beneath the surface. Stag could literally see the images flooding in from Spencer. The red-haired man with the mohawk bent over, moaning in ecstasy and agony. Spencer smacking his ass and pounding his new, massive dick as hard as he could until he roared aloud with each shot of blackened, tainted cum flooding his ass. The punk shivering and begging for yet another load as the virus quickly began to take hold in his battered and abused ass. Stag’s jaw tightened. He didn’t want to feel this. He didn’t want to see this. He didn’t want to care. But through the network, he could feel Spencer’s interest spike—curiosity sliding toward intent. Lockjaw noticed. “Your… boy seems enthusiastic, and just as twisted as someone else I know,” he remarked casually. Stag’s head snapped toward him. “He’s not my—” Lockjaw cut him off with a look. “Right.” The word wasn’t cruel. Just factual. Spencer approached the mohawked man, smile widening slightly. The punk laughed at something Spencer said, leaning closer, clearly interested. Stag felt the pull of it through the link. The ease. The connection. It made something twist in his chest. Lockjaw shifted his weight, watching Spencer’s body language with quiet assessment. Then, almost lazily, he said, “Funny how fast people move on. You must bring that out in people, Stag.” Stag didn’t respond. But the words hit. Because he remembered. He remembered standing in the doorway of their apartment, the gym bag still slung over his shoulder. The smell of cologne in the air that wasn’t his. The cardboard box half-packed on the bed. Spencer not looking at him. “I’m sor… actually, no. I’m not sorry. I just… I want something different, Bryce. And you clearly can’t give that to me.” Not angry. But cold, almost cruel. Just done. Stag had laughed then, too sharp and too loud, like it was a joke. He’d told Spencer he was being dramatic. That he’d been trying—hadn’t he? He’d quit smoking. Started lifting heavier. Tried to be less of an asshole. Tried to soften the sharp edges. Be more attentive. Hell, he’d even let Spencer top him whenever he asked. And it hadn’t mattered. He’d watched Spencer zip the suitcase. Load up the last few things into the box. Watched him leave. Now, across the dance floor, Spencer leaned in toward someone new, smiling like he’d never left anything behind. Lockjaw glanced sideways at Stag. “Seems happier on the longer leash,” he added mildly. That one landed harder than intended. Stag’s hands curled into fists. Through the network, Spencer’s excitement flared brighter. The infection hummed with it. He’s a horny little shit, Spencer thought. He’ll come with me. Almost seems to want it. Stag swallowed. He hadn’t expected the Alpha’s punishment to feel like this. Because it wasn’t pain. It was watching. Watching the man he’d infected—claimed—move through the world without him. And realizing that even now, Spencer didn’t need him to feel powerful. He didn’t actually need him at all. The Alpha did not need to step onto the dance floor to make himself known. His presence pressed into Stag’s mind like a hand on the back of his neck—firm, deliberate, undeniable. The music in the club dimmed beneath it, not physically but perceptually, as though the network itself shifted its attention. You disobeyed. The words were not shouted. They were simply placed inside Stag’s thoughts with surgical precision. Stag kept his posture rigid, refusing to bow his head even as the pressure increased. Across the room, Spencer’s laughter rang out, bright and easy as he leaned closer to the red-mohawked punk. The connection between them flared again—curiosity tipping toward intent. The Alpha let Stag feel it. Every flicker of Spencer’s rising hunger. Every pulse of anticipation. Every thread of desire building. Your punishment, the Alpha continued smoothly, is observation. Don’t think I can’t read your mind and know every little thought that went through your sick head, Bryce. I know exactly why you were so intent on infecting this one. A sharp spike of pain lanced through Stag’s skull when he tried to block the connection. Not enough to incapacitate—just enough to remind him who held control. You will watch him choose someone else. You will watch him take them. You will watch him enjoy it. Someone other than you. Lockjaw shifted beside him, sensing the tension spike but saying nothing. On the dance floor, Spencer placed a hand on the punk’s waist. The other man grinned, clearly interested, clearly flattered by the attention of someone built like Spencer had become—massive, sculpted, intoxicatingly confident. Stag’s throat tightened. The Alpha’s tone shifted, almost amused. Spread my strain. Increase our numbers. Do what I sent you out for. The command rippled outward through the network. Stag felt Lockjaw receive it. Felt the rest of their kind adjust, scatter, seek. Lockjaw gave Stag a sidelong look. “Well… looks like we got our orders.” Stag nodded once, jaw clenched. He would not give the Alpha the satisfaction of another outburst. Lockjaw peeled away toward the front entrance, eyes settling almost immediately on the club’s bouncer—a thick-necked man who had been watching the dance floor with detached boredom. Lockjaw’s stride was smooth, confident, and purposeful. Stag turned in the opposite direction. He found his target near the edge of the floor: a slim blond dressed as Glinda the Good Witch, glitter catching in his hair under the strobes, pink dress short enough to blur the line between costume and invitation. The same twink Stag had dismissed earlier with a sneer. The twink caught his eye and smiled shyly. Stag told himself this would be simple. Mechanical. Necessary. He didn’t look back at Spencer. But through the network, he could still feel him. Still hear the faint hum of anticipation building as Spencer guided the red-mohawked man toward a darker hallway. The Alpha’s presence lingered, heavy and observant. Watch him, it reminded him softly. And learn your place, Bryce. And Stag hated that he obeyed. The hallway near the storage rooms was quieter, the bass from the main floor reduced to a dull vibration in the walls. The Glinda-costumed twink followed Stag eagerly, heels clicking against concrete, glitter catching in the dim light. Up close, the kid smelled like cheap cologne and vodka. “You gonna just glare at me,” the twink teased lightly, brushing a hand against Stag’s chest, “or are we actually doing something?” Stag forced himself to focus. This was easy. It should be easy. He’d done this before—long before the infection. Cold detachment came naturally to him. He knew how to compartmentalize. How to separate physical action from emotional involvement. He reached out, gripping the twink’s waist, guiding him roughly back toward the wall. Through the network, Spencer’s presence pulsed brighter. The punk moaned as Spencer murmured in his ear, pulling his pants down and taking his ass in one quick movement. Spencer’s mental voice flickered across the network—curious, hungry, excited. Considering. Selecting his next victim. Stag’s jaw tightened. He leaned in closer to the twink, but his movements were mechanical now, delayed. There was no predatory thrill behind them. No hunger. The twink noticed. “You… um okay?” he asked, frowning faintly. “You look… distracted. Are we actually gonna do something?” “I’m fine,” Stag muttered. But he wasn’t. Because through the network he could feel Spencer stepping deeper into a side corridor. Feel as Spencer began to shoot his load. Feel Spencer’s excitement spike as the Alpha’s approval brushed against him. It was too much. The twink shifted under Stag’s grip, irritation replacing playfulness. “You’re kind of boring, you know that?” he said flatly. “The asshole act might be intense, but you’re not actually doing anything.” Stag blinked. “What?” “I said,” the twink snapped, shoving lightly at his chest, “you’re boring. If you’re not gonna make a move, I’ll go find someone who will.” The words hit harder than they should have. Boring. For a split second, the hallway vanished. He was back in his apartment. Back in the living room. Watching Spencer shove clothes into a duffel bag while refusing to meet his eyes. I need someone who actually makes me feel something, Bryce. You’re boring. And you’re not enough. This isn’t what I need, and you never will be. The twink rolled his eyes and pushed past him. “Jesus. I’ll find someone better.” The words overlapped perfectly with the memory. Stag didn’t move. Through the network, Spencer’s pleasure flared brighter—focused elsewhere now, locked on the red-mohawked man, already intent on pumping another tainted load into the man. The Alpha hummed approval at the progress. A hot spike of panic shot through Stag’s chest. What if Spencer didn’t need him anymore? What if this—this infection, this grotesque new power—was the only reason Spencer had ever looked back at him at all? What if even now he was just a stepping stone? Stag’s breathing grew uneven. His thoughts began to spiral. He tried to blink back the flood of tears threatening to come out of his eyes. Maybe I really am boring. Maybe I was never enough. Maybe this is the only way anyone would ever want me. The Alpha’s presence lingered at the edge of his mind, observant but silent. This was all for him. To give him what he wanted. Yeah, it gave me the infection, too, but – I needed a way to tie him to me. Permanently. And for what? He doesn’t even care now that he has what he wants. What do I do now? Lockjaw appeared at the end of the hall a moment later, posture loose but eyes sharp. There was a faint smear of dark residue on his jawline—evidence that he had already completed his assigned task. He slowed when he saw Stag standing there alone. “You're… done already?” Lockjaw asked, tone suspicious. Stag straightened too fast, blinking fast and planting a cocky grin on his face, letting out a carefree laugh as he spoke. “Yeah. Obviously.” Lockjaw didn’t look convinced. His gaze flicked past Stag toward the dance floor—toward Spencer—then back. “You’re staring at him still,” Lockjaw said quietly. Stag forced a scoff. “Fuck off… And mind your own business.” But Lockjaw didn’t move away. Instead, he gently stepped closer and lowered his voice. “You both dated, didn’t you? How long have you two been broken up?” The question landed heavier than the Alpha’s psychic pressure ever had. And for the first time since this all began— Stag didn’t have a ready answer.