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Very hot ass

I was really nervous about letting guys fuck me a few years back. Id go to the bathhouse and the first few times couldn't do it. Then one day I basically forced myself to, got on a bed in a dark area, guy came up and started to touch me, asked him to fuck me, and he did. After that a switch flipped and I let another guy fuck me, and then another. For awhile I would go to the baths and knew I needed to get the first fuck done and over with so I could break the nervousness I had. Now its not so bad and I have a much better sex life.

I figured it would be a good weekend to be a slut since ot was valentine's weekend. I was so right! Went to steamworks a little after 4pm and with the first 2 hours I had been fucked 6 times(bred 3). Thing always slow around 6-7 and pick up after 8. A beautiful blonde collage kid was prowling around but seemed stand offish. I must have been wrong about that as close to 8 he hoped in the the sling and a group of guys formed around him. None of the guys were taking the bait, the boy made eye contact with me and then my hard cock. I really wanted to play with him so I moved between his muscular thighs and slide into him. He was so tight, I must have been the first guy to fuck, but I worked his hole for a couple minutes before letting someone else take a turn. I love swapping topping with others. The boy gets fucked buy 4 or more guys and I swap in another time before I realize the place is heating up again so I go back to trying to get fucked some more. Once the sling becomes open again I grab my blindfold and hoped in. It wasnt long before a mouth ended up on my hole and tongue up my gut. I had played with this guy earlier and let him enjoy my hole again. He's horned up and proceeds to plow my ass, I hear others in the room, he pulls out and goes back to eating my stretch asshole again, and the fucks me a little bit more before leaving. That kicked things off and I began to have different guys take turns fucking me and eating my hole. I lost count but maybe 5 or 6 guys. That was so hot I ended up cumming and decided I had enough fun and left to get pizza. So far for this weekend on Friday I was fucked 11 times(bred 7 times), and Saturday fucked over another 12 times(bred 6). Suppose to be going out tonight with the roommate so might get some more action today.

Late 80's, how about a newsletter, can't remember the name but if was the first thing for bareback pozzer (we just called it bareback back then) to meet. Anyone know when "pozzing" was invented? Y'all know not real word

As he heads out the door, I’m licking my lips and running my tongue around the inside of my mouth. He was right about the taste, it was something. Salty and sweet, something that you could get addicted too. I’m not lying there for long, as he returns bouncing through the doorway with a smile on his face. He looks like every twink bottom that you see in a bar, 5’7 and skinny. He is a pale ass white boy, with blond hair and a goofy ass smile. Then you look at the bugle bouncing and remember he is packing a monster and knows how to use it and you. He has that goofy smile and his eyes are lit up, he tells to me turn over onto my back and slide down till my feet are off the bed. As I’m moving around, he walks over and starts going through my drawers, looking for something. As he turns around, he is holding one of my jocks. This will do nicely, he says. As he starts walking back to me, he is starting to tent out his underwear. They look like they are getting ready to bust soon from the size of him. He tosses the poppers at me and say hold them. You will need them soon. He steps between my legs and smiles. This is going to be good, he says. You felt great last night and bet your going to feel better now. I’m going to get inside you and then get you high on poppers. I want to feel your hole relax around me. Then I’m going to fuck you as hard as I can and cum in you before I take the next pill. I want to feel you get all sloppy and loose. He grabs the jock an pours some popper on it, this is for after I get in you. I want to feel that hole stretch around me before it gets loose. He pulls himself out and spits on his semi-hard cock. It’s impressive and I still can’t believe it was inside of me all night. He spits again, getting the head wet, tells me up lift my legs. He puts my feet on his shoulder and tell me not to move. There is no prep this time, he says that I need to learn to take him with spit. This is the start of my training to become his proper cum dump. He starts to push in and it’s unbelievable and unbearable at first. It hurts worst then last night and he is just pushing in, just a slow push. There is no stopping to adjust or give me a min to adjust. Just straight forward. He is about half in and pulls out some to spit agin. As the spit lands, he bucks forward. I arch my hips and he pulls down and slams home. I’m seeing stars as he starts fucking me. As he starts , he is telling me that all the cum from last night is making it easier for him. He is holding onto my legs and just sawing into me, five or six inches. His balls are slapping my ass and he just got his bliss look on his face. God your ass feels good, can’t wait to get you pregnant. I will put so much cum in you, that your look that way, he tells me. Just a sloppy hole to fuck and dump in. He is picking up the pace, as he tells me to put the jock over my face and inhale deeply. That I will need it for the rest of this fuck. As I inhale, he starts slamming into me. His hips are moving as fast as they can, his balls beating off my ass. I’m looking at him from under the jock. As i’m trying to inhale as much as I can. He has this look termination on his face, as sweat runs down his face as he’s biting his lower lip. He is grunting as he starts to pull more out at each thrust. After what seem like a lifetime, he tells me that he is close. He starts grunting more and is talking to himself between the grunts. The words, sloppy, loose, breeding, loads and cumdump are all said. He slams into me, as deep as he could and holds it there. Fuck yea, he says. Take that fucking load. This is all said in his twink voice, the words are hot but with that squeaky twink voice. I lost it hands free, blowing my load. The thought of this twink, him fucking the hell out of me and cumming in me again. That was all it toke.

My rule is no condoms in my bug catcher, unless he's really hot AND he's willing to finish by jerking it onto my hole so one or both of us can finger it in. About 20% will end up either fucking me bare as soon as they remove the condom and breed me or after they squirt on my pucker, will use their bare cock to push it in where it belongs. No one has refused my plan B.

The autumn air in Coventry was crisp, carrying the damp, earthy scent of fallen leaves. For 19-year-old Liam, a sophomore at the nearby university, the woods off Exit 21 were a familiar escape. He’d parked his beat-up sedan at the park and ride, telling his roommate he was going for a long hike to clear his head before midterms. The truth was, he was meeting someone. Someone he’d met on an app, a man named Alex who was older, confident, and said all the right things. Liam, who’d only ever fumbled through a few nervous kisses with boys from his dorm, was utterly captivated. Alex was waiting for him at the edge of the tree line, leaning against a weathered pickup. He was handsome in a rugged, unpolished way, with a hint of danger in his smile that Liam found intoxicating. “Ready for our adventure, kid?” Alex asked, his voice a low rumble. Liam just nodded, his heart thudding against his ribs. They walked deep into the woods, far from any trail, the crunch of leaves under their boots the only sound. Alex produced a flask. “Liquid courage,” he winked. Liam, eager to impress and quiet his own nerves, took a long swallow. The liquor was strong, burning his throat, but it was laced with something else, something warm and fuzzy that quickly melted his inhibitions. The world began to soften at the edges. Unseen, two figures moved silently through the trees behind them. They were friends of Alex’s, alerted by a text he’d sent earlier: “Got a live one. Real innocent. Follow if you wanna see the show.” They kept their distance, their presence masked by the dense foliage, their eyes fixed on the unfolding scene. Liam felt giddy, pliant. The anxieties that usually plagued him evaporated, replaced by a hazy, blissful warmth. When Alex’s hand found his, he didn’t pull away. When Alex’s lips met his, he kissed back with an inexperienced but eager passion. “You’re a beautiful boy, Liam,” Alex murmured against his mouth. “I’ve got a special gift for you.” In his drug-addled state, the words sounded romantic. Liam felt a surge of affection, of trust. He wanted this. He wanted to give himself to this man who seemed to want him so completely. He didn’t resist as Alex guided him to the ground, didn’t question the roughness of his touch, mistaking it for passion. The witnesses watched from the shadows, their expressions a mixture of morbid curiosity and cruel amusement as the innocent boy, lost in a chemically induced haze, freely gave himself over. The act itself was a blur of sensation for Liam—pain that was oddly distant, a feeling of being utterly possessed, and a strange, profound sense of connection that he craved. He was completely unaware of the cold, calculated nature of the encounter, of the malicious intent behind every one of Alex’s actions. For Alex, this wasn't about pleasure; it was about power, about corruption. The “gift” he was giving was a deliberate, malicious act, a poison being delivered straight into the heart of Liam’s trusting body. Afterwards, as Liam lay shivering on the forest floor, the haze began to lift, leaving a hollow, aching emptiness. Alex stood up, zipping his jeans with a casual indifference that sliced through Liam’s post-coital fog. “That was fun, kid,” he said, his voice devoid of the warmth it had held before. He tossed a small bottle of water onto the ground beside Liam. “You might want to clean yourself up.” And then he was gone, disappearing back toward the road, leaving Liam alone, cold, and confused. The two witnesses emerged from their hiding spots a few minutes later, not to help, but to stand over him for a moment, their faces contorted in silent, mocking laughter before they too retreated into the woods. Liam slowly pulled himself together, his body sore, his mind a wreckage of shame and confusion. He stumbled back to his car, the events of the afternoon replaying in his head like a distorted dream. It wasn’t until weeks later, when a persistent flu and a strange, purple rash on his skin sent him to the campus clinic, that the true nature of Alex’s “gift” was revealed. The doctor’s words were clinical and final, but they echoed in Liam’s mind with the same cruel intimacy as Alex’s whisper in the woods: “I’ve got a special gift for you.” The innocence of the college boy from the park and ride off Exit 21 was gone, replaced by a life-altering virus and the chilling memory of the day he was freely given to a monster in the Coventry woods. 0%

The chlorine in the Northwood Community Pool was a scent Leo had come to associate with heaven. It was the smell of his new beginning. At nineteen, he was a latecomer to competitive swimming, all lean limbs and nervous energy, but he had a natural, effortless grace in the water that turned heads. He’d been scouted by Coach Marcus, a man whose presence filled the humid air of the natatorium, a man with a voice like smooth stones rubbing together and an unnervingly intense gaze. The team, the Northwood Tritons, welcomed him with an easy camaraderie that Leo had never experienced. They were a tight-knit group, a brotherhood forged in shared exhaustion and the silent, blue world of the pool. There was Rafael, the team captain, whose powerful strokes cut through the water like a knife; Liam, the sprinter, all explosive energy and quick laughter; and Sam, the quiet one, whose endurance was legendary. They shared everything: gels, towels, water bottles, and a particular set of small, daily pills they all took with a synchronicity that Leo found curious. "They're just vitamins," Rafael had said with a dismissive wave when Leo finally asked. "For energy. Keeps us healthy. You'll get yours soon enough." Leo accepted this. He was the new guy, the innocent. He wanted to belong, to be part of this elite, beautiful family. He idolized Coach Marcus, who saw a raw potential in him that no one else had. The coach’s private sessions were grueling but transformative. Marcus would stand on the deck, his eyes tracing Leo’s every movement, his voice a constant, low murmur of instruction. "You're holding back, Leo. You need to let go completely. Trust me. Trust the process." The first crack in the idyllic facade appeared during a late-night training session. Leo had forgotten his towel and went to the coach's office to borrow one. The door was slightly ajar. Inside, he saw Marcus and Rafael, their voices low and serious. He heard the words he wasn't supposed to hear. "His numbers are perfect," Marcus was saying. "He's ready. The initiation needs to happen soon." "What if he says no?" Rafael asked, a rare note of concern in his voice. "He won't," Marcus said, his voice full of absolute certainty. "He wants this as much as we do. He wants to be one of us. He just doesn't know what 'one of us' means yet." Leo backed away, his heart hammering against his ribs. Initiation? Vitamins? The pieces began to click into place with a horrifying, sickening certainty. He went home and, with trembling fingers, searched online for the names on the pill bottles he'd glimpsed in their bags. The results were a punch to the gut: antiretroviral therapy. For HIV. He spent the next day in a daze, watching his teammates through a new lens. They weren't just healthy, strong athletes; they were living with a virus, managing it daily. And they were happy. They were thriving. The camaraderie wasn't just friendship; it was a shared secret, a shared existence. They weren't dying from it; they were living with it, and it seemed to bind them together even more tightly. That evening, Coach Marcus asked him to stay after practice. The pool was empty, the water still and reflecting the dim lights. They sat on the bleachers, the chlorine scent thick between them. "You know, don't you?" Marcus said, not as a question, but as a statement. Leo could only nod, his throat too tight to speak. "It's not what you think," Marcus continued, his voice gentle. "We don't see it as a curse. We see it as a gift. It’s a filter. It weeds out the weak, the uncommitted. To be a Triton, you have to be willing to sacrifice everything for the team, for this life. You have to be willing to carry the same burden, the same fire, that we all carry. It makes us stronger. It makes us family." He looked at Leo, his gaze unwavering. "We are all positive, Leo. Rafael, Liam, Sam... me. And we want you to join us. Completely." The world tilted on its axis. Every instinct, every bit of societal programming screamed at him to run, to get away, to call the police. This was madness. This was a death sentence. But as he looked into the coach's eyes, he didn't see malice. He saw a profound, twisted sense of love and belonging. He thought of the laughter in the locker room, the shared victories, the feeling of being part of something monumental. He was tired of being on the outside, tired of being the innocent one who didn't understand the secret jokes and the private rituals. He wanted in. He wanted to be one of them, no matter the cost. The fear was still there, a cold knot in his stomach, but beneath it was a terrifying, exhilarating wave of desire. To be accepted. To be transformed. To truly belong. "What do I have to do?" Leo whispered, the words barely audible. Coach Marcus smiled, a slow, knowing smile. "Trust me. Let go." They went to the coach's private apartment above the community center. It was spartan, clean. Marcus told him to undress and wait. Leo did, his body trembling with a mixture of terror and anticipation. When Marcus returned, he was naked too, his body solid and powerful. There was no aggression in his movements, only a sense of purpose, of ceremony. He guided Leo to the bed, positioning him on his hands and knees. Leo felt utterly exposed, vulnerable. He was offering himself, his innocence, his very future. He was offering his rectum freely, as a vessel for this new, terrifying life. "This is the bond," Marcus murmured, his hands warm on Leo's hips. "This is how you become one of us." There was a sharp, intimate pain as Marcus entered him, a sensation of being breached, claimed. It was overwhelming, a violation and a consecration all at once. Leo buried his face in the pillow, tears streaming down his face, but he didn't pull away. He pushed back, accepting the intrusion, accepting the virus that was being passed into his body, sealing his place in the brotherhood. It was an act of total surrender, the price of admission. In the weeks that followed, Leo was initiated into the full reality of being a Triton. He was given his own bottle of pills. The first time he took them, his hands shook, but he looked around at his teammates, who all watched him with knowing, welcoming smiles. He was no longer an outsider. He was part of the secret. His swimming transformed. The hesitation was gone. He moved through the water with a new, fierce power, a sense of purpose that burned away all his doubt. He was no longer just Leo, the kid with potential. He was a Triton. He was one of them. They all lived happily ever after. They trained together, competed together, and managed their shared condition together. The virus was the dark, glittering thread that ran through the tapestry of their lives, a constant reminder of the sacrifice and the bond that made them more than just a team. They were a family, bound by blood, by water, and by the sacred, secret fire they all carried within them. And Leo, the once-innocent boy, had never felt more complete, more alive, or more loved. 1%

Any gloryholes or video booths in Cleveland?

In the heart of the wilderness, nestled within a secluded valley, lay the infamous Rock River, a sanctuary for naturists who sought to embrace their most primal instincts. This was no ordinary nudist colony; it was a place where the boundaries of decency were blurred, and the line between consent and coercion was often crossed. The young man, a naive and innocent soul, had stumbled into this den of debauchery, unaware of the horrors that awaited him. His name was Ethan, a 20-year-old with a heart full of dreams and a mind untainted by the cruelties of the world. He had been lured to Rock River by promises of community and acceptance, but what he found was a twisted web of desire and domination. The naturists, a group of gay men who reveled in their freedom from societal norms, saw Ethan as a fresh piece of meat, ripe for the taking. On his first night at Rock River, Ethan was drugged with a potent concoction, his senses dulled, and his willpower weakened. He was led into the woods, where the air was thick with the scent of pine and the echoes of his own terrified breaths. There, in the shadowy depths of the forest, he was violated by multiple men, their bodies pressing against his, their hands exploring every inch of his skin. Ethan's innocence was torn from him like a veil, and he was left broken and alone, his cries for help swallowed by the indiferent wilderness. As dawn broke, Ethan found his way out of the woods, his body aching and his spirit shattered. He stumbled onto the side of a lonely road, where a burly gay trucker pulled over, his intentions as clear as the lewd grin on his face. Ethan was too weak to resist as he was pulled into the cab, where he endured another round of brutal assaults, the trucker's rough hands and insatiable hunger leaving him bruised and bloodied. When the trucker finally released him, Ethan was left on the side of the road, a discarded and broken shell of a man. It was then that he was found by an older man, a kind-faced gentleman who promised him safety and care. Ethan, desperate for any semblance of solace, allowed himself to be taken in. The older man, whose name was Harold, bathed Ethan's wounds and offered him a drink, laced with a sedative that sent him spiraling into a dreamless sleep. When Ethan awoke, he found himself in a strange room, his body aching, and his mind foggy. Harold sat beside him, a sinister smile playing on his lips. "Welcome back, my dear," Harold purred. "I have some news for you. You see, I have a special friend, a black man who has a particular taste for white boys. He's been waiting for someone like you, and now, thanks to me, he's got you." Ethan's eyes widened in horror as he realized the extent of his captivity. He was led to a nearby house, where a tall, muscular black man awaited. The man's eyes roved over Ethan's naked form, and he licked his lips in anticipation. Ethan was forced to his knees, his mouth filled with the man's flesh, and he was violated in ways that left him sobbing and begging for mercy. The black man, whose name was Marcus, was a live cam performer, and he broadcasted Ethan's sodomy to a global audience, his moans and cries of pain echoing through the speakers. When the act was over, Marcus leaned down, his breath hot on Ethan's ear. "Congratulations, boy," he whispered. "You've just been given a gift. A gift called HIV. You're mine now, forever. You'll be my little camp whore, kept naked and fucked nightly by the men of Rock River. You'll take your meds, and you'll live out your days as a living fuck doll." Ethan's world crumbled around him, the weight of his new reality crushing his spirit. He was taken back to Rock River, where he was greeted by the very men who had violated him before. They cheered and jeered, their eyes filled with lust and hunger, knowing that Ethan was now their property, a plaything to be used and abused at their whim. And so, Ethan's life took a dark turn, his innocence lost forever. He was kept naked, his body marked with the scars of his captors, and his mind a broken shell of its former self. Night after night, he was violated, his screams of pain and despair echoing through the woods, a haunting melody that would forever be the soundtrack of his captivity. 0%

The last guy I sucked really gave me a good hard face fucking and I loved it! He was just pounding away at my mouth and throat and you should have heard all the gulping, gasping and just guttural sounds i was making., I loved it and so did he.

I agree but a few have taken offense when I’ve gently said something similar. I’m not into fit/lean guys but it seems many think I’m crazy for not wanting them.

In the decade since I first posted on this thread how much I loved being loose an able to take long thick size most guys can't, my hole is even looser now from huge toys/plugs and very heavy amounts of fisting--something is in my blown out buttCunt everyday. I have achieved the power bottom pig level of a hole that doesn't fully close and being told by a top it feels like he's "fucking an open window" is music to my ears. Many guys just jerk off in me now. And then there's the subset of tops who get off on fisting and then fucking and breeding a hole they can barely feel and then fisting their nut load deeper into my gaped manCunt. ...and I'm still training to stretch even more and enjoy even larger...

Good start for sure. If I am ever given a choice of the top using a condom or going in raw I always want it raw..I want all dicks going in my ass bare and not coming out til they go soft after cumming in me.

Are you sure? I think there will be more...