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To everyone who has read and commented—thank you! Your feedback has been incredible, and it’s a huge rush to know you’re feeling this journey right alongside the character. I want to be direct: this story is about me. While I've written it as fiction, every single encounter and feeling in these chapters is something I have experienced myself in one way or another over the years. I've simply woven them together into a new narrative to tell the story. At its heart, this is about my life as a gay man torn between two worlds. On one hand, the life I‘ve built—the stable, loving marriage, the successful career, the respectable facade. On the other, a deep, gnawing craving for something that threatens to burn it all down: the raw, dangerous, and transformative act of being pozzed. I move between periods of seeking safety and plunging into sleazy, bareback sex. It's a simple, brutal math: the greater the risk, the harder I cum. But it's never a straight line. It's a messy, back-and-forth battle, and I hope that's what comes across in the ups and downs of my experience. It is mindblowing to read that some of you can relate to this, feeling like I was in your mind writing about your own longings and desires. The realization that I am not alone in this is the greatest source of my courage and the reason I must continue, and for that, I thank you for coming on this very personal ride with me. I've already started writing the next chapters, and I hope you're ready for what cums next.

@Knightfalconer: Like @leatherpunk16 said, you are both correct and completely incorrect. I would suggest reading the source material if you'd like (linked at the beginning), as it might give you an idea of what's going on. But, this is also meant to be a one off, so nothing in this should be considered canon, and instead just a fun side project... so it should enjoyable on its own if you don't feel like reading the novel (quite literally) we have posted there. Both the one-off and the main story have been a fun project to write. This is only meant to tide people over until we can post again, as well as help drive people to checking out our full story. Also, it will only be about 7-8 Chapters long. Anyways, without much further wait, here is chapter 2... -------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 2: Up the Chimney He Rose The storm outside had grown vicious enough to make the old fraternity house groan at every gust. Snow slapped hard against the windows, blurring the world beyond into a white, swirling void. Inside, Phi Alpha Gamma had settled into a warm, chaotic mess: blankets draped over sagging couches, empty cans scattered across the coffee table, the air thick with the mingled smells of popcorn, sweat, and cheap beer. Die Hard lit the room in flashes of gunfire and Christmas lights—Derek’s official “holiday classic” and the one time of year no one bothered arguing with him about movie choices. The boys were loud, half-buzzed, and fully invested in watching Bruce Willis crawl through air ducts. Until Bran paused the movie. The sudden stillness felt unnatural, leaving only the sound of the storm beating against the house. Bran didn’t explain; he didn’t have to. His gaze had drifted toward the basement door, expression tightening in that way that said he’d been thinking about something for longer than he let on. “Noah’s been down there too long,” he finally said. A few groans circled the room, but nobody contradicted him. Even in their half-drunken state, they all knew the unspoken rule: if a pledge disappears for more than fifteen minutes, someone checks. And if you’re the one who brought him in, that someone is always you. Derek exhaled heavily into the couch cushion, reluctant to move. He’d just gotten comfortable—blanket over his legs, beer warming his hand, the best part of the movie queued up. He tried half-hearted excuses, joking attempts to pawn the duty off on someone else, but Bran wasn’t budging, and everyone knew it. Responsibility. The one downside of being VP. And the dipshit’s cousin. With a dramatic sigh, Derek peeled himself out of the blanket and pushed to his feet, cracking joints and stiff muscles protesting the movement. The room laughed at him for being over-the-top, and he tossed back a lazy middle finger as he headed toward the hallway. The warmth of the living room faded with each step. The house felt different here—quieter, cooler, the kind of silence that seemed to listen back. Derek paused at the basement door, hand on the knob, feeling the faint cold radiating through the wood. The storm rattled the glass panes in the living room behind him; the floor creaked under his weight. “All this for family,” he muttered, mostly to himself. He opened the door. A draft of cold air spilled up the stairs like a warning. Derek descended anyway. Derek reached the bottom of the stairs and let the basement swallow him. The door creaked shut behind him with a hollow sound that seemed too loud for the space, muting the movie and laughter upstairs until it felt like a different world entirely. Down here, the air was heavy with the scent of dust, old cardboard, and the faint mineral tang of cold concrete. He swept his phone flashlight across the basement. The clutter was familiar—bins stacked haphazardly, half-deflated holiday inflatables, strings of lights tangled like abandoned vines. Nothing out of place. Nothing disturbed. And still no sign of Noah. A part of Derek relaxed at that. No crisis. No broken limbs. No fainted pledge for him to drag upstairs like a responsible older cousin. He’d been gearing himself up for a lecture, a report, maybe even a call to campus security. But the basement was just a basement. “Of course,” Derek muttered, rubbing a hand over the tense muscles of his neck. “Kid probably flipped the breaker and sprinted upstairs to crash like a little gremlin.” He turned back toward the stairs and called up with an unnecessarily loud voice, “NOAH WENT TO BED! HE’S NOT DOWN HERE!” The boys erupted into laughter—muffled by distance but still carrying their usual rough affection. Someone threw in a sarcastic cheer. Someone else shouted a joke about Noah already hibernating. It was exactly the kind of idiotic chorus Derek expected from them, and despite his irritation, it loosened something in his shoulders. He let out a breath and scanned the room again. The storm slammed against the house with renewed force, rattling the small basement window. A sharp gust knifed through the old frame, sending a sweep of cold air across Derek’s bare arms. He shivered and shook out his shoulders, then crossed the room to push the window open just a few inches. The icy wind sliced through the basement’s stale warmth, refreshing in a way that made Derek inhale deeper. Perfect for smoke. Perfect for clearing his head. Perfect, honestly, for ignoring Noah for another ten minutes. He moved toward the tarp-covered crate tucked behind a pile of unused folding chairs. The tarp lifted with a soft rasp, revealing exactly what he’d hoped to find. The cedar cigar box gleamed softly under the flashlight beam—rich wood, smooth finish, the one nice object he owned that hadn’t been ruined by frat life. The cigars inside were arranged neatly, nestled like small luxuries among the clutter. Next to them sat a trio of half-functioning lighters, a cutter, and beneath those— The stack of glossy magazines he definitely didn’t want anyone else finding. He thumbed through the pile. Old issues with worn corners, kink mags he’d bought in out-of-town gas stations, a few things salvaged from older brothers who’d graduated. He stopped when he reached the leather daddy spread—the one with the broad-shouldered biker gripping a femboy’s jaw with an expression that promised absolutely filthy things. A slow, amused smile tugged at Derek’s mouth. “Yeah… you’ll do,” he said quietly. He selected a cigar, clipped it, and lit it with practiced ease. The end glowed orange, and the first inhale filled his lungs with warm, earthy smoke. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the nicotine smooth out the tension of finals week and the annoyance he’d felt climbing off the couch. Down here, away from the noise, the cold, and responsibility, the cigar felt like a small oasis. Dragging over the battered folding chair, Derek unfolded it beside the cracked window, settling into it like a man claiming a throne. He unzipped his jeans, pushed them down enough to get comfortable, and angled his phone’s flashlight downward toward the magazine on the cement floor. The glossy page lit up beautifully in the beam. “Variety’s the spice of life,” he murmured to himself with a smirk. “And these guys upstairs would die if they knew how spicy I’ll go.” He took another deep pull from the cigar, savoring the burn in his throat. Smoke curled from his lips in slow, luxurious streams as he leaned back into the metal chair, letting the cold air kiss his bare skin while the heat of the cigar warmed him from within. He lowered his gaze to the magazine. The leather daddy stared back, smug and powerful, the twink kneeling between his boots. Derek couldn’t help the huff of laughter that escaped him. “Goddamn,” he whispered, and began. Expertly, he spit into his hand and slowly began to to stroke his uncut cock as he drew hard on the cigar, enjoying the rush as he began muttering at the twink on the page. “Yeah, you wanna getting fucked by daddy, don’t you boy? Gonna be daddy’s good little boy and suck every drop down? Bend over and hold that prettly little ass apart and let me fuck you raw?” He stoked hard and fast, occasionally drawing hard and blowing out a cloud of smoke at the page, letting his mind pretend it was that little cocktease of a TA in his English lit class at his knees. He took a deep inhale, enjoying the feeling of the smoke billowing out of his nose. Suddenly, a strange idea floated into his head, not of fucking someone, but being fucked. Wondering what it might be like to be the one under the biker, feeling as someone suddenly started to fuck his ass, fill it with their cum. Derek laughed and shook his head, immediately telling himself that he was a top. And that there was no fucking way he’d bottom for anyone, forcing his mind firmly back to his mental assault on the TA. Minutes drifted by unnoticed. The storm’s howls softened into background noise. The boys upstairs were distant, irrelevant. Down here, Derek was alone with smoke, cold air, and the steady rhythm of his pleasure—soothing, familiar, private. He only stopped when a sound broke through the quiet. A low, dull thud from behind the locked maintenance door. Not the furnace. Not the house settling. Something else. Something that didn’t belong in the basement at all. Derek was just settling into the rhythm of it—warm cigar smoke in his lungs, the cold wind from the cracked window brushing against his overheated skin—when a dull, heavy thud rolled out from the far side of the basement. The sound came from behind the old maintenance door, the one nobody ever opened because it led to pipes, storage, and decades of dust. Derek froze, his hand still wrapped around himself, head tipped slightly as he waited for it to repeat. For a moment the basement sat completely still, empty except for the rattle of the winter storm battering the window. Then the second noise came—a dragging scrape across old stone, slow and uneven, like something heavy shifting its weight in a room that shouldn’t have contained anything heavy at all. A cold prickle crept up the back of Derek’s neck. He lowered the magazine and tried to listen past the thump of his own pulse. He wasn’t scared exactly, just thrown off in the same way he’d been the night Ty insisted the house was haunted after getting drunk on peppermint schnapps. Still, the sound was wrong enough to get under his skin. He let out a frustrated exhale and quickly zipped himself up, the motion abrupt and irritated. The warmth in his body hadn’t faded, but now it competed with a creeping annoyance—of course Noah had found a way to make this simple errand complicated. Derek jammed the cigar back between his teeth, grabbed his phone, and stalked across the room toward the maintenance door, muttering under his breath about clueless pledges and avoidable concussions. As he approached, the cold coming from beneath the door brushed over his ankles like a draft from an open freezer. The handle felt even colder when he wrapped his fingers around it—a sharp, metallic chill that didn’t match the rest of the basement at all. He hesitated only long enough to grumble a final complaint about getting stuck with responsibility duty, then gave the door a firm shove. It swung open with a long, low groan. A wave of stale, icy air drifted out, carrying the smell of damp stone and something faintly chemical that stung the inside of his nose. Derek stepped inside cautiously, lifting his phone so the flashlight beam cut through the darkness. The light washed over rusted pipes, coils of forgotten wiring, and an uneven stone floor slick with moisture. The entire room felt older—deeper—than the rest of the house, as though it belonged to a different building entirely. He tried to steady his breath, forcing a cocky tone back into his voice more for his own benefit than anyone else’s. “Noah, if you wandered in here and knocked yourself out on a pipe, I swear—” Something slapped across his face with sudden, shocking force. A thick burst of warm slime splattered over his mouth, nose, and eyes. The shock of it made him stumble backward, grabbing blindly at the air. The slime burned cold for a split second before turning hot—unnervingly hot—like someone had poured liquid fire along his skin. When he wiped at it, the chemical taste hit immediately, bitter and electric against his tongue. The heat rushed downward into his chest and limbs so fast his knees buckled. His phone slipped from his fingers, bouncing across the stone with a clatter that sounded strangely far away. Derek tried to suck in a breath, but the air felt thick and syrupy, his thoughts dissolving into static as the warmth spread down into his spine and stomach. He dropped to one knee, then the other, hands braced on the cold stone that now felt distant beneath him. Another wave of heat rolled through, stronger, heavier, pulling his muscles into a loose, unreliable tremble. He forced his head up, blinking through the blur distorting his vision. That was when he saw them—massive, inhuman feet standing just inches in front of him. Not boots. Not shadows. Skin. Obsidian-black, glossy like wet leather stretched over raw muscle. The ground seemed to tilt under him as he stared, barely able to process what he was seeing before another hot surge pulled him sideways into the dark. The maintenance room swayed around Derek like it was being viewed underwater. The cold stone under his palms should’ve grounded him, but the heat spreading through his veins made everything feel distant and unreal. He tried to lift his head again, struggling against the syrup-thick fog gathering behind his eyes. His breath hitched. The figure in front of him wasn’t a trick of the light. It was enormous—taller than any human he’d ever seen, muscles carved in deep, shifting ridges beneath pitch-black skin that gleamed like oiled leather. Curved horns rose from its skull, thick and heavy, sweeping backward in a shape that made Derek’s chest seize with a primal, instinctive dread. Drool slid from the creature’s sharp teeth in thin ropes that glimmered faintly in the dim red glow pulsing somewhere further inside the chamber. A low growl rumbled through the stone floor and into Derek’s bones. He tried to scramble backward, but his limbs barely answered him. The chemical heat coursing through his body made his muscles feel detached, like something else was controlling the signals before they reached him. His hands slipped on the damp stone as he attempted to push himself away, his vision swimming harder with every movement. Another shape shifted in the dark beyond the creature—then another. More footsteps echoed from deeper in the chamber, slow and deliberate, like predators circling a stunned animal. Derek’s gaze flickered sideways, catching only brief impressions: the glint of more horns, the ripple of massive chests, the dull glow of reflected red light sliding across slick skin. His phone, lying several feet away, flickered once before the screen dimmed. The tiny glow made the rest of the chamber feel impossibly vast, the shadows unnervingly alive. Derek tried to speak—maybe Noah’s name, maybe a curse—but the word dissolved into a thick, breathless sound as another pulse of heat rolled through him. His chest tightened; his stomach clenched; his thighs shook beneath him. The cigar he’d been clinging to slipped from his mouth and hit the floor with a soft hiss, the ember smearing against the wet stone. A clawed hand—massive, warm, impossibly precise—reached down and closed around his jaw, lifting his head. Derek choked on a startled gasp as the creature tilted his face up, forcing him to meet the dark, hollow places where its eyes should have been. Another growl vibrated from the creature’s chest. This one felt almost… amused. Derek’s vision flickered in and out, his pulse hammering in his ears. He could feel his body giving out, the chemical warmth dragging him deeper into helplessness. He fought to stay upright, to stay conscious, to make sense of anything— Then another splash of wetness hit him across the cheek and temple, more slime catching the heat of his skin instantly. The chemical burn intensified, spreading down his neck and shoulders in a sizzling wave. Derek’s arms buckled; his breath stuttered; the world tilted sideways. He collapsed fully onto the stone floor. The cold should have shocked him awake. Instead, it barely registered against the feverish overheating of his skin. His vision dimmed at the edges, shapes blurring into dark smears. He heard the heavy footsteps closing in, the low chorus of growls echoing through the chamber, the slow exhale of something enormous drawing nearer. Through the haze, he caught a single, horrifying detail: Noah was lying on the ground a few feet away. Naked. Motionless. Glowing faintly under the red light. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, a dazed half-smile on his lips that made Derek’s stomach twist. Derek reached toward him instinctively, fingers dragging across the stone. “Noah—” The whisper barely left his throat before the darkness tightened around the edges of his vision. The last thing he saw was the towering creature leaning over him again, its silhouette blotting out the flickering glow like a closing door. Then the floor rose up to meet him, and everything went black. — A thick, rumbling vibration pulled Derek back up from the dark—like the sound of a distant engine or an animal too large to imagine. The noise crawled up through the floor and pressed against his chest, coaxing his eyes half open. The world swam, then steadied just enough for him to comprehend the shape looming above him. The creature was kneeling now, massive shoulders hunched, horned head tilted with an unsettling calm. In the red glow pulsing from the sagging Christmas lights strung deep in the chamber, its obsidian skin gleamed like lacquered leather pulled taut over dense muscle. Drool slid in long, viscous ropes from its sharp teeth, pattering onto the stone near Derek’s cheek. His stomach lurched. He tried to push himself back, but his limbs barely twitched, the lingering chemical warmth numbing half his strength and scrambling his senses. The creature’s claws moved with unexpected gentleness as it plucked Derek’s fallen cigar from the floor. It inspected the half-burned end, then leaned forward and slipped it between Derek’s lips as though returning something he’d dropped at a dinner table. Derek inhaled reflexively. Heat filled his lungs again, thick and smoky, pulling a shiver from somewhere deep in his spine. Another vibration echoed through the room—footsteps, heavy and deliberate. Derek forced his blurry gaze upward just in time to see more shapes emerging from the shadows. One by one, they stepped into the faint red glow: A second monster, then a third. A fourth, fifth, sixth. Seven in total, each massive, horned, and dripping with saliva, their bodies built like sculpted nightmares carved from obsidian. All of them carried themselves like soldiers. And they weren’t alone. From the far end of the chamber, barely visible, another presence lingered—larger, stiller, watching with a slow-burning patience. Derek couldn’t fully make out its form, only the faint ember of a cigar glowing like a solitary red eye in the dark. The Alpha. Even through his haze, Derek felt it—an instinctive tightening in his chest, a pressure at the base of his skull. The air grew heavier, charged, as if gravity itself thickened in the Alpha’s presence. Derek’s gaze drifted, searching through the blur, hunting for an anchor in the panic— And then he saw Noah again. His cousin lay curled on the opposite side of the chamber, skin slick with sweat, chest rising and falling in shallow, rhythmic breaths. His eyes were open, but unfocused—dreamy, dazed, still caught in a fog that made Derek’s throat tighten. “Noah…” Derek tried again, but the word melted into a rasp. The monsters responded to the sound with a chorus of low growls, the tones layered and resonant, vibrating through the chamber like a ritual drumbeat. Their horns caught the dim light in quick flashes—curved, jagged, imposing—each pair slightly different, each head bowing subtly toward the Alpha’s distant glow. Derek blinked hard, fighting the pull of sleep or blackout. The heat in his chest bloomed again, spreading through his limbs in slow, molten waves. Every breath seemed to thicken the haze around him. The creature holding his jaw rumbled softly, as if pleased by his attempt to stay conscious. The others closed in, forming a loose semicircle—silent except for their deep breathing and the soft drip of saliva onto stone. Their presence crowded the air, heavy and unyielding, a wall of muscle, horns, and furnace-hot breath. Something important was about to happen. Derek felt it—not in his mind, but in his body, in the way his skin prickled and the heat inside him swelled as though anticipating command. He wanted to move. He wanted to scream. He wanted to wake up. But all he could do was breathe smoke and stare helplessly as the eight monstrous silhouettes surrounded him like a ritual coming to life. The creature crouched nearest to Derek shifted, angling its massive frame so the dim red bulbs overhead struck its features more clearly. The others seemed to still in response, adjusting their posture, their growls lowering as though they were making room for something—someone—important. Derek blinked through the haze, forcing his vision to stabilize long enough to really see the one holding him. This monster was different. Its horns were thicker than the others’, curling backward in heavy, sweeping arcs like ram’s horns coated in black tar. The ridges of its shoulders were broader, its chest heavier, its posture confident in a way that felt almost… deliberate. Not just monstrous. Commanding. The kind of presence that walked into a room expecting obedience before it ever spoke. In the flicker of the failing Christmas lights, its skin gleamed with a deep, leathery sheen. Not slick like the others—more matte, almost textured, like worn black leather stretched tight across muscle. Derek’s drifting, chemically-fogged mind made a jolting connection: It looked exactly like the biker from his magazine. The leather daddy fantasy he’d been jerking off to fifteen minutes ago was now crouched in front of him as an impossibly tall, horned, drooling demon. The realization hit him so hard he almost sobbed. The monster leaned closer, head tilting with eerie curiosity. Its horns cast long curved shadows across Derek’s trembling chest. The humid breath rolling off it smelled faintly of cedar smoke, stone, and something darker underneath—something old. Behind Derek, the other monsters shifted subtly, their stances widening as though giving this one more space. Every movement, every growl, every ripple of their massive bodies deferred outward from this central figure. Even in his fogged state, Derek sensed the hierarchy: Not the Alpha. But close. Second-in-command. The creature’s claws tightened around Derek’s jaw—not painfully, but with a sense of ownership, of evaluation. It studied him in a way that made Derek’s ribs feel too small for his lungs. From the back of the chamber, the Alpha’s ember glowed brighter for a moment. A voice Derek couldn’t place—deep, resonant, vibrating more in his skull than in the air—rolled through him like a slow thunderclap: “Gravestone. Give me your opinion of this one.” The name wasn’t spoken aloud so much as delivered. A designation. A command. A recognition. And in that instant, Derek knew without question that this was the creature’s name. Heavy. Unyielding. Final. Gravestone. The creature rumbled in acknowledgment of the Alpha’s call, a deep sound that shook Derek’s bones. It dipped its head once, almost ritualistically, and the circle of monsters responded with a collective shift—lowering their posture a fraction, deferring to its authority. Derek felt the pressure of Gravestone’s grip increase just slightly, an unspoken signal that he was now the focus of the second-in-command’s attention. The thought should have terrified him. It did. But tangled in the fear, beneath the chemical heat crawling through his limbs, was something Derek didn’t want to name—an involuntary pull toward the creature staring him down like he was something meant to be claimed. Gravestone’s cigar ember glowed as the monster drew in a long, resonant breath. Smoke curled from its nostrils in thick ribbons that drifted lazily downward, brushing Derek’s face with a warm, smoky veil. The creature leaned in closer, its voice rumbling through both the air and Derek’s mind—low, gravelly, and almost amused: “Derek Vance… Hmm… This one will not break easily like the other. If we push, he will fight and not break. Like… The one who hunts us, Alpha.” Derek’s pulse jumped violently. He wasn’t sure if it was fear. Or something far more dangerous. Gravestone’s grip shifted, his claws spreading along Derek’s jaw to tilt his head upward with a deliberate slowness that felt more like examination than restraint. The monster’s enormous frame blocked out nearly every trace of red light behind him, leaving only a faint glow outlining the heavy curl of his horns and the dripping points of his teeth. Derek tried to jerk his chin free, but the attempt was sluggish, weakened by the chemical heat humming through his bloodstream. His breath shuddered out in short bursts, smoke leaking from his lips with each trembling exhale. Gravestone watched him with unnerving stillness. Then the monster leaned closer. The leathery sheen of his chest flexed beneath the dim bulbs, muscles shifting like coiled stone. The scents of cedar and smoke and something darker—something primal—rolled off him in thick waves. When he spoke, his voice emerged as a layered growl, vibrating through the chamber and through Derek’s ribs: “Easy now, boy. If you behave, I will make it enjoyable. This can be pleasurable if you agree to it.” The words weren’t shouted. They weren’t gentle either. They landed with the finality of a hand on the back of the neck. Derek’s heart seized. “I—I’m not—” But the protest fell apart halfway, tangled in smoke and fear. Gravestone’s thumb traced the line of Derek’s jaw, a slow, possessive drag that made Derek’s breath catch despite himself. The monster’s eyes—if he even had eyes—felt like they were inside Derek’s skull, sifting through his scattered thoughts. Another low rumble. Amusement. “You came down here,” Gravestone growled, the cigar ember glowing as he spoke, “with a cigar in your mouth. Played with yourself looking at smut.” Derek swallowed hard. His pulse hammered against the monster’s grip. “I—just needed some air—just needed to—” He choked on the next inhale, the smoke thickening in his lungs as though responding to Gravestone’s voice. The monster leaned even closer, so close Derek could feel the humid heat of his breath against his ear. “You walked into my master’s chamber tasting of smoke,” Gravestone murmured, the sound crawling down Derek’s spine, “almost like you were asking for this.” Derek’s body tensed. “No—no, I didn’t—this isn’t—” Gravestone cut him off with a deep, dark chuckle—half-growl, half-laugh, wholly unsettling. The vibration rolled through Derek’s chest like an invisible hand pressing him deeper into the stone floor. The monster’s clawed thumb slid to Derek’s chin again, tapping lightly once—an oddly deliberate gesture, as though assessing how much fight was left in him. Then Gravestone spoke again, this time both aloud and pulsing in Derek’s skull: “You like smoke, don’t you boy? You claim to want to be in charge, but you wish to serve someone as well.” Derek’s breath hitched, his lungs flaring with another involuntary inhale of the lingering cigar haze. His thoughts scattered like dry leaves in the wind. He didn’t answer. Gravestone didn’t need him to. A slow, satisfied rumble rolled through the chamber, echoed faintly by the other monsters. Their heavy footsteps shifted, stances adjusting as if they could feel Derek weakening—feel the tremor in his chest and the subtle drop of his shoulders. Gravestone’s next words curled around Derek like heat: “You love to smoke. To shoot your load as you flood your lungs. To fuck in public places, and provide pleasure to other men already. These are good traits I look for in a boy. You would make a suitable new cigar pig for me.” The phrase slammed into him with a force that made his stomach drop. Derek flinched, confusion and panic knotting in his throat. His instinct was to snap back, to deny it, to push the creature away—but the chemical warmth pulsing through his blood dulled the edges of resistance, spinning his thoughts into loose, heavy loops. He managed only a broken exhale. Gravestone’s grin widened, drool slicking down onto Derek’s chest in slow, steaming trails. The other monsters stepped in closer, forming a tighter semicircle—horns gleaming, breaths heavy, bodies shifting with a predator’s anticipation. They were waiting. Watching. Listening. Gravestone dragged one claw down the center of Derek’s sternum, gently caressing the soft skin under the mat of fur on Derek’s chest, slow enough to make every nerve spark under the heat. Then, with a voice low enough to feel more like a command than a question: “You will breathe smoke for me, boy. I will take you on personally and help you learn. I will help you see how you wish to bend over and be filled. I will not force you. I will make you want to come to me willingly.” Derek’s resolve wavered. For the first time that night, he felt something inside him tilt. Not break. Not yet. But tilt—dangerously, undeniably. As if Gravestone had found the first crack. And was widening it with every breath Derek took. The moment Gravestone spoke his command, something shifted in the chamber. The other seven monsters responded like a single organism—horned heads rising, bodies straightening, their massive frames aligning around Derek in a slow, deliberate formation. The air thickened with heat and breath and a faint chemical tang that clung to Derek’s skin like a second layer. Gravestone didn’t release his jaw. He didn’t need to. With one steady motion, he guided Derek’s head upward, forcing his gaze toward the circle closing around him. The creatures’ cigars glowed like scattered embers in a dark forest, each inhale a slow flare of orange-red light that reflected off drool-slicked fangs and lacquer-black skin. Derek tried to pull in a breath—any breath that wasn’t smoke—but Gravestone tightened his grip until Derek’s lips parted, taking Derek’s cigar and putting it in his mouth. A nearby creature locked lips with him, and exhaled. A thick, heavy cloud of cigar smoke poured over Derek’s face, sinking into his lungs before he could stop it. The heat hit him instantly, flooding his chest with a molten rush that made his ribs shudder and his limbs tremble. He coughed once— Then inhaled again, deeper, without meaning to. The warmth in his bloodstream responded immediately, blooming outward in a dizzy, spiraling wave that loosened his thoughts and softened the edges of fear. His muscles slackened. His breath slowed. The floor beneath him felt distant, his limbs disconnected, like he were floating just above his own body. Another creature stepped forward. Another set of lips locked with his, sharp teeth teasing his lips and tongue. Another plume of smoke washed into him—sweet, heavy, numbing. Derek’s eyes fluttered. His jaw sagged slightly even before Gravestone pulled his head back into position. “There you go,” the monster rumbled, pleased. “Breathe our smoke in for us. Be good for us and we will make you happy.” Derek wanted to argue, to push back, to keep some piece of himself intact. But every breath was a fresh rush of heat and fog, dissolving his resolve in increments. His thoughts felt syrup-thick, drifting from one to another too slowly to hold onto. A third creature leaned in, its horns casting jagged shadows across Derek’s chest. It exhaled directly into his mouth—hot, dense, overwhelming. Derek inhaled instinctively, his chest expanding against the pressure, the taste of smoke coating his tongue so completely he couldn’t imagine breathing anything else. By the fourth monster, Derek wasn’t resisting. His head tilted slightly forward, lips parting in anticipation of the next exhale, finding himself willing its tongue into his mouth, licking and sucking, groaning as he felt the chemicals in the saliva give him a head rush and the smoke flooded his lungs. The realization horrified him for a split second—just long enough for the chemical warmth to swallow the thought whole. The circle tightened. Red light pulsed overhead, flickering in time with the slow rhythm of the monsters’ breathing. Their shadows shifted across Derek’s trembling body like markings in a ritual, each movement purposeful, each inhale followed by a deep rumble of satisfaction. Then the spitting began. Warm droplets—thick, chemical, tingling—splattered onto Derek’s chest and shoulders, dripping down his ribs in slow trails that made his skin prickle. Each drop sent a pulse through him, echoing outward from the point of contact until his entire torso felt like it buzzed. He shuddered involuntarily. Gravestone noticed instantly. “Good boy,” he growled, voice curling into Derek’s mind like smoke through a cracked door. “That’s it. Take what we give you. Ride the rush of our spit and smoke filling you, letting your mind break gently.” Another monster spit. Heat spread. Derek’s breath quickened. He felt detached from himself—like the version of him who smoked cigars by the storm window, who joked upstairs with the guys, who insisted he wasn’t into submission—was slipping backward into some fog he couldn’t pull himself out of. The monsters continued their slow, ritualistic circle, filling his lungs with smoke and his mind with warmth. Each exhale pushed him closer to that tipping point, the place where resistance became too heavy to carry. Gravestone’s claws tightened around the back of his head, steadying him. “You’re breathing deeper now,” the creature observed, voice thick with approval. “You want this… even if you don’t know it yet.” Derek tried to deny it. But when the next plume of smoke washed over him, he inhaled without hesitation, diving in for more when one of the creatures took another deep inhale on its cigar. Gravestone chuckled—a low, indulgent growl that shook the air around them. “Good,” he murmured. “Be my little cigar pig. Show daddy how much you love fucking your lungs with smoke.” Derek’s pulse stuttered. His chest expanded. His resistance cracked—not broken, not shattered, but splintering under the weight of heat and breath and Gravestone’s relentless presence in his brain. Suddenly, the images started to trickle in. Derek, in a sling, smoking a fat cigar as Gravestone ushered men to feed him their smoke, to fuck him and fill him with their cum. Derek smiling happily and feeling Gravestone tell him how happy he was, how proud, how he wanted to see him please every man there. He barely felt as his jaw slowly fell open, drool slowly dripping out as Gravestone placed the cigar back into his mouth and closed his mouth for him. And Derek’s world narrowed to smoke, heat, and the feeling of something inside him leaning—slowly, dangerously—toward surrender. With one last puff, he felt it finally give, and he smiled, knowing exactly what he was meant to do next. Without a word, Derek crawled over to Gravestone and pulled the cigar out of his mouth after inhaling hard and deep, and let Gravestone begin to fuck his mouth, his massive cock worming its way down his throat and making his neck bulge. He felt as the copious amounts of tainted cum mixed with the cigar spit in his mouth, greedily gulping it down and smiling as he felt Gravestone gently begin to run his clawed fingers through his hair. With a growl, Gravestone shot his first full tainted load into Derek, watching as he moaned and gulped it down greedily. With an audible pop, he pulled out of his mouth and moved to behind Derek, sending countless more images mentally into his brain, smiling as he felt it start to stutter and shut down. The chamber seemed to hold its breath the moment Gravestone moved behind Derek with clear intent. The other monsters shifted outward in a wide, slow ripple, giving their second-in-command space. Their cigar embers glowed brighter, a ring of red eyes circling Derek’s trembling, smoke-flooded body. The Alpha watched from the shadows, silent and immense. Gravestone’s claws slid down Derek’s spine, steadying him with a grip that felt both possessive and inevitable. Derek’s breath trembled in his chest, lungs full of heat and smoke that made it difficult to think in straight lines. Every inhale fed the softness in his limbs; every exhale made the world blur a little more. “Easy,” Gravestone murmured, voice thick as molten rock. “You’re ready. It’s time for Daddy to convert you himself.” Derek shook his head weakly, but the protest dissolved into a thin, breathless sound. The warmth coursing through his veins tangled with the weight of Gravestone’s hands, drowning out what little clarity he had left. Gravestone positioned him, gently drooling out his potent saliva, smoky from the cigars. Gently, he slowly forced his massive cock deep into Derek, calmly running his sharp claws along his back, letting him tremble and puff hard on the cigar in his mouth. Slowly and steadily, he watched as Derek became more and more docile, before finally taking his chance and speeding up, quickly getting to a jackhammer speed, jabbing hard and fast. He smiled as Derek began to beg for Gravestone to claim him, to flood his insides, to make him his son. Letting out a groan, Gravestone shot his first load deep inside Derek and watched as it quickly flooded his body and began to take control. Derek gasped—shocked, overwhelmed, disoriented. Smoke rushed from his lips in a trembling plume, his fingers curling helplessly against the stone. His mind reeled, trying to cling to the last scraps of who he thought he was— I’m a top. I don’t— I’m not— But the heat flooding through him crushed the words before they could fully form. Gravestone growled with slow, brutal satisfaction, the sound vibrating through Derek’s spine. The other monsters echoed the sound, a low chorus that filled the chamber with ritualistic approval. Smoke drifted downward in swirling ribbons as they watched, bodies shifting in restless, anticipatory hunger. Derek’s thoughts thinned. Bent. Then bent further. Gravestone leaned close to Derek’s ear, his breath hot and thick with cigar smoke. “Good boy…” A rumble. “You take what you were meant for well. I am proud.” Derek shuddered, his resolve buckling under the pressure of sensation, heat, and Gravestone’s overwhelming presence. Every breath felt heavier than the last, weighted with smoke that pulled his mind deeper into that soft, pliant fog. He began to smile when Gravestone removed both of their cigars and locked lips, shoving his tongue down Derek’s throat and exhaled his smoke into him, growling as Derek clenched his hole down on his cock. From the shadows, the Alpha rose. The temperature seemed to drop and rise at once, the air tightening as the Alpha stepped into the dim ring of red light. His horns were longer than Gravestone’s, spiraling upward with jagged, ancient symmetry. His body dwarfed the others, every muscle carved like obsidian monoliths. The glow of his cigar burned fiercely. The monsters immediately lowered their heads. Even Gravestone’s rhythm slowed, his posture tightening in deference. The Alpha approached Derek with slow, devastating certainty. “He resists so much less now,” the Alpha observed, voice echoing in the air and in Derek’s skull simultaneously. “Well done, Gravestone. He bends beautifully. He will be yours to own and consume now. Just remember to share.” Gravestone growled, pride evident even in the rumble. Derek tried to lift his head—to pull away—to salvage something of himself—but the Alpha crouched beside him, one massive hand settling on Derek’s chest with terrifying gentleness. Derek froze. The weight of that touch wasn’t just physical. It pressed into his mind. Into his breath. Into the place where his resistance used to live. The Alpha tilted his head, studying him like a rare specimen. “You still breathe like one pretending to hold on,” he said softly—almost kindly. “But you came to us already wanting this.” Derek’s heart raced, panic surging—but it drowned instantly under another rush of smoke and heat. The Alpha raised one clawed hand, resting it on Derek’s cheek. The touch was warm. Heavy. Commanding. “Gravestone has opened you,” the Alpha murmured. “But I will finish it.” Gravestone growled low in agreement, tightening his hold on Derek—stabilizing him, presenting him. Derek’s mind flickered, desperate, frightened, overwhelmed— and then the fog swallowed the flicker whole. The Alpha leaned closer, cigar ember glowing like a miniature sun. Derek mindlessly let himself be positioned perfectly by Gravestone, rolling onto his back and quietly taking Gravestone’s still hard and dripping cock into his mouth and nursing gently on it as Gravestone rested his knees on his shoulders, giving the Alpha fully access to Derek’s and wrecked and dripping ass, and slowly began to suck on Derek’s cock, ready to slurp down the remaining load of cum from his cock as his master claimed him. With gusto, the Alpha firmly gripped Derek’s firm ass and slammed hard and fast, hauling on his cigar and growling as he furiously began to slam as hard and fast as he could, grinning as he could hear Derek’s muffled cries around Gravestone’s cock, feeling as the walls of his guts readily moved out of his way, legs spreading further and allowing him access to begin spanking Derek as he fucked him. Each smack made Derek’s ass clench and after just a few short minutes, he felt the Alpha let out a deep, guttural growl and begin to shoot volley after volley of black thick jizz into his ass. The sensation and sudden mental praise flowing through his mind suddenly made him shudder and with one last firm suck from Gravestone, he choked out a cry and began shooting uncontrollably, his cock shooting over and over in an attempt to please his new cigar daddy, to feed him and nourish him, not even caring when his cock continued to shoot, with nothing more coming out be a few feeble drops and a painful ache in his balls. His final strands of resistance curled inward, melted, and vanished as the Alpha’s voice echoed inside him: “There. Now you belong to us.” Derek sagged entirely, consciousness wavering, breath ragged and smoky. Gravestone rumbled with deep satisfaction, his claws sliding supportively along Derek’s sides as he helped him sit upright. Almost on instinct, Derek stuck both cigars into his mouth, greedily sucking the smoke into his lungs as his mind began to change, craving the changes about to occur in his body, wanting to speed up his infection, to change, to transform. “Good boy, that’s Daddy’s good little pig. Make sure to take all these nice men’s loads in your tight boyhole and you’ll become perfect,” he growled. “Fuck, I want every one of them to infect me,” Derek groaned around the cigars, already wanting to crawl over and offer his ass to each and every one, to memorize the shape of their dick in his ass, to swap smoke with them and feel each one add their own potent load to his guts, making him change even faster. He now knew his true purpose. To feed the virus now consuming him and to provide comfort and a warm nourishing place for their Alpha’s strain. The Alpha nodded once, pleased. He gently ran his clawed hand through Derek’s hair, like one would pet a dog. “Yes. Let the rest of your new brothers share their loads in your firm ass to aid my seed and then you may sleep. You will remain smaller and not show the signs like the others, but will be better equipped to take our loads and draw in our prey with your pretty face and splendid features. A perfect pet for me and my commander.” His hand pressed gently to Derek’s forehead— and the world folded into grey, a pleased smile on his face.

Got new ideas for my hole lately

Pretty much all bugs I’ve gonno many timeS, syphilis 3 times and heo C a year ago Comes with my slamming and the guys I hook up with. I usually don’t tread them straight away. If I get them I want to breed them. After a while I get them treated. Long long raw sessions with sleazy guys and irs a given you’ll get STDs every so often, it doesn’t bother me . Risky raw feels so good

PERFECT 10 On Weds, I had a light day and was working from home. I decided to txt some fwb’s to see who was around. Below is what transpired. (1) K is a handsome black cub who works nearby. He stopped by around 11am over this lunch break I then had a light lunch at 12:30 (2) Andreas came by at 2pm. Handsome latino guy with curly hair and a thick dick. He knows exactly how i like it. (3) M was substitute teaching at a nearby school. Classes finished at 2:30 and he was balls deep in me by 2:45pm. M also sucked and swallowed my load XD (4) & (5) Had a 3:30pm threesome with daddylicious Howard (I’ve written about him in the past; we’ve been fucking since 2011) and a new fwb, Marcus, who teaches Pilates nearby. (6) & (7) due to time constraints and other logistics, I traveled to the West Village to give some ass to my buddies, Tom & Gary. Both are 50+ handsome guys with decades of topping experience. They split me open good (8) J is another teacher who works nearby, but finished work at 5pm. He came over at 5:15pm (9) I took the bus uptown to see my new crush, Joe, in midtown west. We are crushing on each other and exchanged Christmas gifts. He bred me deep around 6:45pm. (10) Sleepover with my buddy, R. R is a sweet, handsome, huscular 37yo Mexican top. He bred me good and then we cuddled while watching cartoons and ate take-out Chinese food. He then fucked me again before we went to bed and gave me another load around midnight. (Sent my ass to work on Thursday with 3 loads). R texted me on Thurs. saying that he was sooooo tired in the office because I wore him out. LOLOLOL A perfect 10 (tops) with a dozen loads XD

I have no clue who pozzed me, I'm such a slut. It could be anybody.

I always thought BBC was a myth until the first time I saw a group of black guys showering in the school gym locker room. I finally had my first black cock in my late 20's after my fag buddy had his BBC buddy "showed up" during our play date.

Not only does rimming a man make me so hard, I love it so I don't need lube. Without lube, I can go from fucking to rimming to kissing without tasting lube. It also makes fucking less messy. No lube and all of our fluids are shared either in an ass or mouth.

Part 3: A Perfect Man's Safe Poison The morning after is a quiet horror. The biker's load, which felt like a sacred gift yesterday, now feels like a ticking time bomb in your gut. You sit at your desk, the fluorescent lights of your office humming with a sterile indifference, but all you can hear is the frantic drumming of your own heart. You try to work, to lose yourself in spreadsheets and emails, but your mind keeps replaying the scene: the tattoo you saw—those sharp, menacing arcs pointing down towards his cock, a part of a larger, intimidating design. The used condom. The word "us" whispered in your ear like a vow. You open a private browser window. Your fingers, trembling slightly, type in the search query: "HIV transmission risk from single exposure, anonymous encounter." The results are a cascade of clinical terms and terrifying statistics. "Viral load." "Acute infection." "Window period." Each word is a nail in the coffin of your sanity. You click on a link to a forum, a place for people to share their stories of fear and diagnosis. You scroll through anonymous posts, each one a mirror of your own rising panic. One post includes a picture, a diagram of the body showing transmission points. And next to it, a user's avatar. It's a tattoo. Your breath catches in your throat. It's the same style. Sharp, tribal arcs. And in the center, unmistakably, is the biohazard symbol. The lines frame it and point downwards, just like the biker's. Your mind races. You click on the user's profile, and their signature line links to a photo gallery. You click. The page loads, and it's a gallery of the tattoo from every angle. On chests, on arms, on backs. Dozens of men, all marked with the same symbol, the same tribal arrows pointing down towards their cocks. It's a brand. A signature. A brotherhood. You stare at the screen, the pieces clicking into place with horrifying clarity. It wasn't just a tattoo. It was a declaration. The biker wasn't just some random guy; he was part of this world, a world you didn't even know existed until this very moment. He was one of them. The used condom, the word "us"—it all takes on a new, sinister meaning. He wasn't just fucking you; he was inducting you. The fear you feel is no longer just about a virus. It's about a culture, a brotherhood you may have just been forced to join. Your search history shifts. You're no longer just looking for risks. You're typing in new words, words that feel both forbidden and magnetic: "bug chasing," "gift giving," "poz breeding." The forum links appear, and you click, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs. The horror is still there, but now it's mixed with a dark, terrifying curiosity. You slam the laptop shut. No. This is not you. You are a successful 49-year-old man. You have a husband, a life, a future. This was a glitch, a moment of madness. It will not happen again. You make a vow, a silent, desperate promise to yourself: Never again. You need to be safe. That night, in the sterile quiet of your empty apartment, you open the app on your phone. It's a well-known platform for men to meet, a digital meat market where you can usually find anything you want, but tonight, you're not hunting for a thrill. You're seeking refuge. You filter with surgical precision. "Safe only." "D&D free." You scroll past the endless parade of shirtless torsos and the "anything goes" profiles, your eyes scanning for keywords of responsibility. And then you find him. His profile is a shrine to sanity. The main picture shows a muscular, hairy chest, the kind of powerful, masculine frame you've always been drawn to. There's no face pic, just the promise of a solid, warm body. His stats are perfect. His bio reads: "Visiting for business. Hotel fun. Sane, safe, and sorted. Safe only. No drama." He's the antidote. He's the proof that the world you used to live in still exists. Your heart pounds with a different kind of adrenaline—the adrenaline of hope. You message him. The conversation flows easily. He's witty, intelligent, and just as eager for a connection as you are. He's staying at a modern, business-class hotel downtown. You agree to meet the next evening, after work. A proper date, almost. A return to normalcy. You arrive at the hotel, your palms sweating. You take the elevator up, the soft music a stark contrast to the roaring in your head. He opens the door, and you're relieved to see he's just a guy. He's handsome, with a kind face that matches his warm personality. He's dressed in casual jeans, no shirt, no socks, his bare feet on the plush carpet. He looks relaxed, approachable. "Hey, come on in," he says, his voice warm and inviting. "I'm Mark." You step inside. The room is clean, orderly. He offers you a glass of wine, and you take one, needing the alcohol to steady your nerves. You sit on the couch, and he sits right next to you, close enough that your knees are almost touching. You make small talk, the wine loosening your tongue, the tension slowly easing from your shoulders. He puts a hand on your thigh, and you don't flinch. He leans in and kisses you, and it's a nice, normal kiss. It's not a battle for dominance; it's a meeting of mouths, a gentle exploration. He takes off your shirt, his hands roaming over your chest and back. You cuddle on the couch, his arm wrapped around you, the scene one of comfortable intimacy. It feels good. It feels safe. As he's kissing your neck, his hand drifts down to your crotch, grabbing your bulge. He feels the hard steel of your PA through your pants and stops. "Wow," he murmurs against your skin. "What's this?" You unzip and pull out your cock. He looks at your 00g PA ring, his eyes wide with genuine fascination. "That's beautiful," he says, his voice full of admiration. "Is that a tribal dream ring? I've never seen one in person." He touches it gently, his fingers tracing the intricate curves of the metal. His fascination is respectful, almost scholarly. This is a world away from the biker's growled, "Not so innocent as it seems." This is admiration, not possession. The wine and the closeness are making you both incredibly relaxed, a warm, hazy cloud of comfort settling over the room. He leans in and takes your cock in his mouth. He's not just sucking it; he's worshipping it. He spends an almost embarrassing amount of time on your PA, rolling the heavy steel with his tongue, flicking the balls with the tip of his tongue, making you moan with a pleasure that is deep, but somehow... hollow. It feels good, but it's missing the ownership, the primal claim of the biker. This guy is admiring a museum piece; the biker was testing his property. You're both rock-hard now, the air thick with a different kind of need—a safe, sane, consensual need. He pulls off, his lips glistening. He looks at you, his eyes full of desire and respect. "I want to fuck you," he says, his voice a low, gentle rumble. You nod, your heart pounding. This is it. This is the plan. This is safety. He stands up and takes your hand, leading you to the bed. He doesn't just push you down. He positions you gently, guiding you onto your hands and knees. He gets behind you, and you feel his hands on your ass, spreading your cheeks. And then you feel his tongue. He rims you for what feels like an eternity, his tongue exploring you with a patient, thorough intensity that is both incredibly pleasurable and deeply frustrating. It's the kind of rimming you'd fantasize about in your old life, but now, it just feels like a delay. You want the raw, brutal entry, not this gentle, teasing worship. Finally, he pulls away. You hear the drawer of the nightstand open. You hear the crinkle of foil. He pulls a condom from the drawer. It's not a cheap one—it's a black, XXL Magnum, the kind of serious protection for a serious cock. The foil packet gleams under the hotel lights like a badge of honor. He rips it open with his teeth, a confident, practiced motion. A wave of relief washes over you. This is what you wanted. This is what you needed. But deep inside, a small, dark voice whispers: Coward. This isn't what you want. Your cock, which was rock-hard and throbbing from the rimming, starts to soften. He notices immediately. He stops, his expression shifting from desire to concern. "Hey, you okay?" he asks, his voice gentle. "You seem a little distant." You force a smile that feels like cracking plaster. "Yeah, I'm fine," you lie, your voice sounding thin even to your own ears. "Just... a lot on my mind from work. Don't worry about it." He doesn't buy it. He's too perceptive. He looks down at his own magnificent erection, then back at your half-limp cock, and a flicker of understanding crosses his face. It's not pity; it's empathy. He sees the conflict in you. His cock is a work of art, hard as steel, with a distinct upward curve and a bulbous, perfectly shaped head that's already leaking a steady stream of clear precum. Thick, prominent veins snake down the shaft, promising a powerful, rhythmic pulse. He is objectively, undeniably perfect. "Hey," he says softly, his voice a low, intimate rumble. "Is it the condom?" You can't answer. You just stare at him, your throat tight. He lets out a soft sigh. "I get it," he murmurs. He sets the condom down on the nightstand. He leans back over you, his magnificent cock heavy and hard. He doesn't enter you. Instead, he begins to tease you. He drags the length of his shaft along your crack, the heat of it a stark contrast to the cool air. His cockhead, slick with precum, catches on your hole. He uses it as paint, smearing his own fluid around your puckered entrance, a warm, slippery promise of what's to come. He presses the tip of his bare cock right against your opening. It's a violation, a tease, a temptation. Your body betrays you. Your ass involuntarily relaxes, your lips trying to bloom, to embrace the head of his cock, to pull him in. He feels it. He looks down and sees your cock, which was moments ago soft and hesitant, now hardening again, rising with a mind of its own. He sees the undeniable physical evidence of your desire. He looks back at your face, his gaze intense, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. He has you. He knows what you want, even if you can't say it. "Do you want me to go bare?" The question hangs in the air, heavy and toxic. It's the offer you've been dreaming of, the key to the kingdom you crave. But coming from him, it feels wrong. It feels like a compromise, a negotiation. The biker didn't ask; he told. He made you own your depravity. This man is asking you to choose it, to consciously step off the cliff. And in that moment, you realize you don't want to choose. You want to be forced. You open your mouth to say yes, to finally take the plunge, but the vow you made to yourself that morning—the promise of safety—rears its head. "I... I can't," you stammer. "I need to be safe." A look of profound relief washes over his face, but it's tinged with something else. "Thank you," he says, and he sounds genuinely grateful. "Because I have to be honest with you. I'm poz. Not for long and not on meds yet. My viral load in the millions. So the condom is for both of us, you know? I can't risk passing it on, and you definitely shouldn't risk getting it." The words hit you like a physical blow. The universe is playing a cruel, sick joke. You came here seeking safety, fleeing from the unknown risk of the biker. And you've just walked straight into the arms of the known, quantifiable, undeniable risk. He was offering you the very thing you craved, but you were the one who put on the brakes. The failure is entirely yours. He picks up the XXL Magnum and rolls it down his impressive shaft. He enters you, and the fuck is focused and determined. He's trying to make it good for you, to prove that safe sex can be just as hot. He fucks you with a new intensity, his hips snapping, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The upward curve of his cock is a masterpiece of engineering, grinding relentlessly against your prostate with every thrust. It should be heaven. It is heaven, for your body. Your cock hardens instantly, responding to the expert, targeted stimulation. You feel the familiar, tightening coil of an orgasm building in your gut, stronger and more insistent than anything you've felt in a long time. He cums with a loud groan, his body shuddering against yours. You feel the powerful throb of his cock through the latex, the warmth of his load flooding the reservoir tip, a contained, captured explosion. The sensation is the final, cruel irony. He's cumming inside you, but not really. You're being filled, but not at all. It's a simulation of the act you truly desire, a perfect, safe, and utterly hollow imitation. Your own orgasm, when it finally arrives, is powerful and intense, a massive, gut-wrenching release that leaves you breathless. Your cum shoots across your chest in thick, white ropes. It's the kind of orgasm that should leave you satisfied, spent, and content. But as the waves of pleasure recede, all you feel is a profound, aching emptiness. Your body got exactly what it needed. Your soul got nothing. He collapses on top of you, kissing your neck, whispering how amazing that was. Then he does something that feels both intimate and horrifying. He scoops up a glob of your cum from your chest with his finger. He brings it to his own lips, tasting it with a curious smile. Then he leans in and kisses you, his tongue pushing into your mouth, sharing the taste of your own seed. Next, he lowers his head to your chest. You watch, mesmerized, as his tongue extends, pink and wet, and slowly, deliberately, laps up a large, copious glob of your own cooling cum from your skin. He rises back over you, his face hovering just above yours. Your own seed is a pearly, thick pool on his tongue. He doesn't swallow. His eyes are locked on yours, and a slow, boyish grin spreads across his face. It's a look of pure, unadulterated delight, the kind of smile someone gets when tasting their favorite forbidden treat. You can see in that smile that he genuinely loves this, loves the taste of cum, loves the intimacy of sharing it. But beneath the joy, there's a flicker of something else—a deep, familiar sadness. It's the look of a man who now sees his own cum not as a gift to be shared, but as a poison he must keep to himself. A poison, locked away in the swollen reservoir of a black XXL Magnum lying on the floor beside the bed. He parts his lips slightly, and a single, thick strand of your cum begins to drool from his mouth, a glistening, white bridge connecting him to you. It dangles for a moment, then drops perfectly onto your waiting tongue. The taste is immediate, salty, and familiar—the taste of your own failure. And then he leans in and kisses you. It's a passionate, deep kiss, but this time it's different. It's not a sharing; it's a force-feeding. He pushes the entire contents of his mouth—your entire load—into yours. His tongue swirls with yours, making you taste yourself, coating your throat with your own seed. It's an act of ultimate intimacy, a desperate attempt to connect, to give you everything he has. But as you lie there, his weight on you, the smell of his sweat and latex filling your nostrils, you feel nothing. You're a ghost in your own life. The perfect fuck was a perfect failure. You lie together for a while, his arm draped over you, his breathing slowing into a post-coital rhythm. He's cuddling. He's being a good, normal lover. And every second of it is agony. You need to get out of there, but the thought of leaving this warm, safe bubble feels like a loss. "Hey," you say, your voice flat. "I should probably get going. Early start tomorrow." He lifts his head, and you see a genuine flicker of sadness in his eyes. "Oh. Okay. Sure," he says softly. He doesn't want you to go either. "Just let me hit the bathroom real quick," he adds, giving you a lazy, regretful smile. He slides out of bed, his naked body confident and relaxed. He disappears into the bathroom, and you hear the sound of the fan clicking on, the door left slightly ajar. You lie there, staring at the ceiling, your heart a cold, heavy stone in your chest. You hear the sound of him pissing, a steady, intimate stream. Then the rustle of toilet paper. A moment of silence. Then the sound of the wastebin lid opening and closing with a soft thud. He comes back out, still naked, and pads over to the dresser to pull on his jeans. "All yours," he says, his back to you. You slide out of bed, your own movements feeling stiff and robotic. You walk into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. It's pristine, white-tiled, and smells of lemon-scented cleaner. And your eyes go immediately to the small, chrome wastebin tucked beside the toilet. You kneel down, your heart hammering against your ribs. There it is. It's not just a used rubber; it's a heavy, swollen teardrop of black latex, the reservoir end straining with the sheer volume of its super-charged contents, tied off in a neat, careful knot. You reach in, your fingers trembling as they close around it. It's not just warm, it's hot, radiating a fierce, living heat against your palm. The weight of his massive load is a tangible, shocking thing. You hold it up to the light. The milky contents are thick, almost cloudy inside, a potent, living memory of the encounter. You bring it to your nose. The smell is intoxicating—a complex cocktail of the sterile latex, the sharp, salty scent of his fresh, toxic seed, and the faint, earthy trace of your own ass from where he's been. This is it. This is the ghost of the risk. You should flush it. You should throw it away and walk out and never look back. But the addiction is a demand, not a request. You look at your reflection in the mirror over the sink—at the naked, "safe" husband who is about to do something profoundly depraved. There is no place to hide it. No pocket. No bag. There is only one place to keep this secret. You lean against the cool edge of the counter, spreading your cheeks with one hand. With the other, you press the hot, knotted condom against your hole. After being fucked by his magnificent large cock, your ass is still relaxed, open, and welcoming. There is no resistance. With a slow, deliberate push, the heavy, cum-filled condom slides into you with a wet, obscene ease. Your body accepts it, embracing the shameful trophy. You feel a strange, uncomfortable, and deeply shameful fullness. You feel like a smuggler, a thief, a pervert. You also feel alive. You stand up slowly, the feeling bizarre. A secret weight shifting inside you with every move. You wash your hands, the act so mundane it's surreal. You look at yourself one last time in the mirror. You look the same, but you are fundamentally, irrevocably different. You open the bathroom door and walk back into the hotel room. He's fully dressed now, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at his phone. He looks up when you come in, and his expression is soft, a little melancholic. You quickly pull on your clothes, the movements feeling clumsy and disconnected from your body. You stand by the door, the moment of departure hanging in the air between you, thick with unspoken words. He stands up and walks over to you. He doesn't go for a casual hug. He pulls you into a deep, tender embrace, holding you tightly for a long moment. You can feel his heart beating against your chest. It's the hug of a man who genuinely connected with you, who is sad to see you go. "It was really, really great meeting you," he says, his voice quiet and sincere as he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. "I wish... well, you know. Business trip." He gives you a small, sad smile. "Take care of yourself, okay? Be careful out there. Not everyone is as upfront as me." You just nod, your throat too tight to speak. He's the dream guy. He's perfect. He's even poz, the ultimate risk wrapped in a beautiful, considerate package. And you are walking away. You know you will likely never see him again. You turn and open the door, stepping out into the hallway without looking back. With every movement, you feel the condom inside you, a toxic bomb you are now carrying through the world. The walk to the elevator, the ride down, the walk through the lobby—it's all a dreamlike haze. The whole walk through town, feeling the toxic bomb inside your ass... what a mindfuck again. The walk home is a blur of paranoia and dark excitement. The weight inside you is a constant, physical reminder of your transgression. Every step, every jolt on the pavement, every time you have to clench your ass to hold it in, sends a fresh wave of illicit pleasure through you. You feel like a smuggler, carrying a precious, dangerous cargo through the mundane world of shops and pedestrians. By the time you reach your front door, your hands are shaking slightly. You unlock the door and step inside. The silence of your empty apartment is a stark contrast to the roaring in your head. Everything is neat, clean, and normal. The life you're supposed to have. You drop your keys on the table, and the sound is too loud. You kick off your shoes. You feel filthy, a contaminant in this sterile environment. You don't go to the living room. You go straight to the bathroom, your sanctuary and your crime scene. You lock the door behind you, a flimsy, meaningless gesture. You turn on the light and look at yourself in the mirror. You see your face, flushed from the walk, your eyes wide and dark. You see a successful 49-year-old husband. But you know the truth. You see a man who is carrying a used condom, filled with poz-cum, in his ass like a twisted trophy. It's time to retrieve it. You get on the floor, on your hands and knees, like an animal. You reach back and press on your hole, trying to push it out. It's not easy. Your body wants to keep it, to hold onto the secret. You have to bear down, your face contorting with the effort. On the one hand, you're being careful, not wanting to make a mess. But a darker, secret part of you wishes it might rupture, that the latex would tear and spill his toxic load inside you. You imagine the moment, the warmth spreading, the irreversible act. But it doesn't. It stays intact, a perfect, preserved ghost. Slowly, you feel the knot of the condom pressing against your rim. You push harder, and with a wet, obscene plop, it slides out onto the bathmat. It lies there, a glistening, deflated teardrop of latex. You pick it up. It's cool now, but still heavy. You hold it up to the light, the milky contents sloshing inside. You untie the knot. The smell hits you immediately—the sharp, sterile scent of latex mixed with the musky, complex smell of his cum, and the faint, earthy trace of your own ass from where it's been. You could flush it. You could throw it away. That would be the sane, safe thing to do. But you're not sane or safe anymore. This isn't just a used rubber; it's a vessel. It contains the very thing you were denied. The real risk. The toxic seed. A memory of the hotel encounter with one of the most perfect guys you have ever met. You carry it to the kitchen. You open the freezer. You move aside the frozen peas and the ready meals. You find a spot in the back, behind a bag of ice cubes. As you place the condom carefully on the small, empty shelf, a cold, rational thought cuts through the fog of your depravity. You know that freezing it will essentially sterilize it, killing any living virus. It's a scientific fact. It's the part of your brain that still functions, that still cares about self-preservation, offering you an out. It's not just a trophy; it's a safe trophy. A deactivated bomb. But that's not why you're doing it. You're not preserving it for its danger. You're preserving it for its memory. You're freezing the moment, the feeling, the scent of the perfect man who was poz, the risk he represented, the connection you threw away. The freezing is a lie you tell yourself to make the ritual bearable, but the truth is in the act itself. You are keeping a piece of him, a piece of the risk, a piece of the night you failed. You close the freezer door. You stand in your kitchen, naked, your ass still slick and tingling, a profound sense of calm washing over you. You know, with absolute certainty, that you will be back at that rest area.

At the very 1st CumUnion party by LAX, there were probably 75 guys in front of me in line that night, and absolutely nothing happening yet when I got in and naked. I proceeded to shove my dick up the 1st 3 bottoms lined up offering their holes, and had the 2nd bottom shove his dick up my hole while I was in the 3rd, before the crowd took the hint and started fucking each other and got too distracted to pay attention.

50 men in an apartment building, I was the center of attention on a mattress in the middle of the living room

Please be gentle - I am not a native English-speaker. This is my first time posting a story. It is fiction, but very close to what I experienced myself today.... The morning meeting had been a drag, a blur of spreadsheets and forced smiles in a sterile conference room an hour from home. You were driving back, the highway a monotonous ribbon of gray, your mind already on the afternoon you'd have to spend catching up on work. Then you saw it. The green sign for the rest area. A place you knew from online forums, a spot whispered about in certain circles. The thought was a spark in the dry tinder of your boredom. It was just after noon. Guys on their lunch breaks. The chance was too good to pass up. You signaled, pulling off the highway and onto the cracked asphalt of the parking lot. You sat in your car for a moment, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs. You needed courage. You pulled the small brown bottle from your pocket, unscrewed the cap, and brought it to your nostril. One deep, long hit. The chemical rush flooded your head, a warm wave washing away your anxiety and replacing it with a gnawing, confident lust. Now you were ready. You left your car and walked into the trees, your boots sinking softly into the damp ground. In a small clearing, four guys were standing around, a silent, tense circle of unspoken need. Nobody was touching, nobody was talking. It was a standoff. And then you saw him. He looked like an apprentice, maybe in a trade, with the confident, slightly bored swagger of a young man who knows he's good-looking. He had Mediterranean features—dark, slicked-back hair, deep brown eyes, and an undeniable bulge straining against his work jeans. He was the focal point, the reason for the gathering tension. You walked past them, your path bringing you within arm's reach of him. As you passed, you reached out, your hand confidently cupping his balls through his jeans, giving them a firm, knowing squeeze. He didn't flinch. He just turned his head, and your eyes met. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his lips. The invitation was accepted. Just then, an older, paunchy man, the kind who spent his lunches chasing a fantasy he could no longer catch, broke the stalemate. He gave a pleading look to the group and then scurried into a smaller, adjacent clearing. The apprentice followed him, his walk a confident stalk. The older guy didn't waste a second. He dropped his pants, exposing his pale, flaccid ass, and bent over, bracing himself against a tree. "Fuck me," he whimpered. "Please." The apprentice unzipped his fly and pulled out his cock. It was exactly as you'd imagined: thick, hard, and cut, the head a perfect, angry-looking dome, framed by a thick, neatly trimmed patch of dark pubic hair. There was no condom in sight, no mention of one. I would have offered one, but I was not planning for a lunch fuck and did not even bring one. He spat on his hand, lubed himself, and pressed it against the man's hole. He pushed, but the older guy cried out, his body tensing up. "It's too big! You're too big!" he whined. The apprentice grunted in frustration, shoving him aside. "Useless," he muttered, his cock still jutting out, hard and unsatisfied. You saw your chance. While he was dealing with the failed bottom, you stepped up to the older man, who was now looking lost and rejected. You knelt down and took his limp cock in your mouth, trying to coax some life into it. It was a distraction, a means to an end. The apprentice watched you for a moment, a smirk playing on his lips. He saw the older man's failure, and he saw your willingness. You were usually a bottom, but the energy in the air, the raw, primal need, made you feel bold. You stood up, your own cock now hard and demanding. "Let me try," you said, nodding towards the older man's ass. He shrugged, a gesture of permission. You stepped behind the older guy. Your cock was different. It was pierced with a heavy, 10mm tribal dream ring, a piece of metal that always got a reaction. You pressed the cool metal of your PA against his hole. It slipped in easily, a smooth, foreign object. But the moment the ring was inside, the older guy's ass clamped down like a vise. You couldn't get your swollen cock head in to follow. He was too tight, too panicked by the unfamiliar sensation. Frustrated, you pulled back. You looked at the apprentice, his magnificent cock still hard and glistening. "Want to fuck me instead?" you asked, your voice low and direct. His smile returned, wider this time. "Yeah," he said, his voice a low growl. You didn't need to be told twice. You turned around right there in the open space, not bothering with a tree for support. You let your pants fall to your ankles. The cold air hit your exposed skin, making you shiver. You pulled your Poppers back out and took another deep hit, the world dissolving into a warm, pulsing haze. Before you could even cap the bottle, you felt him behind you. He didn't wait. He didn't prep. He just grabbed your hips, his grip like iron, steadying you as he slammed his raw, thick cock into you in one brutal, satisfying stroke. The burn was immediate, but the Poppers turned it into pleasure. He started fucking you with an aggressive, short-stroked rhythm, a man on a mission. There was no finesse, only force. Each thrust drove the air from your lungs, your PA swinging wildly with the impact. You were just a hole for him to use, and the thought of it made you dizzy with lust. It wasn't a prolonged fuck; it was a lightning strike. He was clearly just looking for a quick release. After maybe twenty, thirty seconds of relentless pounding, his grip on your hips tightened painfully. "I'm cumming," he grunted, the words strained and urgent. "Shoot it all inside me!" you gasped, pushing back against him, wanting to absorb every drop. "Give me everything!" He let out a deep, guttural groan, and you felt it—the hot, powerful, pulsing warmth as he emptied himself inside you. He held himself deep, his body shuddering as he drained himself into your guts. He stayed there for a moment, his chest heaving against your back, then pulled out as abruptly as he'd entered. A sudden coldness hit your exposed, wet hole. You both quickly rearranged your clothes, the silence of the woods pressing in around you. You turned to face him. He was already zipping up his jeans, his face unreadable. He looked you straight in the eye. "You are healthy???" he asked, his voice casual, but the three question marks hung in the air, turning it into an accusation, a challenge. "Yes," you answered. It wasn't a lie. It was the truth. You were healthy. For now. He watched your face as you said it, a flicker of something in his dark eyes. Was it satisfaction? Triumph? Or was it just the simple relief of a guy who'd gotten what he wanted and was now covering his own bases? He gave a slow, knowing smile. "Good," he said. He didn't offer any information about himself. He didn't say "I'm clean too." He just nodded, as if you had passed a test, and then turned and walked away, disappearing back towards the parking lot without a backward glance. You stood there for a moment, your body trembling, his cum already starting to leak out of you and down your thigh. The drive back to work was a blur. The encounter played on a loop in your mind: the confidence in his eyes, the brutal force of his fucking, the heat of his load, and that one, pointed question. And a new, terrifying thought kept surfacing: Did those thirty seconds change my life? Now you're back home, the day finally over. You're lying naked on your bed, your hand stroking your hard cock. The memory is so vivid, so powerful. But it's the question that's consuming you. You are healthy??? Why the emphasis? He was so dominant, so unconcerned with anything but his own pleasure. Why did that one thing matter so much? And then a new, terrifying thought takes root, blossoming in your mind, dark and beautiful. What if he gets off on this? What if the question wasn't about safety; it was about eligibility. He wasn't asking if you were a safe place to fuck. He was asking if you were a worthy target. He wanted to know if you were negative, if your "yes" meant anything. Maybe he's a collector. Maybe he gets a thrill from pozzing neg guys, from turning another man, from adding another notch to his belt. Your honest answer, your "Yes," wasn't a reassurance for him. It was the green light. It was confirmation that you were a prize worth claiming. But then the other possibility, the logical one, pushes back. Maybe he was just a regular guy, a player who loved to fuck raw but was terrified of the consequences. Maybe he asked because he genuinely needed to know for his own peace of mind, a hypocritical but human act of self-preservation. Maybe his smile was just the cocky smirk of a young man who'd gotten away with exactly what he wanted. You can see it now so clearly. He wasn't just fucking you. He was converting you. Every powerful thrust was a hammer blow, forging a new reality. The heat of his load wasn't just cum; it was an inoculation. A gift. A curse. You were just another victim, another story he could tell himself. You moan, stroking your cock faster. The thought is so repulsive, so dangerous, and so unbelievably hot. You reach back and press two fingers into your still-slick hole. You pull them out, coated in his essence. You bring them to your lips, and this time, you don't just taste. You lick. You suck them clean, imagining the millions of potential viruses swarming in your mouth, in your blood. You're so close. You're right on the edge. You close your eyes and you can feel him inside you again, but now it's different. It's not just a memory. It's a transformation. Was that just an anonymous fuck on a Tuesday afternoon? Or was it the moment you were chosen? The moment you were changed? You'll never know for sure. You'll never see him again. You'll have to live with the uncertainty, with the three-month wait, with the gnawing, exhilarating possibility. And as your own cum explodes across your chest, hot and thick, you realize that this uncertainty is the ultimate prize. He didn't just fuck your ass—he fucked your brain. He gave you a gift that will last forever: the endless, thrilling question of what he really left behind.

omg our holes so go into heat. they crave so much

I can easily get double digits at an active CumUnion party or similar event in Palm Springs or LA. My personal best was 14 confirmed breeding in one night at a bear event at CCBC. I also bred 4 holes that night, the last after my 14th breeding and a couple hours after I thought I was finished for the night.

After my shenanigans the other day, I thought "I'm now at the age where I need to stretch before and after" and I wasn't referring to my hole. lol Two days later and my back is still achy. My personal best is not a number I know. I have a video of the aftermath, but it was 5 hours, facedown ass up at Cumunion in the dark room at Steamworks Seattle. Probably 14 years ago. I don't have a clue what the number is but it was a lot. I still have the nasty pig jock I was wearing that night though....

At this point I would be in the 40’s for loads. I would have to take a nap. Lol

I dont post very often but ive been so damn horny as of late and keep having the same fantasy so i figures id try my hand at writing a story This is just a story but damn do I wish I could make it true. So me and my husband are pretty open sexually. We often bring people into the bedroom (both tops and bottoms). About a year ago I've been in a very strong bottom mood and have been wanting to do more and more, and with our Thanksgiving trip coming up we decided to have some out of town fun and push my limits as a bottom. Fast forward to our trip, my husband asks me if I'm still wanting to push my limits, I agree. So we decide to look for tops to gangbang me in our hotel room. We make a post on sniffies for a pump and dump he adds pictures of my hole dripping his load to get attention, but he gets a little nervous about me taking so many anon loads so he makes sure to say that condoms are a must. We both look around for guys to add making sure they know they can't fuck raw. We get to our hotel room and I go to shower and prep for the night, I still keep checking to see if there's any new requests. Thats when I see a message from "rawdaddytop". He sends over some pics of a beautiful thick cock with a big PA piercing. Tells me he loves to breed sloppy holes. This makes me rock hard, I respond back saying how hot he is and that I never took a PA before. I also tell him the hubby doesn't want anyone breeding me but him. It took him a few minutes to respond and I thought I may have scared him off, but he responds with "I normally only fuck raw but I'll bring a condom special for that ass" this makes me so horny and I send him a request to join. He says "I'll join but since I have to use a condom I want your hole sloppy, I'll only fuck you after your hubby breeds you but I wanna watch, and fuck you right after. I also want your hands cuffed and for you to wear a ball gag" I don't see the harm in this so I agree and finishing prepping. Later that night I set up a bowl of condoms on the nightstand with a bottle of lube. We set up the event so that guys will come one at a time. I posted the room number and got in position. The hubby starting me off getting me lubed and open by fucking me while we wait, telling me how much of a whore I am for doing this. Then we had out first knock on the door, the hubby let him in I just lay there waiting I hear him unbuckle and feel him add lube to my hole, and quickly enter me before the hubby even finished propping the door open. He starts fucking me fast and hard, calling me a whore telling me to take his dick. He keeps Jack hammering me until he shoves himself balls deep. "Fuck you feel amazing, trying not to blow into you too soon". The hubby must of heard that because he got up to watch the fuck and saw he never put on a rubber. My hubby quickly told him he needs to put on a rubber. He pulls out and a swear I can feel something running down my balls, i hear him tear open the rubber and put it on and tell my husband "sorry I saw that pic of his sloppy hole and thought he wanted it raw". He enters me again and started to really pound my hole. He goes on for another 5 min or so before another guy walks in, he gives me a few deep thrusts and I hear him grunting before he pull out, slaps my ass pulls off the condom and throws it next to me, and leaves. The second guy already wrapped and lubing himself. I take what must have been 8-10 guys before the room was finally empty again, I lay there exhausted but also still wanting to get fucked. The hubby slides into me easy telling my how slick and open my ass is, how much lube was in my ass. We both must have been really enjoying the fuck because neither of us heard my last fucker walk in. The hubby starts long dicking my hole getting really into it. "Yeah fucking breed his hole, get him nice and ready for me" the hubby clearly startled just responded by fucking me harder "fuckkkk here it comes, take my load baby" he shoves into me deep breeding me hard, I feel rope after rope shooting into me. "Fuck I needed that" he said as he rolls off of me laying exhausted next to me. "Fucking hot, now it's my turn, hands behind your back boy." I realized then it was "rawdaddytop" I put my hands behind my back he reaches over to cuff me and I can feel his PA touching my hole. "Alright next is the ball gag" he reaches over to gag me and I feel his head pop in my hole and let out a little moan. The hubby who now regained his breath was getting hard again at the sight of me restrained and gagged. "You wanna watch me fuck your bitch or would you wanna fuck one of mine?" Me and the hubby both confused, but with me not being able to question anything with the ball gag in my mouth. "Your bitch? What do you mean" "I had my bottom bitch drive me here, gave him a fat load since I can't fuck this one raw" "Fuckkkk you don't care if I breed him?" "No he's nothing but a fuck hole, breed him deep so he's nice and lubed for me and the boys later" "Fuck that's hot well I don't see the harm in it, besides you'll be using my boy so it's only fair. But you still have to use a condom." "Thats fine by me besides I'm already wrapped and lubed see?" After a pause I hear my hubby say to send him up, that they could get fucked together on the bed. "Rawdaddytop" was on his phone texting and said "He's on his way up now, but doesn't like seeing another bottom getting fucked, you down to fuck him in the bathroom?" The hubby was quite for a second "Don't worry I'll take good care of your boy here, you can come back and join us when you finish up" "Okay fine but condoms are a must" "You won't get any complaints from me" I hear the door open and shut and hear "rawdaddytop" tell say "Be a good boy and take care of him, make sure to take your time and make him feel good and you'll get a nice reward" With that they dissapeared into the bathroom. I was in complete shock, is he really going to leave me alone with this guy? We always play together and I'm laying here ass up hands bound, ball gagged with this big thick daddy behind me with a raging hard on and PA piercing. "Mmm good now I have this ass all to myself, have you been a good boy? How many loads have you taken?" I couldn't answer due to the gag but shook my head no. "Aww come on don't lie to daddy, I know you took at least one load." I was very confused thinking back on each guy that fucked me, then it clicked the very first guy. Did he breed me in that short amount of time he was raw? Before I could even finish the thought I felt daddy start pushing into my hole. "Mmmm and here's load #2 boi, open up for daddy" I start fighting the restraints confused, I thought he was using a rubber what does he mean "Your dumb ass husband was too busy thinking about the twink I brought him he didn't even notice the condom I put on was from the used pile you had here, I just flipped it inside out, lubing your ass up with some more anon cum" I started really fighting against him and managed to break free, but he just got mad held me down and said that I need to learn to be a good hole. He grabbed another rubber and I felt him shuving it up my hole "Your gonna learn to be a good little cum hole tonight, we're gonna start by teaching you not to waste cum, we're gonna fuck each one of these condoms into you" We? What does he mean? My husband won't agree to that. I heard the door open and close again "Alright we gotta be fast his husband's in the bathroom fucking that twink we found" Part 2 coming . . .

Definitely not alone... many of us are secretly (or not so) lined up alongside you on this journey!

the rest stop is real, everything else is... I’m a senior in college, play baseball and am deeply closeted. For a few years, I’ve stopped at a rest stop near the airport for some under the stall fun, knowing I’m far away from anyone who’ll recognize me. On a few occasions, I’ve even gone to a truck with a trucker to suck him off in privacy. I’ve never gone further then sucking, even when some of the truckers have wanted my ass. Some have even offered me money, but I’ve been too scared. One Sunday afternoon, I was fooling around on a cruising/hook-up app when a message popped up. I looked at the picture and the guy had no face pic, but the body picture was nice. I opened the message and was kind of shocked by what it said. “That was a really hot blow job you gave me a couple nights ago.” I looked and reread the message again, shocked that a message this direct and revealing was coming to me. I responded back, “Think you got me mixed up with someone else.” Few minutes went by with no response, and I was thinking the guy had been too ashamed to respond. Finally, just as I had put the message aside, I got another notice of a message, from the same guy. Thinking it’d be a simple, “My bad” response I opened the message. The words in the message chilled me to the bone. “No, you stupid punk. You sucked my cock, in my truck at the rest stop on I-5, near the airport. We started under the stall, you in the middle one, me in the handicap stall.” I again read and reread the message, thinking to myself that I had sucked a guy off in his truck the other night, and it had started in the restroom. I had never had a public/anonymous hook-up find me online. I tried to play it off and replied back that he might have mistaken me for someone else. Few minutes later, another reply. “No boy, it was you. Gray sweater, Cal Bear logo front, hoody. Jeans and green running shoes. We went to my truck where you sucked my cock. You begged me to let you swallow my load. When I touched your ass, you shoved my hand away and said you don’t get fucked. Sound familiar yet? Or do you need to see your lips wrapped around my cock?” The fear jumped from a six to about 12 when he described exactly what had happened, down to the color of my shoes. What terrified me most was that he implied there was a picture of me sucking him. I responded back, “What the hell is going on?” Ten minutes of silence and I was in a panic. Finally he responded, “What’s going on is I want a piece of that hot boy ass you got or the video of you sucking me, begging for my load and swallowing it like it was the last drink you’d ever get accidentally pops on Xtube.” Immediately after the message came an image alert. I accepted the picture and I see my face, very clearly, with my lips wrapped around the cock. A second file comes through, this one of an audio file. My stomach turns to rock as I hear myself begging, “Give me your load. Let me swallow it.” I’m almost in tears, terrified of what this means. I respond back, “What do you want?” He replies, “I told you I want that ass of yours. I want those tight ass lips stretched around my cock. It’s your choice boy, your ass is mine either way.” I looked at his response and tried to figure out what I could do. After realizing there was no way out, I responded back. “When?” The response was immediate, like he knew he had me. “You’ll be at the rest stop tonight, 9:30 sharp. Wear a jockstrap. Go in the handicap stall. There will be a bag with a couple of items and instructions. Follow the instructions and wait for the next step. Remember, if you’re not there at 9:30, the video goes to Xtube and maybe your coach will get a copy of it also?" End part 1. let me know if you want part 2.

Sometimes, you just want to make him squeal in exchange for your load. Lots of micro-tearing is guaranteed, but you have to go quite slowly lest you really slash his gash.

I thought for sure he was going to empty that opened up condom directly into his relaxed open hole....

Chapter1 - The Dallas heat was a physical presence, pressing down on the manicured lawns of the Preston Hollow neighborhood. Inside the sprawling, glass-walled house that served as his home, Geoff felt a familiar, restless energy. It had been a month since graduation, a month since the state championship trophy was placed on the mantle, and the accolades already felt like relics from someone else’s life. At eighteen, he was a king without a kingdom, his body a coiled spring of muscle and ambition with nowhere to direct it. He found his father and uncle by the pool, two mirror images of masculine perfection. Nate, his father, was on a lounge chair, scrolling through his phone, the sharp lines of his suit from a morning meeting replaced by the relaxed ease of designer swim trunks. Brandon, his uncle, was in the water, executing a flawless, powerful butterfly stroke that cut the turquoise surface like a knife. They were identical twins, both forty-one, both devastatingly handsome with the same dark hair, square jaws, and powerful builds honed by their respective professions. Nate’s power was financial, a quiet, commanding authority; Brandon’s was physical, a vibrant, kinetic energy that had always drawn Geoff in. “Get in here, you lazy punk!” Brandon called, shaking water from his hair like a dog. “Your old man’s going to turn into a fossil over there.” Nate didn’t look up from his phone. “I’m managing our portfolio, not turning into a fossil. There’s a difference. It involves making money, something you two should consider.” Geoff laughed and dove in, the cool water a shock against his sun-warmed skin. The three of them fell into their familiar rhythm of roughhousing. It was a language they spoke fluently, a mix of wrestling holds, dunking contests, and verbal jabs. Geoff, the state champion, was a formidable opponent, but the combined strength and experience of the two men was overwhelming. They were a tangle of muscle and laughter, the water churning around them. Brandon would grab Geoff in a playful headlock, and Nate would join in to tickle his ribs until he gasped for air, surrendering with a splash. It was horseplay, but it was also intimacy, a way of touching and reaffirming their bond that was as natural as breathing. After nearly an hour, they collapsed onto the plush, sun-drenched lounge chairs, chests heaving. Nate, ever the provider, produced a bottle of expensive, coconut-scented tanning oil. “Alright, you animals. On your stomachs. You don’t want to burn.” Geoff and Brandon complied, lying side by side, their faces turned toward each other on the padded arms of the chairs. Nate knelt between them, pouring the cool oil into his palms. He started with Brandon, his strong hands working the oil into the broad expanse of his brother’s back, his movements practiced and efficient. Then he moved to Geoff. His touch was gentler on his son, a paternal caress that still carried the memory of rubbing sunscreen on a small boy at the beach. He worked his way down Geoff’s back, over the sculpted ridges of his wrestler’s lats, toward the small of his back. As his thumbs swept just above the waistband of Geoff’s black Speedo, they froze. Nate’s hands hovered for a second, then he leaned in closer, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What the hell is this?” he asked, his voice low. Geoff twisted his head to look back, a smirk playing on his lips. Brandon, propped on his elbows, watched his brother with an unreadable expression. Nate’s gaze was fixed on Geoff’s lower back, just inches above the stark white tan line. There, inked into the skin, was the unmistakable, stark symbol: a black and yellow biohazard trefoil. Without thinking, Nate’s eyes flicked to his brother, who was still lying on his stomach. He reached over and hooked a thumb into the waistband of Brandon’s Speedo, pulling it down just an inch. There it was. An identical mark. A perfect match. He sat back on his heels, the playful atmosphere evaporating, replaced by a sudden, sharp tension. The air felt thick. “Brandon?” Nate’s voice was tight, a mix of confusion and alarm. “Geoff? What is this? What is going on?” Brandon finally rolled over, sitting up. He looked at Nate, his expression calm, almost serene. He reached out and rested a hand on Geoff’s still-oiled back. “It’s a symbol, Nate. It’s about a choice. A community.” “What kind of community uses a symbol for toxic waste?” Nate shot back, his voice rising. He looked from his brother to his son, his face a mask of paternal concern. “Geoff, you’re eighteen. This is… this is permanent. What kind of influence is this?” He glared at Brandon, the accusation clear. Brandon stood up, his powerful body glistening in the sun. He looked down at his twin, his brother, his roommate. There was no anger in his eyes, only a profound certainty. “Stop worrying, Nate. It’s not what you think.” He paused, letting the weight of his next words land. “You want to know what it means? You want to understand?” He gestured towards the house with a nod of his head. “Then you need to come with us tonight. The Midtowne Spa. Everything will be revealed there.”

Chapter 1 -- Gifting Season Noah drifted toward consciousness as though rising through layers of thick, warm water. His mind floated somewhere above his body, disconnected and sluggish, and for several moments he hovered between dreaming and waking without understanding which was which. A heavy heat curled low in his stomach, radiating outward through his limbs, turning every inch of his skin oversensitive and flushed. His head felt thick, dense, as if cotton had been stuffed behind his eyes and pressed gently against the inside of his skull. The sensation was unfamiliar but not entirely alien—like a drug high he couldn’t quite place, only magnified and distorted. He groaned softly and shifted without thinking, only to jolt sharply at the sudden rush of cold air sweeping across his bare skin. Every part of him. The realization slammed into him a heartbeat later, and he blinked rapidly, confusion giving way to alarm as he became acutely aware that nothing covered him. No clothing. No blanket. Not even the cheap fleece throw he’d passed out under during movie nights. His breath caught as he forced himself fully awake, heart stumbling into a faster rhythm. He was naked. Completely, utterly, inarguably naked in a place that was definitely not the Phi Alpha Gamma living room. The world around him resolved slowly into a dim, blurry chamber. Rough stone walls pressed in close, dark and wet-looking, glistening with beads of moisture that caught the weak red light overhead. The air was thick, humid, and unpleasantly warm—heavy enough that each breath felt slightly too dense, carrying a faint chemical tang that prickled the back of his tongue. Wispy strands of mist clung to the floor, rippling faintly with each uneven inhale Noah forced into his lungs. Red Christmas bulbs—old ones, big plastic ones like his grandmother used—hung in drooping arcs above him, strung together with sagging wires that looked decades old. Some flickered erratically, casting twitching shadows across the walls, while others pulsed faintly as though struggling to stay lit. The effect made the room seem alive, as if breathing alongside him. His shoulders ached with a dull, grinding pressure. When he tried to lower his arms, something bit sharply into the skin of his wrists. A startled breath escaped him, and he craned his neck upward to see thick strands of old Christmas lights wound tightly around his wrists, knotted over and over until the wires looked fused together. The same cords circled his ankles, holding his legs just far enough apart that there was no dignity left to cling to. The lights hummed faintly, warm against his skin in a way that felt almost biological—like there was a pulse moving through them. Panic surged through him, sharp and bright, but tangled immediately with a hot spark of anger. Hazing. It had to be hazing. Some stupid, charter-violating, archaic fraternity bullshit. He’d heard stories about other chapters doing things like this—blindfolding pledges, leaving them tied up in cold places, stripping them as some kind of psychological “test.” But Phi Alpha Gamma was not supposed to be one of those chapters. Derek had looked him in the eye when Noah rushed. Had promised this frat was different. “We don’t do that stuff here,” Derek had said. “I wouldn’t bring you in if we did. Trust me.” Trust me. The words curled bitterly in Noah’s thoughts. He yanked against the lights, teeth gritted, but the cords didn’t give at all. Instead, the wires dug deeper, almost tightening in response, and the sudden exertion sent the heat in his body spiraling upward. His head throbbed, vision blurring at the edges. His breath came too fast, too shallow, like his lungs couldn’t quite catch onto the rhythm his body needed. The warmth under his skin intensified—rolling waves that felt horribly familiar. A dizzy, tingly buzz bloomed behind his eyes, drifting down the back of his throat and into his chest. “Oh god,” he whispered, a tremor running through him. “This is like… like that night Porkchop dared me to try poppers…” Except stronger. Much stronger. Instead of a head rush, this sank deep into his bloodstream, blooming through every nerve until he felt unsteady, exposed, and frighteningly sensitive. It wasn’t natural. It wasn’t a prank. Something had been on whatever hit him downstairs—something chemical and potent, something that made his body feel hot and loose and pliant in ways he didn’t want to think about. He forced his eyes shut, trying to steady his breath, attempting to pull himself back from the rising swell of panic. “Okay,” he muttered, voice trembling despite his effort to sound firm. “Just calm down. It’s a prank. It’s a fucked-up prank, but that’s all it is. You get out of this, and you’re reporting every single one of these idiots to the dean. Derek can explain himself later.” The words didn’t reassure him as much as he hoped. His breathing stayed shallow, and the heat coiling through him didn’t ease. His skin prickled with a hypersensitive awareness he didn’t want, tightening each breath into something sharp and uncomfortable. He opened his eyes again—and then froze. A sound drifted through the chamber. Not the click of Christmas bulbs. Not the distant groan of old pipes. Something else. Something alive. A long, slow, deliberate inhale. Then another. And another—each one slightly out of sync, as if more than one massive chest was expanding in the dark. Noah’s heart tripped over itself and stumbled into a faster, unsteady rhythm. He stared into the shadows beyond the weak circle of red light, vision blurring slightly despite his desperate attempt to focus. This wasn’t Derek. This wasn’t a prank. This wasn’t human. “Derek?” he called again, though it came out barely above a breath. “Guys…? Okay, seriously… if this is some kind of joke—cut it out.” The chamber answered him with silence. And then, faintly, with a wet, clicking sound—like teeth shifting slowly against each other. A shiver raced up Noah’s spine. Whatever else was down here with him… had been watching him the entire time. And it was breathing. Waiting. Patient. The realization landed in his chest like a stone: This was not hazing. This was something else entirely. The breathing in the dark grew louder, deeper, no longer blending into the room’s ambient hum. Each inhale rolled through the chamber like it belonged to something large—several somethings. Noah’s pulse quickened as he strained to hear anything human, any hint that this was still a prank. But there were no voices, no nervous laughter, no Derek whispering “gotcha.” Only the slow, synchronized breathing of creatures too massive to hide. The first silhouette peeled itself from the darkness and stepped into the red glow of the sagging Christmas lights. Noah’s breath caught in his throat. The creature stood nearly seven feet tall, its body carved in smooth, unnatural muscle, obsidian skin gleaming like polished stone. Long, curved horns swept back from its skull, ridged and imposing, as if grown for battle. Its broad face was wrong in every way—sharp angles, too-long jaw, rows of glistening pointed teeth. Where eyes should have been, there were only dark, unreadable hollows. A second creature followed. Then a third. Soon seven of them stood before him in a wide semicircle, each subtly different in build or horn shape, but all sharing the same monstrous design. Their movements were controlled and deliberate, heavy enough that Noah felt faint vibrations through the floor. They didn’t attack. They simply observed him, massive chests rising and falling in quiet, predatory unison. Noah’s skin prickled as their attention fixed on him. Suspended by the warm, humming Christmas lights, he felt horribly exposed under their collective stare. Every tremor in his muscles, every unsteady breath—nothing escaped their notice. Then the entire group shifted, turning slightly toward the creature standing closest to Noah. This one moved differently. Its posture was disciplined, its breathing steady and measured. Its horns were sharper, curving back like twin blades. Even in stillness, it radiated a sense of practiced readiness, the controlled tension of something trained. A low ripple of growls passed through the others, almost like a chant, and a word rose from that rumble: “…Zero…” The name echoed against the stone, low and resonant. Noah felt his stomach drop. He didn’t know what Zero meant, but the way the others said it carried weight—deference, expectation, something close to ceremony. Zero tilted its horned head slightly, acknowledging the name, and the others quieted as though waiting for its next move. Noah swallowed hard, dread crawling into his bloodstream. The monster closest to him—the one standing just inside the edge of the red light, so close he could see the faint sheen of drool on its teeth—was Zero. Zero was not a title or a concept. Zero was the creature chosen for him. And Zero was stepping closer. Zero stepped closer with a slow, predatory deliberation that made the air in the chamber feel suddenly thinner. The other six tightened their semicircle behind him, drawing in around Noah with quiet, expectant growls. Their obsidian bodies shifted with a muted sheen, horns catching the red light in sharp, jagged silhouettes. Noah felt surrounded not just physically, but psychologically—boxed in, studied, assessed like prey that had already been chosen. The warm buzz in his veins spiked as Zero neared. Noah tried to pull back instinctively, but the Christmas lights only tightened around his wrists, holding him suspended and helpless. A new dizziness washed over him, deeper than before, clouding the edges of his awareness. His skin flushed in a sudden wave of heat, as if the creature’s proximity alone amplified whatever chemical was still working through his system. Zero leaned in until Noah could feel its breath against his cheek—humid, thick, and faintly acrid. Its chest expanded with a slow inhale, drawing in the scent of him as if cataloging every detail. Noah turned his face away with a strangled breath, heart hammering. “Please…” he whispered, though he wasn’t even sure what he intended to plead for. Zero responded with a soft rumble that vibrated through Noah’s ribcage. It wasn’t soothing, nor mocking—just a low acknowledgment, almost as though it approved of his fear. The monster’s clawed hand lifted, moving toward Noah with surprising steadiness, fingers flexing once before settling near his shoulder. The heat inside Noah pulsed harder. His head swam. His breath hitched. Zero touched him. He felt as Zero’s clawed fingers gently traced along his sides, his body twitching from fear and a strange sense of alien excitement. It slowly dipped down, fondling his cock and balls, giving it his hard cock a few firm tugs, Zero letting out an appreciative growl and smile as Noah let out a shocked gasp and moan, despite how terrified he was. The creature pulled its hand away for a brief moment and spit on its hand, the same foul liquid coating the fingers like slime. Satisfied, he then dipped his hand lower, before tracing around his hip leaving a trail and pressing several fingers into his asshole, the sharp nails almost expertly, the slimy saliva easily allowing them to penetrate his entrance. The reaction was instantaneous. Noah’s body jerked, his breath catching in a shocked, involuntary gasp. The chamber spun in slow, nauseating circles, red lights blurring into hazy smears above him. His stomach dipped, thighs trembling as a wave of dizzying warmth pushed down his spine. “No—stop—” he managed, voice thin and breathless. Zero didn’t stop. It merely adjusted, claws tracing along Noah’s chest with a terrifying precision, as if following a pattern only it knew. The chemical haze surged again, turning Noah’s limbs soft and uncooperative, weakening his voice into a hoarse whisper. The pack shifted closer in response. Not touching—yet—but watching, their unified stillness adding weight to the moment. Noah sensed a hierarchy at play, an order to their movements. Zero was performing a role, and the others were witnessing it. Another pulse of heat flashed through Noah’s bloodstream. His vision trembled at the edges. He had the horrible sensation that something inside him was beginning to yield—not by choice, but by chemical force. Zero growled again, deeper this time, and leaned in, pressing its forehead briefly against Noah’s, its horns framing his vision as his clawed fingers pushed deeper. The gesture wasn’t affectionate. It was claiming. And Noah felt the shift in the group— a collective anticipation— as Zero prepared to continue. Strangely, he felt numb to the fingers after a few moments, that same heat now spreading from his ass as the fingers were removed, now mostly dry. Without warning, he felt his legs get pulled upward, his weight evenly spread between the cord around his wrists and the monster’s grip around his now spread legs, straddling him as he felt the monster’s cock press tightly against his hole. He tried to struggle, before realizing what he was doing at the last second as the tight ring of muscle relaxed suddenly, causing him to suddenly sink hard and fast, penetrating him in one slick movement. He cried out, feeling the massive cock seating itself deep in his guts. The red lights flickered overhead, dimming momentarily as though reacting to the energy building in the room. Noah sagged harder into the restraints, his body wilting under Zero’s control, his mind fraying at the edges of panic and chemically amplified sensation. The pack’s breathing synchronized again—slow, steady, ritualistic. Zero’s claws tightened on Noah’s hips. The true ritual was only beginning. The effect on Noah’s body was immediate and overwhelming. A shudder passed through him, involuntary and intense, as though the heat inside him had been suddenly stoked into a sharper flame. His ribs strained with each breath, and his arms pulled weakly against the Christmas lights, the warm cords tightening in response as if adjusting to keep him perfectly in place. A low rumble spread through the semicircle of monsters. Not loud, but deep enough that Noah felt it reverberate in his bones. The six creatures behind Zero shifted closer, closing the gap between them until their obsidian bodies formed a near-solid wall of muscle, horns, and slow-moving breath. Their presence constricted the space, tightening the air around Noah until he felt boxed in from every angle. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to steady himself, but the chemical pulse running through his veins made everything feel thick and swimmy. When a fresh wave of warmth rippled through his abdomen, his head fell forward with a faint sound he didn’t recognize as his own. Zero’s claws rose to Noah’s waist, anchoring him again. Its breath rasped across Noah’s shoulder—hot, humid, wrong—and then it resumed its slow, ritualistic exploration. He felt as Zero slowly began to pull out, a small, hopeful part of his brain thinking it was over, that they were somehow stopping, when suddenly, Zero slammed hard and fast deep inside of him again, making him whimper. This continued a few more times, each time less painful and somehow more enjoyable. Soon, Zero was fucking him hard and fast, Noah no longer feeling pain but a strange pleasant pressure and burn deep inside him when Zero finally pulled him hard and fast down onto him in one final slam, shooting volley after volley of cum deep in his guts. Noah’s knees jerked reflexively, his whole body curling inward for a moment before the restraints forced him still again. His vision blurred around the edges, red lights melting together in a dizzy haze. The monsters’ collective breathing grew louder, more synchronized, like they were inhaling in perfect rhythm to Noah’s faltering breaths. Something shifted deeper in the chamber. Not movement. Not footsteps. Pressure. A heavy weight pressed down from somewhere unseen, a thickening of the air that made Noah’s lungs tighten. It felt like the moment before a storm breaks—static and anticipation and the sense of something vast drawing near. The other six monsters reacted immediately. Their growls softened, posture lowering, horns angling toward the far side of the room. Even Zero paused—not releasing Noah, but holding perfectly still, claws poised, as if awaiting judgment. Noah lifted his head in confusion, chest heaving. “What… what is that…?” he whispered, voice raw. None of the monsters answered. They didn’t need to. The air trembled again, heavier this time. Zero’s claws tightened on Noah in a silent assertion of possession, as if reminding him—and the others—that he was already claimed. A faint glow shifted in the darkness beyond the pack. Something massive was approaching. Zero leaned in close, breath rolling over Noah’s ear, and released a soft, resonant growl that felt almost like a warning: “The Alpha is coming.” The chamber thickened around Noah as the presence in the darkness approached—so potent and tangible it felt like pressure building inside his skull. The air turned heavy, humid, and strangely electric, making the red Christmas lights overhead flicker with an almost nervous pulse. Even the stone beneath him seemed to hum faintly, as if bracing for whatever was about to emerge. The pack sensed it instantly. The six monsters behind Zero lowered their heads, horns angling downward in a unified gesture of submission. Their bodies shifted apart just enough to form a clear path through their ranks, creating a corridor of shadows and anticipation. Zero remained closest to Noah, but even he moved slightly aside, still touching Noah yet no longer centered. His posture tightened in a way that felt almost formal—respectful, deferential. Noah felt the pressure before he saw the Alpha. A deep, resonant vibration slid into his awareness, not entirely sound, not entirely sensation. The hair on his arms lifted; his heart stumbled. The chemical warmth in his blood quivered, reacting instinctively to the new power entering the room. Noah tried to steady his breath, but the air itself seemed too dense, too hot, making each inhale a struggle. Then the Alpha stepped into view. He dwarfed the others—not just in height, though he was easily a foot taller than Zero, but in presence. His horns were longer, sweeping back in grand curves that made his silhouette impossibly striking. His pitch-black skin reflected the red lights in deeper, richer tones, muscles shifting beneath the surface like living stone. The air around him swirled as he moved, as though even the atmosphere recoiled and obeyed in the same breath. When his face fully entered the red glow, Noah felt something crack open inside him. The Alpha had eyes. Or something resembling them—deep, molten slashes of faint crimson light resting where the other monsters had hollows. They flickered subtly, almost like embers beneath soot, and when the Alpha looked directly at him, Noah’s whole body seized in a wave of overwhelming heat. Then Noah heard him. Not with his ears. Not with sound. Inside. Noah Vance. The name echoed through his mind as if spoken against the walls of his skull. Noah inhaled sharply, chest constricting, pulse leaping into a panicked rhythm. He shook his head in a desperate attempt to clear the voice. “Stop—please—get out of my head—” Zero released a low, warning growl beside him, sensing Noah’s rising panic. The Alpha silenced it with a single glance, and the room seemed to shudder at the shift in authority. The voice returned, deeper this time, sliding through Noah’s thoughts with a deliberate, predatory ease. You came down here alone. Curious. Unwatched. Unclaimed. “No,” Noah rasped, though the word barely held shape. “I—I didn’t know—please, I didn’t—” The Alpha stepped closer. Heat radiated from him in powerful waves, washing over Noah’s bare skin until he trembled under the weight of it. The flickering red lights cast shadows across the Alpha’s horns, drawing sharp lines down his face, accentuating the broad sweep of his jaw and the long, serrated teeth glistening beneath it. Another voice—this time spoken aloud, deep enough to rattle Noah’s chest—rolled out of the Alpha’s throat. “You should not have opened the way.” Noah blinked, dizzy and terrified. “What do you mean? I didn’t open anything—” The Alpha leaned closer, lowering his head until his horns framed Noah’s face. His breath washed over Noah in thick, consuming waves. Your brothers left a door unlocked. You walked straight into the dark. And we followed the cold you left behind. Noah’s pulse stumbled. The basement door— that old maintenance entry they’d all forgotten existed. Had it really been open? And had something been waiting for that? He tried to speak again, but the Alpha’s clawed hand rose, touching Noah’s jaw with shocking gentleness that contrasted violently with the situation. The chemical heat in Noah’s blood surged under the contact, almost as if responding to him. Zero stepped back fully now, lowering his head and yielding his place. The Alpha’s grip tightened. Noah felt the ritual shift. The first part was over. The second—far worse—was beginning. Slowly, each of the other monsters lined up as if orchestrated, and the next monster grabbed his legs, pulling him down by his hips forcefully, the cum from his brethren slickening the way. Each monster took its time, fucking him hard, fast and with earnest, flooding him deeply before moving out of the way for the next. After a while, Noah’s mind couldn’t take it anymore and mentally started begging for them to go harder, faster, to make it hurt. The heat inside Noah swelled into a blazing pulse that made his knees jerk and his breath fracture. His head dropped forward, the strength in his neck failing as waves of dizzy warmth passed through him. The Alpha’s voice curled through his mind again, softer now but far more intimate. You will not leave here unchanged. You were chosen. You will be remade. Noah shook uncontrollably, words failing him completely. The Alpha positioned him with terrifying ease. Suddenly, he felt as two of the other monsters, one he was sure was his maker, Zero, held him up by the legs, allowing the Alpha easier access to his hole, Zero’s long, almost serpentine tongue, licking and tasting the head of his leaking cock, before taking it deeply in his mouth. He could feel the dangerous brush of too sharp teeth threatening to slice into the delicate skin of his cock as Zero seemed to feast on the precum dripping out of him. The other monsters growled in a soft, unified rhythm, their horns angled forward, their bodies swaying slightly as though caught in a trance or feeding on Noah’s reactions. The Alpha’s final whisper pressed into Noah’s mind like a brand: This is the moment you break. And become ours. Noah choked on a breath and felt consciousness begin to slip. The ritual was not done. But his mind was already unraveling. The Alpha’s presence consumed everything—air, heat, sound, even thought. Noah hung suspended in the Christmas lights like an offering, his body limp, trembling, reacting to the chemical haze still burning steadily through his veins. Each breath felt fragile, caught between a sob and a gasp, the effort overwhelming even before the Alpha moved again. Zero and the other six had fallen silent, forming a curved wall around the two of them. Their horned silhouettes flickered with each pulse of the dim red bulbs, making them appear almost carved from shifting shadow. They were waiting—expectant, reverent, as though the ritual depended on the Alpha alone. The Alpha adjusted his grip on Noah’s hips, claws resting just firmly enough to remind him how easily he could be torn apart. Noah whimpered, a thin breath scraping from his throat despite his efforts to stay quiet. His head lolled forward, chin brushing his chest, sweat dripping in slow trails down his ribs. The Alpha’s voice touched his mind again—no louder than a murmur, but heavy with certainty. Do not resist the change. Let it take you. Noah tried to shake his head, a weak, pitiful motion. “I—I don’t want—please—” His plea dissolved into a broken sound as the Alpha positioned him. Suddenly, he felt as the Alpha began to penetrate his already abused and cum flooded hole. The already battered flesh strained to accommodate the massive demonic looking cock. The reaction inside Noah was instant and catastrophic. His body arched against the restraints, breath ripped from him in a raw, involuntary gasp. The chemical heat exploded through his abdomen, spreading into his limbs like molten electricity. His legs shook violently, barely held steady by the arms binding his ankles. As they shook, the string of Christmas lights clacked against each other in a weird, macabre percussive symphony. Each pulse inside him felt heavier, deeper, striking through him again and again until he no longer knew if he was crying out or if the sound was only in his head. The Alpha growled low in his ear, voice rumbling through both the air and Noah’s bones. Good. You are yielding. Let me in fully, Noah Vance. Noah’s mouth opened, a fractured sound spilling out, half protest, half overwhelmed surrender. His vision blurred, red lights stretching into smeared halos. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think past the waves of heat crashing through him. He looked down and could see the end of the Alpha’s dick causing his flat stomach to bulge out, his insides feeling like they were being rearranged. His consciousness wavered. Reality thinned around the edges. Everything became sensation—heat, pressure, trembling muscle, the Alpha’s claws keeping him steady, the deep vibration of monstrous voices rising and falling around him. The pack’s growls shifted into a rhythmic cadence, almost a chant, synchronized with Noah’s ragged breaths. The Alpha’s mind pressed harder into his. You will remember this in your blood. You will wake differently. Mine. It is time to release your seed for your brother and maker Zero. Show him your thanks for this gift. The final surge hit Noah like a blow, tearing through the remnants of his resistance. He convulsed, heat piercing him from within, flooding outward until he felt like his body was no longer a separate thing from the Alpha’s hold. Then— he felt the second the Alpha began to fuck him. Slamming hard and fast, making it feel as if his insides were being ripped apart, his asshole being split in two. It went on mercilessly for several minutes until he finally felt it. The Alpha’s cock was like a firehose inside his guts, flooding him with an obscene amount of tainted cum, finally driving him over the edge as Zero greedily sucked every drop out of his throbbing dick. Somehow, part of him knew that Zero and the rest would enjoy the taste of his pure untainted cum, that it would feed and nourish them for the night ahead. His mind warped and he felt as more and more cum shot out of him, fueled by the thoughts of wanting to empty himself of his useless seed to make room for more, to feel as his cum became tainted and corrupted, his veins bulging and darkening and then his skin turning black. His body would become stronger, taller, leaner and more muscular. His cock would grow longer and thicker, his balls larger and heavier, no longer just for sperm but as the perfect place for the virus to incubate. To feel his own set of horns sprout fully out of his head and his teeth sharpen. To feed and be fed from his new brothers to make his transformation take even faster. Of joining the hunt as they sought out new uncorrupted men to infect and turn. The heat spiked once more, blinding and total. Noah cried out—a raw, hoarse, broken noise—and then his entire body sagged, all strength leaving him at once. His consciousness flickered, dipped, fought to stay afloat… and finally lost. The Alpha held him suspended for another moment, claws steady and secure. Noah’s head fell against the creature’s chest, eyes half-open but unseeing. A lazy smile spread across his face. A satisfied growl rolled through the chamber, answered by the low rumbling of the pack. The ritual was complete. Noah’s last dim sensation was the Alpha lowering him slightly, pulling its still bloated cock out of his ass and letting a small trickle of black cum out of his destroyed ass. The Christmas lights adjusting their hold as though alive, cradling him into a suspended, slack-limbed sleep. Then darkness folded him under. — The movie upstairs had finished long ago, a new movie picked from the fishbowl in its place. Empty beer cans clattered as someone shifted on the couch. The storm battered the windows with a steady, rising howl. Evan checked his phone for the tenth time, frowning. “Noah’s been down there for almost two hours,” he muttered. Zach shrugged, but his expression was tight. “He probably fell asleep behind the furnace.” Bran didn’t answer immediately. He stared at the basement door—ominous, still, the faintest cold draft curling out from underneath it. Finally he exhaled. “Enough. Someone’s going down there.” The others fell silent. And beneath them, far below the floorboards, the chamber’s red lights pulsed once—bright, then dimming again. As if settling. As if briefly satisfied.

Yeah, it’s taken me some time to train Drew to take loads in his throat. I’ve been shooting loads in his mouth for years and he loves that. It helps that he enjoys the taste of my sperm. I’ve been face fucking him for a while but it’s only recently that I’ve been able to cum in his throat. Sometimes he chokes a bit when I cum and he coughs up some of my sperm over my balls but I enjoy that. That last session was his first with one of my mates. I really wanted to get in close to get a good look of Steves cock going deep and his balls on Drew’s nose. I stood beside Steve to watch his cock go balls deep. I could see Drew’s throat stretch as Steve went in. I was behind Steve when he shot his load. Drew looked so fuckin hot. Eyes wide open, tears in his eyes as he swallowed. Steve’s load. Some his splashed out over his balls and I licked them clean. Next time I'd like to watch all our mates throat fuck him.

I was sent an invite to a BB gangbang in London and jokingly showed my now wife. To my suprise and joy, she suggested we go. She took one Prep pill and I watched her get fucked by all the guy 13 cocks in total and many gave her multiple loads in her cunt. I know realise the one prep pill was useless and she was fucking totally unprotected. Unfortunately no poz but what an amazing night. I dream about her getting poz and being an Eve to loads of chasing guys including me.

I have 2 regular fuck buds who are bottoms and always take my load. I make sure they are satisfied in the end by sucking them off and swallowing their loads. The most intimate thing men can do is share their semen.

My ex and I had 16 tops at home one party, but I have been fucked and bred in front of at least 50 at various sex parties. The bigger the audience the better my mancunt performs.

Folsom street fair is on my bucket list because of the same reason that the OP mentioned. This was one of my intentions when I visited Folsom Berlin where public sex was strictly banned as I had to experience unfortunately. However, I love to have sex public and outdoor. In bars or saunas, I usually have audience, sometimes more then 10 people but I never take notes. 🤣 Once I participated in a home orgy around 20 guys. I was fucked continuously in the middle of the room. I don’t know how many of them watched me, but their majority fucked me. I suppose we are talking about the on-site audience. If online matters my many videos are available on X and mostly on Bluesky. Or if realtime online watching matters only, I was watched once when in Gran Canary a well-known Chaturbate or something similar couple (Pablo and Sebas) streamlined their outdoor sex. One of them sucked me off live. 🙈🤣 One of my friends watched it and it was followed by many guys, around 50

21 men with 22 loads on my 21st birthday. It was set up for me by a friend that either did porn or knew porn actors? Something like that. The men were mostly hot and everyone blew inside me. One guy went twice. That was the big hurrah in my life. The most since then has been around 4 or 5. lol nothing spectacular.

Wow. Thank you all so much for the incredible feedback. Reading your comments, knowing you were right there with me, feeling that same mix of terror and excitement... it's a huge rush. It makes me want to dive back in and share what happened next. This next part is again fiction, but it's inspired directly by some of the encounters I've had in the last few days. Things are... escalating. And I need to get it out. Part 2: The Biker’s Offering You're 49. You have a successful job that you're good at, a life that looks stable and normal from the outside. You've been married to your wonderful husband for over ten years. He is, without a doubt, the man of your dreams, the man you want to grow old with. But, as it turned out over the years, you're both... well, you're both more bottoms. Your sex life gradually decreased to a beautiful, respectful zero. You have a weekend relationship, which means you live apart during the week. There's this unspoken agreement that you are exclusive on the weekends when you are together, but everyone is free to do what they want during the week. You have never, ever spoken about safe or bareback sex. But to you, it feels like you're expected to stay safe, even though there would be no risk for him if you didn't, given the complete lack of sex between you. Don't get it wrong, you truly love him and would never do anything to intentionally hurt him. This need... this is for you alone. It's your private addiction. So, the next day after the lunchtime encounter, with all its unknown risks, you're back at your desk. It's a lazy work day. At 11:30, you feel the urge to go to the toilet and take a big crap. As you sit there, feeling your ass extend, a sudden, powerful thought hits you. What if you took off for lunch a little longer? What if you went back to the same rest area? You are in your car before you've even fully processed the thought. When you get there, there's only one other car in the lot. An average-looking guy, a little younger than you, is leaning against it, smoking a cigarette. You stay in your car, figuring the woods are probably empty. Then the guy drops his cigarette, grounds it out with his boot, and starts walking towards the entrance to the woods. But he doesn't just walk. He turns around one last time and looks directly at you in your car. His eyes lock with yours through the windshield. It's an invitation. A challenge. Your hand moves on its own. You pull out your poppers. One deep sniff. The warmth starts to bloom. Two. The courage begins to surge. Three, four. The world dissolves into a haze of confident, chemically-induced lust. You're no longer a successful 49-year-old husband. You're a hunter. You open the car door and follow him into the trees. But as you walk, the memory of yesterday floods your mind. The memory of the young apprentice was so vivid, so powerful. But it was the question that was consuming you: "You are healthy???" Why the emphasis? He was so dominant, so unconcerned with anything but his own pleasure. Why did that one thing matter so much? And now, today, you're following this younger guy into the woods. The memory of that solitary orgasm, the one you had while contemplating your potential conversion, makes your own cock throb with anticipation. You find him in a small clearing. He turns, and you see the look in his eyes. He's not the apprentice. He's just a guy. A guy who saw a hungry man in a car and decided to take a chance. You walk up to him in the small clearing. The air is thick with unspoken need, a palpable humidity of desire. He's exactly as you first saw him: average, maybe a little soft around the middle, with a nervous energy that clashes with your poppers-fueled confidence. You open your belts – he yours, you his – the metallic clicks sounding loud in the quiet woods. You pull each other's cocks out. He has this average, long but thin hard uncut cock, the foreskin already slick with precum. You wank each other, the familiar rhythm a mechanical comfort, like a dance you both know the steps to but have no passion for. You touch each other, your hands exploring chests, arms, faces. Your faces get closer, your cheeks touching. His stubble rubbing against your own trimmed beard, a scratchy, intimate sound that should ignite you, but doesn't. You kiss. Your tongues mingle, a wet, desperate dance, but it feels like performance. You're trying to find the apprentice in him, the dominant spark from yesterday, but all you can taste is hesitation and a weak, coffee-flavored tongue. There's no spark, no fire. He is hard and leaking, his body clearly ready, but your own PA cock is not getting fully hard. It's a heavy, inert piece of metal and flesh, a barometer of your soul's disinterest. Something is not right. The chemistry is off, the connection is false. You're going through the motions, a ghost playing at being a slut. Dropping to your knees feels like a strategic move, a way to do something, to force the arousal. You take his thin cock in your mouth. It's easy to take, the length sliding over your tongue. You blow him, working your lips and tongue, trying to convince yourself that this is what you want. Your body is on its knees, but your mind is somewhere else, replaying the apprentice's almost brutal, 30-second fuck. This feels like a chore, like sucking on a piece of pasta instead of taking a hard, thick risk. But with every bob of your head, the feeling of wrongness grows stronger. This isn't the primal, risky act you crave. This feels... clinical. In the end, you pull off, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You separate, a silent, awkward agreement of failure. He zips up and walks away, disappearing towards the parking lot. While you were playing, another guy arrived and passed you, walking deeper into the woods. You're still horny, but the poppers effect is already gone, leaving you with only the bitter taste of frustration. You pull out your poppers and take a few more hits, the chemical rush washing over you again, trying to reignite the fire that's sputtering out. Then you look for him. You find him leaning against a large oak tree, looking like a character from a fairy tale. He's about 30, with a soft, round belly and a long, unkempt beard that frames a kind, gentle face. He seems approachable, safe. And a part of you hates him for it. You didn't come here for a gentle giant; you came here for a monster. You approach him. You grope each other's bulges. He pulls out his cock – a little nub of flesh, not even four inches hard, with a thick thatch of pubic hair. You wank him, your movements mechanical, but again, you can't get really hard. The frustration is mounting, a sour taste in your mouth. Again, you go on your knees, this time out of a desperate, last-ditch hope. A nice load of cum might stimulate you, might get you hard. You take him in your mouth. He tastes nice, clean, like freshly washed skin and the faint scent of shower lotion. The cleanliness is an insult. You want to taste sweat, and dirt, and the raw, unwashed scent of a man who lives on the edge. You want to taste danger, not fucking soap. It doesn't work. You are not a size queen, you tell yourself, but his cock just doesn't give you any pleasure, to scratch that deep, masochistic itch. There's no stretch, no burn, no feeling of being taken and used. Eventually, you pull off, mumbling an excuse. You separate, another wave of disappointment washing over you, cold and sharp. You're left standing there in the quiet woods, your knees dirty, your cock still half-limp, a profound sense of failure settling in. The hunger is still there, a roaring beast in your gut, but you've just tried to feed it salad. You came here seeking a risk, a transformation, and all you've found are two awkward, unsatisfying encounters. You came here to be used, to be filled, to be changed, and instead, you feel emptier than before. You contemplate driving back to work, your lunch break a complete and utter waste of time. At this point, you hear some cracking behind you. You turn around and see him. A guy around your age, a biker type in his leather gear. He's just standing there, directly staring at you, his arms crossed over his chest, a slow, knowing smile playing on his lips. He looks like the monster you were looking for. "Been watching you," he says, his voice a low, confident rumble. "I know you need more." You are magically attracted to him, a moth to a dangerous, hypnotic flame. You walk over, your feet moving as if pulled by an invisible string. He is pure dominance. He doesn't wait for you to speak. He grabs your crotch, his grip firm, possessive, a claim. He unzips you and pulls out your cock, his eyes fixing on your heavy PA. "Not so innocent as it seems," he chuckles approvingly. He opens the zipper of his leather pants. Wow, he is commando. He pulls out his own monster, a thick, curved beast with a PA even bigger than yours, a heavy circular barbell with two heavy-duty steel balls that look less like jewelry and more like ammunition, promising a unique kind of pleasure. He's going to fuck you. You know it. He knows it. But the memory of yesterday, the apprentice's question, the lingering risk, makes you nervous. "Condom?" you ask, your voice betraying your eagerness with a slight tremble. He just smiles, a slow, cruel twist of his lips. "I can wrap up," he says, reaching into his leather pocket and pulling out a foil packet. He dangles it between his fingers, a tiny, square tease. "I have one." He looks you dead in the eye, his gaze piercing through your chemically-induced haze. "But do you really want me to?" He lets the question hang in the air, heavy and toxic. "I don't need one..." The back-and-forth is a torture of its own. You, the man who took a load without a question yesterday, now hesitating. He, the dominant biker, giving you the choice, making you own your depravity. He slowly, deliberately tears open the foil packet. The sound is loud, sharp. He pulls out the thin rubber, holding it by the tip between his thumb and forefinger. He brings it to your face, not to put it on, but to taunt you with it. He holds it under your nose. You can smell the sterile, latex scent, a smell of safety that now smells like cowardice. "You seem a little tense," he says, his voice a low purr. He puts the condom away and pulls out his own small, brown bottle of poppers. "Let's clear your head." He twists off the cap and places the bottle directly against your right nostril. "Five deep sniffs," he commands. "Don't you dare lose any." You inhale, the chemical rush flooding your system, stronger than your own. He moves to your left nostril. "And five more." You obey, your head spinning, the world dissolving into a warm, pulsing haze of pure submission. He caps the bottle and puts it away. "Now," he says, his voice cutting through the fog. "Tell me. Do you need a condom? Or do you want my cock raw?" Your addiction to the risk wars with your fear, but the poppers have already won the war for you. You can't form the word. You just shake your head, a barely perceptible motion of surrender. He spins you around and bends you over a fallen log. He presses the thick head of his cock against your hole, but you're too tight, too tense, even for the chemically-induced relaxation. His massive tool won't go in. "Hmm," he grunts, frustrated. He looks down at the ground and spots something. He leans over and picks up a used, tied-off condom lying in the dirt. "Might need a condom after all," he says, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He holds it up. It's not just full; it's heavy, and you can see a slight steam rising from it in the cool air. "Still warm," he chuckles, a dark, appreciative sound. "Someone just got lucky." He unties the knot and a thick, milky glob of another man's fresh cum drips out. He squeezes the contents onto his own massive shaft, using the stranger's still-warm seed as lube to finally, brutally, force his way inside you. The sensation is overwhelming. The stretch, the burn, the knowledge of what's inside you, what's now being used to open you up for him. This isn't just some old, ghostly load; this is a fresh deposit, a living offering you're being coated with. He doesn't fuck you for 30 seconds. He fucks you for what feels like an eternity, his thick PA-studded cock dragging against your insides, the hard steel of the oversized barbell's balls slapping against your prostate with every thrust, a constant, stimulating, punishing presence. Ten minutes, fifteen, your legs bent over the log, starting to shake and weaken from the strain. The poppers haze begins to lift, the edges of reality sharpening. Your consciousness and nervousness come flooding back. "Are you gonna cum?" you finally pant, a new kind of panic in your voice. "Please... pull out before you cum." He just chuckles, his rhythm never faltering. "Too late," he grunts, his voice calm and controlled. "I already shot twice. This is number three." The revelation sends a shockwave through your system. The sheer, unrestrained power of it. The endless stamina. The endless seed. The fact that he's already been cumming inside you, silently, while you were lost in the sensation. That's it. You can't hold back. You cry out as your own cock explodes, untouched, creaming yourself all over the leaves and dirt beneath you. As your orgasm tears through you, you become vaguely aware of movement in the periphery. A few more guys have appeared, drawn by the sounds of raw, animalistic sex. They're on their lunch breaks, looking for a quick encounter, but they've stumbled upon something else entirely. They don't dare join. They don't dare disturb this powerful scene. They just watch from a safe distance, their own hard cocks in their hands, wanking slowly as they witness the biker claiming you. You're no longer just a participant; you're the main event in a grim, outdoor theater. A part of you wanted to shrink away, to hide from their eyes. But a bigger, darker part of you preened. You weren't just being fucked; you were being worshipped. Every one of them was wishing they were you, or wishing they were him. He fucks you through your orgasm, prolonging it, owning it, then finally, with a deep, satisfied groan, he empties his third, massive load deep inside you, mixing with the stranger's fresh cum he used as lube. He stays inside you for a long moment, his chest heaving, marking his territory. The small crowd of onlookers melts back into the woods, their own needs satisfied by the show. You pull off, your legs trembling, your body buzzing, your mind completely blown. You get dressed in a daze, your movements clumsy and slow. You turn to leave, but you have to look back. You have to see him one more time. He's tucking his junk back in his leathers, and as he does, you see it. The lower part of a tattoo, right above his cock. The lines are sharp, deliberate. Arcs beginning their menacing descent towards his pubic hair, pointing to the magnificent cock that just owned you. The rest of it is hidden by his belt and jacket, but it's clearly part of a larger, intimidating design. He catches you staring. He zips up his fly slowly, the sound loud and final in the quiet woods. He walks over to you, his presence overwhelming. He doesn't touch you. He just looks you up and down, a predator assessing its kill. He reaches out, not to touch you, but to pluck a single leaf from your hair, letting it fall to the ground. It's a small, intimate gesture of ownership, a claim being staked. He leans in close, his voice a low, possessive whisper right next to your ear. "If you want more of that," he says, his breath hot against your skin, "you know where to find us." He pulls back, gives you that same slow, knowing smile, and turns, walking away without a backward glance. The words hang in the air, a challenge and a permission slip all in one. He's not telling you to come back. He's telling you that he's here, and the choice to be claimed again is yours. And as you stand there, the phantom feeling of his load already warming you from the inside, you both know what you'll choose.

Part 8 I walked out into the quad, my first time outdoors in over three hours. I felt a trickle of cum slide out of my ass and the disgust of what I had just done really hit me. Every other fuck, and every other load of cum dumped in me was forced. This time, I was not forced, I stripped for another man, I gave him my ass and let him fuck me. I heard laughter, but there was no one laughing. I felt my stomach rumble and realized I hadn’t eaten anything in a day and headed to the nearby snack shack to get food. I saw people staring, people pointing and people checking me out. I grabbed my food and found a quiet table. I sat there and stared at my food, hearing words in my head about being pozzed and taking AIDS loads. I lost my appetite as the fear of getting sick and dying became all I could focus on. I heard my father’s voice saying, “Queer’s deserve to get AIDS and die horribly.” I took out my phone and google’d HIV infection. I learned that there was a medication that could be taken to prevent getting infected. I also learned about PrEP and how to get it. I thought maybe I could get it at the health center so I ate my lunch and walked over. I got to the clinic and checked in. A nurse called me back in and took my vitals. She asked what I was here for and I told her. I could see the disgust in her eyes as she shamed me with her look. I heard her mumble, “You need to pray.” I waited in the room for the doctor. I heard a knock and the door opened. The doctor walked in and he looked to be in his early 40s. He sat down across from me and looked at a clipboard. “Hi Joey, I hear your looking to get some medication?” I said, “Yeah, I need to get medication to…” I couldn’t finish the sentence and broke down in tears again. How the hell did I have so many tears in me? The doctor sat with me and said, “You want to prevent getting HIV? Is there a particular reason you think you need this medicine? Have you done something that would make you think you’ve been exposed?” I nodded and cried more. “Tell me what you did Joey. Tell me why you want this.” He stared at me and I told him what happened, about the night at the rest stop, the bathroom and the incident with my professor. When I finished, I could see a look of awe, lust, and disgust on the doctor’s face. He moved his clipboard and I saw a huge bulge in his pants. I dropped to my knees and crawled over to his legs and reached to his bulge. I tried to fight it and could not. The doctor put the clipboard down and just watched me. He slapped me across the face and told me, “What do you think you’re doing Joey? This is highly inappropriate.” I sat at his feet, the pain from the slap still burning. I looked up at him, not moving. “You’ve taken how many loads?” “91 in the ass and one in the mouth.” “In less then a day.” “I can give you the prescriptions. But, I think you’re going to earn it aren’t you?” I looked at him and nodded. He stood up, and grabbed me by the hair. He pulled me over to the exam table and told me to take off my pants. I did as was told and before I could do anything further, he pushed me down on to the table, and put my ankles in stirrups. He looked down at me and slapped me hard across the face again. “You’re going to lay there and not say a word. I’ll be right back. If I hear a sound, you’re going to regret.” I nodded my head as he turned and walked out of the room. The door was left open after he walked out. I could see people walking by the door, and caught a couple of people looking in at me. One guy, an older guy who looked like he was a custodian, stopped and stared at me. I saw him look both ways to the side, and he slipped in the room and shut the door behind him. I started to say something and he put a finger to his lips. He walked up and took his cock out of his pants. It was already hard and had a ring at the end. He lifted his shirt up and I saw a tattoo of a bio-hazard symbol. He smiled and again placed a finger to his lips. “This hurt, you stay quiet or make trouble.” I pleaded with him, silently. He smiled more and I could see teeth missing and sores on his tongue. “Shh, baby. Papa going to make you hurt.” He put his dick to my hole and shoved in. The pain was excruciating and I struggled to remain silent. I failed and squealed loudly. The old man smiled and punched me hard in the guts until I quieted down. He ripped my ass apart, pulling all the way out and slamming back in. I closed my eyes, trying to imagine being somewhere else. I didn’t hear the door open or close again, but I was brought back to reality when I heard the doctor’s voice say, “Open your eyes Joey.” I did and saw him watching me. “This is why you’re here, because you can’t keep your legs shut and let any man fuck you. Hector here, he’s a regular patient of mine. He’s infected half the campus with one bug or another over the years. Right now, he’s got every thing. Syphilis, gono, herpes, and AIDS. You didn’t even stop to ask him to put a condom on did you? Just let him shove his filthy dick in you. Did you even ask him if he was clean?” I looked at the doctor and shook my head. Hector sped up and looked at the doc and said, “I finish?” The doctor nodded, “Yes Hector, finish in him.” I pleaded with them, “Please don’t do this to me.” Doc simply slapped me in the balls and said, “Shut up Joey. You’re a whore, you want this.” Hector grunted and I felt the burning as he dumped his cum in me. Hector finished shooting and pulled out. He looked down and grinned, “You bleed like bitch.” I looked at his cock and saw streaks of my blood on him. He smiled and said, “Thank Dr. D.” he put his dick, blood and all, back in his pants, zipped up and walked out. The doctor stepped between my legs and told me, “Close your eyes, Joey. You don’t want to see what is coming.” I closed my eyes and as soon as I did, a memory tore my mind apart. I saw a face, but not a human face. It was red, scarred, and horns rose from out his forehead. He grinned and his teeth were fanged. I tried to scream but no sound came out. A voice came to my ears, “You have done me proud Joey. You have taken almost 100 loads in your hole. Some neg, but they can’t all be winners. Are you learning to enjoy being a whore? I’ve watched you. You’ve brought a new boy in to the fold. And you even willingly used your cunt to get ahead.” I shook my head. A low chuckle, “Oh Joey, you’re going to fight until the bitter end aren’t you? Resist you’re true nature as a son of my seed.” I just stared ahead at the face, the demon. He continued, “You haven’t put all the pieces together yet have you. Who you are, why you were chosen for this? I will tell you one thing, although when you wake up from this, you may decide to forget it. Your end is coming soon; I won’t tell you when exactly. But know that it will be an epic ending to your journey. Until then my son, open your eyes and see the next step on your journey.” My eyes snapped open, just in time to see a huge cock at my ass. I opened my mouth to scream, but the doctor’s hand slammed over my mouth and his wrapped around my throat. “You had to open your eyes? Why boy, why did you have to look?” The head of the cock, the monstrous thing extending from the crotch of the Dr., began to stretch my hole open. “Open that little pussy for me Joey. Let me push Hector’s disease further into you.” I tried to squeeze my hole tight, which only caused the Dr. to become angry. “Oh Joey, I really wish you hadn’t done that.” He pulled his cock out and I felt him slather a cold gel on my cunt. The gel soon turned warm, then hot. My eyes snapped open completely at the fire on my hole. “That should just about relax you. Don’t fight me this time boy. It’s only going to get worse for you.” He again pushed into me, this time I tried to squeeze but I couldn’t move. I felt my hole stretch, then stretch even more. “If it helps you to relax, I’m only 7” long, shorter then Hector,” he said with a wicked grin. I remembered the feelings of Marquise at the rest stop and Sir #2 in the bathroom. They were both smaller then this. The closest I could compare was Marquise and Coach double dicking me. This was still bigger. “Oh, Joey. I don’t think you’re hole is going to be usable after I’m done. It’s going to be destroyed. You ready?” I tried shaking my head, but he held me firm. “1…” I shut my eyes “2…” “God, please help me. I am sorry for my sins.” Laughter, and the face appeared again. “You call out for him? He’s not taking your call right now. I hear you though Joey. You’ll survive this and your hole will too. Don’t worry, your hole will be fine.” “3…,” I opened my eyes as he slammed, full force, into my cunt. “Oh Joey, I haven’t felt a cunt around my cock in years. Everyone sees it and then refuses to let me near their cunt or their ass. I’ve paid hookers and they give me back the money.” He pulled out a couple inches then pushed back in. “I need a picture of this. You’re not going to scream if I move my hands are you?” I shook my head. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He started taking pictures of my cunt wrapped around his cock. He recorded video of him pulling out and sliding back in. “God that’s beautiful. Want to see what your ass looks like wrapped around me?” I shook my head, and then nodded. He turned the phone around I could see it. My cunt looked like it was spread 8-9 inches wide. I could see drops of white and red on the cracked ring. He continued to fuck and then said, “I’m going to shoot in you now.” And I felt again, the burning of my colon by a load of cum. It took almost two full minutes for him to slowly remove his dick, telling me he did not want to cause me any permanent damage, even though he thought my hole would stay distended. He snapped a last picture of my hole gaping then gasped, “What the…” He quickly fumbled with his camera, switching to video to record my hole tightening back up. “How the hell are you doing that Joey?” “It’s my… gift. From the ma… from Him.” The doctor looked at me as if I was insane. “Get up, the nurses are due back any minute.” He helped me out of the stirrups and my legs collapsed downward as if stone. I watched the doctor shove is soft cock, larger than many hard cocks, back in his pants. He threw my pants at me, “Hurry up.” I dressed and he handed me a brown bag. “The directions are in there for both the meds. Good luck with it Joey.” I started walking out, stopped at the door and I don’t know what came over me. I turned to him and said, “Thank you Sir.”

Part 10 – Turning of the Screw “It’s time for you to spread your cunt, bitch.” My mind was a haze, what just happened? I’d been raped twice, taken both their loads. As my mind cleared, I could still remember a second rape, but there was only brief snippets of what happened the second time. “Stand up, bitch. The guys out there are getting very impatient, they want their turn in that cunt.” I stood upright, getting a little light headed from being bent over. I moved closer to the wall as the sadistic, black mailer unlocked my cuffs. “Now, we’re gonna get you ready for your first service.” After removing the cuffs, he unbuckled the gag and the blindfold and removed them from my head. “You won’t be needing those anymore, will you cunt?” I looked at him and said, “I’m not a cunt. My name is Joey.” The man looked at me and chuckled. “Whatever you say, whore. The way you spread that ass so willingly and took my load so willingly, without asking my status. You’re a whore, you little punk.” “Fuck y-,” is what I tried to say. Before I could say it, a fist was delivered straight to my gut. I doubled over in pain, only to have my head yanked up by the hair. “I am enjoying your misery and will enjoy causing you any type of physical pain I can imagine. Feel free to mouth off to me any time you want. Every time you do, I get to punish you. The great thing that you’ve received is that you will feel that pain, but there will be no damage visible. Although that nose and eye are going to remain visible since the damage occurred before the change.” “Now stand the fuck up, you little whore.” I stood back up and looked him in the eyes, “I’m not a whore.” “Whatever you say. You’re first job begins now. Each man out there is paying $50 to fuck your ass and dump a load in you. Great thing for them? That $50 covers as many fucks and loads as they want to give you. In fact, there is one very special man out there who paid $100 to have the privilege of fucking you first.” “Please don’t make me do this. Haven’t you already done enough to me? You already raped me and probably gave me your fucking disease. And, I can’t remember what else, but there was a second guy too.” “Your stuff is there, right where you left it. You can get dressed and leave now.” I grabbed the bag, and he was telling the truth. I grabbed my clothes and got dressed, never taking my eyes off of him. I finished dressing and walked towards the door. “Joey.” I turned to him and he smiled at me and simply said, “You know you have no say in this.” “Fuck you, you sick faggot.” I walked out the door. I thought I was going to go to my car, but for some reason I was walking towards the trucks. I stopped and stared down the walkway that paralleled the truck parking spaces and took my shirt off. It’s a warm night. I walked down the walkway, moving further from my car. I could hear whistles and catcalls from the truckers, could even hear some of them getting out. “Yeah, boy, take the pants off too,” “Show us that fine ass of yours.” “Fuck you, faggots.” “Did you hear that guys, this stupid little whore called US faggots. He’s the one walking around, showing off that ass.” One of the truckers who got out, a black guy about 6’4” and looking to weigh about 250, walked toward me. I stepped back, but could not move fast enough. A punch to the jaw, sent me sprawling to the ground, followed by a booted foot to my side. “Get away from you fucking nigg…” the boot that kicked my side was now delivering a stomp to my crotch. “Watch your mouth boy. That kind of talk will get you into a lot of trouble.” I was writhing in pain from the kick and the stomp. “Get up punk.” I lay on the ground, focusing on the pain. “GET. THE. FUCK. UP. BITCH.” I rolled on to my side, then on my hands and knees. I reached out to the guy, to try and pull myself up. He saw this and turned so that I grabbed his crotch. “Yeah, faggot, I knew that’s what you wanted. That’s why you’re out here.” He reached down, grabbed me by the hair and pulled me, dragging me to a table in the middle of the rest stop. “Take off your pants, bitch. We’ve been promised some good pussy tonight.” “Please, don’t do this to me. I’m not a faggot. Please, let me go…” He looked at me, smiled an evil grin, and said, “I don’t care if you’re a faggot or not. Your ass is ours tonight, until we’re done.” With that, he reached around to the back of my pants and tore them from the waist, down to the ass. “TAKE THE FUCKING RAG OFF NOW. Before I break another rib.” I began to cry, whimpering “please…” as I reached down, pushed the shredded sweats down and stepped out of them. The black man reached down to my crotch, and covered it completely with his right hand. Using his grip, which felt like it was crushing my cock and balls, he pushed me back, until my knees hit a table. “Lay down, whore. I wanna watch your face as I rape that queer ass. Although, you’re a faggot, so is it really rape when you love taking it up the ass?” And he laughed as he pushed me down. “Slow down Marquise, you don’t get to go first.” I looked over and the guy from the restroom was staring down at me. “What the fuck man, thought this cunt was open game.” “It’s open game, but there is one man here who gets first shot at fucking this little bitch. Don’t worry about him getting loose though, he’s gonna be tight as he is now, for the rest of the night. Even after you get through with him.” “Fuck man, I want this bitch to spread for me, but I’ll follow the rules.” “You ready, man?” the bathroom guy called out. Soon, there were men surrounding me, I couldn’t see how many, but there were a lot. “Please don’t do this. I’m not a fag.” The guys laughed, some taunted me, but soon the guys at my feet parted and the guy who would apparently fuck me first, walked through. The guy moved closer into the light, and my gut dropped as his face came clearer. “Joey, you fucking little queer.” The bathroom guy smiled and looked at the guy. “Hey little brother, I told you this little bitch was a fucking cum hungry queer pussy boy.” “You fucking disgust me Joey. Letting my brother fuck you in the bathroom, taking his load in your cunt. If I’d known this is what you were, you’d never have been on the team.” “Please Coach, get me out of here. I’m not a queer, I don’t want this.” “Get you out of here? Bitch I watched you take my brother’s cock up that pussy. I’m gonna get a little piece of that ass before we turn you over to the other guys. But don’t worry boy, I’m not gonna kick you off the team. No, I think you’re gonna have a new role as the cum rag mascot for the other guys. They win, they get to use you.” “Marquise, was it? Can you do me a favor? Hold this little bitch’s legs up so I can get in that cunt?” For the third time that night, a zipper was pulled down and a cock was taken out to fuck my cunt. My legs were pulled to my chest, leaving my ass an open target. “How many loads did he take? Should I lube up?” Coach’s brother told him, “He’s got two loads in him. He doesn’t get any lube other then the cum in his pussy.” I felt coach move between my legs, his thick cock head touching my hole. “Here cums your next cock, faggot.” I screamed out loud as he ripped into my ass. My hole should have been loose after the first two fuckers, but it felt like I was losing my virginity again. “NOOOO. Take it out, I can’t take it.” The guys all around only laughed. “Fuck that pussy.” “Rape his cunt.” “Breed his ass.” “Let his legs go Marquise. I want him to hold them himself.” The coach’s brother took one of my hands, Marquise took the other, and moved them to the back of my knees. “Spread those legs wide bitch. You’ve got about 60 guys to go after Coach is down plowing that cunt.” He leaned down to look me in the face, and said, “Open your eyes, princess.” I opened them and looked at him, struggling through the agony of the cock raping my ass. “Each time you get fucked, each time a new cock rips into that hole? You’re gonna feel like it’s the first time. It will hurt like a son of a bitch each time. And each time you take a load, you’re gonna feel the scalding hot cum burn into your ass. This will never be something you like. But we’re going to love raping you over and over again.” He reached down with his mouth, stuck out his tongue and lightly licked up a tear from my cheek. “I can taste your pain. So can your Master.” The fucking that I was getting from the coach increased in intensity. He was long dicking me, shoving his cock deep into my guts. “Oh fuck, I’m about ready to shoot. Do you want my load Joey? You want that hot cum deep in your pussy?” I looked at the coach, feeling his cock pound in and out of my cunt. “Tell me you want me to shoot my cum in your cunt. Let me hear you beg for it.” I glared at him, “I’m not a cunt you sick faggot.” I spat directly in the coach’s face, “I don’t want your cum in me. I’m not a queer.” Coach wiped his face off, and reached down and slapped my face as hard as he could. “You’re a faggot, on his back, legs up and taking my cock up your ass. You may not want it, but here it cums.” His speed increased, as did the pain. “Here’s my first load for you, you little whore.” He spat in my face as his cock began shooting his load in my guts. As his brother promised, I felt each scalding blast of cum as it shot into my ass. “Yeah, bitch take his load.” “Breed him.” “Knock him up.” Chanting from the guys surrounding me egged the coach on as he continued to pump his cum in me. Even after he wasn’t shooting anything more, he kept fucking me. “Don’t wreck his hole, we want some too.” Coach slowly came back down to earth and pulled his cock out of my ass. My hole felt like it was on fire and I could feel the cool air briefly in my open pussy. This lasted only a second or two, before I heard one guy mutter, “Holy fuck. This queer is something good. His hole just closed back up.” Marquise and the coach switched places. “Open that mouth Joey. You need to clean my cock off.”

Part 7 I heard footsteps coming towards me, and I knew it was going to happen again. “How’s the little bitch doing? Did he enjoy his first breeding?” This was a new voice, but something seemed familiar. “Oh, he says he didn’t, but he was rock hard and dripping. And he lost a little of my seed, so he had to be punished. Hope you don’t mind the damage. He might have a broken nose and the workings of a black eye.” “That’s fine. This little bitch has been teasing for so long with that hard jock ass parading around here. And even more when he’s in the locker room. Strutting around showing off that ass and then acting like a pure little angel and not spreading his ass. It’s about time he learns his lesson.” “With what you’re about to shove up him, he’s gonna learn more than just a lesson.” “He’s gonna be seeing stars when this rips him open. Did you spoil the fun and tell him?” “Yeah, wanted to see his reaction when he learned he was taking my poz load. But there’s more to tell.” “Oh, you didn’t tell him the best part?” “No, Sir. I’m not looking to piss you off and face your wrath. I’m not that stupid, more than 3-4 times.” Both men laughed as they talked about me like I wasn’t there. “Boy, you flatter me. You know I love giving you the wrath. And you know you love feeling it ripping into your ass.” Without any warning, my head was again yanked back by the hair. “Pretty soon Joey, you’ll learn that you love being on your knees in front of men, spreading that ass for any man to fuck that sloppy cunt and add another load of cum to your guts. But I really hope you don’t like it. Because then it will be even more fun to watch you be a bitch for every man to use and abuse, each cock another reminder that you are nothing. Nothing but a pussy for men, a cunt who is so worthless you can’t even get knocked up. A sloppy, stretched out, gaping hole that will take fists, cocks, piss, and what ever a guy wants to put up there. How’s that sound?” I tried looking in what I thought his direction and shaking my head. “Keep fighting boy, it’ll make me enjoy your destruction and humiliation even more. It’ll make seeing you walk around campus more fun to see you go from a proud, macho jock, to a depraved cum dump, looking around for you next deposit. And the best part? You may never realize who I am and what I will be telling people about you. You’re gonna be our new campus whore. Bending over any time, any where, prepping for another fuck. Another load of cum.” Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this? The voice moved, and said, “Boy, pin his head to the wall. I want him to see what’s cumming.” My head was again shoved into the wall, again to face the camera. I heard some shuffling and then the tell tale zipper rasp again. A deep grunt was soon followed by, “Sir, did you go bigger again?” A muffled response of, “Yes” was followed by, “Take his blindfold off.” Again, the blindfold was loosened and dropped to hang around my neck. “Look at me Joey. Look into your reckoning.”

Part 4 “Damn, a virgin cunt for me to break in. Good thing you’re gagged, because you’re going to be in a world of pain.” I did everything I could, in my powerless state, to try and get this guy to stop. I heard myself begging, but all that came out were whimpers. I tried moving forward to the wall which only got me a harder smack on my ass. “Do that again bitch and my boot and your balls get to know each other REALLY intimately.” I moved back to the original position. I heard a dull rasp that I recognized as a zipper and realized he was getting his cock out. I tried to picture it again, hoping it wasn’t too large. I heard him clear his throat a couple of times before a wet glob fell onto the top of my ass crack. I felt a huge, hard, blunt object smear the spit on my hole and realized it was his cock head. The head felt like the size of a lemon and I could feel him pushing a little on my hole, which caused me to instinctively clench it. I heard a depraved laugh and he said, “Oh, bitch, are you trying to keep my cock out of your cunt? That’s so sweet. You saving yourself for your special man, giving him your innocence?” I shook my head, but confused, I also nodded. “That’s so sweet. But sadly, you aren’t good enough to be someone’s special gift. You’re nothing but a fine piece of ass, a cunt for any man to fuck and dump his load in. As a matter of fact, I think that pussy is going to be getting some very special treatment very soon.” I heard a slippery noise, which I recognized from many years of jerking off with only spit to lube up. I felt his finger at my hole again, and again I flinched. Soon enough, his cock head was at my hole again. I felt hot breath at my ear and him whispering, “I know you don’t want this. I know you are only here because you’re afraid of what I could do. But nobody but you and me know that. Everyone else knows what I told them; that you begged me to set this up. That you wanted to get fucked, in a toilet. You begged for a raw cock as your first fuck. Oh you stupid little punk, I own you, from your cocksucking mouth, down to your cumdump little pussy. And now, I’m busting your cherry.” With that said, he removed the blindfold and shoved my head into the wall, turning it to the left, where I could now see the full truth, a video camera staring down at me. I tried to look back at the guy and all he said was, “Your balls don’t want you to do that. Look at the camera bitch.” I did and my eyes exploded in agony as his cock was shoved into my ass.

Part 2 I sent back a response begging for another way out, but only received one response, “This account has been deleted.” I sat there starting at the message, thinking this was just some really disgusting joke, or that I was having a nightmare. But it seemed to be too real for it to be a joke. I saw the picture again, and the audio file. I tried negotiating with myself, trying to figure out any other way out of this. I couldn’t think of anything that would work, that would prevent the video from getting out. I also knew that if my coach found out, I’d be kicked off the team and lose my scholarship. The coach was a real right-wing freak and he’d drum me out faster than I could beg for a chance. As the minutes dragged by, I came to the realization that my only option was going to be to show up at the rest stop and beg the guy face to face to not do this. I had no desire to get fucked, to lose my virginity to some random guy in a smelly restroom at a freeway rest stop. I looked at the clock and it was almost 6:00pm. I knew that, from reading stories, I needed to clean my ass out, so I went and got an enema kit, and spent the next hour cleaning my ass out until my guts hurt, but the water was clear. Putting on my jockstrap, I dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants and slowly trudged to the car. The thoughts going through my head were words to use to beg the guy or to think of how much money I could scrounge up to try and buy my way out. Neither of those seemed to be a viable option. Without really noticing the drive, I was pulling into the rest stop at 9:25 and parking in the last available spot. There seemed to be more cars tonight then I had ever noticed before and all the truck spots were filled as well. At 9:30, I walked in to the restroom and found two urinals occupied, and one stall open. The guys at the urinals looked at me as I walked in, then looked back down. I walked to the handicap stall and saw a brown paper bag in the corner. I closed and locked the door, and leaned back against it. I had not seen the guy from the other night, so knew there was no way out. It seemed like an hour, but in two seconds I had picked up and opened the bag. On the top was a slip of paper, which I took out. Typed and printed on the paper was the following message: “Hello you little fucking prude. I see that my earlier message was something you chose to follow directions on. Did you like the picture and the audio? Trust me when I say that the audio is even better when it’s on screen cumming out of your mouth. Now, I hope you followed my instruction and wore a jockstrap, because it will really make getting into that fine hairy pussy of yours a little easier. In the bag you will find three things, which you will be wearing for the next few minutes: a blindfold, a ball gag, and a pair of handcuffs. All three will be so that you don’t do anything stupid while you’re earning your way out of this. First, you’re going to strip down to your shoes and jockstrap and put the clothes in the bag. Next, you will insert the ball gag into your cocksucking mouth which I’ve already learned is very talented. Next, you will attach one of the cuffs to the wrist of your choice. You’ll then unlock and open the stall door all the way. Finally you will put the blindfold on and face the wall with the hand rail, so that hot ass is facing the doorway. Once that is all done, you will stand like that and wait for further instruction.” I heard guys come in, piss and leave while I was reading this. For a moment, I thought about putting the bag down and leaving, willing to take my chances. But something kept me from leaving. Fear? Or excitement? I set the bag down and stripped out of the sweats and t-shirt. I took the items out of the bag and put the clothes in. I looked at the ball gag and was disgusted by the site of teeth marks in it. Apparently this sick fuck has used it on other guys, guys who probably were into this kind of shit. I opened my mouth, put the ball in and strapped it behind my head. I looked at the cuffs and they looked like real police cuffs. I put one on my right wrist, fastening it at the first click I heard, leaving it loose. I slipped the blindfold on, placing it on my forehead for the time being. Deep in my head, I heard a voice screaming at me to stop this and get the hell out of there. I wish I had listened…

That makes me so horny. I'm not even into pain but holy fuck watching the vids and everything nothing else makes my ass twitch more. Again blood and pain are not me thing but damn would I like to experience that once

I dunno. My dog expects one-on-one personal time on our walks, not to watch me get fucked. 😆

Super hard in public toilets but especially when I have to use a porta-potty. There's one I'll hit up at a nearby park. In the summer it's especially pungent to the point I'll find myself needing to jerk off in it.

What in the actual fuck? This somewhat erases every load I shot or got when a porn with him was playing...destroyed. LOL seriously though of all people...

I've never understood people who dislike pubic hair and hair around dicks. This is the way some people's dicks are. When the dick is inside you you can't see it so who the fuck cares? As an aesthetic thing, sure, we all have preferences, but once you're fucking? Makes no sense to me. Frankly, you're well rid of this princess.

In Meat Rack (Sc. 8 In the Living Room) Dawson is the middle of a threeway with Little Joe and Bryan Hanson and cums on Little Joe's hole. In the 1000 load fuck (Sc. 5 Legends) Dawson plows Ian Jay and Brad McGuire slides inside Dawson In Dawson's 50 Load Weekend Part 2 (Sc. 5 Room for Two More), Dawson ends up fucking Tony Rocco Those are the only ones I know of

For sure one of the greatest stories on this forum!

Easy bathhouse locker hack: Bring your own combination padlock. Leave the key in the locker. Use your combination padlock to access the locker contents.

Be happy to help

That’s one of my favorite way to share ass juices! I share a dildo with someone and we stick it up our holes back and forth and until all our ass cream and DNA are combined into one yummy bond!

Seriously! That’s what it’s all about in the brotherhood: SHARING everything. And I love having another man’s ass juices inside my ass, delivered by a rock hard cock bareback that has just been inside another brother as he goes inside me. I cum so hard just knowing I am that much more connected with the Brotherhood

Would this also include ass to other mouth? Like having a top stick his cock into someone else's ass then into your mouth? I love that kind of porn but not sure if I could do that in real life, unless fully bound and helpless I suppose lol

PART 5 Henry said I’d know where to find him again. Apparently I didn’t. The first few days after he bred me I stuck close to campus. I was jumble of emotions. Anxiety had set in quickly — how did I let myself get pozzed?!?! It wasn’t even an accident. I had begged for it. How had a trip to the store turned into my being bred by a relative stranger? And how many times had Jared been there and done that? But every time I jerked off the rest of the week, I thought about Henry’s cock spewing inside me. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I didn’t want to admit it, but I wanted it again. Friday I went looking for Henry at the bar and didn’t see him. After hanging with my friends and having some beers, I snuck off and went to Henry’s apartment, but he wasn’t there. I looked again a few times on Saturday, but no luck. I told myself I’d make him but on a condom this time. I even put one in my pocket when I went out. I was so horny, I went to the newsstand two towns over where I knew they sold old porn mags with he covers cut off. I bought a pack for a few bucks, and at the last second asked to buy a bottle of poppers. I’d never bought my own before. I had them in my pocket Saturday night when I went back to the bar, but still no Henry. It was Sunday morning and I went to shower. The dorm was pretty quiet; I didn’t hear many guys moving around, yet. They’d given everyone a single for the summer, so while the rooms on the second and third floors were all being used, there was still less than half the usual number of people. Our summer dorm was the oldest on campus, so the bathrooms and showers were older. It was more of a group shower with curtains you could pull between them, which a lot of the guys did. I had them to myself this morning, so didn’t bother pulling the curtains. I was showering when I heard the door open and saw a security guard come in. He went to the line of sinks and started washing his hands. I thought about grabbing the shower curtain and pulling it closed, but I felt like that was kinda dickish to do just because someone walked in. Guys are naked in the shower room all the time. I shampooed my hair and rinsed it out. Then I noticed the guard was still in the room, seemingly washing his face. Struck me as a bit odd. This room only had two sinks and the set of showers; the bathroom was on the other side of the wall and had a whole row of sinks. No one usually came in here just to use the sinks. I conditioned my hair and started my body wash routine — feet, calves, thighs, ass, cock and balls, abs, pecs, and finally my arms. I looked over my shoulder to see if the guard was still there — I hadn’t heard the door open or close. He was still doing something at the sink, but seemed to look in the mirror. When our eyes met, he left the shower room. I finished up my shower, wrapped the towel around my waist, and headed down the hallway back to my dorm room. I liked these quiet mornings in the dorm before breakfast. I went into my room and left the door open to circulate the summer air; the entire week had been muggy, and the dorm didn’t have A/C. I was picking out underwear when I noticed the security guard go by my door. I figured he must be headed to the stairwell. But then he went by again, slower this time. I definitely caught him looking into my room as he walked by. I got a weird tingle seeing him walk past again. Was something up? Why was security lingering on the floor and checking out my room? I dropped my towel and slipped on my underwear, tucking my junk into the pouch in the front. I was reaching for the shorts I’d left hanging on a chair when I saw the guard again. This time he was just standing in my doorway. I was startled and yelped. “Sorry,” he said. “I just wanted to check in and make sure everything was okay.” “Why? Is something up?” He stepped into my room. “Just thought I’d say hey.” He walked up to me; I felt awkward standing there in just my underwear. This was weirdly exciting but odd nonetheless. “I’m thinking we have a friend in common.” “Who’s that?” “Henry,” he said conspiratorially. He looked me up and down, not being shy about it. “You’re even hotter than he described. Athletic and ginger.” “Thanks,” was all I could think to say. I was standing there awkwardly, not knowing what to do. I started to reach for my pair of shorts again, but he put his hand on my chest to stop me. “I don’t think you need those,” he said, running his hand across my chest and down my abs. “I liked what you were wearing in the shower better.” I started breathing heavier. This surge of horniness went through me. Was this really happening?!?! One of the campus security guards was coming on to me. There was no mistaking it. “Doors open,” I said nervously, pulling away from his exploring hand. I saw my cock was getting hard in my underwear. The guard looked down at my hard bulge and grinned. He took a few steps back to the door and closed it gently. “Better now,” he said. He looked good in that uniform. Tall, strong build. He was almost a foot taller than me. He had a muscular chest beneath the tight blue uniform. His arms were nicely muscled, too. He started running his hands across my body, exploring, sizing me up. I reached out and touched his chest, feeling it through the fabric. “Like my body, ginger boy?” I nodded. “Good answer. Now get the underwear off.” I slipped the underwear down and left them on the floor. The guard didn’t waste any time reaching for my ass. He slapped it. “Nice bubble.” He slapped it again which hurt; I winced. “Now turn around. Put your hands on the desk behind you.” I turned around, facing the large window in my room that looked out of the quad. It was still quiet out there. I felt him spread my ass apart, probing at my hole. “That’s a sweet ginger hole. I’m gonna put that to good use.” He stood up and pushed the crotch of his uniform against my ass. The good boy in me panicked. “Be sure to use a condom,” I said. “There’s some there on the table.” “You put it on me when we’re ready for it,” he said. I heard him undoing his belt buckle and unzip. I leaned over and picked up the condom and put it next to me on the desk. He stepped over to the table I had pushed up next to the bunk bed as a nightstand. He picked up the lube and squirted it into one hand. I could see his cock standing straight out of his uniform pants. It was thick! He started to massage my hole using the lube, working it into my hole. “I like a tight hole,” he said. He took my hand and wrapped it around the shaft of his cock. I could feel the heat of his skin, and even smell the musk. What was happening?! Ten minutes ago I was in the shower. Alone. Now I’m about to get fucked in my dorm room! The good boy in me said we should say no and put an end to it. But he was out voted — my hole was totally turned on, and it was now in charge. I pushed my ass back against his hand. “Hungry are we?” He said. “Get up on the desk, lay back. Hang your ass over the edge.” I turned around and sat on the edge of the desk. I laid back, adjusting my ass so it was at the edge. He lifted my legs and slapped his hardon against my hole. He rested the bottle of poppers I’d bought yesterday on my chest. “Popper up.” I unscrewed the bottle and held it to one nostril, inhaling deeply. I started to feel a growing buzz as I moved the bottle to the opposite nostril. I was transfixed on the guard slathering lube onto his cock. “Lay back, legs up. Show me that ginger hole.” I leaned back onto the desk and lifted my legs, my ass hanging off the end of the desk. He pressed his hands behind my knees, forcing my legs wider and really exposing my ass. The poppers washed over me. My heart started racing and there was a moment where the room seemed to go darker. That craving for cock came with it again, and I started flexing my hole for him. “That’s it,” he growled. “That’s what I wanna see.” He started teasing my hold with the head of his thick cock. He picked up the lube and dribbled more onto my hole, then spread it with his cock. I could feel the heat coming off the bare head. Something about a condom crossed the back of my head. The voice was a distant whisper that was overwhelmed by the craving I was feeling. “Fuck me,” I said quietly. “What was that, ginger boy?” “Fuck me,” I said more firmly. The guard pushed his cock against my hole, prying it open with the force. I felt the muscles give way and his thickness started to fill me. I winced and then gasped with the thickness stretching my hold. The opened condom went ignored on the desk beside me. “Fuuuuck…. That’s a tight ginger hole. “Gonna have to stretch you out to really enjoy this.” My mind was swirling. I was in my dorm room, naked on the desk, with someone whose name I don’t even know burying his cock inside me. If anyone in the rooms across the quad from mine looked out their windows, they’d be able to see me getting fucked. “People can see in the windows,” I gasped. “Good. Maybe they’ll want some of this, too.” He thrust all the way in til his balls were pressed against my ass. I groaned with the intense penetration. “College guys can’t get enough of this cock.” He started pounding away at my ass. I was moaning, probably louder than I should have in the dorm.People would be waking up and hear me, but I couldn’t control it. I felt totally drunk on his cock. I felt amazing! He could see it in my face. “You love this cock, don’t you, ginger boy?” “Fuck yeah!” He grinned a wicked grin. “Oops. Someone forgot to put the condom on me. Guess I know what you really want this morning.” The fucking was relentless. He took my ass in an aggressive series of thrusts. I groaned as he pummeled me. It was a wild mix of pleasure and pain. I fumbled for the poppers and awkwardly took another hit, hoping it would soften the roughness of the fuck. “Don’t worry. I’m almost there…..” he said. Those words sent a thrill through me. I grabbed my own cock and began jacking it. The guard had a wicked look on his face. “Fuck yeah. You want this gift. I knew you did. Knew it as soon as I saw you showing off in the shower. Knew you’d want to get pozzed again. Fucking slut.” He spat on me. I was totally fixated on him, on the relentless fucking I was taking. He was going to breed me. The good boy voice in the back of my head screamed again, but the rest of me wanted it. “Fuck yeah!” He said loudly. “Fuck yeah! I’m cumming! I’M CUMMING!!” A part of me knew everyone had just heard that. Some strange guy’s voice was coming from my room declaring his dominance over me. He came with a rush, his body shaking as his cock pulsed. He unleashed his load inside me, electrifying me. Instead of burying his load deep, he just kept pumping it into me. There was nothing I could do except take it from him. My own cock burst, spewing jizz across my chest and even hitting my face. My body spasmed. The guard pulled out, letting my legs just dangle off the desk. They didn’t quite fall to the floor — my muscles were too worked up and activated to relax. Instead I just held myself there, body spasming from the exertion, covered in my own jizz. He came over and pushed his cock into my face. “Clean it off,” he commanded. I didn’t have a choice as he roughly pushed his cum slicked cock into my mouth. “Taste your ginger ass on there, boy. Taste some of the cum I left inside you. Clean it off real good so I can go back to work.” When he was satisfied, he put himself together again, tucking his cock inside his pants. He’d never undressed, just pulled out his cock. The uniform clearly didn’t interfere with his fucking the hell oughta me. “You’re gonna need another shower,” he said, lightly slapping my tight abs. He ran his hands over my smooth torso. “Hot body. I’m gonna enjoy using it.” He walked to the door, leaving me laying on my desk. “Have a good one, bud.” And walked out, leaving the door open as he walked down the hallway. [What is going to become of our newest cumdump college boy, Justin? I suspect there’s more ahead for him! If you enjoyed this chapter, let me know. A blue heart (or a 🐷) is always appreciated — a simple form of feedback inspires me. Thanks!]

Diagnosed a little over a year ago. Went on meds because it was the best option for me at the time. So I guess for me its all still pretty fresh. Was I careful? Not even a little. Was I chasing? Not really; but before I found out I was poz I had discovered this site and a few Tumblr ones that went into the fetishising of HIV and was starting to find the idea more and more of a turn on. So its likely that my outcome was inevitable. I wasn’t shocked put it that way. Do I regret it. Yes and no. Like all things that change your life there are two sides. How you deal always depends on you as a person. I’m lucky in as much as in the UK, at least so far, meds are taken care of. The support offered to me has been second to none and my own pragmatism has meant that its just a fact about myself that I have assimilated. How or if you share is tricky. Stigma is real and people will be different once they know. Decades of negative press and attaching the notions of “dirty” have made people unconsciously assume that all people with HIV revel in filth. It is something they have done rather than something that happened to them as with other illness. Whilst this is changing slowly there will always be those that think the worst and you won’t know which ones they are until they know. Has it been liberating? Kind of. Sure. I still cruise and enjoy hooking up. I have become more open and confident in who I am because once I learned I was poz I had a “fuck it” moment. Its not that I don’t care, but I’m not going to let it be the deciding factor in the rest of my life because I can’t change it. But I can live with it and I’m going to do so on my terms. TL;DR There is a thrill to risky sex for sure. But there are consequences. If you are the type of person who doesn’t deal with crisis but falls into drama then perhaps stick to a less rocky path. There are still views to enjoy and memories to make.

Sorry it's been a while. Hope you guys are still interested. Part 23 I woke up the next morning to the sound of my alarms going off. Thankfully I didn’t sleep through them. I still felt uncomfortably horny, especially when I tidied away the discarded dildo from last night. I had a cold shower and threw on my suit, ready to start another day of meetings. I made my way to the office building and found myself staring at hot men as I made my way through the commute. It would be a struggle to concentrate if I didn’t get a handle on my hormones! I set up the conference room, as I had done yesterday. Stew arrived before the investors and we briefly discussed our plan of action based on the previous days meeting, Stew suggested we get out of the office for todays meeting and take the investors for an early drinking lunch, make them more relaxed and let their guards down. I hadn’t much experience in these kinds of meetings, apart from the paperwork side of things, but Stew was the CEO so I naturally followed his judgment and agreed. When the investors arrived myself and Stew met them in the lobby and we all made our way to a waiting car to take us for lunch. The investors clearly seemed pleased by the suggestion and we made our way without any problems. We were dropped off in Hell’s Kitchen at a bar called Playground, it was rustic and had long benches with tables in between them, I thought it was probably popular in the evenings with the amount of seats. We found a table and ordered a bottle of wine and started to casually chat about what had been discussed yesterday at our meeting. After the first bottle was finished Stew excused himself and came back with another bottle and a jug of water. I noticed he filled his and the investors glasses with wine and my glass with water. I was glad he was pacing me, I don’t think I’d have been able to remember all the numbers if I’d continued on the wine. After an hour or so, and the second bottle had been finished, the investors seemed more willing to sign a deal. I felt quite proud of myself, as I’d done more of the talking than Stew, he’d excused himself to the toilet just as I was really getting the other two guys attention. When he returned, with another bottle of wine, I realised I had drank the full jug of water. I made my way to the toilets in the back, I decided to go into a stall incase anyone came in and seen my dick was locked away. As I stood in front of the toilet relieving myself I noticed a black card on the cistern. It had a silver ‘x’ on one side and a web address on the other. I though it was probably an X-Men thing, I absentmindedly put it in my pocket. I cleaned up and made my way back to the table, the empty jug was gone and my glass had been filled with wine. After another half hour or so the deal was done and handshakes were exchanged. Stew suggested he take the investors back to the office to have the paper work drawn up and signed. He thanked me for my work and said I could go enjoy the rest of the day in the city. I was feeling such a buzz, I wasn’t sure if it was the successful deal or the wine I’d had. We said our goodbyes as I planned on walking the couple of blocks back to my hotel. As I walked back I could feel myself getting hornier and hornier with every guy I passed. When I eventually made it into the elevator in my hotel I reached down and adjusted myself. Thats when I realised I still had that card in my pocket. Curiosity got the best of me so I took out my phone and entered the web address on the back of the card. As the page loaded I made my way to my room and locked the door behind myself. The webpage loaded, it was all black except for a silver X, like the card. I tapped on it and an instant message popped up. “Looking to get off?” I was about to close the page, thinking it was just a spam pop-up when another message came through. “Did you enjoy your drinks in the Playroom?” I looked at the message and thought it must of been the bartender, although I couldn’t remember what he looked like. I didn’t over think it and quickly replied “The drinks were good thanks” I thought I’d get the usual spam reply of ‘looking super hot’ or something else just as lame. “If you’re still in hells kitchen then come over and have some fun” I slowly began to think that maybe this was a hookup site rather than just spam “What kind of fun?” I replied, testing out the direction of the conversation “I fuck only, total top. I’m only interested bottoms wanting fucked. I’m dominant and only care about getting myself off. Don’t worry i’m hung enough to make sure your ass will cum.” I received a couple of pictures and when I looked at them my cock strained against its cage. He was in his mid 30’s probably, really toned with a fat 8in, uncut cock. I practically drooled. “I’m in a hotel” I replied. “I live above the Playroom. Red side door, flat 2. A jock and poppers will be in the hall, get it on and make your way to the bedroom at the end of the hall. See you in 30 minutes’ With that, the message was gone, when I refreshed the webpage it no longer existed. My heart was racing and my cock was oozing pre-cum, this sounded like the exact thing I needed. I paced the hotel room, I was too horny to think clearly. I ran to the toilet and stripped off, cleaned myself out and teased my hole with the dildo to warm myself up. I had a quick shower and still had 15 minutes to walk the 2 blocks back to the bar. I threw on a black T and a pair of jeans and made my way down through the hotel and back onto the street. I started to second guess myself but I passed a couple of hot guys and instantly felt distracted by their crotches. I was in overdrive, my need to have sex was over powering. I reached the bar and spotted the red door at the side, the only buzzer on the door said flat 2. I’d barely touched it when the door clicked open. I made my way inside. At the top of a single set of stair a door was ajar, I made my way in and found a black jock and a bottle of poppers on the empty hall floor. I closed the door behind me and quickly stripped, the jock hid my caged cock comfortably, I didn’t think this guy would care that I wasn’t playing with myself. I lifted the poppers and made my way down the hall to the room at the end. When I walked in I immediately felt hands over my eyes and then a blindfold being wrapped around my face…