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Thanks for all your comments! So here's the next part of the journey. Hope you enjoy.... Part 4: The Biohazard Archives: Poz Stories and Porn The calm lasts for the rest of the night. It's a lie, of course, but a comforting one. You sleep soundly, the secret in the freezer a cold, quiet anchor. But the next morning, the lie shatters. You're making coffee. You open the freezer. The condom is still there, but that's all it is. A memory, a pathetic little trophy frozen in time. A toxic bomb, now defused and dead. The risk is gone. Without its poison, it's just a sad piece of rubber. The magic is gone. And in that moment, you realize the chilling, undeniable truth: the memory is not enough. The fantasy is not enough. The hunger is a demand, not a request. And a demand cannot be satisfied by watching. It has to be hunted. You sit back down at your laptop. The screen's glow is a sterile comfort in the dark room. You don't go to the usual apps, the ones filled with "safe" men and "normal" hookups. You go to a search engine and type in the words that have been echoing in your mind. You find a place called Breeding Zone. It's a forum, a digital promised land, and you click through the warning page without a second thought. Creating the profile feels like a clandestine act. The username is a string of random letters and numbers, untraceable. For the avatar, you don't use a picture of your face or your body. You use a close-up, macro shot of your PA ring—the heavy, 00g tribal dream circle of steel. It's a signal. A flag. And then you are in. The forum titles hit you like a physical blow. They aren't coded in polite euphemisms; they are raw, honest, and terrifyingly familiar. My First Pozzing Story. Toxic Load in a Public Toilet. Neg Bottom Looking for My First Gift. A wave of relief so powerful it makes you dizzy, washes over you. You're not a monster hiding in the shadows. You're home. These are your people. They speak your language. They understand the hunger, the need, the dark, beautiful thrill of the chase. This becomes your ritual for the next weeks. Every night, you would return to the same story, the multi-part epic called "Sleazy Sauna." The thread is massive with hundreds of thousands of views. You start reading, your heart hammering against your ribs. From the first sentence, you are not just reading; you are remembering. You are the narrator. You are the safe, middle-aged neg guy walking into that run-down sauna, the smell of damp and chlorine in the air. You feel the eyes of Sid, the old, skinny regular, on you, the thrill of his directness as he compliments your tattoos and casually asks, "Want to fuck?" And then you get to the line that makes you stop and re-read, your breath catching in your throat. When the narrator – when you - ask about a condom, Sid just keeps fucking and says, "I hate the things. Haven’t used them since I was diagnosed." At first, the word doesn't fully land. Diagnosed. It hangs in the air, a clinical, sterile word in the middle of this filthy, intimate act. And then it clicks. This isn't just some old man who prefers to fuck bare. This is a poz man who is planning to plant his toxic seed in your ass without a single thought or care as to whether you are neg or not. For a normal, safe guy, that moment should be a full-stop, a siren blaring, a reason to scream and run. It should be the definition of disturbing. But you can feel it happening to you—the shock, the fear, and the overwhelming, horned-up decision to just go along with it, to let the risk wash over you because the feeling is too good to stop. But it's the second part of the story that truly destroys you. You are again the narrator, having been tested negative and handed a get-out-of-jail-free card. And yet, you are back at the sauna, your heart pounding, your hole twitching with a need you can't explain. You hear Bill at the counter warn the you, "We've a few more in today - couple of guys I 'ain't seen for a while 'cos they've been sick. They don't take meds so their immune system is fucked." You're hard instantly, stroking yourself as you read. You are in that dark room, being pulled between two unseen bodies. You know, with a sick certainty, that these are them. These are the two toxic trolls Bill warned you about, the ones with the highly charged, untreated loads. You are the one sandwiched between them, crying with shame and depravity, feeling the ultimate surrender as you push back and squeeze your hole around their thrusting cocks, eager to milk more poz cum from them and get yourself knocked up. The words on the screen get you close, but they aren't enough to finish you. You need the visuals. You need the sounds. You minimize the forum and open the video file. You find the clip. It opens on a scene of profound intimacy. A bottom is on his back, his legs thrown up in the air, surrendering completely. A top is above him, moving inside him with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Their connection is palpable, a quiet dance of flesh that feels more like a shared prayer than a simple fuck. The gentle, rhythmic slap of skin is the only sound besides their soft moans. Then, the top’s voice cuts through the quiet, a low murmur now laced with a sudden, sharp tension. "I think it broke." And in that moment, you are the bottom. A jolt of pure ice-water panic floods your veins. This wasn't supposed to happen. This was supposed to be safe. Your mind races, screaming at you to push him off, to stop this right now. But your body betrays you. The slow, hypnotic rhythm doesn't stop, and the pleasure is too exquisite, too all-consuming. The fear is there, a sharp edge, but it's dulled by the overwhelming sensation. The top's words were a quiet confession, but to you, they are a test. He needs you to make the choice. The bottom’s response is a choked whimper of pure, unadulterated need, his back arching to meet each deep, steady thrust. "Fuck me anyway. I don't care." You understand that whimper. It's the sound of reason shattering. It's the moment the fear begins to curdle into something else—something dark and thrilling. Your hand is on your own cock, stroking in time with the slow, hypnotic rhythm on the screen. "Do you want me to pull out when I cum?" the top asks, his voice a strained whisper. He's offering one final escape, one last chance for safety. "Of course not," the bottom moans, his voice thick with unwavering desire, pulling him in closer, a silent refusal to let him escape. "But I'm positive," the top says, his voice a quiet, final warning. He's laid all his cards on the table. The risk is now real. It has a name. "I don't care," the bottom breathes. "I want your seed so bad. I want your shit... so fucking good!" That's it. That's the moment of total surrender. The fear doesn't just fade; it transforms into a desperate, all-consuming craving. The thought of his charged load, of his poz seed, is no longer a danger. It's the prize. It's what you want. They continue, the sound of a poppers cap being unscrewed cutting through the heavy breathing. The camera is locked in a single, unchanging POV. You see nothing but the top's cock, now sheathed in the tattered, broken latex, as it slowly sinks into the bottom's ass, then just as slowly withdraws. You don't see their faces. You are the bottom, feeling that broken rubber dragging against your rim with every slow, deliberate stroke. Then, a new sound. A deep sniff. The sound makes your own hand tremble with anticipation. You fumble for your own bottle, unscrewing the cap and bringing it to your nostril, timing your own sharp, desperate inhalation to perfectly match the one you are hearing through the laptop speakers. The rush hits you, a warm wave washing over you, dissolving the last of your resistance. The fear is gone, replaced by a blissful, open hunger. Your mind is no longer thinking about risk; it's focused only on the feeling, on the need to be filled, to be bred. Your head swims, your vision blurs at the edges, and your own moaning grows louder, more guttural, mingling with the sounds from the video until you can't tell where you end and the screen begins. The cock on screen never stops its slow, deliberate motion. Then, another sniff, this time from the top. You hear it, and without hesitation, you take another hit yourself, your body in perfect sync with the men you can only hear. The second rush deepens the hunger, solidifies it into a single, burning purpose. "Yeah, give me your seed," the bottom begs, his voice cracking with emotion. "Give me that fucking charged load, yeah, cum in me deep." You feel the words in your own throat. You want to beg for it, too. "Yeah, I'm gonna knock you up," the top growls, his rhythm finally beginning to speed up. "Cum as deep as you can," the bottom cries out. The top grunts, his body tensing as he unloads. He pulls out, and the camera holds on the bottom's gaping, red hole. A single, thick, perfect drop of white cum wells up and drips down. The sight of that charged drop, the sound of those words, amplified by the poppers flooding your system, is the guaranteed trigger. You cum, a huge, explosive load that shoots all over your chest and face, a desperate, solitary offering. You slump back in your chair, panting. You look down at your new jogging pants. Another load soaking into the fabric. They're stiffening with dried cum, becoming a beloved cumrag, a physical testament to how deep you're being drawn in. It was a powerful, intense orgasm, but as the waves of pleasure recede, you're still staring at the screen. The forum is just a collection of words. The clip is just pixels. And you are still alone in your apartment, your pants stiffening with another load. The relief is temporary. The hunger is permanent.

Thursday was the hottest and scariest experience I’ve ever done. I chatted with a straight guy who wanted to fuck me. He is only available early mornings. So I waited till 5 am to be awake for him. While my family are asleep. The guy arrived and I met him outside briefly and quickly led him into the backyard. I snuck him in the house through the backyard sliding door. While my parent were asleep in their rooms and my brother across from my room. We walked quietly and led him into my room. I shut the door and we both stripped naked and I sucked him deeply. He let me sniff some poppers. I ate his ass out like he demanded. Finally he fucked me hard on my bed. I was nervous of making too much noises. My bed kept on making a lot of noise. But thankfully no one woke up. But I heard my cat waking up in my brother room. We hurried and got dressed and led him out . Before my brother woke up to let the cat outside. I heard my brother took the cat out right when I went to bed. 😂 This is my actually my third experience of letting a stranger coming in my house while my family are deep asleep.

**This is a work of fantasy and fiction. Any similarity to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental. Nothing in this work should be construed as medical advice in any way** Chapter 3: Zero for 135 All during the drive home from Palm Springs, even when traffic slowed to its inevitable crawl once he hit West Covina, Dr. Matthew’s head was spinning…he had taken about 18 certifiable, unmedicated and toxic loads up his hole the day before, including 4 from his mentor, Dr. Dan Martinelli. Were there a few moments when he said to himself “What have you done?” Definitely there were…but then the voice in his head reassured him that this is what he wanted, he got into that sling willingly and his own cock shot multiple loads of cum while the poz guys gang-banged him, and later while Martinelli bred him 4 times with his poz seed. It was his destiny and he didn’t want to deny it any longer. So any doubts in his mind were doused and he knew he was on the right path to becoming part of the brotherhood. As an infection disease doctor, he also knew poz conversion from fucking was still relatively unlikely and it’s highly unusual to turn poz from just one night. Yeah, he would wait for the “fuck flu” to hit in a few weeks but he wasn’t confident it would hit, not yet,anyway – so he wasn’t confident, but was hopeful. No, the only way to ensure his getting over the line and seeing 2 red lines on a test strip was to keep taking poz loads. And he knew just who he should speak to about that. Arriving early at the office on Monday morning, Matthew poured some coffee for himself and waited for Keith to arrive. He had sent a text on Sunday afternoon asking Keith to come in a few minutes early as there was something he wanted to mention to him. “Hey, Doc,” Keith greeted him, breezing in and ready to work as always, his ultra-confident manner and eagerness to start a new work week always impressed his employer, Dr Matthew. Keith was looking especially hot this morning in his tight blue scrubs and with the lower part of his radioactive symbol tattoo peeking out under his sleeve. “How was your weekend, Doctor?” the nurse asked, settling in the chair on the other side of Matthew’s desk and sipping his coffee. “I wanted to tell you something, Keith”, the doctor started hesitantly. “It’s not a work thing, it’s more of a personal thing,” he said, shifting in his chair. Keith could sense the young idealistic Doctor was uncomfortable. “I went to Palm Springs,” he began, “specifically the men’s club over in Cathedral City. I enjoyed myself more than I ever have before, and I took about 18 loads of poz cum, including 4 from Dr. Martinelli.” He had blurted out the words, not stopping to gauge his listener’s reaction or thinking about the appropriateness of telling an employee this information. “Oh, yeah, Dan called me Sunday morning,” Keith said, a sly smile “welcome to the chase!” Dr Matthew looked up with a start. He was surprised that even Keith and Dan Martinelli knew each other, but as he thought about it, he realized ‘of course, they are part of the poz brotherhood that has sprung up.’ “What did he say, specifically?” was all the young doctor could utter as he processed this information. “Just that you’re on the chase now, and he helped you out. He said I should aim to help you as well, if you’d be into that…unless it would be awkward since I work for you.” Still kind of reeling from this info, Dr Matthew simply said “Yeah, it’s probably best we don’t mix work and pleasure like that, Keith. But maybe you can put me in the path of some of your poz buddies who can help me out.” And that is how, two nights later, Dr. Matthew had an “appointment” with a friend of Keith’s, a burly Scottish man named Angus who pozzed up himself about three years ago from Randy, a founding member of The Ten. Angus had just earned his first X tattoo and was looking for more conversions from his potent HIV cum. Angus volunteered to be the dedicated gifter to young Dr. Matthew for 6 weeks, and for those weeks they met two or three times per week, every time Angus loading up the young chasing doctor with high-viral seed. Dr Matthew, being the somewhat obsessive person he was, kept a “pozzing spreadsheet” and by the end of the 6 weeks, it showed Angus has deposited 45 loads of HIV into Matthew’s mancunt. Most of their sessions began the same way: Matthew would prep his hole and come over to Angus’ apartment and assume the doggy position, which Angus favored. Frequently, a toothbrush was used to scratch up Matthew’s pretty little hole and then Angus would unleash his uncut poz weapon inside the young chaser’s ass. It was more clinical than anything romantic but still Matthew’s neg cock would spurt forth a couple of loads of cum as Angus’ thick uncut poz pole plundered the young doctor’s neg mancunt. Angus, like all of The Ten, was a proven poz multi-cummer and one fuck per night simply wouldn’t do, and in a few minutes the burly Scot would be back up the young doctors pussy to inseminate more toxic seed. And it went on like this for those 6 weeks, yet Dr. Matthew still had no signs of the fuck flu he was all too familiar in seeing in others. For all of Angus’s efforts, his strain did not imprint inside Matthew’s body. Matthew figured it would happen, but even after 45 loads of infected Scottish seed, the deed had not been done…in terms of poz results vs poz loads taken, he was now 0 for 63. He admitted to himself a bit of discouragement. Every home test would only display one red line, never two. Angus had to travel to the UK at the end of September, so Keith set Matthew up with a new dedicated donor: Mack, or “Sir Mack,” as his social media accounts proclaimed was a dominant black Daddy type, originally from Trinidad, who had been pozzing chasers in Miami for years now, with a great track record, Sir Mack and his 10-inch pierced pozzing stick had brought over 30 guys into the brotherhood, an effort dedicated with 3 dark X’s inked across his mid-section, as well as a biohazard symbol on each arm and a scorpion with a bloody red stinger emblazoned across his chest. Mack threw a mean fuck into whoever’s hole was in front of him, and as with all members of The Ten, he could cum buckets, and repeatedly in a single pozzing session. Mack had decamped to California for a few weeks to film content…his fan pages were wildly popular, with thousands of guys subscribing to see Mack roughly plow faceless bottoms into poz status. Sir Mack, therefore, eagerly accepted the gig from Keith to poz up the young doctor…he had a particular fixation on infecting medical professionals and turning them into poz cumdumps and gifters. He counted 8 nurses, 3 physical therapists, 4 respiratory therapists, 2 psychologists among his poz progeny, all of whom have further passed the gift to countless others. Now he would get a Medical Doctor, and an HIV specialist at that, to breed and gift into the brotherhood, and he could hardly wait. Keith warned Dr. Matthew that as hot and sexy as Angus was, Sir Mack throws an entirely different fuck into a bottom – Mack is rough and dominant and when he wants to fuck and breed his HIV into someone, nothing stops him. “You’re basically just a hole when you’re in Sir Mack’s vicinity, Doc,” was what Keith told the young HIV chasing doctor. “He threw me around like a ragdoll when we fucked, so brace yourself. You’ll love it, but it’s a wild ride.” As he drove to Sir Mack’s rental house, Matthew was nervous but excited. He would have been happy if Angus had ended up his pozfather, but since that didn’t happen, he was eager for Mack to convert him. Matthew had decided he wanted to know his gifter, the man who would shoot his HIV into his hole and turn the chaser in him into the newest member of the Class of 2025 poz brotherhood. As much as he had liked the Cathedral City gangbang from Frankie and Co., he wanted a deep connection to his gifter, to know the strain that pozzed him. Would it be Sir Mack? His hole twitched in anticipation. He was also expecting a dominant Daddy-type to do to him what Keith described – throw him around like a ragdoll. So, imaging his surprise when Sir Mack opened the door and greeted Matthew with a deep kiss and hug. Whereas Angus would greet Matthew fully naked and hard, ready to AIDS-fuck, Mack greeted him at the door fully clothed and, in fact, wearing an apron, and embraced him deeply followed by a tender kiss. “What was happening,” Matthew thought to himself? “I thought I’d make you some dinner, since you’ll be here awhile,” Mack explained, walking into the kitchen and stirring a large pot bubbling on the stove. “Of course, we’ll eat after we take care of business,” Mack said, turning back to Matthew and smiling a 1000-watt smile at him. “There’s some wine there,” he said, pointing to an opened bottle of red. “Help yourself.” “You look a little stunned, Matthew,?” Mack asked. “It’s just that I think I expected a different sort of welcome,” the young doctor replied, “I had heard you would be very rough.” Mack chuckled “Oh, that’s just my fan content stuff…gotta maintain the stereotype. When you look like me, guys expect a certain scene. Did Keith tell you that? Yeah, I fucked Keith a few times on the fan page…that was ‘content,’ this is different. This is more real, just you and me. If I’m gonna be your poz Daddy, I think we need to establish more of a connection, don’t you?” Matthew was relieved to hear this and his hole twitched some more. “Why don’t you go upstairs and get those clothes off and get into bed,” Mack told the young doctor “I’ll be up in a minute,” he said, switching off the stove burner and moving the pot into the oven. Matthew did as instructed, got into bed and was fingering his twitching hole, his cock expanding as he heard Mack’s footsteps on the stairs. “Leave your hole to me,” Mack said, seeing Matthew fingering it. And with that, Mack gently turned Matthew onto his stomach, hiked up his legs and ass and ate out the young doctor’s negative pussy for about 10 minutes. Matthew was in ecstasy at this – Angus almost never rimmed him, or for very long, and Mack’s caring treatment of Matthew’s hole had him so relaxed and open, like no one had ever done prior. “You’re ready,” Mack finally announced and Matthew felt the first of Mack’s 10 thick inches penetrate his waiting cunt. “Little bit at first, I have wanted in this pussy for a long time, I want to take my time right now,” Mack told him as Matthew braced himself for the remainder of the pierced HIV club Mack was pressing into him. At Mack’s command, he breathed deeply and Mack used that to slide the rest of the fat AIDS-cock into the young, impressionable doctor. He was in up to the hilt now. Typical of all The Ten, Mack’s cock was precumming like crazy, already spreading his HIV into the young doctor. Slowly, Mack began to piston it in and out of the hole, Matthew writhing in pleasure and moaning into the pillow. Mack took his left arm and brought the young doctor up close to him…”Feel that cock in there, Matthew? It’s bringing you right into the poz brotherhood,” he said repeatedly as he picked up his pace and soon was plunging the poz weapon deep inside the young physician. This went on for awhile, longer than Frankie, or Dr. Martinelli or Angus ever lasted up inside Matthew’s neg mancunt, but Mack was having too much fun and pleasure to want to stop now and the deep drilling continued for another 15 minutes without a break, the young doctor squirming and moaning in pleasure. Finally, the moment came for Mack to impregnate Matthew with this viral load and as usual with Mack, it was a gusher – Matthew, in his daze, could feel 11 or 12 shots of pure venom unloaded into him from the powerful Trinidadian Daddy, but honestly it could have been more than that, he was in such bliss knowing this titan of a man was loading him up with pure poz seed. Mack shuddered and thrust his cock deeper, as if to get every drop of HIV into the young doctor and then finally withdrew and rolled Matthew over onto his back and beside him. “We’ll go again in a few minutes,” he said “You know, I’m good for at least 3 more loads, and you’ll be getting them, and then we can eat,” he said, passing Matthew a glass of water. “Stay hydrated and hold that seed in your hole, Doctor. I’ll be adding more shortly.” The process went on for another 3 hours, as Mack would deeply rim the gaping hole, tasting some of his own AIDS-cum and bringing it up to Matthew to sample as well. Then, more deep and prolonged fucking and loading up the doctor’s hole, which by the fourth plundering of the evening, was blown out into an O shape, HIV-cum clinging to the walls. Mack thrust a lucite dildo up into the hole and told Matthew to keep it there. They finally went down to eat and drink some more wine, Matthew was spinning out in his head at the thought of Mack’s potent seed already possibly doing it’s work on his body, penetrating its defenses and converting the chaser into a successful poz brother. And this was what happened every few nights for the entirety of the 6 weeks that Mack was staying in Los Angeles. By Matthew’s spreadsheet, he had received 72 loads of Mack’s AIDS-seed, so imagine the disappointment at every home test showing only the one line of negativity and not the two red lines of beautiful HIV positivity. Eventually, Mack’s short-term lease was up – in addition to his working to poz Matthew, he had filmed dozens of hard-driving fuck scenes with scores of guys for his content pages, so it was finally time for him to return home to Miami. There was an emotional scene at the LAX departures lobby as Matthew wept softly into Sir Mack’s broad shoulders at not converting by him, but Mack reassured the young doctor. “Do not worry, son, it will happen, and when it does we will celebrate,” and with that, he was through security and out of sight in the crush of the airport. Matthew pulled out his phone to look at the spreadsheet…by Matthew’s calculations, this meant 135 loads of cum, from the gangbang in Cathedral City, from his mentor Dr. Martinelli, from Angus and now from Sir Mack had failed to upgrade Dr. Matthew into the poz brotherhood. Class of 2025 might have to wait until Class of 2026! He knew what he had to do: He dialed Keith’s number. End of Chapter 3

Today I was in Jefferson City Missouri for some easy repair work so I jump on sniffies and I’ve got it running in the background and I jump on periodically looking for what ever catches my eye. I wasn’t sure if I was in a bottoming mood or a topping mood. Anyway I happen to see a few miles away on the map that there was this 33 year old muscle hairy top with a nice 8” cock. The kind that has a huge bulbous head on the end. So I shoot him a message and wait and o go back to work. A few min later I check and he had replied and we exchange some pics and at this point I’m wanting to bottom for this alpha top. So I finish my work and I run to the gas station to clean out in the bathroom. I shoot him a message and say I’m cleaned out and I have an hour that I can take for lunch and he said he could host so he shoots me the address and we get there at about the same time bur he welcomes me in and he is fucking hot short hair and muscular as hell. I could see he was fit even through his button up shirt. So he asked if I wanted a drink or something and I said naw and that I’d like to get right to it so he leads me back to his bedroom and we strip and I fall to my knees and suck his cock and I’m doing my best to deep throat him but that head was so big I could barley fit it in my mouth. But he gets rock hard and I ask him where he wants me and he said what ever is more comfortable for me and I say doggy. He asks me if I’d like some poppers and I’m like yeah I’ll try some. So I take a few hits and my head is swimming and he starts eating my ass and he stands up and starts rubbing some lube on my ass and flipping his cock head up and down on my hole and he asks “do you have a preference where you want my cum to go” and I said “I’d prefer if you put it deep inside me” so he starts pressing in and my ass tries to open but it hurt a lot so he said “ I’m going to work your hole open with my fingers for a bit” and I believe he put in two and he was nice and gentle. So I take a couple more hits of poppers and hold my breath and my head is thumping while he presses slowly into my ass and finally gets it in and we hold it there and I take another hit of poppers as he starts to fuck me and I look to the side and I see a full length mirror and I can see this muscular hairy alpha top getting balls deep in my pale ass and he asks “are you ok with going multiple rounds?” And I’m like “yeah we got time” so he fucks me like that for a while and he gets super hard and pumps my ass hard and shoots his first load. He pulls out and I ask him to grab a pic and he does and I stand up and I can few his load running down my leg and he goes and washes off and comes back and I suck his cock and I can taste his cum on the top lip of his cock and he gets hard again and I lay on my back and he sucks my cock for a little bit but I can’t get hard so he tries to put it back in but he goes limp and I apologize and say I’m nervous and he said yeah it’s always like that on the first meeting so we head to the bathroom and I wipe a few times and he washes off and he walks back into his bedroom and I come maybe 20 second later and he is putting some stuff away and I fall to my knees again and start sucking his cock and he gets rock hard again and has me get on my back and he slides in and he starts pounding and I start begging him for his load and he lets loose again and floods me a second time. I had him get another pic but you couldn’t see the cum just my red swollen hole. So we head back to the bathroom and chitchat again and I get dressed and thank him for the two loads and tel him I’ll hit him up next time I’m in town. So I head to my next job and complete it and it’s probably an hour later and I go to the bathroom and push out a massive load and 30 seconds later push out a glob more. My hole is throbbing right now and I can’t wait to go another round with him.

Smashed some face down, ass up bussy on my way to work this morning. I was load #6. Felt good to drain my morning wood into a cummy ass.

It is rare but sometimes I feel him pulsating. It is also hit or miss if it leaks out. A real bottom craves the load. I honestly think it’s a hormonal reaction or something but that’s a different topic. If you just want to get fucked to feel what it’s like you are probably not bottom.

I don't know the exact number but there were about 15 guys there. I was the only cock sucker, not all came in my mouth, some gave me facials, it was amazing. Did a small group yesterday, sucked off 4 guys, swallowed 2, facials from 2. Great way to end the weekend.

I met a biracial 40 year old daddy top last night and he hosted. We’ve been talking in bbrt for a couple of days and decided to meet so he can breed me multiple times. We talked about doing long session so we cleared our afternoon schedule just to fuck. I got to his place at 2pm and I didn’t leave until 9pm. In that 7hrs, we fucked and I got bred 10 times. We had breaks and talked inbetween but as soon as we got horny, we were back at it again. He enjoyed fucking me on all fours so he can watch my bubble butt jiggle and I enjoyed backing my ass towards his incoming cock. The bed was shaking and creaking all afternoon. By the 8th load, I can feel my hole leaking of cum and running down my ass. I wanted to keep his loads in me when I sleep but something was itching to come out of my ass. I dumped almost all the cum and I felt sad. We are meeting again next saturday, and this vers daddy is joining us for a threesome.

Chapter 4: The Christmas Stocking Paul Carter lay on his back in the narrow bed, phone balanced against his chest, the screen casting a soft bluish glow across the ceiling. Snow drifted across the tiny frame of the movie playing—one of those saccharine Christmas romances he’d clicked on without thinking, the kind that promised warmth and happy endings even when the world outside felt thin and cold. Onscreen, two men stood in a flurry of lights and music, breathless and smiling, the argument finally over. They ran toward each other through falling snow, laughter breaking through tears, arms wrapping tight like they were afraid the other might vanish if they didn’t hold on hard enough. Paul sniffed, embarrassed by the sound, and scrubbed at his nose with the heel of his palm. “Shut up,” he muttered to himself, even though the room was empty. He told himself it was the alcohol, the storm, the long night—anything but the tight ache building in his chest as the couple kissed and the music swelled. He locked the phone and tossed it onto the mattress beside him before the credits could roll. The screen lit again almost immediately as his messages opened, the familiar thread already at the top. He hadn’t meant to open it. His thumb just… knew where to go. The breakup text stared back at him, cruel in its simplicity. No explanation worth anything. No apology. Just blunt words and an even blunter dismissal. Paul’s jaw tightened as he scrolled, the memory crashing back uninvited—the night before, the way he’d tried so hard to be everything the other guy wanted, how eager he’d been to please, to prove he was worth staying for. Hell, he even let the guy bareback him, crawling on his knees and begging him. And then the next morning came. The text. You weren’t that good. I’ve already moved on. Don’t message me again. Paul swallowed hard, his throat burning. He hated how much that still hurt. Hated that it made him feel stupid, small, disposable. He locked the phone again, dropping it face-down this time like it might bite him if he looked too long. “Not tonight,” he whispered, forcing the words out like a promise. He stared at the ceiling, listening to the storm batter the house, the wind whining along the eaves like something lost and angry. Somewhere below him, the frat house creaked and shifted, settling into the cold. Laughter drifted faintly from downstairs, muffled now, distant enough to feel unreal. Paul rolled onto his side, curling slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. He told himself he just needed distraction—anything to keep his thoughts from circling back to the same bruised places. Something loud. Something physical. Something that didn’t ask him to feel wanted or loved. Just something that made him feel anything else. He reached for his phone again, screen lighting his face in the dark as the storm outside howled on. Paul stared at the glowing screen for a long moment before unlocking it again. The house felt too quiet up here, the laughter from downstairs fading into something distant and hollow. He needed noise. Motion. Anything to drown out the thoughts pressing in on him. He didn’t open the movie back up. Instead, his thumb drifted through apps without much thought, muscle memory guiding him somewhere familiar and mindless. Images of men fucking in different positions and acts loaded—too bright, too sharp against the darkness of his room—and he felt his shoulders loosen just a little as his focus narrowed. This, at least, didn’t ask him to feel hopeful. It didn’t promise happy endings or soft confessions in falling snow. It was simpler than that. Paul exhaled slowly, letting his head sink back into the pillow. He told himself it was just about distraction, about shutting his brain up for a while. About not thinking of text messages or mornings-after or how easy it had been for someone to decide he wasn’t worth keeping. He spit on his hand, and slowly pulled his boxers down, before effortlessly shoving two fingers into his still puffy and abused hole. The alcohol helped. It softened the edges of everything, made the room feel warmer than it was. His thoughts drifted lazily instead of spiraling, and he let himself sink into the sensation of it—into the idea of not having to be careful, not having to anticipate what someone else wanted from him. He picked out a fisting video and watched as the top commanded the muscular guy to get into the stirrups and the scene shifted. The guy was now dripping and stretched as the top pulled a massive black dildo out of his ass, and quickly replaced it with his black gloved first. The guy groaned as the top spit in his mouth, calling him a good boy. He swallowed, adding another finger while admitting something quietly to himself that he rarely said out loud: it was easier to want things when he was a little drunk. Easier to imagine letting go. Easier to pretend, just for a few minutes, that being wanted like this could be uncomplicated. His phone slipped from his hand onto the bed as he closed his eyes briefly, breathing through the haze, focusing on the sensation of his battered hole being stretched open again as he mentally put himself in the place of the bottom guy.. The storm outside surged again, wind rattling the window like impatient fingers, but he barely noticed. His attention had turned inward, wrapped around thoughts he usually pushed away during the day. He wasn’t thinking about love. He wasn’t thinking about relationships. He was thinking about control—or the lack of it. About how nice it might feel to stop making decisions altogether. To stop bracing himself for rejection. To let something else take over, even if only for a moment. The thought unsettled him enough that he opened his eyes again, heart thudding a little faster. He shifted on the bed, restless now, and reached for his phone once more, scrolling without really seeing what passed beneath his thumb. “Just… calm down,” he murmured to himself, voice low and shaky. A sudden knock at his door made him flinch hard, phone slipping from his fingers and bouncing against the mattress. Paul sucked in a sharp breath, pulse racing. “Yeah?” he called, scrambling to sit up, pulling his pants up and wiping his hand on the sheets in a panic. “Who is it?” The silence that followed felt heavier than it should have. The silence stretched just long enough for Paul to wonder if he’d imagined the knock. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the mattress creaking softly beneath him, and cleared his throat. “Hello?” he called again, louder this time. “Who is it?” The handle turned. Derek leaned into the doorway with an easy smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The hall light framed him in a thin yellow outline, making the rest of him look oddly dim, like the shadows clung too closely to his shoulders. He looked relaxed—almost loose—swaying faintly as if he’d had one drink too many. “Hey Paul,” Derek said. “You… busy?” Paul blinked. “Uh. Just… sleeping?” He pulled the covers closer around himself, then frowned. “What’s up?” Derek’s gaze drifted past him into the room, unfocused, as if he were looking at something that wasn’t there. “Need a hand downstairs,” he said after a beat. “Kitchen stuff. Noah was sleepwalking in there and I need to get him back to bed. It’ll just take a minute.” The way he said Paul’s name—Paul, not Porkchop—made Paul pause. Derek almost never used it. The familiarity felt wrong in his mouth, too deliberate. Paul opened his mouth to comment on it, then hesitated. Derek was older. Vice President. Noah’s cousin. If he needed help, it was probably easier just to go. “Yeah. Okay,” Paul said slowly. “Give me a sec.” Derek nodded once, already turning away. His footsteps retreated down the hall without waiting for an answer. Paul sat there for a moment, heart thudding, trying to shake the strange feeling crawling up his spine. He grabbed his phone and flicked on the flashlight, the narrow beam cutting a clean path through the dark as he stood. The house felt cooler than before, the warmth from earlier draining away like someone had cracked a window somewhere. He followed Derek down the stairs, the beam bobbing slightly with each step. The living room was empty now, couches abandoned, the TV a black mirror reflecting nothing. The storm outside pressed against the walls, wind moaning through the frame like it was searching for a way in. At the bottom of the stairs, Paul slowed. The basement door stood ajar—just a few inches—breathing out a thin ribbon of cold air that raised goosebumps along his arms. It smelled damp, metallic, and faintly chemical, like old pipes and something sharper layered beneath. “Derek?” Paul called, uneasy. “Where’s Noah? Were you able to get him to wake up?” Derek stood near the kitchen threshold, back to him. He turned slowly, smile still fixed in place, eyes glassy and distant. For a split second, Paul thought he saw something dark flicker behind Derek’s reflection in the microwave door. He took a step forward. Something warm and wet struck his face without warning. Paul gasped as the sensation spread—slick, clinging, burning faintly as it seeped across his skin. His flashlight clattered to the floor, the beam spinning wildly as dizziness slammed into him. The world tilted violently, his stomach lurching as heat surged through his chest and down his limbs. “Oh—shit—” he tried to say, but the words tangled and fell apart. It felt like inhaling something impossibly strong, like his head had been dunked into a haze that stripped his thoughts down to their softest edges. His knees buckled. The floor rushed up to meet him. As he collapsed onto the kitchen tile, vision swimming, Paul managed to look up one last time. Derek loomed over him, swaying gently, smile widening just a fraction too much. Then a shape moved behind him—tall, broad, impossibly dark—and strong arms lifted Paul from the floor as if he weighed nothing at all. The last thing Paul saw before the fog swallowed him completely was the kitchen filling with silhouettes that did not belong in any house built by human hands. --- Paul came back to himself in fragments. First the cold—tile pressing against his back, leeching heat from his skin. Then the smell: old beer, something metallic, and beneath it all a faint, acrid sharpness that made the back of his throat prickle. His eyes fluttered open, vision swimming, the ceiling light above him reduced to a dull halo. He was on the kitchen table. That realization arrived slowly, accompanied by the distant clatter of a bottle being set down somewhere nearby. His clothes were gone—when that registered, a weak rush of embarrassment flickered through him, dulled almost immediately by the lingering haze in his head. Panic tried to rise, but it met resistance, like it was pushing through syrup. He swallowed hard. “D-Derek…?” The name came out thin, barely audible. Figures stood around him. At first, his brain insisted they were frat brothers—tall silhouettes, broad shoulders—but the illusion fractured as his vision steadied. These weren’t people. Their bodies were too large, too symmetrical, their movements too fluid and deliberate. Skin the color of wet ink caught the low light, glossy and smooth like polished rubber stretched tight over muscle. Horns rose from their heads in sweeping curves and jagged points, casting warped shadows across the cabinets and walls. Paul’s breath hitched. His mouth opened, then closed again, soundless. His thoughts skidded uselessly, failing to form a coherent response to what he was seeing. One of the figures stepped closer, looming at his side. The air seemed to thicken with its presence, pressing down on his chest. Another followed, then another, until the kitchen felt impossibly crowded, as if the walls had crept inward. A voice echoed—not through the air, but inside his head, reverberating with layered depth. “Patch.” The name struck like a bell. One of the creatures responded immediately, shifting forward with calm assurance. He was broader than the others, posture relaxed but unmistakably dominant, as if this space already belonged to him. Paul felt the weight of that attention settle over him, pinning him in place more effectively than any physical restraint. Patch tilted his head, studying Paul with open curiosity. A low chuckle rolled from him, the sound vibrating through the table beneath Paul’s back. “You already know what you like,” the voice murmured—heard and felt at once, threaded directly through Paul’s thoughts. “You just don’t like admitting it.” Paul’s chest rose and fell too quickly. He tried to speak, to protest, but only a thin, broken sound escaped him. Hands—large, careful, impossibly strong—adjusted his position, arranging him with unsettling familiarity. Paul’s gaze drifted helplessly to the edges of the room, where more of them stood watching. Some held bottles of beer, tipping them back casually, dark eyes never leaving him. Others were smoking cigars, the ends glowing in the dark. A sudden, dizzying realization cut through the fog. Derek stood among them. And Noah. Both smoking a cigar and drinking a beer. They leaned close, faces calm, almost gentle, eyes reflecting something Paul didn’t recognize anymore. Derek met his gaze and smiled—not cruelly, not kindly, but with the certainty of someone who had already crossed a line and wasn’t looking back. “Relax,” Derek whispered. “It’s easier if you do.” Noah nodded in agreement. “We did. And man, it feels fucking amazing.” The words hollowed Paul out. His fear faltered, replaced by a strange, aching confusion. If they were standing there—if they were like this—then whatever was happening to him wasn’t chaos. It was a process. Patch’s attention returned to him fully. A massive hand settled against Paul’s hip, not rough, not gentle—simply inevitable. “This one’s been waiting,” Patch said, tone almost conversational. “Even upstairs, he was waiting.” Paul squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head weakly. “Please… don’t hurt me.” A presence brushed against his mind—vast, patient, impossibly heavy. The Alpha. Even without seeing him clearly, Paul felt that authority settle over his thoughts, smoothing his panic, reshaping it into something quieter and more malleable. “You want this,” the Alpha’s voice echoed softly within him. “You asked for it in ways you don’t yet understand.” Paul’s breath stuttered. Memories surfaced unbidden—loneliness, longing, the desire to be taken seriously, to be wanted without conditions. The fog thickened, wrapping those thoughts in warmth until resistance felt pointless. Patch leaned closer, his shadow swallowing Paul’s torso. “We’ll take care of you,” he murmured. “Just let go.” Paul didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His thoughts drifted apart, pulled gently but relentlessly toward the dark certainty pressing in around him. The kitchen lights flickered for a brief second before blinking off again. And whatever Paul Carter had been clinging to began to slip away. Patch did not rush. That was the first thing Paul noticed—dimly, through the haze pressing against his thoughts. Where the others moved with a predatory stillness, Patch moved with patience, like someone following a familiar set of steps. The kitchen felt less like a room now and more like a prepared space, every surface humming with a low, almost inaudible resonance. Patch’s attention stayed fixed on Paul as if nothing else existed. The others receded to the edges of Paul’s awareness—present, watching, but no longer the focus. Even Derek and Noah seemed to fade slightly, their shapes blurring as Patch’s presence sharpened. “You don’t have to fight,” Patch said, voice threading directly into Paul’s mind. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. “Your friends already learned what happens when you do.” Paul swallowed, throat dry. His fear had not vanished, but it had thinned, stretched out into something softer and more uncertain. He felt exposed—not just physically, but emotionally, like every private thought he’d tried to bury upstairs had been pulled into the open. Patch’s hand traced a slow line along Paul’s side, not touching skin so much as skimming the air just above it. Wherever that attention passed, warmth bloomed, dulling the cold and sending a strange, calming heaviness through Paul’s limbs. “You want to be full,” Patch continued, almost gently. “You want to stop holding yourself together.” Paul shook his head weakly, though the denial felt automatic, unconvincing. His thoughts drifted back to the bed upstairs—the movie, the messages, the ache he hadn’t known how to name. The Alpha’s presence brushed against those memories, turning them over, reframing them. “You sought release,” the Alpha murmured, distant but unmistakable. “Patch will show you how.” The room seemed to tighten around that statement. Patch leaned closer, his shadow falling across Paul’s chest, and Paul felt the weight of attention settle over him completely. Something in Patch’s demeanor changed—not more aggressive, but more focused, like a craftsman beginning his work. Hands guided Paul’s posture, adjusting him with careful precision. Paul’s muscles wanted to tense, to resist—but the warmth spreading through him made it hard to remember why he should. Each movement felt inevitable, as though his body understood what his mind was still struggling to accept. “Breathe,” Patch instructed. Paul did. Shallow at first, then deeper, drawn along by the steady cadence of Patch’s voice. With every breath, the edges of his panic softened further. The kitchen sounds—the storm outside, the distant creak of the house—faded into a dull background hum. Patch’s attention pressed inward, not just on Paul’s body but on his thoughts, nudging them open. Images surfaced unbidden: being seen, being chosen, being used for something specific and purposeful. The loneliness that had gnawed at him upstairs twisted into something else entirely—a yearning to be shaped, to be told exactly what he was for. “You like being opened up,” Patch said, not accusing, not mocking—simply stating a truth as he understood it. “You like when someone knows you better than you know yourself.” Paul’s breath hitched. His denial caught in his throat and dissolved before it could form words. Derek and Noah leaned closer again, their voices soft, familiar. “It’s okay,” Derek murmured. “This part’s hard, but it doesn’t last.” “You’ll feel better after,” Noah added, eyes bright with something unreadable. “We did. It feels so fucking good.” Paul’s gaze flicked between them, confusion and a fragile hope tangling together. If they could stand there—changed, calm—then maybe what was happening to him wasn’t just destruction. Maybe it was becoming. Patch felt the shift immediately. A low, satisfied sound vibrated through him. “There,” he said. “That’s it.” The Alpha’s presence pressed down once more, sealing the moment. “Begin.” Patch moved with certainty then, initiating the ritual in earnest. Paul watched as his boxers were ripped away, and with a loud wet sound, a glob of whatever had hit his face suddenly impacted his battered hole, dripping and slightly burning as hit got into the small tears in the flesh. He felt as his hole immediately relaxed, like it had the night before when the guy had him huffing poppers and riding his cock. He watched as Patch’s hands went into the same shape as the fisting top’s did in the video and suddenly was pushing deep inside him, twisting and pushing, his ass burning as he choked out a startled gasp. He felt as Patch’s fingers began to spread out and stretch him further, tears streaming down his face as he felt like he was tearing in half, his hole impossibly stretched to accommodate the abuse when he felt it. Patch pushed in and with an audible plop his massive fist suddenly slammed deep inside him, his asshole clenching in response as he tried to let out a loud screaming sob, only to be stopped by Noah and Derek holding him down and clamping their strangely too strong hands down on his mouth. Each smiling as they deeply inhaled their cigars. Paul’s thoughts fractured under the pressure—not shattering all at once, but peeling away in layers. Fear bled into sensation. Sensation into acceptance. Acceptance into something dangerously close to need. He gasped, gripping the edge of the table as the room seemed to tilt around him. The warmth inside him flared, spreading, reshaping him from the inside out. He felt smaller somehow—lighter—like he was being hollowed out to make room for something else. Suddenly, Patch stepped closer and shoved his monstrous dick in beside his hand. Paul sobbed, his mind reeling from the pain as his asshole felt like he was giving birth. Patch easily began to fuck his ass, drolling more saliva into his ass as he began to fuck his hand inside of Paul. Suddenly, he felt as Patch shuddered forward, and a burning sensation began to spread through his guts, the pain suddenly giving into deep pleasure as he felt his legs begin to quiver. Patch quickly pulled out and began to shove his arm deep inside of Paul, who was now panting and shaking, feeling as his body began to relax and surrender, until suddenly he looked down and saw Patch’s fist pushing upwards, deep inside him and making his stomach bulge obscenely. He swore he could feel the sharp claws on the fingers scratching his insides, as more and more pleasure flooded him and made him groan. WIthout warning, Patch devoured his leaking cock whole, and after a few quick sucks, Paul began to shoot without warning, feeling as his ass tried pitifully to clench down on the forearm burning deeply in his ruined guts. Patch continued to nurse on his cock until he finally finished coming and pulled out his fist with a loud wet plop. He stayed close, steady, guiding him through it. “Good,” he murmured. “Let it happen.” And despite everything—despite the cold table, the watching figures, the impossible reality pressing in—Paul felt himself letting go. The change in the room was immediate. Paul felt it before he understood it—like the air itself had thickened, pressing inward, drawing every sound and movement into a single, heavy focus. Patch slowed, his motions easing to a deliberate stillness, head lowering a fraction in deference. Around them, the other figures shifted subtly, attention snapping toward the same point. The Alpha had moved closer. Paul didn’t see him at first. He felt him—an immense gravity settling across his thoughts, steady and inescapable. The warmth coiling through Paul’s body deepened, no longer frantic or disorienting, but purposeful, as if something inside him had finally found the rhythm it wanted. “Enough,” the Alpha’s voice murmured, resonant and calm. Not a command shouted across the room— a certainty placed gently into Paul’s mind. Patch withdrew his hands and stepped aside without hesitation. Paul’s chest rose and fell too quickly. His thoughts drifted, then snagged on the Alpha’s presence like fabric on a hook. Every instinct he had left screamed that this was the moment he should fight harder—but the scream faded, smoothed over by the steady pressure pressing against him. The Alpha came fully into view. He was larger than the others by far, horns sweeping upward in ornate, impossible curves. His form radiated heat and authority, the faint glow beneath his skin pulsing in time with the low hum vibrating through the room. When his gaze settled on Paul, it felt less like being looked at and more like being measured. “You are afraid,” the Alpha said—not unkindly. “And you want it anyway.” Paul swallowed. The truth of it landed with startling clarity. His fear was still there, coiled tight in his chest—but beneath it lay something heavier, older. A longing he hadn’t known how to name upstairs, alone in his bed, staring at a phone that never gave him what he wanted. “I didn’t mean—” Paul started, then faltered as the Alpha’s presence brushed his thoughts aside. “Intent is not required,” the Alpha replied. “Desire is.” Paul’s breath shuddered. His resistance, already worn thin, finally tore. He felt it happen—felt something inside him loosen and slip free, drifting toward the Alpha’s steady pull. Images surfaced unbidden: himself empty of doubt, shaped with purpose, no longer bracing for rejection or disappointment. No longer waiting to be chosen—already claimed. Him being reshaped and perfected. “I…” His voice cracked, barely more than a breath. “I just don’t want to be alone anymore.” The Alpha’s attention softened—not gentler, but more precise. “Then you will not be.” A massive hand settled against Paul’s chest, radiating heat that sank straight into his bones. His body arched instinctively beneath the touch, not from pain but from recognition, as if this contact completed a circuit that had been waiting to close. Patch watched closely, satisfaction evident even in stillness. Derek and Noah leaned in, eyes bright, reverent. The Alpha’s voice filled Paul’s mind completely now. “Let go of what you were.” “There is nothing left for you there.” Paul’s thoughts unraveled at the edges, memories losing their sharpness—faces blurring, words losing meaning. The ache that had followed him for months from rejection after rejection dissolved into a warm, spreading certainty. “Yes,” he whispered, surprising himself with how easily the word came. “Okay.” The Alpha’s presence enveloped him fully, sealing that choice in place. “Good,” the voice murmured. “Then we will finish.” The room pulsed once, like a living thing drawing breath. He watched and held his legs up, waiting as his new master stepped forward and with one simple push, buried itself deep inside him and began to fuck him hard and fast. And Paul surrendered to it. The Alpha let out a growl and began to cum deep inside him, flooding his tattered and ruined guts with its black foul cum. Paul could feel as it flooded his body, his mind rolling in pleasure as thoughts of being chained up in a sling, countless men flooding his guts and working the loads deep inside his ass with both hands up to the shoulder. His mind shifted and he was being walked around with a chain around his neck, letting men piss and cum inside his gaping ass, held open by a metal ring. Mindlessly thanking the men as he felt his precum dribble out of the cockcage around his locked up meat. The moment Paul gave in, the room seemed to exhale. He began to cum uncontrollably, covering his chest and stomach with rope after rope of cum, watching as each of his new brothers, Noah and Derek included, descended upon him, feasting on his still fresh and untainted cum, his body almost seeming desperate to rid itself of the nourishing liquid to give way for his body to start making its own tainted cum. The pressure that had been bearing down on him did not vanish—but it changed. Where it had once crushed and disoriented, it now settled into something colder and steadier, like chains locking into place. The Alpha withdrew his hand, not because Paul was free, but because the work had been done. Derek stepped forward and placed a mostly smoked cigar in his mouth, mentally telling him to suck hard and deep on it, that it would make him feel even better. Paul’s breathing slowed, his virgin lungs sucking in and absorbing the thick smoke as his body began to subtly change. He lifted his legs up and held his gaping ass open and begged each of his new brothers, including the two newest ones, Derek and Noah, to shoot their tainted loads inside him, smiling happily as each one shot inside the gaping crater of his ass. His thoughts, once frantic and spiraling, dulled into a heavy calm. Memories of upstairs—the movie, the bed, the ache in his chest—felt distant, like scenes from a life he’d watched rather than lived. He tried to summon the sharpness of fear again and found only a faint echo. Patch straightened, satisfied. “It’s set,” he rumbled, the words carrying weight beyond language. “He’s already begun to change.” The Alpha regarded Paul for a long moment, eyes unreadable, presence immense. Then, with a subtle nod, he stepped back into the shadows. The other figures followed his lead, retreating slightly, their attention loosening now that the ritual’s core was complete. Paul sagged where he lay, exhaustion rolling through him in deep, irresistible waves. His body felt warm, heavy, and strangely right, as though something inside him had been rearranged into a shape it preferred. He realized—dimly—that he wasn’t afraid anymore. He, too, would grow massive horns, his body losing all its fat and instead covered in massive muscles and skin black. That realization should have terrified him. Instead, it brought relief. The Alpha knelt briefly beside him, tilting Paul’s head with a firm but careful hand. “Rest now,” he said. “You’ll wake when you’re ready to spread our gift. Relax and let the changes happen.” The words sank deep. Darkness folded in, thick and quiet, carrying with it the faint hum of something alive beneath his skin. Paul’s last conscious thought slipped away as easily as breath: I won’t be alone anymore.

@Pozzible I also enjoy reading Nifty…. Sometimes I am just in the mood for those stories I hope you will let us know when you post it and what name we should be looking for good luck with your project!

Chapter 5: Cum Dempsey Zach Dempsey woke with that dull, insistent pressure low in his abdomen—the kind that dragged him out of sleep before his brain had time to catch up. For a few seconds, he lay there staring at the ceiling, disoriented, listening to the wind scrape against the house. The storm sounded farther away than before, muted, like the snow had swallowed more than just noise. He groaned quietly and rolled onto his side, pushing himself upright. The room felt colder than it should have, the air stale and unmoving. His phone lay dark on the nightstand, useless. Somewhere downstairs, something hissed softly—static, maybe, or an old appliance cycling on. “Great,” he muttered. He swung his legs out of bed and padded across the room, pushing open the bathroom door with a practiced hand. As the light flicked on, he felt a small, irrational wave of gratitude wash over him. At least this was his. Being fraternity secretary came with exactly two perks: endless emails and meeting notes—and the room upgrade. His own bathroom. No waiting in line. No mystery puddles. No drunk pledges fumbling with the lock at three in the morning. At the time, it had felt like a joke reward. Right now, half-asleep and uncomfortable, it felt like a blessing. He took care of business quickly, shoulders slumping as the tension eased. For a moment, everything felt normal again—just another night holed up in the frat house during a snowstorm, too much beer, too many movies. As he washed his hands, he caught his reflection in the mirror. He looked tired. Pale. His eyes lingered on himself a second longer than usual, a faint prickle of unease crawling up his spine for reasons he couldn’t quite place. The light flickered. Zach frowned. “Seriously?” It steadied again, but the feeling didn’t go away. He shut the bathroom light off and stepped back into his room, the hallway beyond dim and unevenly lit, faint pulses of light flickering at the edges like the house couldn’t decide whether it wanted power or not. As he headed toward the stairs, the quiet hit him again. Phi Alpha Gamma was never this still. Halfway down, he paused. The sound was clearer now—not just static. A low, irregular crackle from the living room, like a television tuned to nothing. He frowned. Someone must’ve fallen asleep downstairs again. Or forgotten to shut something off. Rubbing his face, blinking hard to clear the fog from his eyes, Zach continued down. The living room came into view, dim and strange. The Christmas tree lights blinked erratically, some glowing steady, others flickering like they were struggling to stay lit. The TV was on. Pure static filled the screen, bathing the room in a harsh, sickly glow. Zach stepped fully into the living room, unease creeping up his spine. “Guys?” he called softly, though he already knew no one would answer. The static crackled louder. As he reached toward the TV to shut it off, a sudden chill swept across the back of his neck—sharp and intimate, like someone had leaned close and exhaled. Zach froze. Slowly, heart beginning to thud, he started to turn around— And then something wet and burning struck his face. The impact stole his breath. Whatever hit Zach’s face was thick and warm, splattering across his eyes and mouth with a sharp, chemical sting that burned before it numbed. He cried out, the sound choking off as his vision blurred instantly, the world smearing into light and shadow. “What the—” He staggered backward, hands flying up to wipe his face, but the sensation only spread. Heat surged through his chest, rushed down his arms and legs like something flooding his bloodstream all at once. His knees buckled. The living room tilted violently. Zach stumbled, heel catching on the edge of the rug, and crashed hard into the Christmas tree beside the TV. Ornaments shattered against the floor, glass popping and crunching under his weight as branches snapped and lights tangled around his shoulders. The static from the TV roared louder, drowning out his panicked breathing. He tried to push himself upright. His arms didn’t listen. The heat deepened, heavy and suffocating now, wrapping his thoughts in cotton. His head swam, pressure building behind his eyes as if someone were squeezing his skull from the inside. The last thing he registered clearly was the tree lights blinking erratically above him, red and green smearing together into a nauseating blur. Then his legs gave out completely. Zach slumped sideways, sliding down the broken tree and onto the floor. His cheek pressed against cold hardwood. The static softened into a distant hiss, like waves pulling back from shore. As darkness closed in, he had one disjointed thought— This doesn’t make any sense. And then everything went black. Zach surfaced slowly, like something being dragged up through deep water. At first, there was only sensation—an all-over ache, sharp in some places, dull in others. His skin burned faintly, as if scraped raw, and the air felt too thick in his lungs. When he tried to swallow, his throat protested, dry and sore. His eyes fluttered open. Light stabbed at them immediately, harsh and flickering. He groaned and squeezed them shut again, waiting for the dizziness to pass. When he dared open them once more, the living room came back into focus in warped fragments: the overturned Christmas tree, broken ornaments scattered like ice across the floor, the TV still glowing with static. He was on his back. That realization landed with a jolt. He tried to sit up—and froze. Something was wrong. The air felt wrong against his skin. Too open. Too exposed. Panic flared as he looked down and saw that he was naked, his body marked with thin scratches that crisscrossed his chest, arms, and legs. They stung sharply now, as if freshly irritated, and each breath made them burn a little more. “What…?” His voice came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper. A shadow fell over him. Zach’s heart slammed against his ribs as he forced his gaze upward. A figure stood above him—tall, impossibly broad, its skin pitch-black and gleaming as though polished. Long, demonic horns curved from its head, framing a face pulled into a slow, predatory smile. When it breathed, Zach could hear it clearly—deep, wet, deliberate. A name slid into his mind without warning, not spoken aloud but placed there, heavy and unavoidable. “Pixel.” Zach gasped, clutching at the floor as another wave of dizziness rolled through him. The figure leaned closer, studying him with open amusement. Then it spat again. The saliva struck his chest and face, seeping instantly into the scratches. The pain flared white-hot—then softened, spreading warmth through his limbs and fog through his thoughts. His head buzzed, the edges of reality blurring as the TV’s static glow pulsed brighter. His fear dulled, replaced by a thick, sluggish confusion. Pixel watched him carefully as the effects took hold, its grin widening. Zach tried to form a thought—run, scream, fight—but the words slid away before he could grab them. His muscles felt heavy, uncooperative, as though his body had already decided something his mind hadn’t caught up to yet. The static hissed. The lights flickered. And Pixel reached down, fingers closing around Zach’s shoulder with terrifying ease, pulling him upright into a seated position. Zach’s head lolled slightly as he tried to stay conscious, tried to understand. His vision swam—and then he saw them. Figures standing nearby. Zach’s vision wavered, then slowly sharpened. At first, he thought he was hallucinating—his brain scrambling to make sense of shadows and light. The static from the TV cast a pale, stuttering glow across the living room, illuminating figures standing just beyond him. Tall ones. Massive ones. Black and muscular in an unnatural way. And then— Familiar ones. His breath caught. Derek stood near the couch, posture relaxed, head slightly tilted, watching Zach with an expression that might once have been concern. Noah was beside him, closer to the Christmas tree, his gaze unfocused but calm. Evan hovered near the edge of the room, skin pale, shoulders slumped, a faint, acrid smell clinging to him that Zach didn’t want to think too hard about. They were all naked. They were all smiling. Not wide, manic smiles—but soft ones. Content. Reassuring. As if this was normal. As if Zach was the one who didn’t belong. “Guys?” Zach tried, his voice weak and unsteady. “What… what’s going on?” No one answered him out loud. Instead, Pixel shifted closer, its presence blotting out part of the static glow. Behind it, more of the horned figures stood in a loose circle, their bodies gleaming in the flicker of the lights. They didn’t rush. They didn’t grab him. They simply waited. Derek knelt first. The motion was smooth, deliberate. Noah followed, then Evan, each of them lowering themselves in front of one of the towering figures without hesitation. Their movements weren’t frantic or forced—they were practiced. Familiar. Zach’s stomach twisted. “What are you doing?” he whispered. Derek glanced back at him briefly, eyes bright with something Zach didn’t recognize anymore. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “You just haven’t gotten there yet.” The words sent a chill through Zach that had nothing to do with the cold. Pixel’s grip tightened slightly on his shoulder, grounding him in place as his head swam again. The room felt heavier, the air thick with a pressure that pressed inward from all sides. The Alpha’s presence brushed against Zach’s thoughts—not fully there yet, but close enough to feel like a shadow passing behind his eyes. You see them, a voice murmured faintly in his mind. You see what waits for you. Zach shook his head weakly, tears pricking at his eyes. “No. No, I don’t—this isn’t real.” Pixel leaned closer, its smile widening as it loomed over him. The scratches on Zach’s skin burned again, pulsing in time with the static’s hiss. “This is the part where you watch,” Pixel seemed to say—not aloud, but somewhere deeper, where words weren’t necessary. The other figures continued their ritual movements. He watched in horror as each of his friends, all straight as far as he knew before this night began to hungrily suck on each of the monster’s cocks, jacking their own cocks in time to fucking their mouths. Zach squeezed his eyes shut, heart hammering. He didn’t want to see. Didn’t want to understand. But the Alpha’s presence pressed closer, forcing awareness back into him, prying his eyes open against his will. You will witness, the Alpha whispered. So that you know what you are becoming. Zach sobbed, the sound small and broken, as the circle closed around him. And for the first time since waking up, he understood with terrifying clarity— He wasn’t here by accident. The pressure in the room intensified. Zach felt it settle behind his eyes first—a slow, invasive weight that made his vision pulse and dim at the edges. Pixel’s hand tightened at the back of his neck, fingers spreading like a brace, keeping him upright as his thoughts began to slip. Then the Alpha arrived. It did not step forward so much as enter him. The presence filled Zach’s mind completely, blotting out the static, the room, even his own breathing. The voice that followed was vast and calm, layered with something ancient and patient. You are the next to receive our gift. Zach gasped, clutching uselessly at Pixel’s arm. “No—please—” His words tangled and fell apart before they reached his lips. His tongue felt thick, uncooperative. The Alpha pressed deeper. The living room dissolved. Images slammed into Zach’s mind—too vivid, too sharp to be memories, too intimate to be dreams. He saw Derek first: the moment his resistance broke, the instant fear gave way to acceptance. Then Noah, then Evan, each vision unfolding relentlessly, one after another. Each transformation lingered. Each surrender was felt. Zach sobbed, shaking his head, but the Alpha did not relent. The images intensified, forcing him to witness every step—every hesitation, every rationalization, every final moment where they stopped fighting. You watched them leave you behind, the Alpha murmured. Now you will understand why. Pain flared behind Zach’s eyes—not physical exactly, but deep and disorienting, like his thoughts were being stretched too far. He cried out, the sound breaking as Pixel forced his attention forward again. Pixel grabbed his head and slowly grabbed his massive, inky black cock and began to jack himself, clawed hands wrapping around the throbbing veiny dick as his massive balls swung almost hypnotically. Zach was unable to look away, almost feeling at times hypnotized by the motions. With a sudden growl, he felt and saw as the corrupted black cum shot powerfully at him, splattering across his skin and into his eyes, feeling as the cuts and his eyes began to burn with an intense fire, followed by an almost soothing sensation, his mind reeling and stuttering as he tried to blink the foul liquid away. The Alpha’s voice cut through everything. Submit, or I will show you more. Zach’s breathing came in short, panicked bursts. “Stop,” he pleaded. “I can’t—please—” The pressure increased. The visions returned, harsher now. Not just his friends—but himself. Reflections of what he could become, what he would be shaped into if he resisted. Endless repetition. Endless awareness. Zach screamed. Or rather, he tried to. The sound tore free of him, raw and helpless. It came out instead like a tiny screech. Tears streamed down his face as his mind buckled under the strain. He felt himself sliding—fear unraveling into desperation, desperation into a frantic need for it to just end. “I’ll—” His voice broke completely. “I’ll do it. I’ll—just make it stop.” The Alpha’s presence stilled. For the first time since it had entered his mind, the pressure eased—just enough to let him breathe. Good, the voice said, satisfied. Now you see. Allow it to happen. The room rushed back into focus around him, but it no longer felt solid. Everything seemed filtered, muted, like he was observing the world through thick glass. Pixel leaned closer, approval radiating from him. He slowly began to slide his large cock across his face, the skin rubbing more and more of the cum into the cuts, when he saw each of his corrupted friends sit up and begin to spit the foul cum in their mouths onto his face, each cut burning in a strangely comforting way as they began to jack off on his face and chest as well. He was shocked when each seemed to shoot their loads on him in unison, their cum looking less black, but still having a strange effect as it got into his eyes, Zach sagged, exhaustion crashing over him in heavy waves. His thoughts slowed, the sharp edges of fear blunted into something dull and pliable. The scratches on his skin burned faintly, then cooled, tingling in a way that felt wrong but strangely grounding. His jaw fell open, slack and relaxed as each frat brother dragged their cock across his face and shoved easily into his mouth. His mind felt surprised but not shocked when he opened even larger with an almost hunger to accommodate both Derek and his cousin Noah at the same time. The Alpha withdrew slightly, its presence lingering like an imprint. You will remember this, it told him. And you will not forget how it felt to give in. You will enjoy replaying it in your mind over and over once you join us. Zach’s head lolled forward, consciousness wavering. He didn’t know how long he remained like that—caught between awareness and collapse—but when his eyes fluttered shut again, it wasn’t from defiance. It was from surrender. Zach felt himself being moved before he realized he had stopped resisting. Hands guided him—firm, unyielding, but not rushed—positioning his body with an unsettling familiarity. His limbs responded sluggishly, like they belonged to someone else now. Each attempt to tense or pull away dissolved into weakness before it could take shape. Pixel remained close, anchoring him, while the Alpha’s presence expanded until it filled every corner of Zach’s awareness. You are fighting yourself now, the Alpha murmured. There is nothing left to protect. Just lay back and enjoy the show. Zach whimpered, shaking his head, but the pressure behind his eyes intensified. The scratches across his skin burned again, flaring hot, then cooling as something dark seeped inward. He could feel himself changing—not all at once, but in small, horrifying increments, like pieces of him being overwritten one by one. His vision wavered, and he almost was shocked at what he saw, almost like viewing himself from outside his body. Slowly getting up, sitting down on the couch, and letting Derek and Evan lift up each of his legs, as Evan held his head forward, aimed directly at the Alpha who was now stepping forward, massive dick drooling and aimed directly at his exposed asshole. Each of his frat brothers slowly massaged the black cum into his skin, each cut looking angry and almost infected, as faint black veins began to creep outward, his skin taking on a greyish pallor around each cut. Suddenly, his mind was pulled back into his body as he felt the Alpha suddenly slammed into his ass. He gasped loudly, feeling as his asshole surrendered to the brutal assault, his stomach bulging obscenely as the Alpha’s cock dug deep inside him, his mind almost laughing at how this looked like the chest burster scene from Alien. The Alpha suddenly placed its clawed hand on his stomach and pressed down before slamming its cock into his ass hard, with Zach groaning as he felt something tear open inside him, and a sudden flood of pleasure flooded inside his body. The room pulsed with low sound. Zach’s thoughts fragmented, each memory losing clarity as it was touched. His name still existed—but it felt less important now, less solid. The things he worried about before—grades, schedules, being responsible—floated away like static washed from the screen. Instead, his mind floated, watching in awe and a sick delight as he could see the massive cock twitching inside him, as the Alpha slowly dragged its claws down his chest and stomach, each line welling with small pinpricks of blood as he watched his skin take an even greyer appearance before his eyes, each detail now in even greater detail and focus. The Alpha pressed deeper into his mind as it pulled out of his ass with a wet plop and its infected seed dripped out of him. Images rose unbidden: Zach kneeling, eyes black and skin grey, waiting, watching others break the way he was breaking now. The threat of his own horns trying to breach out of the skin on his skull. The fear those images once inspired no longer held their edge. Instead, they felt instructional. Inevitable. Strangely beautiful. This is where you belong, the Alpha said calmly. This is what you are for. Zach’s breath hitched. A sob tore loose—but it didn’t carry resistance anymore. It was empty. Exhausted. The fight drained out of him completely, leaving behind a hollow, receptive quiet. Suddenly, the other creatures… his new brothers his mind suddenly told him, walked up and surrounded him as Pixel suddenly knelt down and took him deep in his mouth, the too-sharp teeth dragging on the thin skin of cock, each scrape feeling like a wave of pleasure as each creature suddenly began to shoot load after load on his skin. He suddenly felt the urge to rub each load deep into the cuts, enjoying as he felt them entering him, reshaping him in ways he’d never known were possible. Suddenly, he shot his load, watching with happiness as Pixel greedily gulped down the last remaining part of him no longer corrupted. He groaned and pulled Pixel’s head down harder on his cock as he felt several large clawed fingers deep inside him, milking his prostate and making him continue to cum. Something sealed shut inside him, locking the last part of himself away. He smiled, watching as his release finally slowed to a dribble as Pixel released his cock from his mouth before pulling Pixel up and locking lips with him, sucking the remains of his untainted cum off the forked tongue. The burning across his skin dulled, replaced by a heavy warmth that sank into his bones. His thoughts slowed to a crawl, then smoothed into something eerily peaceful. He stopped trying to understand. Stopped trying to remember. The Alpha lingered a moment longer, ensuring the change held. Good, it said. You see clearly now. Zach’s eyes fluttered, unfocused. His body sagged as if all the tension of his analytical mind that had once defined him had finally been released. In its place was only the satisfaction of being allowed to watch and enjoy the destruction of his friends around him. Pixel withdrew, satisfied. The circle loosened. Zach slumped back against the couch, breathing slow and even, expression blank and serene. Whatever had once made him Zach Dempsey receded into the background, muted and distant. The TV static cut out abruptly as it was shut off. The living room lights steadied. And Zach drifted into unconsciousness, the overwrite complete.

It doesn’t matter if you’re choking and gagging. Get used to it. Just keep your mouth open and let him use your throat until he’s drained his balls. I love watching Drew choke on my cock. Yeah he can’t breathe when my balls are blocking his nose and my sperm is filling his throat but he’s only gotta hold his breath for 20 seconds until I’ve shot my entire load.

great comment. very informative and balanced.

Yes I get that too! Men will sometimes refer to the last time they bred me and I honestly do not remember them. It has become very rare that I remember a face. I think the true mark of a cum dump is the lack of connection. We just exist to serve men.

it was 12, when I was 16 I snuck into a adult theater. I blew 8 guy in the theater and 4 out back of the theater

I had met him on BBRTS a year earlier. He lived about two hours away, but there weren't many men where I lived, and his profile piqued my interest. It said he was 30, versatile, and it provided two photographs of a sexy dude with a nice cock in bed. HIV status: ask me. I contacted him with my bugchasing profile. He was interested, but said he didn’t know his status, adding that he preferred not to know so that he wasn't culpable of pozzing guys. We talked off and on for a few months trading fantasies. A re-occurring fantasy of his was that of fucking drunk college boys from the large school in his town and pozzing their asses with unmedicated cum. At the time I was mostly just fantasizing. I had taken an undetectable poz load once or twice a year earlier, and honestly wasn’t sure about this guy, but I knew I wasn’t going to drive two hours to find out if he was legit. And if he was poz and unmedicated, I wasn’t ready for that either. I lost track of him after about a while. A year later I spot him online again and by chance I would be driving near his town, so I contacted him. This time he didn’t hesitate to tell me he had recently been confirmed as POZ, and was still unmedicated. The last bloodwork had shown a viral load of 97,000. He mentioned he had been thinking of calling me, and so I found we ended-up talking about what he wanted to to do me. His voice was masculine and projected a cocky jock attitude. He told me to call him when I hit the road for my trip. A few weeks later, I was ready to drive. I called him after a few minutes on the road. He wanted to meet at a bookstore right off the highway. It wouldn’t add a minute to my trip. I was losing excuses to avoid his toxic load at the last minute, like on-the-fence chasers like me do sometimes. We talked for a few minutes then he said something that clinched it. He wanted to talk to me the entire way until I was at the bookstore, when I was 30 minutes away he would head towards it to meet. We perved for 30 minutes, my cock out and dripping precum as I drove. He wanted me inside a booth with a jock on ready to be pozzed. My heart pounded and I edged my cock as he told me about his latest escapades fucking his raw load into college boys. His favorite thing to do was fuck safe sex only bottoms. He bites the tip off of the condoms he uses, with his cock penetrating skin on skin while the ring and base of the condom remain in place. He relishes in the times the bottoms reach back to make sure there is a condom, feeling the latex ring and relaxing their holes to receive his death seed thinking they are safe from harm. I oozed precum as he told me of the many safe-sex boys to find themselves drunk, questioning if he came in their ass after being slammed full of his cock and cum. He assured them it was just extra lube he had used so his cock wouldn’t hurt them, and reminding them they saw and felt the condom. I was at the exit for the book store, so I telephoned him, saying I was pulling off the highway, and would be there shortly. He replied saying he was five minutes from the book store. We hung up as I parked. I was shaking with excitement as I tucked my cock into my waistband and went inside the metal building where I paid the admission fee and entered the video area. The video booth area was cleaner than any I had seen before. They looked brand new. There weren’t any gloryholes, and unfortunately, I was alone. I had asked him to be verbal so that others could know I was getting poz fucked. Maybe next time. I picked a booth and stripped my shirt and pants off, leaving me standing in a jock, athletic socks, and tennis shoes. He texted saying he was entering the store. The cracked booth door pulled open, he stepped in and closed it behind him. My dick was dripping precum all over the floor in a way it never had before. I dropped to my knees and pulled out his cock. It was about seven inches, decently thick, cut, with a big head. I licked his precum before deep-throating and working his cock. All the while complementing my skill at sucking his cock, he talked to me like the faggot slut I was, telling me I was going to submit to his toxic cock and get his AIDS strain I stood up and turned my hole towards his direction. I bent over and braced against the wall of the booth. He plunged his cock into my ass rough. His dirty talk was beautiful. Nonstop poz domination, telling me how I would succumb to and get sick from his unmedicated toxic poz seed. I ached for it and rocked my ass against him to take his cock deeper. He ground my ass like this for what seemed like 15 or 20 minutes, roughly handling my neg jock body, slamming me against the wall, tightening his hand around my neck as he made me beg for AIDS. He made me promise to stay off meds and pass it to college studs who will fall for my hot jock body, all while impaling me with his raw cock. He was ramping up to blowing his load of cum, and it was all I could to do hold my load in and wait for him to climax. I had been gripping my cock still the entire time, on the brink from the first penetration. As he grunted with the release of the first rope of toxic cum into my gut I pulled down on my cock, putting pressure on the skin on the head and shot all over the booth wall. His pace slowed and he continued to grind his cock in and out of my hole for another minute or so.. My post cum regret was quickly sinking in. Fucking idiot fag slut, taking unmedicated poz seed on purpose. This always happens. But this time was the shortest yet. I hurried out of the booth, but by the time I made it to my car I was hard. A minute after driving away I found myself texting him, making plans for my next seeding.

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I went to the park after dark in track pants, lubed up my hole, leaned again the rail on the bridge. It was extremely dark. After about a minute, a bear bro came up behind me and felt me up. I reached back and felt his cock through his shorts and I pushed them down, I played with the pre-cum on his cock head. He pulled down my track pants to find my pre-lubed hole, he guided his cock into my hole, he pushed me over forward to get good access. I realaised he is an old buddy of mine. It was hot to have his cock in my hole again, I love his full body contact, he is great at bear hugging.

I have no idea what the audience size was but when I was 18 I used to fuck outdoors, hidden by a small stand of trees in a park with a river on one side and a train embankment on the other side. Trains used to slide by slowly enough for passengers to get a good look at what we were doing.

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.

Thursday 10 pm Time flies when you’re having fun. Though sometimes, and this is when you know you’re riding the right amount of drugs, when I’m high and in the moment, time seems to stop, and all I can focus on is the cock, mouth, or hole in front of me. This is what I love about chemsex, the way it focuses your entire being on men and fucking. It’s not about letting it run my life, but using it to bring my buddies and me pleasure. It’s a balance, and I love teaching my bottom boys how to manage it and not lose themselves. Don’t get me wrong, I fucking love that we all get twisted, but I want them to learn how we all watch out for each other. I must have lapped at Drew’s smooth hole for almost an hour now. Sticking my tongue in, slowly teasing it open, spitting on the hole, taking my time to lap it up, making slow circles around the outside ring. Sometimes I reach up to work on his hard cock, edging him. Meanwhile, Jack loves playing with Drew’s fresh nips, teaching them how to be even more sensitive to the touch. Drew’s cock has been leaking precum like a fountain, and it was hot watching Jack grab it from Drew’s dick and whatever was on his stomach, and bring his precum-covered hand for Drew to lap up. I notice that the front of my jeans is wet from my own leaking cock. I’m sure Jack’s in the same situation. At one point earlier, Jack turned Drew on his stomach to lie on top of him, his smooth ass arched up, giving me a great view and access. I smiled as Drew reached over and moved a part of Jack’s button-down shirt to one side so that he could suck on Jack’s big eraser-sized nips. Jack played with Drew’s hair, encouraging him on, instructing Drew how to suck. “Bite it lightly, now cover it with your lips and slobber over it, with lots of spit, and stick your tongue out and draw it around the sides of the raised nips, feel how hard they are for you. You have to vary the feeling. Watch the guy’s reaction, and you’ll know what feels good to him.” “That’s right, baby. I love it when you suck on my big nips like that–seeing you naked on top of me. Your daddy behind you, eating your ass, opening you up. Is this what you wanted? We’ve talked about this for the past month, Drew. How you wanted to be used by men, to role play, to take loads from guys, whether they’re neg or poz. How you’ve wanted to try Tina and G, whatever we wanted to give you. This turns you on, doesn’t it? “Oh my God, I’ve thought about this for so long. Cruising online, finding pnp videos that I’ve jacked off to so many times. I want it badly.” “We love making your dreams come true, Drew.” “Thank you, Uncle Jack.” “Good. Your daddy is going to fill the pipe again, and I want you to suck on it while I make you another Coke with G. This time, I’ll give you a little more. Don’t worry, I just want you even more on the edge and hornier. But we’re going to take care of you, even if you nod off a little bit. You have nothing to worry about. We’ll make sure to wake you up smiling. Okay, baby? You trust us? “Yes, sir, I do. I want you to use me.” “Atta boy, that’s what we like to hear.” I know what Jack has in mind. We haven’t done this in a while, and we need to make sure the bottom is fully on board, which Drew is. Sounds like Jack’s been working on Drew for a while now. A hot newbie chem bottom who’s willing to try it all is a fucking birthday, Christmas, and anniversary present all rolled into one. You don’t get it very often, and there’s no guarantee it’ll go well. Some are all talk, but this kid is ready and willing. I haven’t seen any hesitation on his part, which will make this whole situation even better. I want to see how far we can push his boundaries. Honestly, A+ for this kid so far. I help Drew up from the couch and make out with him, letting him know that he’s exactly how we want him to be. While we make out standing up, I can feel his cock next to my leg, rubbing against the jeans. None of us has watched the porn on the screen at all; we’re so engrossed in the moment. At this point, it’s just there to add to the general sleaziness of the situation. We all realize that it’s not about the porn. Not at this point anyway. Jack stands up, unbuttons his shirt all the way, but leaves it on. He’s so sexy like that, with just his chest and nips showing, his bulge straining in his jeans. I pull away from making out with Drew, and we both watch Jack adjust his big dick in his jeans to make himself a little more comfortable. “I’ll get us some G. Drew, I’ll get you a robe too. We love you naked, but remember everything is a balance. While we get ourselves together for this next round, just wear the robe. You don’t have to close it, just leave it open, but it’ll keep you warm. I’ll turn the fireplace on too.” Drew reaches back and feels up his hole. “It’s so wet.” “You’re starting to smell like me, Drew. You got my slobber all over your hole.” Drew brings his hand back from feeling his hole and licks it. “Tastes good! Uncle Jack, can I help you with the G? I want to know what to do.” “Absolutely, Drew. Follow me, and we’ll get you that robe, then you can watch as I prepare the G. “There will be a quiz, later, Drew. Take notes.” Drew has a big smile as I say that. I watch Drew turn to follow Jack. His pert ass and the back of his thighs shiny from my slobber, his hair tousled. These breaks are important; they help the mood as it rises and falls. It’s like gooning and edging, knowing when to ease off to give yourself time to breathe. We could have jumped right to fucking, which I’m sure Drew would have loved, but this is about training and taking our time, letting him open up and be comfortable. My buddies and I all have different roles and strengths, but what Jack and I are particularly good at is this: what we’re doing right now. Getting him to break his bonds of shame, and let his inner pig out. We’re not fucking selfish. We’re in this together, and we want to train Drew so he goes on to more adventures. I take a quick peek at my phone and see that Kevin, Henry, and Dwayne have all checked in on our Telegram group chat. I quickly type that this kid’s a keeper, that we’re having an excellent time, and that I hope they come over when they’re free. Knowing their schedules, Kevin will probably come over in the morning. Henry and Dwayne will come later tomorrow, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they have cumpany with them. We don’t bring anyone who hasn’t been vetted, but thankfully we have a stable of men who join us. It’s nice to share in the fun. I watch Drew put on the bathrobe, leaving it open, giving us a peek at his still hard cock, his torso, and legs. As Drew and Jack head to the kitchen, I put my phone away and refill the pipe. I take out two more pipes from the coffee table drawer and fill them up as well. We don’t skimp, and it’s nice to have them ready. That’s what the burly straight dad taught me one summer while camping, but that’s a story for another time. The porn on the TV is set up so that another one automatically plays when it finishes. Jack has an extensive collection of both professional and amateur porn. I take the torch and melt the Tina in all three pipes, taking hits one after another from all of them. Don’t want any rocks spilling out. My dick jumps up a little as I smoke up. Kid was taking lots of hits in the beginning, shotgunning some to Jack and me, but then we got into the foreplay and stopped. Time’s right to get us amped up again. As I hit the pipes, I see Drew and Jack in the kitchen taking some Cokes in a glass to the counter. I’m sure if they were to look my way, all they would see are big clouds floating in the living room. Jack’s showing Drew how to measure the G. I can hear Jack telling him not to take G with alcohol, it just makes you sick, and that’s no fun. Jack fills the first and second glasses and lets Drew fill his own, showing him how much G to put in. Jack gets behind Drew as he’s doing this and pulls his robe open more and plays with Jack’s nips as he measures the G. I can see Drew momentarily close his eyes, wrapped up in the pleasure. Jack eggs him on, and Drew fills up his Coke with his dose. There’s about a foot difference in height between the two, which is fucking hot. The sight of Jack behind Drew, fondling him under his robe, is perfect. I want that shot burned in my memory banks. I put the third pipe down as they come back to the living room with three glasses. Drew’s open robe sways as he walks up to me. He smiles as he hands me my glass. I nod my head up, encouraging him over, and he comes in for a kiss. He does the same to Jack and the three of us down the Cokes. I’m used to the bitter taste, but I can see Drew whinge a little. It’s probably because he has more than we do. I reach down, get a pipe and put it in Drew’s mouth. “Here, take a hit. It will help with the taste. There are three pipes there now, just grab any when you want.” Jack takes our glasses and brings them to the kitchen while Drew fires up the torch and takes a few big hits in a row from the pipe. He’s getting good at taking in the Tina and at making clouds. “Just like I showed you earlier, blow them out slowly, and let the smoke creep out. Like it’s a living thing.” He’s getting the hang of it. It’s all a part of the show, of course. The clouds coming from his mouth are mesmerizing. “Better?” “Yeah, that G tastes horrible.” “Later, I’ll get a bubble ready and fill it up with Gatorade. That adds a nice, sweet flavor. Sit and get comfy, you’ll start to feel the G shortly.” The three of us sit back down on the couch. Drew between us, robe still open. His cock is no longer steel-hard, but it’s beautifully chubby and shiny. Jack reaches for a remote by his side to turn on the fireplace. “Thank you so much, guys. I’m having a great time.” “Let’s talk before the G hits, okay? Remember, this is all about fun. Follow our orders and speak up when you want something or need to take a break. We don’t like a bossy bottom, but we do like one who knows what he wants. We’re going to help you unlock that side.” As Jack says this, Drew watches him intensely looking directly into Jack's eyes. They lean in to kiss, and I grab one of the pipes and take a hit as they make out. Jack pulls away, a line of spit dangling between them, and nods for Drew to do a shotgun. I lean in to kiss him, holding the Tina in my lungs. Our mouths lock, and feel our tongues start to dance around each other. I reach up, holding his head lightly, and slowly blow in the smoke. We continue to make out as he lets the smoke out between us. It comes out thick, between kisses and out of his nose. Big hit for sure. Drew leans his head back, gives a big sigh, and says, “fuck, that’s good!” Jack draws open Drew’s robe some more and starts tweaking one of his nips. I spit in my hand and play with his cock, slowly. I feel it get even more chubby as I move my hand up and down the shaft. I then move to caress the head of his dick and lean over to whisper, “I can’t wait to slide my raw cock in your hole.” This makes Drew squirm in excitement. Head still back, eyes closed, probably starting to feel the waves of pleasure from the G. Jack’s got his hands all over Drew’s inner thigh as we ramp things up. “I’m getting a little dreamy. Horny and dreamy.” “That’s alright, that’s what you’re supposed to feel. The G is kicking in since you had a higher dose. Plus, we’re bigger and used to it. Just let it flow, Drew. Don’t fight what you’re feeling.” With that Drew starts to grind his hips in circles as I slowly jack him, and Jack alternates between Drew’s nips and thighs. “Drew, you may want to close your eyes a bit. That’s okay, let it happen. But we’re going to continue to have fun. Your cock is going to remain hard, and you’re going to feel warm and very, very horny. You may come in and out, but just ride the waves. Breathe and relax into it.” “Yeah, please!” This time, it’s Jack’s turn between Drew’s legs. Jack gets up and kneels down between Drew’s legs, the robe totally open, exposing Drew. Drew reaches down and grabs Jack’s hands in his, while Jack starts to lick Drew’s inner thighs, balls, and up and down Drew’s cock. I put the pipe down and paw at Drew as well. I watch Drew, making sure his breathing is regular, which it is. His head is going side to side as Jack sucks on his cock slowly, teasing it all over with his tongue, going all the way down to the bush. The waves must be hitting him now. His cock is back to rock hard, which happens a lot with G. He’s got a huge smile on his face, while Jack holds his hands down to his side. His squirming slows, but it gets more languorous and deliberate. He starts slowly bringing his cock up to meet Jack’s mouth, and I can see Drew’s cock get slobbery wet with spit. This goes on for about 15 to 20 minutes. Jack and I pleasuring Drew while the G goes into action. Slowly, we notice his gyrations slow down, and his body relax even more. He’s in that perfect dreamy, horny state. At one point, he nods off as Jack is sucking him off and I open his mouth and dribble some of my spit in. Jack and I get up to admire him. Sitting on the couch, naked under a robe, his smooth body glistening from our spit, he starts to touch himself with his eyes closed. With his left hand he plays with his nip while his right slowly jacks his cock. We look at each other and smile. I nod at Jack, which he knows is the signal to get the clippers and razor. As Jack ducks into the bathroom, I pick up one of the pipes and take a big hit. I let the smoke out and start to take off all my clothes. All the while watching Drew play with himself slowly. At times, stopping as he nods off, but then picks up again playing with his dick. This kind of wave is for the beginning, helping Drew loosen up, and shed his inhibitions. Plus, it makes our dicks so hard to see him like this. Playing with himself, as the G hits him over and over again. He’ll be alert soon enough and will be hyper-aware of everything happening. I kick my shirt and jeans to the side, standing fully naked now. The steel cock ring is tight around my hard cock. Drew stops jacking off and starts snoring lightly. His dick is rock hard, his legs spread open between the robe. I lean over and stick my tongue in his mouth, making out with him. He gives a “Mmmm, yes.” “Drew, I’m going to pick you up and bring you to the playroom. I’m going to lay you down on the play mattress. We’re going to strap your arms and legs down, and shave off your body hair. We want you smooth all over. You’re going to look even more like a true sub.” “Don’t be alarmed at being strapped down. You’re going to love giving up control to us. This is all part of the fun. Soon we’re going to be inside you, taking turns, opening your hole up for hours, we’re going to keep you spun, and your hole will be overflowing with our cum. Do you want that, Drew?” As I say this, Drew slowly opens his eyes. They’re glazed over at first, but he snaps to attention. “Yes, do it all to me.” I help Drew take off his robe and pick him up. Lifting weights all my life makes it handy when I have to do this kind of thing. I bring him to the playroom and put him down on the bed. He opens his eyes for a second and smiles again at me. There goes that smile, I love it. I then move to the sides of the bed, take the restrains and put them on his wrists. I spread his legs and clamp his ankles. He looks up and watches me, before nodding off again. This entire time his cock is standing straight up, leaking precum, pulsing up and down. He looks so fuckable strapped down like this. “Just relax for a moment, Drew, while we get things set up.” I can feel the G as well and it’s making me so horny and pervy. That and the hits of Tina, of course. I go back out to the living room and shout out to Jack, “You need help or you got it?” “All good. Bring your stuff in.” I get my bag, the torch, the three pipes on the coffee table, and go back to the playroom. Jack follows me in holding a basin of warm water, and a bag with the clipper and shaving razors. “Damn, he looks good like that! Is he nodding off? “Yeah, a little but he’s alert when he needs to be” Jack gets especially turned on by a bottom boy rolling on G. “Get your clothes off, Jack, and let's get this hair off his body. I want him smooth.” ...

I'm not good at figuring out how to end a story but here's my attempt! Sorry for the wait! Part 2 I hear the shower in the bathroom turn on. Great I think to myself, even if I scream into the gag he won't hear me. "Told you he has a nice ass, and to think my loads been getting churned all night" "Hell yeah, you did good to get this hole nice a lubed" There was no denying it, that was the voice of the first guy "Yeah I was edging all day so I busted a fat ass load into him before they could even check for a rubber" "Haha dumb slut probably thought it was lube, well he wouldn't be wrong it's the best lube there is" I hear a snap, and feel that cold piercing resting at my hole "Had to bust the rubber incase your hubby finishes before us, we can just tell him we didn't notice" He starts Jack hammering into me I can feel the cum dripping down my balls with each thrust. "Gotta give you as many loads as we can make an absolute mess of your hole" "Yeah fucking take this dick, fucking whore here it cums baby, gonna make you mine . . . Fuckkkkkkk" I can feel shot after shot hitting me deep. I try to fight him off sobbing into the restraints "Easy there, it'll get easier cum makes taking cock so much easier" I felt him shift his weight and get off the bed, just to be replaced my another guy. "Here don't forget the condom, they only play safe remember" He gave his friend the same used broken condom that he just rolled down to the base like a cockring. I hear the door open. And can head a couple voices. "This where the cumdump is?" "Hell yeah, the little slut is trying to see how much cum he can get" "I'll be back, I'm gonna take a leak" I couldn't focus on what he was doing due to the attack on my ass "Yeah that's it, it's like your ass is sucking me in!" "Going to give you another load for being such a good cum slut. Fuck here it comes" He slammed balls deep and I could feel shot after shot shooting in my hole. "Thats it baby, fuck your pussy is so messy" "Fuck he really is a cumslut" The next guy mounted my ass He wasn't huge but from what I felt he was thick with a big mushroom head "Fuckkkkk this ass feels amazing" "I saw your add on bbrt and im surprised you're real" "Slut made an add to take some stealth loads without his husband knowing, bound, blindfolded and ass up" "Wish he could see the slut you really are. How many loads do you have?" Bbrt? What is that? I never made an add? The man starts hate fucking my hole hard slamming balls deep telling me to take it. It's just all to much and I pass out. When I come to a min later I can still feel my hole being used and feel a wet rag by my face idk what it's wet with but it makes my head foggy and hard to focus. I hear some more grunting and pass out again. Some time later I wake again still being used as a cumdump except the room sounds full. I hear "rawdaddytop" "Ahhh your awake boy, hope you don't mind but I invited some guys to use your hole. Don't worry they're still using a condom" I hear another guy watching "Fuck yeah breed his ass deep" I wonder where my husband is and almost like he could read my mind rawdaddytop whispered in my ear "I smoked your husband out and he's passed out in the bathroom, but don't worry, it's your hole we want" This freaked me out, my husband was passed out in the bathroom while I was being gangraped and breed. He said they only want my hole so at least he's okay. I had no idea that daddy not only smoked him out but drugged him, bent him over the tub and already fucked a load into the hubby and that if he was prepped he would be getting his ass gang raped too They continued to fuck and rape my hole must have been at least 15-20 guys throughout the night I lost track when i started to pass out. My hole was so used and wet that there was no way to resist or stop them. I stopped fighting it and just accepted it. I was nothing but a cumhole. The sun was starting to come up. The room was clearing out. I was laying in a puddle of cum, my ass still being used. "Fuck he's such a whore, look at how much cum he took" I tried to look around but I was still blindfolded "Good morning princess" Rawdaddytop was still there "Just a couple more loads and your done, congrats on being such a good cumdump, sure you got a few gifts from the experience " "Fuckkkkk I'm Cumming again" I could feel his dick twitch and pulse "Fuck I love conversion parties, welcome to the club boy" Club? Does he mean cumdump club? Why would anyone leave me gifts? "Let's get you cleaned up before I breed you again" He started cleaning my ass/back and legs of all the cum that leaked out of me. He was making it look like nothing ever happened. "Can't have him knowing what we did now can we, this will be our little secret right?" I shook my head refusing to agree with him. "Well I'm sure you will" I felt him position himself ontop of me and slide in with ease. He may have cleaned around my ass but I was still full of cum. "Fuck I can't get enough of a well used ass" "Listen your hubby should be waking up soon, I suggest you think about what you want to tell him unless you want me to show him how much of a cheating cum whore you really are." Before I could respond he put his phone infront of my face. Showing me an add on bbrts "visiting bottom, looking to take as much cum as I can. Hubby doesn't know I'm a cumslut willing to take all loads. Please use a condom broken of course, we can aways say it broke by mistake if he catches you. I'll be at the double tree room 224 the door will be propped open I'll be blindfolded ass up and bound. Cum in wait your turn, breed me deep and repeat. Heavy cummers preferred, Poz more than welcome. Cum knock me up!" I never wrote this! I never even heard of bbrts. I'm reading this in disbelief all the while he's still long dicking my ass churning the cum in my ass. He clicked on the profile and it looked like he made one pretending to be me, using the pics from the add we made on sniffies. Plus a few new pictures of my well used ass leaking cum, and getting fucked. "Cheating cum slut, always looking to take a load. Love cnc, rough fucking and breeding. Poz friendly hmu" What the hell is this. I didn't make any of this yet it looks like I did, I can't risk my husband believing him. Then he went to his camera roll showing me videos of guy after guy breeding me, all fucking me with a busted condom that it looks like they just passed back and forth. Then I heard the bathroom door open, it was my husband he woke up. Daddy closed his phone and kept fucking. "Well look who finally woke up, that blunt really knocked you on your ass huh? "Yeah it did, I just remember being with that twink you brought, I hit that blunt and the rest is a blur. Must have slept funny tho my ass hurts" "Yeah sleeping on the bathroom floor will do that to ya" "Hope you don't mind but I've just been using his ass to edge all night, I still haven't gotten to cum yet, you care if I finish?" "Hey if he's enjoying it sure but don't take too long we got a few plans for the day" "No problem I'm so close man, fuck your lucky getting an ass like this when ever you want" He layed flat against me and started to really pound my ass like he wanted to break it. All while whispering in my ear. "Fuck I'm going to breed you so deep you'll be dripping my seed all day" He slammed in one final time grunting load and really putting on a show, you would of thought this was his first time cumming all month. He pumped a few more times, sat up and started to pull out. My husband wanted to see my used hole and got closer to get a good view and asked of he could take a little video to remember the night by. "Sure let me know when your ready" He went back in balls deep just slowly pumping my husband got his phone out. "Ready" He started to pull out slowly. You could see on the video his shiny cum slick cock pulling out slowly "Fuck that ass felt so good I didn't notice the condom break" You could see the condom bunched up at the base of his cock then his head popped out with an audible pop his mushroom head still hard, covered in cum, his PA holding the cum rope to my ass. "Sorry man I edged for so long I shot such a big load" I could tell my husband was both turned on and upset "Well fuck I guess it's only one load, your clean right?" "Yeah man, I always play safe" "Alright cool, not gonna lie thats pretty hot I don't think I've seen that much cum in 1 hole before" "Haha yeah im a pretty heavy shooter and using his ass to edge just made it bigger" "Well maybe we can do it again when we visit next, let me go grab a towel" He walked into the bathroom and daddy took off his well used and pointless rubber, and took the ball gag back. "Good boy, you take cum like a champ, remember our deal, you say anything I show him your profile and this lovely add" I was completely defeated. "Yes sir" "Good boy, here keep this in one last gift from me" He grabbed a butt plug and shoved it in, keep that there if you don't want me to show the hubby. I want proof you kept it in until you get home. My hubby came back in the room handed hin the towel. "Well we're gonna be heading back today but maybe I can get your number for when come back?" Daddy agreed and we all exchanged numbers, daddy got dressed and left. I get up and go take a quick shower trying my best to keep the plug in, I don't want to risk anything more. As I shower I heard my phone go off a few times. I finish up and check my phone. It's rawdaddytop he sent me several videos of my assault thru the night and even one showing him breeding my husband. There were so many guys all just passing the condom like a torch to show who's turn it is to breed. I heard a few guys talk about "pozzing my ass" and a few tops even had biohazard tattoos. This horrified me but also turned me on like no other, there was also a message. "If you don't want this posted, and sent to your hubby, you'll do good to keep what happened quite and stay in touch" I pushed the butt plug deeper and replied. "Yes daddy" "Good boy, make sure you tell me when you visit next." "Yes sir" I got rock hard and got dressed to head for home The end

My Sex Goal for 2026 is to take a big hard cock in my ass, every single day. I'm already practicing, hitting the Adult Bookstore near me, twice a day, wearing my bare ass leather chaps, and climbing into the sling, where guys can just walk right up and fuck me.

I actually sat down with the calculator and honestly tried to figure this out: The results could make a dog blush. X# on a weekly basis, times 4 weeks in a month, times 12 for a decent number of years, (this is not counting deliberate "repeats"), and the result is a figure well into the zeros. Thus, I've done my duty honorably. I'm neither proud nor ashamed of it .... it is what it is. What I am proud of however, is that so far I've lived my life on my terms, not those of certain institutions, or cultural repressions, or any other impediments.

Lewis Black said it best: “Democrats are the party of bad ideas and Republicans are the party of no ideas.”

[think before following links] https://xhamster.com/videos/43-missionary-breeding-2-0-xh49cLL?utm_source=ext_shared&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=link

I feel it a lot of times, but definitely not always. I think it depends on whether or not I've already been loaded/fucked prior and where we are at in the line-up (if there is one). If it's the first guy and it's been a few hours since I've gotten a load, I'll most likely feel it. My entire family tree has a generations old genetic quirk which causes hyperthermia in the men (ongoing elevated body temperature). So most of the time, cum and piss feel cool to me within my hole, not warm. So as soon as I feel any type of coolness spray my hole, that's the cumload. You can feel the puling of the guys dick too, assuming your hole isn't wrecked. My experience at least. I think that @Pozguyinchiis spot on that it's totally a hormonal thing too - I definitely get that no matter what...which is also why I bat people away if they try to get eat the load out of my ass too soon.

Hey so I have been castrated by the banding method. I honestly wish I had done it sooner. But I got very high on meth then banded my balls and left it on for 4 days before going to the hospital then a week later had then removed.

Yes, but not while they are high or if the seem not capable of making decisions.

That's what I mean, it is an aid, it can't replace human creativity. I do use it for creative operations when I have difficulties especially on languages. I'm not native English speaking and with songs (I play piano and sometimes invent some funny songs) I get stuck with rhymes. So, I prompted a Poe bot to write lyrics keeping the native language's meaning but remaining coherent with the rhyme in English. And the result is one of my biography quotes. "Alpha male, real man. With my chest out, proudly I stand. I am strong, I am cool, I'm your positive dude". That was something to mock ultra-conservative fanatics obsessed by the macho-like male model.

This is hot. One time a guy told me he was poz right as he was cumming inside me. I immediately came knowing his toxic dna was flooding my hole.

Make my debut on film, wearing a mask Take part in a filmed, flip fucking orgy Get double penetrated as a bottom Have a MMF 3 way where I fuck a pussy while getting fucked Breed and get bred at least 5 times a week

Goals: To seek more sex with straight married guys. Focus on group sex with many tops. Suck more cock. Personal-To have a relationship with a guy. I want to be faithful with a man who I can love and be bred all times without going the hops with random guys.

I'm not exclusively a bottom by any means, and don't always have the time or energy to act, but mentally am pretty much always in heat.

Being fully versa, I’m almost always in heat either as a top or as a bottom but mostly both. And don’t think it’s better because I have more chance to get relieved. Fucking a bottom never helps my hungry ass. Furthermore, like @Njn0mc, if I finally got fucked I need more. And I didn’t talk about getting fisted because that’s an endless circle 🤣🤣🤣

12, in a sling at a sex club in Phoenix...watched me get fucked for about 30 minutes straight, by a black guy with a HUGE beer can-sized cock...i had to call "Mercy" after that 30 minutes.

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.

Well this was a few days ago. I had an appointment in the morning. But I've really wanted to see a hot daddy bear bottom I've been talking to back and forth. So I made arrangements and was able to do both fortunately. The Daddy Bottom Bear I arrived at his complex. I was a little pressed for time but I was surprised when I walked in the door. He was an incredible sexy man big bushy beard and in a robe I think. He kissed me passionately when I entered. I did not expect that. I expected him to want to be ass up wanting a load. We went to the bedroom and I started stripping. My plan was if he was ass up I was just going to fuck him with my jeans on and leave after because I was short on time. But damn..the sexy fucker had to go and kiss me and and be sexy as hell. I started stripping my clothes and he took off most of what he was wearing except for a shirt. He wanted to make out and he was very affectionate. He was touching my body, holding me, caressing me, and I was really kinda happy he wasn't rushed to just fuck I love foreplay when it's a great connection. But fuck I was in a rush. I told him I want him on his belly. He got on my belly and he had a nice hot ass. I spit on my cock and then on his hole. I tried to gently push in but I could not only feel he wanted more but I wanted to give him more. I gave him more of my cock and heard him moan. I started fucking him and damn I really needed this. But I was really enjoying fucking him. I pulled out and spit on my cock which was even harder to try and loosen his hole up a little more. His hole felt so damn good. I asked him if I can take a picture and he said it's fine. I took a picture of me fucking him. I knew this would make Daddy happy. Thinking about Daddy too got me harder. He started to say "Breed me". But I wasn't fully in the mood to breed yet. I wanted to enjoy his ass. I pulled out all the way and slammed my cock in him, I also buried my bone deep in him. I was more then a little sensual. I wanted to actually make love to this man and I think he wanted it too. If I had more time i would have. His ass felt so good I started fucking him harder and faster. I started growling and grunting. I held him tight and shouted as I shot a huge load into him. He groaned and thanked me. He wasn't trying to keep me in either he was just enjoying me being inside him. Fuck. I pulled out and told him I had to get going. I washed my dick and we kissed a little bit more and then I left. I'll definitely see him again. I sent my Daddy the picture afterwards and he was happy. He told me I'm a good boy. Fuck I love how this man is encouraging me to fuck and breed other guys. My appointment went great. Discreet Gray Daddy This happened earlier in the week. It was earlier in the week the evening was kinda of a bust. I was really excited to go out but not much was going on and I wasn't in the right mindset. After nothing was going right with potential fun I decided to call it a night. To my surprise someone messaged me and asked if I'd be available in a little bit. I said yes and they told me to park in a certain area. Oh I remembered this person on another site it never worked out because he couldn't find where I parked. Well this time was different. He found me and took me to his place. He was pretty hot. An older daddy but hot white stache, goatee, beard combo. He had an interesting play area but it was a little cold coming from outside. He was pretty agressive and kissed me, and bite me, and did a little bit of unexpected breath play. I sucked him for a bit and he enjoyed it and was getting hard. He fucked me a few times and damn he his cock was big and felt great in me. Especially considering I didn't really get fucked prior. But fuck I loved him fucking me fast and hard. He kinda stopped a few times when fucking me and slowed down probably trying not to come. I ended up getting agressive and horny and told him to get on all fours. His ass felt fucking good. It wasn't loose but it was relaxed. I enjoyed taking my hard cock all the way out of his hole and pushing it back in. I was a little rougher with him. He was moaning and groaning and he was enjoying it. But the man was rough with me, grabbing me, pinning me down, breathe play, and his agressive fucking. Pup wanted to return the same energy. I fucked him hard and he was loving it moaning and begging me to cum. I didn't feel like cumming yet. I fucked him harder and he pulled off me for a moment. I figured maybe I was too rough but he ended up putting me on my back and fucking me. Damn this man was hot. After he fucked me for a bit I decided I had to have his ass. I put him on his belly and shoved my cock in him. I fucked him with deep and long strokes and then got to my faster fucking. I shouted and breed him. I pulled out after and had to piss. I came back and he was already getting dressed. We both thanked each other and I left after that. It was pretty hot and fun. He was super discreet though so I can't expect I'll see him much again. It has not been a lot of action this week but I enjoyed it. I feel like I'll get to the point where I might want to go on a binge fucking bottoms soon hehe. Or maybe I'll just run into a bottom that's close that I can breed regular. Scheduling can be a bitch. Hope to breed again soon. Until next time...

Chapter 14 The stale, greasy air of the burger joint clung to Jordan’s clothes as he leaned against the driver’s side door of Blake’s beat-up sedan. His heart was a frantic drum against his ribs, a mix of residual anger from the video and a gnawing, anxious guilt. He’d driven on pure impulse, fueled by the raw, confusing aftermath of his encounter with Jared. He needs to know, Jordan thought. He needs to know it wasn't just about revenge. He knocked on the window, the sound too loud in the quiet street. The driver’s side window whirred down, revealing Blake’s surprised face. His eyes, a startling shade of blue, widened slightly before a guarded, almost wary expression settled over his features. The intricate floral tattoos on his hips peeked out from beneath the waistband of his low-slung jeans. “Jordan? What’s up?” “We need to talk,” Jordan said, his voice tighter than he intended. “About what happened. With Jared.” Blake’s jaw clenched. He looked away for a moment, out the windshield, before his gaze returned, colder. “Look, man, if you’re here to give me shit again—” “I’m not,” Jordan interrupted, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I’m here to say… what you did was fucked up. Going behind my back and having sex with Jared, on camera, for money. It was wrong.” Blake’s defensive posture softened a fraction, replaced by wary curiosity. “Okay…?” Jordan took a shaky breath, the hardest part still to come. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. I sent the video of my step dad because I was mad. “But only partly because I was mad.” He forced himself to hold Blake’s gaze, to let him see the raw, unvarnished truth. “It was mostly because I was jealous.” The admission hung in the air between them, heavy and electric. Blake’s eyes searched his, the ice in them melting into something else entirely—shock, confusion, and a dawning, fragile hope. “Jealous?” Blake breathed out, the word barely a whisper. “Yeah,” Jordan said, his own voice dropping to match. “You confessed this… this huge thing to me. This dirty secret. And I threw it back in your face. And then I heard you with him, and it felt like you’d taken something that was…” He trailed off, the rest of the sentence—that was meant for me—too terrifying to voice. A slow, understanding dawned on Blake’s face. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I was gonna ask you, you know,” he said, his voice thick with a sudden, vulnerable honesty. “That day. I was gonna ask if you wanted to… to collab. On camera. With me.” Jordan’s breath hitched. What? “But I was terrified,” Blake continued, his gaze dropping to his hands on the steering wheel. “After you pulled away from my kiss… I was so sure you’d reject me. I thought it was the stupidest idea I’d ever had.” He looked up, his blue eyes glistening. “So I went to Jared instead. It was easier. Safer. And I know he struggles more financially than you do.” The revelation landed like a physical blow, rearranging everything Jordan thought he knew about the last few days. The tension that had been coiling in the air between them—the hurt, the betrayal, the unsaid words—didn’t evaporate. It transmuted. It crackled, heating from within, shifting from emotional static into a pure, undiluted, erotic charge. They both felt it at the exact same moment. Jordan saw it in the way Blake’s pupils dilated, black swallowing the blue. Blake saw it in the way Jordan’s lips parted, his breathing turning shallow. The space inside the car suddenly felt too small, too hot, charged with a need so potent it was dizzying. There was no more talking. With a guttural sound that was half-growl, half-plea, Blake shoved the car door open. Jordan didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, meeting him halfway as Blake scrambled out of the driver’s seat. Their bodies collided against the side of the car, hands grabbing, pulling, mouths crashing together in a kiss that was nothing like the tentative one they’d shared before. This was a conflagration. It was all desperate, hungry lips and clashing teeth and frantic tongues. Jordan’s hands fisted in Blake’s shirt, yanking it up over his head and tossing it blindly into the dark car. Blake’s nails scraped down Jordan’s back as he worked the button on his jeans, the rasp of the zipper a obscenely loud counterpoint to their ragged breathing. “Inside. Now,” Blake panted against his mouth, pulling him toward the back seat. They tumbled into the cramped space, a chaotic mess of limbs and urgency. The doors slammed shut, sealing them in their own private, heated world. Jordan landed half on top of Blake, their hard cocks grinding together through the fabric of their jeans, drawing identical, sharp gasps from both of them. “Fuck, Jordan,” Blake moaned, his head falling back against the seat, exposing the long line of his throat. Jordan latched onto it, sucking a dark mark into the skin as his hands finally, finally, shoved Blake’s jeans and boxers down his hips. And there it was. Blake’s cock, just as he remembered from that first video session. Thick, impressive, curving upward, already glistening with a pearl of precum at the tip. Jordan wrapped his hand around it, and Blake bucked up into his touch with a broken cry. “You like that?” Jordan murmured, his voice rough with desire as he stroked him, his thumb smearing the slickness over the flushed head. “You have no idea,” Blake gasped out, his eyes screwed shut. “No fucking idea how long I’ve wanted this. Wanted you.” The confession was a live wire. Jordan claimed his mouth again in a searing kiss as he shimmied out of his own clothes, their naked skin sliding together in the humid dark of the car. The scent of sweat and cheap cologne and pure, unadulterated male desire filled the air. Blake’s hands were everywhere—gripping Jordan’s ass, tracing the muscles of his back, tangling in his hair. “I need to feel you,” he begged, his voice cracking. “Please, Jordan. I need all of you.” Jordan stilled, looking down at him. The streetlight outside cast shifting shadows across Blake’s handsome face, highlighting the desire, the trust, the raw vulnerability there. “You sure?” he asked, his own need a painful, throbbing ache. “It’s your first time… like this.” “Yes,” Blake breathed, his eyes blazing with certainty. “I’m sure. I want it to be you. Only you.” That was all the permission Jordan needed. He reached for his discarded jeans, fumbling for his wallet, his fingers shaking as he ripped open a condom packet. Blake watched him, chest heaving, his own hands stroking his hard, leaking length as Jordan sheathed himself. “Tell me what you want.” Jordan whispered, positioning himself, the head of his cock pressing against Blake’s entrance. “You,” Blake moaned, wrapping his legs around Jordan’s waist, pulling him closer. “Fuck me, Jordan. Make me yours.” The sound of his name coming from Blake's mouth lit his brain on fire. The filthy, desperate plea was Jordan’s undoing. He pressed forward, slowly, inexorably, breaching that tight, incredible heat. Blake’s breath caught, a sharp hiss of pain and pleasure as his body stretched to accommodate him. “Okay?” Jordan gritted out, stopping, sweat beading on his forehead from the effort of holding still. “Fuck yes,” Blake gasped, his eyes rolling back. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.” Jordan began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that made the old car’s suspension creak in protest. Each thrust was a revelation. The tight, clenching heat surrounding him, the way Blake’s body opened for him, took him in, the raw, unfiltered sounds being torn from Blake’s throat. “Harder,” Blake demanded, his nails digging into Jordan’s shoulders. “Oh, yes, just like that. Your cock feels so fucking good inside me. Keep fucking me...” Jordan obeyed, pistoning his hips faster, driving deeper with every stroke. The filthy talk, the complete surrender, the overwhelming sensation—it was all hurtling him toward the edge. He could feel Blake’s body tightening around him, could hear his moans climbing in pitch. “Look at me,” Jordan commanded, grabbing Blake’s chin. “I want to see you.” Blake’s eyes fluttered open, glassy with pleasure, utterly besotted. “Jordan…” he whimpered, his hand flying to his own cock, stroking himself in frantic time with Jordan’s thrusts. “You’re mine,” Jordan growled, the possessive words tumbling out, a perfect echo of the ones Jared had used on him. They felt right. They felt true. That was all it took. Blake’s eyes snapped shut as his orgasm ripped through him with a wordless shout, his cum shooting up in thick stripes across his stomach and chest. The violent clenching of his body around Jordan’s cock threw Jordan over the edge a second later. He buried himself to the hilt with a guttural cry, his own release pulsing into the condom in hot, endless waves. They collapsed together in the messy, cramped space, a tangled heap of sweaty limbs and spent desire. The only sound was their ragged, synced breathing fogging up the windows. Jordan, still buried inside Blake, felt the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through them both. After a long moment, Blake’s hand came up, his fingers weakly tracing Jordan’s jawline. His eyes, when they opened, were clear and held a terrifying, beautiful depth of emotion. “I’m in love with you, Jordan,” he whispered, the words raw and awed. “I think I have been for years.” He looked up, his blue eyes wide Chapter 15 The words hung in the air, a dense, suffocating fog that seemed to fill the entire interior of Blake’s car. I’m in love with you, Jordan. They weren’t just words; they were a seismic event, cracking the foundation of everything Jordan thought he understood about his own heart. He pulled back, the physical separation from Blake’s warmth feeling like a necessary, painful act of survival. The scent of their sweat and sex was suddenly overwhelming, a cloying reminder of the intimacy that had just forged a new, impossible connection. “Blake, I…” he started, but his voice failed him. What could he possibly say? Thank you? Me too? The first was inadequate, the second a lie. The truth was a tangled knot of affection, lust, guilt, and a deep, anchoring pull toward Jared that refused to loosen. Blake’s face, so open and vulnerable moments before, began to shutter closed at Jordan’s silence. The raw hope in his blue eyes dimmed, replaced by a flicker of the old defensiveness. “Right,” he said, the single word flat and heavy. He awkwardly shifted, pulling his jeans up over his hips, the movement breaking the last physical tether between them. “It’s not that I…” Jordan tried again, fumbling for his own clothes. The condom felt cold and alien against his skin. “What you said… it’s a lot. And I’m… with Jared.” Aren’t I? The thought was a fresh wave of confusion. After their explosive fight and the possessive, raw sex that followed, what were they? “I know you are,” Blake muttered, not looking at him as he pulled his shirt on. “Forget I said anything. It was the heat of the moment.” But the tremor in his voice betrayed him. It was anything but. The drive home was a silent, torturous affair. Jordan replayed Blake’s confession on a loop, each iteration tightening the knot in his stomach. He felt the ghost of Blake’s body against his, the intensity of his gaze, the raw honesty in his whisper. It stirred something deep and undeniable within him, a burning ember of want that was entirely separate from what he felt for Jared. How can I want two people so completely, so differently? The question had no answer, only the heavy weight of impending consequence. He pulled into his driveway, the house dark and quiet. His mother was at her evening shift, and Scott’s truck was parked in its usual spot. Scott. Of course. The only person in his life who wouldn’t judge the messy, chaotic tangle of his feelings. Jordan found him in the living room, a half-finished glass of whiskey in one hand, a book facedown on his lap. He looked up as Jordan entered, and his relaxed expression immediately sharpened into one of concern. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Scott said, his voice a low, steady rumble. “Everything okay with Jared?” Jordan sank into the armchair opposite him, running his hands through his hair. “It’s not Jared. Well, it is, but it’s… it’s more.” The words poured out of him then, a rushed, jumbled confession about the video, the confrontation, the desperate, passionate collision in the back of Blake’s car, and finally, the three words that had changed everything. He left nothing out, the relief of unburdening himself making him dizzy. Scott listened without interruption, his gaze fixed on Jordan, his expression unreadable. When Jordan finally fell silent, spent and waiting, Scott took a slow sip of his whiskey. “Wow,” he finally said, letting out a low whistle. “That’s… a situation.” “You’re telling me,” Jordan groaned, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “What the hell do I do, Scott? I can’t have two boyfriends. That’s… that’s not how this works. Is it?” He looked up, seeking wisdom from the one person who might have any. Scott swirled the amber liquid in his glass, thinking. “It can work,” he said carefully. “For some people. It’s called an open relationship, or polyamory. But it only works on a foundation of brutal, terrifying honesty. It’s not a way to avoid making a choice; it’s a choice in itself, and it’s a hell of a lot harder than being monogamous.” Honesty. The word felt like a punch. He’d been hiding so much from everyone, including himself. “So, what? I just go to Jared and say, ‘Hey, I know we just reconnected after a huge fight, but I also really want to be with the guy you just made a porn video with’?” The absurdity of it made a bitter laugh escape his lips. “He’d lose his mind.” “Probably,” Scott agreed, a faint, knowing smile touching his lips. “But you have to start somewhere. You have to talk to him. You have to tell him how you’re feeling—the confusion, the pull you feel toward Blake, everything. You owe him that. And you owe it to yourself.” Jordan’s mind recoiled at the thought of that conversation. Jared’s jealousy was a fierce, palpable thing. The image of his furious, possessive expression from their last argument flashed in his mind. “He’ll never go for it. He’s too… Jared.” “You don’t know that,” Scott countered gently. “People can surprise you. But even if he says no, even if it ends things between you, you’ll have been honest. And you’ll be free to explore what you have with Blake without this guilt eating you alive.” He leaned forward, his gaze intense. “And you need to be just as honest with Blake. Tell him you have feelings for him, but that you’re also committed to figuring things out with Jared. He deserves to know where he stands, even if it’s a difficult place.” The advice was logical, mature, and utterly terrifying. It meant walking into potential fire twice over. But beneath the fear, a sliver of clarity began to form. The knot in his stomach loosened just a fraction. Scott was right. The only way out was through. “An open relationship,” Jordan murmured, testing the words. They felt foreign on his tongue, a concept from a world far more complicated than the one he thought he lived in. The idea of it sent a jolt of something through him—anxiety, yes, but also a dark, thrilling curl of anticipation. Jared’s possessive fire and Blake’s vulnerable intensity… could I really have both? He stood up, a new, nervous energy coursing through him. “Okay,” he said, mostly to himself. “Okay. Honesty.” Scott nodded, a look of quiet pride in his eyes. “It’s the hardest path, kid. But it’s the only one that leads somewhere real.” Jordan pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over Jared’s name. His heart hammered against his ribs. Every instinct told him to retreat, to hide, to fall back into the easy pattern of secret hookups and suppressed desires. But he thought of Blake’s heartbroken expression, of Jared’s furious passion, and of the confusing, overwhelming want for them both that refused to be ignored. He took a deep, shaking breath and typed out a message, the words feeling like a point of no return. We need to talk. For real. Can you come over? He hit send before he could lose his nerve, the whoosh sound echoing in the quiet room. The three dots appeared almost immediately, bouncing on the screen. Jordan’s mouth went dry. This was it. The first step onto the hardest path. The dots stopped. Jared’s reply was simple, stark, and utterly terrifying. On my way.

Chapter 5 The air in the sling room was thick enough to chew, a miasma of sweat, spent seed, and the acrid tang of chemicals that clung to the walls and saturated their very pores. The sacred silence that had followed Nate and Geoff’s union was broken by the click of a lighter. Brandon, ever the facilitator, the high priest of their new religion, was already preparing the next sacrament. He held the glass pipe, the bowl glowing a furious orange as he inhaled deeply, his chest expanding. He didn’t exhale. Instead, he crossed the room to where Nate was still leaning against the wall, his legs weak, his mind reeling from the seismic shift in his reality. “Open up, big brother,” Brandon commanded, his voice a low, intimate growl. He grabbed Nate by the back of the neck, pulling him into a rough kiss. As Nate’s lips parted, Brandon shot the thick, white cloud directly into his lungs, a shotgun blast of pure, unadulterated euphoria. Nate choked, sputtered, and then held it, his eyes rolling back as the wave crashed over him, washing away the last vestiges of the man he used to be. Brandon repeated the process with Geoff, who was still lying in the sling, his body glowing with a post-orgasmic sheen. Geoff accepted the smoke with a practiced ease, his glassy eyes fixed on his father. “Round two,” Brandon announced, a predatory grin spreading across his face. From the backpack, he produced another small syringe and a fresh, sterile ampoule. He expertly drew the clear, viscous liquid into the barrel. “Time to open that hole up properly, Nate. Get you ready for what’s coming.” Nate, lost in a chemical haze, offered no resistance. He simply bent over the bench, presenting his firm, muscular ass to his brother. Brandon pulled his cheeks apart, exposing the tightly furled bud. He squirted a glob of lubricant onto his fingers, worked it in, and then pressed the tip of the syringe against Nate’s sphincter. With a firm, steady push, he depressed the plunger, sliding the entire booty bump deep into his brother’s hole. Nate gasped, a sharp, electric jolt of pleasure-pain shooting up his spine as the dissolved crystal began to absorb directly into his tissues. His hole began to tingle, then to pulse, a warm, hungry ache spreading through him. Meanwhile, Geoff had prepared his own slam. With the focus of a champion athlete, he tied off, found a vein, and sent the charge rocketing into his own bloodstream. The effect was immediate and profound. His body tensed, every muscle straining as the fire flooded his system. A low, guttural growl rumbled in his chest, his eyes burning with a feral, possessive light. The boy was gone. In his place stood a virile, dominant bull, his nine-inch cock jutting out from his body, thick, hard, and leaking a steady stream of clear, potent precum. He had waited years for this moment, dreamed of it, and now, his father was finally his to claim. “On your back, Dad,” Geoff ordered, his voice deeper, rougher than before. “In the sling. It’s your turn.” Nate complied, his movements clumsy with lust and chemical surrender. He settled into the leather, his legs placed in the stirrups, his hole exposed and twitching with anticipation. Geoff stood between his father’s spread legs, his powerful frame casting a shadow over the man who had raised him. He ran a hand possessively over Nate’s thigh, the muscles tensing at his touch. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” Geoff began, his voice a low, intense murmur as he guided the head of his cock to his father’s slick, puckered entrance. “All those years, watching you, wanting to be just like you. But that’s over now. It’s time for you to earn your brand. It’s time for you to take what I’m giving you.” He pushed forward, sinking the first few inches into his father’s hole. Nate cried out, a raw sound of shock and overwhelming pleasure. The feeling was immense, his son’s thick cock stretching him, filling him in a way he’d never been filled before. “Fuck yeah, take it,” Geoff snarled, his hips beginning to move, a slow, deliberate drilling rhythm that forced more and more of his length inside. He leaned forward, his face hovering over Nate’s, a string of spit connecting his lips to his father’s. He opened his mouth and let the saliva drip directly onto Nate’s tongue. “You’re gonna take my fucking poz load, Dad. You’re gonna take my toxic cum right up your guts. I’m gonna breed you. I’m gonna impregnate your hole with my seed.” His thrusts grew harder, faster, the slap of his hips against Nate’s ass echoing in the small room. He brought his hand down hard on Nate’s butt cheek, leaving a red, stinging print. SMACK! “This is my hole now!” he roared, his control completely gone. “You hear me? You’re my fucking bitch! You’re gonna take my poz gift and you’re gonna thank me for it!” SMACK! He punctuated the declaration with another sharp slap, his rhythm turning into a brutal, possessive pounding. He was no longer making love; he was claiming, marking, seeding. He was pozzing his own father, fulfilling the ultimate purpose of their bond. Nate was lost, a vessel of pure sensation. The words, the slaps, the overwhelming feeling of his son’s toxic cock rearranging his insides—it was a nirvana he never knew existed. He met Geoff’s gaze, and what he saw there wasn’t a boy, but a god, and he was his willing altar. The pressure built in both of them, a frantic, desperate climb toward the inevitable. “Gonna fucking seed you! Gonna give you my biohazard!” Geoff howled, his body locking up as his orgasm hit him like a freight train. He buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing violently as he unleashed a massive, infectious load deep into his father’s guts. Nate felt the hot, potent flood, and it triggered his own climax, his cock erupting without even being touched, painting his own chest with thick ropes of cum. Their triumphant, explosive cries mingled, a symphony of incestuous, viral conquest. They lay panting, Geoff collapsed onto his father’s chest, his softening cock still plugged deep inside him. The door to the room creaked open, and Brandon’s voice cut through the haze. “Beautiful, boys. Absolutely beautiful.” He stepped aside, and a new figure filled the doorway. He was a mountain of a man, broad-shouldered and thickly muscled, with a salt-and-pepper beard and a familiar, predatory grin. It was Coach Kyle Simmons, Geoff’s high school wrestling coach, and Nate and Brandon’s oldest friend. “Kyle,” Nate breathed, his eyes wide. “Nate,” Coach Simmons rumbled, his voice a low gravel. He began to strip off his tank top, revealing the intricate tattoo that started as a black scorpion on his belly and traced a path down, disappearing into the waistband of his gym shorts. “Heard you were finally joining the club.” He hooked his thumbs into his shorts and pulled them down, freeing his massive, ten-inch cock. It was a formidable weapon, thick and veiny, already standing at attention. He’d stealthed countless men, a ghost in the night, leaving his mark without a word. But tonight was different. He stepped into the room, his eyes locking onto Nate’s well-fucked, cum-leaking hole. “Been a long time, my friend,” he said, stroking his monstrous shaft. “But I’m not gonna be a ghost this time. You’re gonna feel every inch of this. And you’re gonna know exactly what I’m giving you.” He smiled, and it was the smile of a shark. “Time to get your real first seeding, Nate.”

Thursday night - 8 pm. I turn to Drew and smile at him. He looks at me a little sheepishly, eyes glazed over from the G he drank earlier. Kid looks fucking happy and dreamy. “Drew, I want you to watch what I do. Okay? I want you to know what’s happening each step of the way. You follow?” “Yessir.” His answer made my dick leak a little in my jeans. Seeing a boy so willing and open gets my juices going. I’ve done my fair share of corruption. But once in a while, having someone willing to explore and find their chemmed-up piggy side without too much fuss is fucking awesome. You can just enjoy the show as they discover themselves. “This is Tina. Crystal. This is going to make our time together even hotter. You understand?” “Yessir.” “Good. This is really good dope. It’s going to make you feel so good and so very horny. I’m going to take some out of this bag and break it up. It’s going to go into this glass pipe. There are different kinds of pipes in the drawer, but let’s start with this one. We’ll get to the others later.” “Some people use the long end of the glass pipe to scoop up the broken bits from the bag. Or you can use a piece of folded paper. You pour the broken shards onto the paper and then slide the crystals into the pipe. Whatever way you do it, I want you to always pay attention. Don’t spill any. If you crush it too fine, just leave it in the bag, and we’ll do something else with it. I prefer to have shards this size in the pipe. You follow?” “Yessir.” “Listen to the sound of Tina going in the pipe. You’re going to love that sound, Drew. Just hearing it will make your heart race. Now, hold the pipe between your fingers, and I’ll show you how to use the torch.” “It’s a simple click, but the key is not to get it too close to the pipe. With your other hand, you’re going to bring the torch up to the ball. Remember, not too close, then slowly melt the crystals. As soon as you see wisps of smoke, turn away from the pipe and exhale the air from your lungs. Then I want you to bring the pipe up, close your pretty lips around it, and inhale. Keep going until you can’t breathe anymore. Got it?" Drew knows how to follow instructions well. He takes the pipe and keeps breathing until he turns to me and indicates he can’t take in any more smoke. I nod and encourage him to keep inhaling. “You can do it, boy. Keep going. Make your daddy and uncle proud.” He did one more inhale through his nose and sucked up the smoke. “Okay, go ahead and slowly blow it out.” Drew blows out a huge cloud and has a bright smile on his face, knowing he just did a great job. He watched the clouds drift in the air, mesmerized. We don’t rest on our laurels, though. “Not bad. I want you to do it four more times and try to get bigger and bigger clouds. Make it really thick. As soon as I say that, I put my hand on his right leg and rub the inside of his thigh. God, his smooth skin feels so good. I circle near his crotch, but not going too near it yet. I want him to get seriously spun first. Drew goes on to hit the pipe, one after another. Jack’s looking over, smiling. I can see his hard-on through his jeans. He loves watching this up close. “Uncle Jack. What do you think? How’s our boy doing? “Amazing. How do you feel, Drew?” As soon as Drew finishes his fourth hit, he leans back on the couch. Eyes wide open, his left hand is already mindlessly groping his dick through his shorts. “I feel great! Wow, I’m already horny! “Good! Go over and sit on your Uncle Jack’s lap, Drew. We want you to keep hitting the pipe while he watches you up close.” Drew gets up, a little shaky, which gives me a moment to palm his crotch and squeeze his tight, plump ass. He gives a slight moan and breathes in. His body is probably tingling already. I know mine is, and I haven’t had any hits since I left the house. He sits on Jack and leans back. Jack’s hands are all over his torso, going under his shirt, feeling him up and down. Jack then takes his left hand to move Drew’s head so they can make out. I can see spit and their tongues dancing. While they do this, I take the pipe and take a big hit myself. I get up over the two of them and lean over to blow it into Drew’s mouth while Jack goes back to tweaking Drew’s nips. Drew’s legs are over Jack’s, back to spread open. He’s going to be in this position a lot over the next few days. I move the coffee table back and kneel between their legs. I hand Drew the pipe and torch and instruct him to take a few more hits, blowing each one to Uncle Jack while they make out. I tell him I want to see big, thick clouds leaving Jack. As Drew goes back and hits the pipe, I get a chance to look more closely at his beautiful legs. Kid must be a runner or works out a lot. Who knows how long Jack had to go fishing to get this boy, but I’m glad he found someone who wants to experience this. I move close to his crotch and take a deep inhale. Mmmm, freshly certified bottom boy. I lean in and lightly lick the exposed area on the side of his shorts. I hear the click of the lighter as he continues to take hits of the pipe, while Uncle Jack plays with his nips. This kid’s a natural. Jack’s whispering something to Drew. I can’t hear it exactly, but I can tell that Drew is getting hard with Tina and dirty talk. I reach in and grab his growing cock under his shorts, and fish it to the side. I lick the side of his cock and get it wet and sloppy. I love being between a bottom’s legs while they’re taking hits. Pushing more of his gym shorts to the side, I move to the head of his cock and spit on it, getting it wet before going in and sucking his cock. He’s starting to moan between hits. I think he’s done 10 total so far. I can feel his cock get even harder in my mouth. I move my tongue to the slit of his cock, and he leaks a little precum. It’s sweet and tasty. “Jack, let’s get Drew naked.” I grab his shorts and pull them down, while Jack takes off Drew’s shirt. Love a naked boy while we’re both still wearing our clothes. To be fair, my cock is aching to get out. But there will be more than enough time to get naked. We’re not in a rush. For now, Jack and I love the contrast. He looks so fresh and fuckable. I run my hands over his light brown bush. Can’t wait to take this off later. I go back to sucking him, while Drew makes out with Jack again. Jack is still playing with Drew’s nipples and chest. By the end of this weekend, boy’s going to have eraser-size nips. Drew’s fully hard now in my mouth. His dick is glossy and warm from my spit. He gives me the pipe, and I take a big hit before going back down on his cock. I give him a sloppy wet blowjob, smoke coming out of the sides of my mouth and nose. I look up to see Drew smiling. I know he’s feeling good now. Jack says to Drew, “No shame in this house. If you want a hit, just take the pipe or ask for it. We’ll instruct you to take hits, too, but I want you to do whatever you want, say whatever you want with us. Okay?” As soon as Drew nods a yes, Jack takes Drew’s legs and folds them so that Drew’s feet are on Jack’s knees. This gives me full access to Drew’s pink hole. It’s beautiful. I can’t wait to see it loaded with our cum and spit, gaped. “Let your daddy see your hole, Drew.” I lean in and start to kiss around it. I stick my tongue out and make a line of spit in between his balls and his boy hole. Jack grabs Drew’s cock and starts to slowly jack him. I go in further and give his hole a kiss. There are a few faint hairs. We’ll get that off later too. I then stick my tongue out and start to move it around the hole, before straightening it out and sticking it inside. It tastes so good. Drew’s moaning with my tongue inside, and Jack playing with his cock. Drew moves his right hand down to paw at Jack’s cock through his jeans. We must have been in this position for ten minutes before I surface for air. “Good boy! You taste amazing. Now, I want you to get between Uncle Jack's legs and take out his cock out of his jeans. I'm going to be right behind you tasting your hole some more."

Part 5 Thomas leaves for his first date or whatever this is with Mark, which means I have the whole day to myself. I browse a little, watch some TikTok clips, check my socials, but after an hour I am bored. As I search through the apartment for something sweet to eat - fuck why is my brother such a healthy eater - I find the article about bug chasing and gift giving in my room, well the guest room. I take the papers and with a disregarded chocolate bar out of my gym bag I go back to the living room, starting to read. At the beginning I find the whole idea strange, but as I read on an understanding sinks in, that this isn’t just a fantasy, but a real desire people crave. I spent the next hour or more searching the web for all the information I can find. I open some of my apps and search for the tag poz, browsing the men, who live with it. I am surprised how many men are there, I open the profile of a beautiful nerdy twink, who is only a year older than me and seems like a lovely guy. I close the apps and go back to the internet; the real men are currently to real for me. As I continue my search, I stumble upon pozzing porn. Despite my early hesitation it arouses me deeply, but in a different way to the standard bareback porn I so love. And then I find videos of men with biohazard and scorpion tattoos, which bring me over the edge and my cum right onto the coffee table in Thomas’ living room. I am exhausted, confused, but still horny. I decide to head out and get all this stuff out of my mind. The town is still full of hot gay guys, who carry the atmosphere of Pride through the streets. I end up in a little coffee shop with a beautiful view over the river, ordering a vanilla iced coffee – yes, I am that basic bitch. Enjoying the sun, my coffee and the view around me, my phone rings. As I look at it, I’m a little annoyed, as it is another message from one of my apps, properly another blank profile, who wants to see more pictures of me. But as I open the app, the face of the hot nerd I browsed previously smiles at me. Apparently, in my quest for understanding I have liked his profile pic. Don’t freak out, but I am sitting two tables away from you. I turn around quickly and see that beautiful face smiling again, but this time in real life. His brown hair is all over the place, but with the glasses and as I see now an unbelievable tight body, he looks like a librarian in a porn movie. I signal him to join me, he takes his bag, coffee and book to my table, I manage to get a glance at his butt, which is barely covered by a pair of tiny hot pants. ‘Hi’ he says ‘I’m Tony, sorry for the ambush’ ‘Hi, I’m Luke and no ambush at all. Have a seat.’ And then we talk, a lot. He is an art student at the same university as I am and only here for Pride. He lives like me with his sibling for the time, in his case his sister. We talk about the last days, our Pride experience and then decide to walk a little. Without realising it, I have navigated us back to my brother’s place, inviting him in for another coffee. He is a little reluctant but accepts my invitation. As we enter the apartment, and I get us some water, because none of us really wanted a second coffee, I notice that he is nervous. ‘Is everything alright’ I ask reassuringly. ‘Yeah, it is, but … have you read my profile before you liked my picture on the app or did you just swipe?’ ‘No, I have read it’ I step closer to him ‘all of it’ He puts his hand on my chest, before he looks at me and gives me a longing kiss. ‘I haven’t been together with a neg for a long time, but for you I will make an exception. My poz load will make you happy’ I am startled at the change in the conversation, but my cock is very happy about it. My mind is racing, but another kiss stops me from overthinking it. ‘Yes, please give me your poz load, I want it’ I hear myself saying and cannot believe those words are coming from me. Tony pulls me closer to him, his hands on my back and neck, while I caress his perky ass. We slip out of our clothes, which haven’t covered that much of us in the first place. As he takes of his tank top, I take in a short breath. This guy has a biohazard tattoo on his chest and fuck it gets me wild. I push him onto the couch, burying my head into his crotch. My mouth envelopes his uncut cock, which is incredibly beautiful and thick. It takes me a moment to manage it all, but after some time his cock hits my throat. I hear a loud moan over my head. After I taste his precum and swallow every drop of it, I wander with my tongue up his body, remaining a little longer over his biohazard tattoo, which I kiss lovingly. As I reach his mouth we are enthralled in a deep, longing kiss and I use the chance to sit myself on his lap, his rock-hard cock sliding between my ass cheeks. ‘Are you ready to take this toxic poz cock?’ he moans into my mouth. I answer him with a longing kiss. He positions his cock right at my hole and because of sweat, my sucking and some light fingering during my poz porn watch, his cock slips right in. I moan loudly as his cock's head enters me, the thrill of having a poz cock inside me unparalleled. For a moment my breath becomes shallow, and I look him directly into the eyes, before I lower my body deeper. His cock entering me completely. I feel his balls pulling towards my ass. ‘You have a poz cock inside you now, you like that you little neg twink, right?’ ‘I love it’ I whisper in his ear ‘Now what’s missing is your poz load inside me’ This drives him wild, he pushes harder and harder into me, forcing my hips down on his cock. After almost 15 minutes, he presses me towards his body, shifts us both, so that he is now lying above me, thrusting his cock rough. I feel his cock twitching, his climax almost there. With a strong hold, I pull him closer to me, his full body now above me, our tongues intertwined in another kiss and then I feel the warm of his toxic load as he pushes his seed in me again and again. I come simultaneously and cover both our body in my cum. He collapses on top of me, and we remain in this position. His cock slides out slowly, but one of my hands remains on his ass, while the other strokes his back. ‘Wow, that was something else. Luke, you are wonderful’ ‘You are not so bad yourself, Tony. We definitely have to repeat that’ Finally, we sit ourselves up and enjoy the exhaustion and nakedness of us both. As Tony wants to get us another glass of water, he sees the papers about bug chasing and gift giving on the counter, where I left them earlier. He looks at me puzzled and I explain to him, why I have read them. We talk about it, still naked until the night starts to creep in, and we have another goodbye fuck. When he leaves, I open my laptop again and go immediately to pozzing porn, now understanding the played-out scenarios even deeper than before. Something changes within me, it isn’t just curiosity any more, but something else, something I need to figure out.

Always raw. Bareback just feels better for both the top and bottom. I don't want to deny the top the full pleasure of gay sex.

I first had condom-less sex 5 years ago when my fuck buddy convinced me to take his cock bare. It wasn't much later that he convinced me to hook up with other guys and let them fuck me bare. Then he convinced me to let him cum in me. Once he started cumming in me it was like it changed me so I wanted the other guys I hooked up with to cum in me too but I was always careful to vet them, as best I could, to make sure they were negative. About a year ago I took my first poz undetectable load. At this point, I've taken 10 undetectable loads. About 4 months ago I took an unknown load. Since then I've taken 3 more unknown loads. Now I want to take a poz detectable load just to see what that's like. I don't want to end up HIV + but I feel like I need to experience taking a poz load just to feel what it's like. I'm not on prep because I don't tolerate it well and I know that the chance of getting infected the first or second time taking a poz load is low so I really want to do this. I think I'll be able to stop after taking a poz load or two. Have any of you gone down a similar path? How do you deal with the crazy desires?

So glad I found this site! I was straight/curious til that first. When I felt him throb as he grunted, I knew he was spurting into me. I knew my true place since then.

At first I tried to be choosy and only went bareback with men who said they were married, negative and equally choosy while I was saying the same about myself. Then I realized that any or all of them could have been lying - just the same as I was - and became a lot less choosy. I knew the risk but my need for raw man sex over-rode my common sense, so there were nights I fucked her with cum in my ass and other nights where I fucked her even though I fucked some random guy just a couple of hours before.

Here is a sort of funny story… when I was 20 I started on my journey of being a cum slut. Up until that time I was really with one man. After chasing and ultimately becoming hiv positive I let my mom(a nurse) know my status. She was cool with it but concerned as expected. After my diagnosis I threw caution to the wind and took any and all dick that was offered. In the first year I had 4 Sti’s. After the first one my mom asked if I knew who gave it to me. I said I think so. Of course I didn’t . I just wanted her to think I was selective. When I got the second one she asked again if I knew where I got it. I said maybe. After the third she said I should stop playing with the person that gave me the sti. I said I don’t know who gave it to me. I told her that I was ass up in a sling at steamworks and random men take turns breeding me. She said oh and walked away. Moral of the story is don’t ask questions if you are not prepared for the answer.

Thanks for all the comments! You guys are always so encouraging. Hope you enjoy this next chapter! Chapter 4 "Dad!" In my shock I was still able to keep my scream at a whisper. I knew that screaming that out at a place like this could cause trouble. Dad had shifted off the bed and knelt on the floor between my legs. As I looked from his face to my cock with my dads hand wrapped around it beginning to slowly stroke it up and down, I saw in his eyes a change. It was still my dad but there was almost something more in the way he was looking at me. It was different from every other look he had ever given me. "Does this feel ok Coop?" He was looking right back at me into my eyes as I nodded and barely breathed out, "Yeah, dad." It occurred to me that it must be what we were smoking that had made him this bold. I had never in my life thought of my dad in a sexual way. I knew he was a good looking guy but its not that I was repulsed by him or anything. The thought just never crossed my mind. And now he was holding my cock with a tight grip stroking me up and down and I wasnt stopping him. I was the only person who had ever touched my cock until now. My dad. Jerking me off. And I didnt want it to stop. And thats when I realized what that look in his face was: lust. He was looking at his son with a look of lust that no one had given me before. My dad. "I just had to go for it Coop. You have a great cock and getting high always gets me past my inhibitions." Thats what it was. I was high and any other time I would be freaked out if my dad was stroking me. I was still freaked out now but it was a freaked out that somehow made me hornier. Dad rubbed his thumb over the head of my cock getting it all wet with my precum. I couldnt control the moan that came out of my mouth as my head fell back again. "Nice. Leaking already there Coop. Glad it's feeling good. Its hot knowing Im making you feel good like this." I didnt know what to say. Whatever I was hoping for this night did not include any of this. How could it? This was so much better than where my imagination could go. My thoughts went to whether there would be more. "Dad? Can I have a little more of that stuff maybe?" I felt my boldness coming on reminding me why I had come to this place. Maybe more hits would mean I would go through with it. Dads face lit up at that question but it wasnt just happiness that was in his face. There was something almost sinister in his look. Like something twisted had come to mind. He turned and grabbed the pipe and lighter in the same hand, never letting go of my cock as he handed it to me. "Go ahead Coop. Lemme see you take a couple hits." I lit the pipe and tried again to take as big a hit as i could. "Dont forget to hold it. Thats right. Nice." I had asked to do more because i loved the feeling that it was giving me but what was also making this so much better was that i was getting high for an audience. for my dad. He watched every step so intently all the while stroking my hard leaking cock while i tried to impress him with a perfect and massive hit. I wasnt so high that i couldnt tell how filthy this scene was but i was high enough that the filthier it got the hotter it seemed. As I blew out my second hit i felt it run through my body and straight up my cock. it throbbed in dads hand and even more precum started flowing out of the head. There was no stifling the moan that escaped me. My body felt so sensitive to touch and the fact that it was the firm grip of my dads hand that was getting me this horny was driving me beyond any limit i thought i had. i matched dads look of lust with mine and without saying a word i could see the recognition on his face. I handed him the pipe and lighter. He let go of my cock as he took them and then took a hit of his own. I wasnt prepared for how hot it was to watch my dad getting high like this. As he inhaled the smoke he looked at me taking over for him by stroking my cock. I could see the way the hit moved through him seeing his eyes widen and that look of lust get even stronger. He took another hit and then put the pipe and torch back into the little bowl of condoms and lube. "Feeling good Coop?" "Yeah dad. Yeah." I was stroking and more aware now that I was not just doing it for my pleasure. I was almost putting on a show for dad. He watched for a minute before standing up again now between my open legs and stroking his bigger cock for me. "Pretty hot dad." "Isnt it?" We were both beginning to sweat a little. I could feel my body heating up and I saw a sheen of sweat beginning to form on dads hot body. It felt so intense in the room just me and dad naked high and stroking our cocks for each other. "You ok? Dont want anything to happen that youre not ok with Coop. Its not how your first time should go." "Thanks dad." His love for me as his son and the lust we both were feeling right then made me feel safe with him but also somehow even hornier for more to happen. I sat up and without thinking licked the head of dads cock tasting his precum. The first taste of another mans cock and precum. My dad. "Oh fuck Coop." He let go of his cock and I took that as my chance to taste him again. I licked the tip and then opened my mouth to take in the mushroom head. I looked up at him and met his eyes staring down at me. The look on his face was a mix of shock and desire. "Fuck that feels good." That encouragement was enough for me to take more of him into my mouth as i reached out and grabbed his hips. He put his hands on my shoulders. "Aw yes. Suck my cock son. Suck your dads cock." Fuck this was twisted and on any other day I would have been repulsed by what I was doing and how dad was responding. But today it was only making things hotter. I started to use my tongue to massage the underside of his cock as I took more and more of it in. It was bigger than I thought. Thick and stretching my mouth. Dads hands moved up to brush his fingers through my hair. I looked back up to him and he was still staring down at me. "Feels so good Coop. I can feel my cock leaking precum into your mouth. You are so good at that. You like the taste of that precum? You like tasting your dads precum?" I moaned onto his cock and started bobbing faster up and down his cock. "Fuck!" Dad really screamed it out this time which surprised both of us. Dad pulled himself back and his cock slipped out of my mouth. There was a moments hesitation in his face and I could tell that he was debating with himself whether to continue or stop us here and now. I leaned back down onto the bed and stroked my still hard cock. I wanted to let him make the decision about doing more but the hits made me too horny not to stroke my cock while he deliberated. Dad watched and I thought he would start stroking himself again too. But without saying a word he moved closer to the bed and then leaned down above me grabbed me at both sides of my torso and shifted my entire body lengthwise on the bed so that I no longer had my feet on the floor. He made sure that my head was on the pillow like he was tucking me in for the night. But once he got me into position he climbed onto the bed himself and placed his body on top of mine. Our cocks touched as he pressed himself against me our chests pressed together his weight on top of me. And then that feeling for the first time of someone coming in for a kiss. When our lips met we both moaned. I felt his tongue enter my mouth and as if it was instinct i wrapped my arms and legs around my dad as we passionately made out for the first time.

I believe the bottom in question is Derek Parker.