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I have just received the notification that I had earned the highest rank on this site and had become Grand Master. You can think that I’m childish but I am so happy for that. It means a lot to me. When I met this site I was a in a very challenging and difficult situation. I was over a radical change of my career and in the middle of a private life crisis. My long-term relationship was close its end and this site and its community helped to get over this. But what is more important it helped and still helps to find myself, my real ego and helps to liberate myself, the real me, and enjoy what I always wanted to enjoy. I should have to say thank BZ and appreciate everything that BZ means to me. And then BZ acknowledges my activity here. So it’s a beautiful Christmas present for me.

@bareback-flipflop I made you an award you can wear proudly! 🙂

WARNING ⚠️ Please be cautious while describing administration procedures without a real experience. Trimix is NOT administrated via intravenous procedures. Trimix Intracavernosal Self-Injection Guide. Hold the syringe at a 90-degree angle and inject into the side of the penis with steady pressure. Inject medication over about 4 seconds. Withdraw the needle gently and immediately apply pressure to the site using an alcohol swab for 1–2 minutes (3–5 minutes if taking aspirin). [think before following links] https://www.strivepharmacy.com

GAME ON (part X) Character review; Alejandro: only toxic stallion Felix: sex worker mare. Ashley: Twink mare. Ben, his twink lover. Ali: Iranian Cub mare Six Months Later: Felix’s thoughts: Believe it or not my trick friend that I trapped in the sling for the start of the orgy got knocked up by the toxic judge. I suppose his ass was pretty torn up by the giant who bred him after me, and before the judge. But knocked up by his first toxic load, what are the chances. With all the risks I’ve taken for so many years and even taking the next load from the judge. I’ve gotten off Scott free. Not that I’m avoiding it, I’m sure I’ll get pozed sooner or later. In fact, I’d really like to get it out of the way. So, I’ve been having unprotected sex with this trick every week, no PreP, no condoms, him breeding me, no pulling out! I’m wondering if I’m one of those rare guys that is immune to HIV. Still no sign! Ben’s thoughts: I guess taking the toxic stallions second load at the start of the orgy meant I didn’t get the volume I needed. I so counted on him knocking me up. I anxiously waited four weeks to wake sick but nothing. Then I got tested and nothing, nada, negative. I’m a no nonsense, driven, get what I want kind of guy, so I contacted Alejandro and we made a deal. For the next three months he agreed to breed me twice a week. If I wasn’t knocked up by then I’d throw in the towel. It only took two months, and I got my wish. I was so sick I had to be hospitalized. Ashley was not at all happy, but he stuck by me every set of the way. Ashley’s thoughts: And by ‘every step of the way’ he means letting him breed me after he converted even though I had no protection. The last thing I wanted was to convert but Ben wouldn’t let up. “We both love bb sex, you know that. If you love me, you’ll take my raw cock and let me breed you my gift.” Some gift! Within weeks I took sick soaking our bed. I didn’t need to go to hospital, but I was laid up for a week and a half. I was ready to go on meds as soon as I could, but again Ben demanded the lead. We still aren’t on meds. We are waiting to hear if a chaser that flew in from the west coast to spend last weekend with us has gotten our gift. We fucked him in every room of the house. We took him separately, we took him together, we double penetrated him. Load after load went up his unprotected ass. We each put at least three loads into him per day, and he made it a four-day weekend. You do the math. I’ve never been so exhausted from none stop topping in my life! Ali’s thoughts: It didn’t take long to find out Allah’s will. 11 days after the event I awoke with my bed soaked and feeling like I had been struck by a freight train. I knew what had happened but got tested soon after and sure enough I was now positive for HIV with a viral load through the roof. On the night I finally lost my virginity to so many men I also managed to get infected with an STD that I will now carry for the rest of my life. I’m not angry or upset about this. Allah must have a plan for me that requires I live with this health burden. I plan to tuck my $20,000 winnings away to help finance opening my own classy restaurant. I know I will need much more than my waiting job and generous tips bring in so I’m seriously considering a lucrative offer that came my way last month. PRIDE Studio was so impressed with my performance that they have asked me to be a bareback mare in their stable of porn stars. A catch is they want me to out myself with a prominent biohazard tattoo. I’m not afraid of being out as an HIV positive porn performer, the issue is tattoos are against my religion. I’m beginning to warm to the idea as one more way to give my middle finger to my parents and our oppressive religion. The biggest blessing from Allah is I’m now dating the Iraqi cub that made such sweet love to me during the competition. He stood by my side as I awaited conversion. He nursed me when I was sick. He was the first man I fucked. Oh, the thrill of my raw cock sliding into his dark hairy hole. The release of my animal instinct to pound and pound into him as we gazed into each others’ eyes. The passionate kisses. The moment I told him ‘I’m close’ and he begged “Cum in me. Breed me your poz boys.” I knew he was/is on PreP so I had no fear. My seismic orgasm! Rope after rope of my manhood sprayed into his inner most being. A joining of our bodies beyond anything I had ever experienced in my life. Allah has blessed me indeed. This amazing man is 150% supportive of my signing up to become a porn star. How could I ask for anything more?! I guess I have made up my mind. I can't wait to have Allah use me to service handsome men while on camera. I so love being dominated by men and especially love their seed painting my guts and inner soul. Alejandro’s thoughts: Three more notches on my knock up belt, fantastic! Ali, Ben and by extension Ashly. I’m not ‘patient zero’, but with the couple dozen guys I’ve infected directly my indirect pozings could be over 100. I’m one fucking proud poz stallion! The porn video generated from the competition and orgy has been selling like hotcakes. My agent has assured me that film alone could bring in royalties of over $100,000 per year alone. Every bareback porn production company in North America and Eric Videos are all competing for exclusive rights to use my body in their videos. Eric Vids has the most enticing offer. They want me to stay off drugs and remain toxic to do three stealthing videos. Of course, the bottoms would know the risk they are signing up for but would agree to take the chance that I could indeed stealth them. They wouldn’t know if I did or didn’t until after we shot the scene and I shot my load, either in a condom, or in their ass. One hot scenario that I really like is to shoot my load in a condom. Pull out, take it off, drink it’s contents, then get so excited I pin the victim down, enter him raw and blow another load deep into his guts. We’d do as many of these ‘stealthing’ videos it takes to knock three bottoms up then I would go on meds for my own well being and for the sake of their profits making many more movies using me. As exciting as it has been I’d be happy to see an end to my pozing persona. Toxic judge’s thoughts: This event took a lot to get off the ground but has so exceeded my expectations. At least four guys pozed from a competition that seemed to only have the long shot potential to breed HIV into one mare. One of those converted stealthed by my own poz breeding! How fuckin hot is that?! The fantastic video is an ongoing monument to this outlandish event. What can I possibly dream up to exceed this amazing success?!? __---------------‐‐------------------------- Although this series has many directions it could go from here I'm ending it for now. Thanks for all your comments and variety of likes guys. Like the good submissive bottom I am, I get great pleasure entertaining you with these stories from my twisted imagination .

Tommy's fingers twitched against his phone screen, scrolling through Grindr profiles with the practiced boredom of someone who'd done this too many times. His thumb lingered on a photo—some guy with dilated pupils and a lazy smirk, shirtless in what looked like a dealer's dim living room. The caption read "party favors?" and Tommy exhaled sharply through his nose. The room smelled like stale sweat and the faint chemical tang of leftover vape juice. He adjusted his grip on himself, hips shifting against the sheets, imagining the press of unfamiliar hands pinning him down, the burn of smoke in his lungs before everything went soft at the edges. His pulse jumped when the app pinged—another message from someone named "Cloud9" with a wink emoji and an address two blocks over. Tommy's fingers hesitated over the reply box. He could already picture the sticky heat of a stranger’s apartment, the way the carpet would feel under his bare knees. His thumb hovered—then the front door creaked open downstairs. His stomach lurched. He wasn’t expecting anyone. The footsteps were too quick, too purposeful, the kind that didn’t bother to wipe their shoes on the mat. The bedroom door slammed open before he could sit up. Two figures blurred into the room—one tall with a shaved head, the other wiry, grinning like this was fucking Christmas. Tommy’s mouth went dry. He opened it to yell, but the taller one lunged, a damp cloth reeking of chemicals smothering his face. His nostrils burned. His vision swam. "Easy, pigboy," the wiry one chuckled, knee digging into Tommy’s thigh as he fought. The taste of acetone flooded his mouth. His limbs turned liquid. Distantly, he felt fingers—rough, calloused—wrapping around his cock, stroking him through the haze. His hips jerked involuntarily. The last coherent thought before the dark swallowed him whole: *fuck, I’m still hard.* Cold linoleum pressed against his cheek when he blinked awake. His tongue felt like cotton. The room spun—fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows of figures moving behind him. A hand gripped his hair, yanking his head back. "Look alive," someone muttered. A phone camera clicked. Tommy’s vision swam into focus on the screen—his own slack face, pupils blown, spit slicking his chin. Behind him, Shaved Head smirked, gripping Tommy’s jaw. "Say *ahh*." Wrists jerked against padded cuffs. He was spread-eagled in some kind of medical sling, ankles hooked wide, the restraints biting into his skin. His cock twitched against his thigh—still half-hard—and the realization hit like a bucket of ice water. *Naked.* Blindfolded. The gag wasn’t fabric; it was silicone, contoured to force his mouth open just enough to breathe. He tried to scream. It came out a wet gurgle. “Should’ve answered my fucking messages, Tommy.” A familiar voice—Cloud9 from Grindr—low and amused, somewhere to his right. A fingertip dragged down Tommy’s sternum, nails scraping just shy of pain. “Would’ve been easier on you. But nah, you had to be a *tease*.” Something cold and metallic tapped against his ribs. “Think he’s ready?” The taller one—Shaved Head—snorted. “Oh, he’s ready.” The words dripped like syrup. “Look at him. Already leaking.” Tommy thrashed, heels skidding against the restraints, his pleas muffled into nonsense by the gag. His cock betrayed him, thickening against his stomach, the tip smearing precome onto his skin. The wiry one laughed, leaning in close enough for Tommy to smell stale cigarettes and mint gum. “Begging looks good on you,” he murmured, and then—sharp, sudden—the hiss of compressed air. The gag’s valve clicked open. A rush of chemical sweetness flooded Tommy’s mouth, his nostrils, the back of his throat. Poppers. His vision tunneled instantly, heat surging from his belly to his fingertips. His cock jerked, fully hard now, aching. Shaved Head gripped Tommy’s jaw, forcing his head back. “Swallow,” he ordered. Tommy gagged—too much, too fast—but the liquid burned down his throat anyway, thick as syrup. His muscles slackened instantly, limbs heavy as lead. “There you go,” the taller one crooned, palming Tommy’s cock with rough strokes. “Feels better already, huh?” Tommy’s head lolled. His thoughts dissolved into static, the world narrowing to the drag of calloused fingers on his skin. Distantly, he registered the wiry one rummaging through a bag—glass clinking, foil tearing—but his body wasn’t his anymore. It arched into every touch, every scrape of teeth against his neck. Something tight and elastic circled his bicep—rubber bands, pulled taut just shy of pain. Tommy’s pulse hammered against the constriction, his skin flushing hot where the bands bit in. The wiry one whistled low, admiring his work. “Look at that,” he murmured, flicking one band with a fingernail. It twanged against Tommy’s flesh, sending a jolt straight to his cock. “Veins popping like a fucking map.” Shaved Head chuckled, rolling a needle between his fingers. The glint of steel made Tommy’s stomach twist—but his hips jerked anyway, needy and dumb. “Gonna make you feel so good, piggy,” the taller one promised, thumb pressing into the swollen blue vein beneath the rubber band. The needle slid in with practiced ease—sharp, then gone—and Tommy gasped around the gag as something warm and liquid flooded his dick. Trimix, probably. His cock throbbed instantly, swelling thicker, heavier, the head purpling under the fluorescent lights. His balls drew up tight against his body, the skin there already tingling, oversensitive. The wiry one whistled again. “Christ. Look at him twitch.” His fingers traced the straining vein along Tommy’s shaft, featherlight. Tommy whimpered—half-protest, half-plea—but the sound dissolved into a moan when the taller one pinched his nipple, hard. “You are going to make a *perfect* slam pig,” Shaved Head murmured, lips brushing Tommy’s ear. His breath smelled like whiskey and spearmint. “All that wasted potential…” His hand slid down Tommy’s chest, over his quivering stomach, then wrapped around his cock again. The grip was merciless. Tommy’s hips bucked, helpless, his vision blurring at the edges. “See? Even now—” A sharp twist of his wrist. Tommy choked on a sob. “—your body knows what it’s for.” The needle gleamed in the light as the taller one flicked it between his fingers. “Nothing you can do to stop this.” Tommy’s cock pulsed violently against the rubber encasement, veins straining against the slick latex, the pressure so tight his balls ached with every heartbeat. The wiry one laughed—bright, delighted—and leaned in to press another soaked rag to Tommy’s face. Poppers flooded his sinuses, sharp as shattered glass. The room dissolved into fractals, colors bleeding into shapes that didn’t exist. His cock throbbed, trapped and desperate, the sensation magnified by the drugs singing through his bloodstream. He tried to scream, but the gag muffled it into a wet groan. Shaved Head moved first—fluid, practiced—palming a syringe from the tray with the ease of someone who’d done this a hundred times. The needle gleamed under the flickering fluorescents. Tommy’s stomach lurched. The wiry one straddled his hips, pinning him with bony knees, fingers digging into Tommy’s biceps hard enough to bruise. Shaved Head tapped the syringe with a fingernail, clearing the air bubble with a flick of his wrist. The liquid inside shimmered, oily and thick. “Left arm,” he murmured, and Tommy’s breath hitched when cold alcohol swabbed the crook of his elbow. The second needle slipped in—sharp, then gone—buried deep in the vein. Tommy’s pulse hammered against the intrusion. The wiry one grinned, pressing his thumb to Tommy’s wrist, holding him down like a butterfly pinned to corkboard. Shaved Head’s fingers curled around the plunger. Their eyes met—some silent signal—and Tommy’s throat clicked around a soundless plea. Both plunger depressed quickly and empty into Pigboys mind body and spirit. Tommy didn’t even feel the needles withdraw. The popper rush had already hollowed out his skull, reducing the world to a kaleidoscope of fractured light and sound. His lungs seized mid-breath—triple coughs ripping through him, wet and jagged. His chest convulsed. “Oh fuck—” His voice cracked. The fluorescent lights above streaked into white-hot halos. “Oh fuck—” His cock jerked, untouched, spitting precome onto his stomach. “Oh fuck me—” The taller one laughed—low, indulgent—as he wiped Tommy’s chin with his thumb. “Already are, piggy.” His fingers tangled in Tommy’s hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat. “Look at you. Just—” A sharp slap to Tommy’s cheek. His vision swam. “—falling apart.” Tommy’s breath hitched, his lungs burning with the lingering chemical sweetness. The air tasted like burnt plastic and sweat. He barely registered the creak of hinges—the front door swinging open downstairs—over the roar of blood in his ears. Footsteps pounded up the stairs, too heavy, too eager. The bedroom door bounced off the wall with a crack. Two new figures loomed in the doorway—one built like a linebacker, his knuckles already wrapped in grimy tape, the other slim-hipped with a shock of bleached hair. Both reeked of stale beer and leather. The linebacker whistled low, eyeing Tommy’s twitching cock. “Fuck, he’s primed.” Bleached Hair grinned, rolling up his sleeves to reveal a latticework of track marks. “Like Christmas came early.” Tommy’s hole clenched around nothing as the taller one—Shaved Head—slicked two fingers with something cold and viscous. The lube smelled clinical, sterile, like a hospital corridor. Tommy whimpered around the gag when those fingers pressed in without warning, the stretch burning even through the chemical haze. “Relax,” Shaved Head murmured, twisting his wrist. Tommy’s thighs trembled. “Gonna ruin you so good.” The fingers crooked, and Tommy’s back arched off the table—a sharp, electric jolt straight to his cock. His balls ached—already swollen and tight—when the wiry one knelt between his legs, a trio of heavy steel rings clinking in his palm. The first stretcher clicked into place with a *snap*, the cold metal cinching tight around Tommy’s sack. His breath hitched. The second followed—tighter, lower—forcing his nuts to stretch obscenely away from his body. By the third, Tommy’s thighs were shaking, his dick *pulling* with every heartbeat, the weight dragging his balls down into a taut, flushed pendulum. The wiry one grinned, giving the lowest stretcher a sharp tug. “Look at that,” he breathed. “Like a fucking bellrope.” Tommy barely registered the laughter—low and thick, from somewhere behind him—until a broad hand clamped down on his shoulder. The voice was deep, honeyed with amusement. “Thas what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.” Fingers—thick, blunt—trailed down Tommy’s spine, pausing at the dip of his waist. “We gonna milk this pig from the inside out.” The hand slid lower, calloused palm scraping over Tommy’s ass, squeezing hard enough to bruise. Tommy’s vision swam. His mouth worked around the gag—useless—as Shaved Head leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Breathe through it, pig.” His breath was hot, whiskey-sour. “Cause you got more cummin’.” Tommy’s stomach flipped. The words slithered under his skin, curling around his spine like smoke. “First stage of your pigboy transformation’s begun.” A wet chuckle. “Time to be consumed with pleasure.”

Part 9: Reconnecting with Mark: Taming the monster to make one line two The message hangs on your phone for a week, a dark promise: "I know what you did! I am back in town next week... We need to talk!" When the day arrives, you don't feel fear. You feel a sense of calm, of arrival. You're going back to the scene of your greatest disappointment to maybe finally get what you originally came for. Mark opens the hotel door. He's exactly as you remember him from that first moment: shirtless, in just a pair of well-worn jeans that hug his powerful thighs, his toned, hairy chest a canvas of masculine perfection. His bare feet are nicely manicured, a subtle sign of his fastidious nature. He looks... softer. More at peace. It doesn't feel like meeting someone you've only been with once. It feels like coming home to a good friend with whom you share a deep, unspoken connection. "Hey," he says, his smile genuine and warm. "Come on in." The lighting is dim, music is playing low. The air in the room is warm and thick with the rich, earthy scent of sandalwood and leather—Mark's cologne, a smell that is both grounding and dangerously masculine. It's a scent you immediately decide you could get used to. On the table are two glasses of red wine and a pre-rolled joint, an offer waiting to be accepted. You sit, you smoke, you drink. The wine is a rich, velvety Cabernet, its dark fruit flavors filling your mouth, a taste of blackberry and a hint of dark chocolate. The weed is high-quality, and the smoke fills your lungs, smooth and sweet, with a faint, skunky undertone that promises a potent, hazy float, melting away the last vestiges of your anxiety. The wine and weed work in tandem, a warm wave of relaxation that loosens your muscles and softens the edges of the room. You're sitting on the couch, and the space between you feels charged. Mark takes the joint from your fingers, his knuckles brushing against yours. The touch is deliberate, a small spark in the hazy air. He takes a slow drag, his eyes never leaving yours, and then leans in, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his skin. He exhales a plume of sweet smoke not away from you, but towards your lips, a shared breath that feels more intimate than a kiss. That's all it takes. You close the distance. Your first kiss is slow, deep, and tastes of red wine and cannabis. It's not a frantic kiss, but a settling one, like two pieces of a puzzle clicking into place. His hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair, holding you gently but firmly. You melt into him, your body molding against his. The world outside this couch, this room, ceases to exist. You break for air, and he pulls you closer, guiding you to lean back against his chest. His arm wraps around you, a solid, comforting weight. You can feel the steady, strong beat of his heart against your back. His other hand finds yours, his fingers lacing through yours, and he just holds them. There's no urgency, only a profound sense of coming home. You rest your head against his shoulder, nuzzling into the warm, crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. You stay like that for a long time, just listening to the music and the soft sound of your breathing. His free hand begins to move, tracing slow, lazy circles on your stomach through your shirt. Each pass of his palm is a brand, a quiet claim. His touch is a question, and your body's response— the soft sigh that escapes your lips, the way you arch into his hand— is the answer. He shifts, turning you both to face each other. His eyes are heavy-lidded, shining with a gentle, uncomplicated lust. He reaches for the hem of your shirt and pulls it over your head in one smooth, deliberate motion. Your hands explore each other's torsos—mapping the solid muscle, the sensitive skin. Your chests press together, skin on skin, a friction that is both comforting and electrifying. Soon, your jeans and his are the only barriers left. He stands, taking your hand and pulling you up with him. He undoes his belt and lets his jeans fall, kicking them aside. He's commando, and his magnificent cock hangs thick and heavy between his legs, a promise of what's to come. You follow his lead, shedding your own pants until you are both standing in the dim light, wearing nothing but your vulnerability and your desire. It's in this state of raw, relaxed honesty that he finally speaks, his voice a low murmur that vibrates through you. "You took it," he says softly. You meet his gaze, your own voice raw with the memory. "I was so disappointed," you confess. "You were perfect. You were everything I thought I wanted because you were safe. But when you pulled out that condom... I realized that's not what I wanted anymore. And then when you told me you were poz... and you wouldn't... I was so desperate to have what you were denying me that I had to take a piece of it." As you speak, you see it. His cock, which had been hanging thick and heavy between his legs, begins to stir. It slowly lifts, hardening with every word you say, until it's standing fully erect, a thick, rigid column of flesh pointing directly at you. A hard cock never lies. Your confession is arousing him deeply. Mark's smile fades, replaced by a look of profound vulnerability. "You think I wasn't tempted?" he says, his voice low. "You have no idea how much I wanted to breed you. To see you walk out of here carrying my load. But I couldn't. It was too new for me. My diagnosis... my viral load... it was a monster I was still terrified of. I wasn't ready to be that monster for someone else. I was afraid of what it would turn me into." He looks at you, his eyes clear. "You were braver than I was. You ran towards the fire. I was still running from it." He reaches into his nightstand drawer and pulls out two small, flat boxes. "But things are different now," he says. "For both of us. And I need to know that you're sure about what you want. For my own conscience... for my own peace. I need us both to be clear-eyed about what we're doing here." He opens one box, revealing a quick HIV test. "I need us to both know where we stand. Right now." He does his first. You watch, your heart pounding, as the drop of his blood travels down the test strip. A dark, forbidden impulse flashes through you. As he's about to wipe his finger, you gently take his hand. Before he can react, you lean in and lick the tiny smear of residual blood from his fingertip. It's coppery, metallic, primal. He lets out a sharp, shuddering breath, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and arousal. His hard cock bobs in response, a thick bead of precum welling up at its slit. It's a promise. A taste of things to come. You both watch the two lines appear, dark and immediate. Positive. He looks at it, not with fear, but with a sense of confirmation. A proud, immutable fact. He places it on the desk, a physical testament. There is no ambiguity here, no room to ignore what is at stake. It's a definitive statement of his body. Then it's your turn. Your fingers tremble as you prick your own finger. You squeeze the drop onto the test strip. The minutes feel like an eternity. This is it. The first tangible proof of your journey. A single line appears. Negative. Still negative. A wave of something washes over you—not relief, but a strange, hollow disappointment. You're still on the outside looking in. And yet, your own cock is as hard as his, a rigid, aching testament to the fact that your body knows exactly what it wants, regardless of the test result. Mark looks from your solitary, stark line to his own pair of lines, sitting side-by-side on the desk like a grim, undeniable prophecy. The contrast is a physical thing. Your lone mark of clean health next to his double-line signature of the virus. He looks from the tests back to your face, his expression unreadable for a moment. His gaze drops down, taking in the sight of both your hard cocks, standing at attention like two soldiers ready for battle. "Now that we see it, laid out so clearly... are you still sure?" he asks, his voice low and serious. "Do you want to cross that line with me, as much as I want to take you there?" You nod, your voice firm. "More than anything." A slow, beautiful smile spreads across his lips. It's not a smile of pity; it's a smile of pure, predatory delight. "Good," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "That means I get to be the one. I get to be your ground zero. I get to be the one who changes you. Thank you for choosing me." He stands and holds out his hand. "Let's not have any more disappointments," he says. "Let's do what we both wanted to do that night." He leads you to the bed. The atmosphere is reverent, almost sacred. You sit on the edge, and he kneels before you. He looks up at you, his eyes full of adoration, and then leans in, pressing his face against your chest. You feel his hot breath against your skin a moment before his tongue makes a slow, wet trail up your sternum. It's an act of worship. You pull him up onto the bed with you, your hands finally free to explore the body you've only dreamed of. Your fingers slide over the solid muscle of his shoulders and down his arms. And then, you feel it. His chest hair. It's softer than it looks, a dense, wiry thicket that you run your fingers through, a living carpet of masculinity that tickles and teases with every shift of his weight. You bury your face in it, breathing in his clean, musky scent mixed with the sandalwood of his cologne. It's even better than you remembered. He moans, his hands roaming your back as you explore him. He pushes you onto your back, his body covering yours, and that soft, wiry hair becomes a delicious friction against your own smooth skin, a constant, tantalizing reminder of his raw, masculine power. You're both hard, your cocks trapped between your bodies, kissing deeply, your tongues exploring. He reaches down, his fingers gathering the slick fluid. He finds your PA, the heavy steel ring you wear, and he moans his appreciation. "So beautiful," he murmurs. He uses his precum as lube, coating your piercing, his fingers rolling the heavy steel, tugging gently, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. He pushes more of his fluid onto the ring, using his slickness to coat your own slit, the sensitive, thin skin tingling with the intimate violation. You're leaking now, too, your fluids mixing with his. He takes his cock in his hand and slides it up and down your crack again, coating you. His cockhead, slick and insistent, knocks at your backdoor. He pauses, letting it throb against you, and you feel another pulse of his hot precum ooze directly into your opening, getting your asslips slick, making them swell with anticipation. You can't help it. You push back slightly, extending your lips, a silent, physical invitation for him to enter. "Is this what you really want?" he whispers, his voice a low growl. "You want me to breed you? To make you poz? Once you have those two lines, you can never go back to one. Are you sure?" "Yes," you breathe, the word a prayer. "I'm sure. Please, Mark. Convert me." He begins to push. The entry is a slow, deliberate sinking, a moment of mutual surrender. The feeling is radically different from last time. There's no condom, no sterile barrier preventing you from fully connecting. You feel every ridge and vein of his cock, the thick, prominent lines protruding from his shaft, a topographical map of his desire. You feel the distinct, flared edge of his head as it rubs against your prostate, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. You feel his cock pulling on your asslips with each backstroke, a possessive, intimate tug. He pushes deeper, and you feel him press against your inner sphincter. A sharp, sudden pain makes you gasp. "Easy... easy now," he murmurs, his voice gentle. "Breathe. I'm there. Not going anywhere. Let it drool... slick you up. Push back... let me in." You do as he says, and with a final, deliberate push, he's through—moaning deep in your ear. He sinks deeper, inch by inch, until he's fully seated, his heavy balls resting against yours. He stays there for a moment, letting you adjust, letting you feel the weight and the heat of him, a perfect, living presence inside you. The first fuck is slow and emotional, a correction of the past. He moves in you with a gentle, rhythmic grace, his eyes locked on yours, his hands stroking your face. It's about healing the disappointment, about replacing the memory of the condom with the reality of his flesh. But the climax is what truly matters. He begins to move faster, his breathing becoming ragged. You can feel his cock swelling inside you, getting even harder as his thrusts become more urgent, more demanding. He slows his thrusts to a maddening, teasing rhythm, his eyes boring into yours, searching. "Are you... sure?" he groans, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Tell me now. Pull out? Once this... it's done. You're mine. Forever." "Don't..." The refusal is instant, fierce. "Don't you dare." You grip his arms. "Breed me. Mark. Give me..." You swallow hard. "...that toxic load." "God. God, I want to," he moans, his forehead resting against yours. "But... wanna enjoy this. Savor it. Okay? Slow down... just for a minute? Relish it?" You can only nod, your breath caught in your throat. "Good," he whispers, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He begins to move again, but not with the rhythmic thrusts of before. Now he's grinding, circling his hips, stretching you from the inside. "Let me stretch you... little longer," he murmurs, his voice a low, hypnotic rumble. "Open you up. Tear you... just a little. Make you perfect. Warm home... for my babies... so they can enter... even better." His voice drops even lower, a possessive growl against your ear. "Remember? The monster? I was so afraid? Not anymore. And now... gonna set him free. Inside you." His words are a litany of beautiful filth, driving you both to a higher plane of arousal. "Can feel it," he continues, his voice thick with lust. "My toxic seed... it’s boiling up. Spilling into your guts… Not just cum… Everything… Every viral particle… Will paint your insides... mark you. Inside out. Soon... every drop... poz. Your own load... turns toxic for me." The idea is so intoxicating, so real, that your body arches against him, a silent plea for more. "Please, Mark," you beg. "Please… Give it to me." He pulls back almost all the way, leaving just the tip of his cockhead inside you, teasing your swollen rim. "Tell me," he commands, his voice dominant. "What do you want? Tell me… you want my poz seed." "I want it," you repeat, your voice a desperate chant. "I want it so bad… All inside me. Want you to convert me… Be yours." That's all it takes. With a guttural roar that seems to come from the depths of his soul, he slams back into you, hilt-deep. "That's what I wanted... wanted to hear," he growls. "What I wanted to do... last time... only didn't dare." And now, it happens. His cock pulses, a powerful, rhythmic throb deep inside your guts. A searing, wet heat floods you as he roars his release. It's not just cum; it's a transfer. A gift. A sacrament. You feel every spurt. "Feel it... Feel my high-viral-load... invading you," he gasps. "Million toxic particles... spreading... connect us... forever." It's the most intimate, profound moment of your life. Your own cock erupts without being touched, spraying your chest as your ass milks him for every last drop. It's equally special for him; you see it in his eyes, a look of awe and possessive love. You relax, coming down from the intensity of your pozzing high. He collapses on top of you, his body heavy and solid, his heart hammering against your chest. For a long moment, you just lie there, tangled together, breathing in the scent of sex and sweat. Then he shifts, rolling to the side but keeping an arm draped heavily over you. You collapse back against the bed, your skin slick with sweat, and feel the cool, crisp percale of the hotel sheets against your back. The high thread count is a luxurious, stark contrast to the raw, filthy act that just transpired, a small island of civilization in the sea of depravity you've willingly drowned in. The room is quiet except for your soft, shared breaths. But Mark isn't done. He moves down the bed, his movements purposeful. He gently pushes your legs apart, and you feel his hot breath on your still-sensitive hole. You're swollen, puffy, and well-used, a warm, slick trickle of his precious load slowly oozing out of you. He doesn't just wipe it away. He lowers his head and you feel a hot, wet shock as his tongue laps against your swollen rim. It's not a hungry, devouring act, but a slow, reverent one. He's giving you a well-deserved, cooling massage with his tongue, lapping at your stretched, tender flesh. He's careful, taking his time, using the tip of his tongue to gently push every stray drop of his cum back inside you, as if not a single drop is allowed to be wasted. It's a possessive, tender act of worship that makes you feel cherished and claimed in equal measure. After he's satisfied that you're clean and full, he moves back up your body. He leans in and kisses you, and you immediately taste it—the salty, musky flavor of his own cum. But there's something else. A new, underlying note. A faint, distinct metallic taste that you instantly recognize. The taste of blood. Not from him, but from you. A tiny, intimate tear. The microscopic proof that he's done enough damage, that the final barrier has been breached. It's not proof of conversion, but the proof of opportunity. The gateway is open, and now his potent seed can do its work. You both freeze for a fraction of a second, the realization passing between you in that shared, intimate moment. His eyes lock with yours, and they are blazing with a triumphant, possessive fire. He knows you've tasted it. He knows you know. The damage is done. The seed is planted, and now it will grow inside you. He crushes his mouth to yours, the kiss no longer just tender, but fierce and celebratory. His tongue pushes into your mouth, sharing the taste of his successful load with you in a deep, filthy, perfect kiss. As you're still tangled in that kiss, you feel his fingers drift down, tracing the curve of your ass until they find your hole. He gently circles your sensitive rim, gathering the last of the fluid. Then, with a tender, deliberate pressure, he begins to massage it back into you. His fingers push his own seed against your skin, massaging it deeper, into your gut. The pad of his finger finds your prostate, still swollen and sensitive, and he presses against it, sending a deep, resonant wave of pleasure through you. You gasp, your body arching slightly as a smaller, but just as profound, orgasm shudders through you, a slow, deep pulse that leaves you trembling. He's breathing deeply in your ear, a low, satisfied rumble. Finally, Mark reaches for the joint and the lighter, sparking it up. He takes a long, slow drag, his chest expanding. Instead of passing it to you, he leans in, pressing his lips to yours. He exhales a thick plume of sweet smoke directly into your waiting mouth. You breathe it in, a shared, hazy breath that feels more intimate than words. You take the joint from his fingers, take your own drag, and return the favor, leaning up to blow the smoke back into his mouth. You pass the joint and the smoke back and forth this way, your lips meeting in soft, lingering kisses, the haze wrapping you both in a warm, peaceful blanket. You both need to piss. Last time, this was the moment you were in the bathroom, alone, stealing his filled condom from the wastebin and inserting it up your ass in a desperate, shameful act of longing. No need for it this time. You have all you ever wanted inside of you, spreading freely—no rubber barrier in sight—to take you over. This time, the act wasn't one of theft, but of gift. And the feeling is not of shame, but of profound, peaceful completion. An hour later, you're at it again. This time it's a celebration of shared pleasure, a joyful contrast to the intense, ritualistic first fuck. The energy is lighter, more playful. You're on top, riding him, your hands splayed across his powerful, hairy chest. You can feel the steady, strong rhythm of his heartbeat against your palms as you bounce on his magnificent cock, the weight of your PA ring making your own cock swing up and down. He's looking up at you, his eyes shining with pure, unadulterated joy and lust. He's laughing, moaning, calling you his "beautiful convert," his "perfect creation," each word a benediction. The sight of him so happy, so lost in the pleasure of you, sends you over the edge. Your own cock erupts, spraying thick, white ropes of your cum all over his chest, matting the dark fur of his pecs and abs. The sight triggers his own release. With a loud, happy groan, he grips your hips and thrusts up deep one last time, and you feel another warm, toxic flood coating your insides, a second gift to seal the deal. You collapse onto his chest, both of you breathing heavily, slick with sweat and cum. You're not done. You begin to nuzzle and lick his chest, tasting the salty, bitter tang of your own release. He moans, his hands stroking your back as you rub your own cum into his thick fur, marking him as thoroughly as he has marked you. It's a messy, intimate, perfect exchange. You stay like that, tangled together, his softening cock still inside you, your head on his chest, and you fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. In the dead of night, you wake to him rolling on top of you. It's a sleepy, primal act of possession. He enters you again with a sleepy groan. This fuck isn't about emotion; it's about ownership. It's quiet, just the sound of skin on skin and soft moans in the dark. "Even when you go home tomorrow," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble in the dark, "you'll still be full of me. You'll go back to your husband with my poz load swimming inside you. He'll be kissing your mouth, but I have been poz-kissing your ass all night. You're mine now. Everywhere." It's Mark staking his claim, reinforcing the transformation while you are both half-asleep, in a state of pure instinct. Your hole is soft, puffy, and completely open to him now, accepting him with no resistance. It's a natural, perfect fit. With each encounter, you become softer, more vulnerable, more perfectly his. You wake up in the morning tangled together, the sun streaming into the room. There's no shame, no regret. Just a profound sense of peace and rightness. He makes coffee. The rich, bitter aroma fills the small kitchen area, a domestic, comforting smell that feels more intimate and real than anything that happened the night before. You act like a couple. You are finally at peace with yourself. When it's time to leave, you share a final, deep kiss. "I have to go," you say. "My husband will be home this evening." Mark understands. He doesn't push. He just holds you. "I know," he says. "But you know where to find me, you have my number. You know where you belong. This isn't a one-time thing," he says. "We're in this together now. This connection we have... it's separate. It doesn't challenge anything else. But it's real. I'll be here. And I'll breed you again and again, if that's what you want, until it takes. And when it does... we'll be brothers in arms. There's a whole world out there we can explore together. Others we can share this with. I told you I wanted to see you walk out of here carrying my load. Now I want to watch you walk through the world with it. The window is usually two to four weeks. Call me if you get the flu. I want to be the first person you tell when your body starts to change. Think about it." You leave the hotel and go home. Your house is empty, quiet. Your husband won't be back for hours. Everything is as usual, except for the warm, secret presence of another man's toxic load deep inside you. That evening, your husband arrives. He's happy to see you. He asks about your night. You smile and play the part perfectly. That night, you lie in bed next to your sleeping husband. Your cunt is still swollen and puffy, a tender, constant reminder of the night's raw pleasure. Even now, if you move your head just right against the pillow, you can catch the faintest trace of sandalwood and leather on your own skin, a ghost of his possession. And although you know Mark's babies have already been absorbed and are doing their job deep inside you, you still have the distinct, filthy feeling of being loaded, of being permanently claimed. You feel the phantom weight of your husband's secret life from the rest stop. And you feel the phantom echo of the leather biker's rough, primal claim in the woods, the one who first showed you the way. You are a man living a perfect lie, holding all the secrets. You are the bridge between their worlds, and the power is intoxicating. You haven't chosen a new life. You have simply become the master of your old one, who will be—sooner or later—armed with a power no one can ever know about.

A man is entitled to unload his cum in woman or faggot. Doesn’t matter. He chooses the hole. If you decide not to, BEFORE you leave, shut him out of your accounts. THEN leave. And be more careful next time you want to surrender to a man. Also, anal may not mean pain, that’s just silly. For many bottoms anal is quite pleasurable.

Congratulations and welcome to the club! We should have engraved cock rings or butt plugs made! 😛

rimming really gets my precum flowing, my cock hard and my hole buzzing. the first time I locked into a rim69 I thought "I could get used to this" and so I did. It did take me a while to realise most first dates start with a bj. I blame skipping to the rim scenes in porn and almost forgetting about other foreplay. Ramming each others' tongues as deep in as possible that you can almost not breathe and spreading your legs as wide as possible, while grunting and appreciating the sweaty musk is just amazing. I would love to service a row of holes (men huffing on poppers, on all fours, arse thrusted in the air): each competing for the most tongue fuck attention.

Will be in pipeworks sauna in Glasgow the evening of the 13th of January. Will be dressed in black PVC dress, stockings and hood as its anonymous night. Looking for breeders to come and load my hole. Absolutely no loads refused.

Just took another load Anon from the Top whose fucking me regularly now.

Don't inject trimix into a vein - and NEVER EVER EVER inject anything into neck veins.

Tonight I was the btm lad For two hot British dads Spit roast to start our 2026 Had me choking on their dicks Tag teaming left and right A glorious way to spend a Sunday night

Cumming handsfree

So another holiday for New Years is in the books! Since New Year’s Day it’s been a bit quieter than some other years though by no means a dry spell. I’m up 38 loads since NYD and during the entire trip brings it up to 78, but with several rest days it’s been about 3-9 per day in general. Like always there have been highlights and duds. The duds this year has been flakiness on the apps, so I’ve been spending too much time on them. Then I get fed up and log off at which point you usually have several offers shortly thereafter. The law of Grindr I suppose 😹 I won’t recount all here but I will give a retelling of yesterday since it was a hot ending to my trip. I started yesterday meeting another «vacation boyfriend» top, a cute young guy from Madrid. We have really good sexual chemistry so our 30 min fuck was super hot, he fucked me real good and made me cum anally, then he finally shot a huge load inside me; feeling his cock spasm and my hole get that familiar «wet with cum» feeling. After it I relaxed a bit and then went with my bf to the dunes. For some reason I’ve never actually cruised the dunes so we decided to go and check it out. We got to the dunes and sure enough they were very busy with men of all ages roaming and looking for dick / ass. We started by finding a sort of «fuck tree» that functioned perfectly as a shelf for a bottom to rest on while he’s spit roasted. I sucked my bf hard then he proceeded to fuck me over the fuck tree. Sure enough as shit attracts flies the cruisers came to enjoy the show and an older-ish guy whipped his dick out and with my bf permission stuffed my mouth with it. This went on for a bit and a few more men came to enjoy the show as I was stuffed from both ends. A guy was quite furiously jerking watching it so my bf let him have a go and he came inside me within a few pumps. He was replace by the guy in my mouth which was replaced by another onlooker. The guy now fucking me lasted about 3-4 min before asking me if he could cum inside me which of course I was happy with 💦. The guy in my mouth then went last. He had a big but semi soft dick but he got it in and after about 5 min he also was pumping his sperm inside me. The show was over with a few satisfied customers and now 4 loads in my butt. My bf needed a break after this so he went to the beach as I cruised a bit more. 3 more guys fucked me, one gave me his babies. We walked home, and I was going to hookup with my «British top couple vacation boyfriends» but they had to cancel bc one of their moms wanted to spend time with them, so instead I hooked up with a guy from my building. He was a stocky black guy from the Netherlands. He of course had a huge dick, and turns out he had fucked be ass up and bred me at Construction the night before. It was a really fun fuck and his dick was hitting all the right spots so he was getting off on me riding him and precumming all over him. We did that for 15-20 min until he threw me off and put me In doggy, hammered away for 5 min until he was spasming and releasing a big load in long drawn out orgasm. Super hot! Later during the evening we went to Factory for a final hurrah. Now things are a bit blurry since I was for an hour ass up and stuffed from both ends as soon as we arrived, but I was fucked by a host of guys but I counted only one load in my ass. However, 3 guys came in my mouth. So it was a first for me to get so many loads in my mouth rather than the ass. I rested for a moment then did a round 2. the crowd was thinning out but it was still a hot time and several great fucks, 2 more loads inside me and one more in my mouth. After that a guy pulls me aside and wants me to suck him stuffing poppers under my nose. Unfortunately he wasn’t careful so he spilled a bunch of poppers over my face, so I had to make a run for the bathroom to clean it all off as it started to burn pretty bad and pretty quick. It all came off and I was ok and the guy was super sorry but it was the mood killer I needed to end a good night that had already been very long. And thus, my pigs, concludes another holiday in sun and sin. PS. It was great to meet @BBisse - sweet guy that you wouldn’t guess was a total bb pig bottom. unfortunately we couldn’t play together as I had a sightseeing trip to Lanzarote. But next time I’m sure we will 😈

The first week of classes, there is a local art fair in the arts district right by the campus. I have my camera and a bag with a very basic portfolio of my photos so far, and one that's a bit more risqué. I wonder around looking at the various vendors and enjoy the warm late summer day. I take a few photos of the scenes, people, nothing to write home about. I notice there are a few vendors with their tents adjoining each other, with various pride flags flying on posts at either end of it. I make my way over to scope things out. There are about 10 different vendors, all with different art. Blown glass, paintings, hand made clothing, and a few photographers. I look at the various photographers and a couple of them really catch my attention. They both have several implied nude photos with couples (mostly men, but some lesbian, and straight). Nothing that is wildy inappropriate for this type of event, but border line. There is a selection of photos with guys my age, very twink like and quite petite, with older men and muscle daddies. These begin to make my hole twitch. Again, there is no actual nudity, but everything is implied. I cant take my eyes of of them. The style and compositions are very well done, not to mention the subject matter is right up my alley. "Hey I'm Drew." I hear behind me. "Are you enjoying my collection." "Yes I am. I love the style and your compositions are quite amazing." I turn and see a man, probably in his late 20's with a similar build to me, clearly we're very similar to each other in many ways. He's wearing a pride tank top and a leather bracer that says "Daddy's boi." on his left wrist. We smile at each other as we scope the other out. "Not to mention the subject matter is quite...fascinating." "Are you a student at the university?" "Yes, I'm in my first week actually." "Nice, welcome to town. Do you have your ID on you? There's a group of photographers that have a bit more photo's that would make these look like church paintings in the back, but gotta be 18. If you're interested..." I look over towards the back of the tent and see a sign that says private and another guy sitting next to it. "Um I'd love to." I pull out my ID and Drew looks it over and looks at me. "They're gonna love you..." He hands it back to me and walks me to the other guy and he moves a tent flap and I go back and there's a whole nother area as big as the front with more erotic photos. I make my way through enjoying a lot of the artwork. Theres a bit for everyone it seems. I stop at one photographer's display with several photos of bigger guys, muscle bears, dad bods, chubby guys and such, with twinks. I see that he's won several awards for his work, especially for his use of first person pov among other things. I take his card from the table and move on. I see a table with a sign advertising an erotic art show at a local gay bar. I walk up and there's an older man, probably in his sixties sitting behind the table. I grab a flyer and say a friendly hello. "Are you old enough to be in here, son?" He asks me with a warm smile. "Yes Sir! I'm a couple months past my 18th. I just started classes at the University." I swallow nervously as I'm holding a flyer for the show. He stands up and is towering over me by nearly a foot, and probably has another 120 pounds of weight compared to my 115 pounds. I also note a large bulge in his leather pants. "Well welcome to town. I'm Skip. I own the club hosting the art show. We're primarily a bear bar, but we do have one week night a month where we let the college kids in for a networking event. No booze served obviously. And host artists once a month for the Gallery Hop. But this event is at one of the larger galleries I own. You should come." "Thank you, Sir. I'd love to come!" He smirks, "I be you would...I love your manners, son. I see you have your camera on you. Are you a photographer?" "I am, Sir. Kinda starting out and trying to figure out what I want to do with it. But I've been a hobbyist for a few years, but have gotten a bit more serious with it. Thats one of the things I'm here at school to learn and improve." "Very good. We have 5 amateur photographers that we sponsor for the show, there's typically 10 - 20 total that show here. Theres a couple of prizes for the winners, typically they'll have a best in show amateur that is voted on by the pro's, collectors, and gallery owners. That winner gets a free entry to the big year end Gallery Hop Erotic showcase event. There is also a people's choice amateur that get's to shadow and apprentice under one of four of the photographers here." He points out 3 of the vendors that I havent looked at yet, and the fourth one is the one that captured my eyes, and made my hole twitch before I came to this table. "Would you be interested? I already have 4 other's I'm sponsoring, so you'll need to grab it quick or I'll find someone else today." "I'd love to, Sir." "Your manners go a long way son...Do you have any work I can look at?" I hand him my primary portfolio. He flips through it, studying various photos for a few minutes each. "These won't work, you have anything like what's in here?" He asks as he waves his hands around the room. "Oh, right." I scramble to get my more erotic portfolio out and hand it to him. "This is better....mmmm...very good....nice." He looks through a couple of them. Mostly from art club, drawing class of the nude model that I photographed. "Well, I'm sorry, son, but so far these are good, but not gallery material. I think there is potential, but not this year..." "Wait, Sir..." I flip 3/4's of the way through the portfolio. "My....are these you?" "Yes, Sir. There is an older man in there as well, he's the one that took my virginity." I blush, not sure why I let that out. "Hot. How did you get these so well composed with cum all over your face?" "Hahaha, um I staged the positions before the guys and I...work things out. Once they left, I quickly ran to the other room to shoot it with a remote shutter." "Okay..." He rubs his growing cock. "you're close, but what are you willing to do to help me commit to sponsoring you?" A hunger comes in his eyes. I can't take my eyes of his growing bulge. "Fuck me..." I say under my breath as his cock pulses. "Works for me. Chris, watch the table. I'm going to take...." He looks at me. "Alex, Sir." I realize what's about to happen. "Alex in the back room and fill out some paperwork for the Show." "Have fun." He grabs my hand and pulls me into another part of the tent that opens up into the back of his sprinter van. He has a small be in there with some storage. "It's sound proof." He shuts the door as we get in and I sit on the bed and put my bag and camera down in the front of the van. As I turn around he is only in a leather harness and metal cock ring. "Get to work claiming your entry." I drop to my knees on the bed and take his fat cock in my mouth. "Fuck yes, son. Suck grandpa's cock." I work my way as far as I can, but he's quite thick compared to the handful of guys that I've sucked the past two weeks here. He slides his hand down my shorts and grabs my ass. "Fuck this is nice." He grabs the other cheek and then puts a fat finger on my hole. "So tight." He pushes his finger into me and I moan on his cock. I take his cock out of my mouth and bury my nose in his bush at the base of his cock and sack. I lick and suck on his gray hair covered balls. "God, your cock and balls are so fucking hot!" I say as I lick and sniff his manhood. "Am I the oldest you've been fuck by?" "Yes, Sir." "Fuck yes!" He pushes my shorts down and sees that I'm just in a dark pink jock strap. "Grandpa loves breeding boi pussy. Enough of your mouth. I'm going to destroy your hole." "Please grandpa! Breed me with your fat old cock." He spins me around and spits on my hole and pushes two fingers in and spits again. "Fuck this is gonna hurt at first." He barely warns me before he pushes his cock head against my hole. I scream into the mattress as he invades me. "God I wish I was off my meds for this." He says as he puts his body weight on my ass and drives his cock deep to the hilt. He holds his position to let me get use to his girth. He slowly back out of me, one inch at a time, then pushes back in a half an inch, repeating until his purple old man mushroom it pushing against the inside of my sphincter. He spits again on his fat cock and slowly pushes back in to the hilt. He repeat this for a few minutes, until the pain subsides and I push back on his member. "That's my boy..." He grabs my hips with both hands and begins to pull me onto him as he pushes into me. Using me like a life size fleshlight. He throws me around in several positions fucking me like there is no tomorrow. I'm moaning and screaming like a whore. I cum three times hands free before he puts all his weight on me in missionary and kisses me passionately as he fills my bowels with his old cum.

"What a dump" Ther are tons of cum dump motels here in The Bronx. In my nabe, we have Umbrella Hotel, The Regal Concourse and the newer Nova with "24 hour access." People I know seem to like it. And you don't have to arrange dick dates They have plenty dick on deck . This is just The South Bronx. In other Bronx neighborhoods it easier to ask which hotels aren't cum dump dumps.😂

Cum puddle Christmas tree 🎄💦

FWIW that's supposed to look like a "cum puddle" but I don't think it fully stuck the landing! 🙂

I think it's based on how much you 1) post original material, 2) reactions, and 3) additions to ongoing conversations/threads. I hasten to add that I don't know if any of that is actually the case, but it would seem likely. So, bareback-flipflop, congrats, and whatever you're doing, keep it coming 😉

What triggers make you cum instantly. When I’m fucking and my sub moans and calls me “Daddy” I nut in seconds. When I’m being sucked I shoot the instant he strokes my balls or fingers my hole.

Yup, we Gay boys (good or bad) take toxic Poz sperm deep in hungry holes...knock me up!!!!!🧑‍🦰🕳️🍆💦💦☣️☣️😋

My mind is so fucking gone. I've gone completely retarded for AIDS. All I can think about is getting converted. My brain is thinking of poz conversions all the time. Even when I'm not horny, I think about getting pozzed, and I instantly get hard. It's fully consumed me, I can no longer rationalize it as just a dumb kink for porn, I NEED POZ CUM IN MY BUTT!!!

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

So amazingly well written! Thanks for this story with such emotional depth.

Welcome to the club. Didn't know anything about this, or the different levels. Just looked and noticed I too am a Grand Master.

Please be gentle this is my first story: Park Toilets, The First Visit After having had two girlfriends, at the age of 30 I was starting to explore my bi side by chasing cock in public toilets and I was starting to realise I enjoyed sex with guys far more than I had with females. Sex with guys I found to be much more intense and also appealed to my nasty side. In a gay bar one day I overheard two guys talking about some toilets in a park on the other side of town that had been closed down three years ago and were now overgrown. Apparently someone had forced open the door and the toilets which were well hidden were now being used by the more sleazy type of guys, especially after it got dark as there was no lighting in there. One guy saying that mostly older guys some of whom were HIV used these toilets and that he had heard that hardly anyone in there ever used a condom. Now I was still new to sex with guys and had only been fucked twice, both times I had insisted on the other guy wearing a condom as I did not want to catch anything and on hearing the way guys behaved in these toilets I was somewhat disgusted. However after a couple of weeks my mind kept returning to what the two guys in the bar had said and each time I thought about what was going on in the toilets I was not as disgusted as the previous time. Although I would not admit it to myself after a month I was getting turned on by the thought of the nastiness of the guys in there, fucking strangers bareback etc., I felt my cock twitch each time I thought about what guys were doing in there and decided I would visit the toilets just to have a look. So with a day off work I decided to go to the other side of town and see if the stories were true. Arriving at the park mid afternoon it took me some time to find the toilets as they were quite overgrown, but someone had made a small gap in the hedge for guys to climb through. I went in through the half open door, which was bent over and wedged and before I could take anything in, the most revolting smell of stale piss hit me. It was obvious that guys still used the toilets but there was now no water to clean them. Going in round the corner of the toilets I saw there was a long floor trough and three cubicles, all of which had their doors smashed, but there was no one was inside. I breathed both a sigh of relief and of disappointment at finding the toilets empty, at this stage I was still not sure what I wanted if anything, but the nastiness of the place did have an attraction to my more depraved twisted side. I hung round for about 20 minutes, but with no one coming in I got bored and decided to leave and found a nearby bar. After having had three pints I was feeling slightly tipsy and hornier than ever. I walked out of the bar intending to get a taxi back home, but found myself walking back towards the park. It was almost dark as I re-entered the park and in the dark struggled to find the gap in the hedge, having found the gap I went back into the now dark toilets and sensed more than saw two bodies at the far end. I slowly edged towards the two bodies and as I got close in the dim moonlight I saw both guys were naked. They were both kissing each other as they wanked each others cocks. Looking closer at the two guys I shuddered as I saw they were both unattractive, their bodies looked drained and obviously both guys were over 60 years of age. Despite my disgust at these two ugly old farts, I couldn't stop my cock getting hard at the nastiness of the situation of two old naked men having sex in the most disgusting toilets I had ever been in. As I was watching the two guys one beckoned to me and then put his hand around my head and started to kiss me, gently at first, but then started sticking his tongue down my throat. I couldn't believe how hot and horny this felt and despite his age I just couldn't stop myself from returning his tongue action. The other guy started to strip off my clothes and before I really thought about it all my clothes were on the top of theirs and here I was a 30 year old man naked with two naked decrepit old guys over twice my age. But amazingly despite their outward looks of tired drained old bodies both had really big, hard and horny looking cocks, which I was soon sucking. As I was bent over sucking one of the guy's cocks, the other guy started to rub his cockhead over my brown hole, this was the first time I had felt a bare cock rub my hole and I loved the sensation it gave me. He then started to work one then two fingers up inside me and I realised he was getting my hole loosened to fuck me, I did stop sucking the other guy's cock and turned and told him I would only be fucked with a condom, to which he replied that he didn't have a condom and that he would just play around and once again started rubbing his cock over my hole. The guy whose cock I was sucking handed me a bottle, I had heard of poppers but never used them, but with the nastiness of the situation this seemed the perfect time to try them. Wow, I could not believe the buzz they gave me, as the guy behind me said "Don't panic I am just pushing it in an inch so you can see how bare cock feels" and with that he sunk his cockhead an inch or maybe a bit more into my unprotected cunt. I was given another hit of the poppers as the guy behind kept moving his large cockhead in and out of me and any pain I had originally felt soon disappeared and I was starting to enjoy the feel of his old cock inside me as he pushed even more of his large cock into me. I was both excited and afraid at the thought of having unprotected sex and said to him "What ever you do, please don't cum inside me". He replied "Don't worry I wont" and started thrusting a bit faster in me. As I continued sucking the cock of the guy in front of me, he started to piss straight into my mouth, which I began to swallow. Piss as much as anything gets me horny and with the nastiness of the place, being fucked by a dirty old man and kept being given poppers I was getting to the point where I lost all my inhibitions. I could feel the guy behind me speeding up, in a moment of sanity I asked him whether he was neg or poz, he replied, "I'm poz". The guy in front immediately gave me another hit on the poppers and I could not believe myself when I said, "Do whatever you want, I have gone past caring". The old guy fucking me said, "Do you want my poz load in you". I shouted back, "Infect me if you want, shoot your poz cum deep inside me, knock me up, I want to be pozzed" and with that I heard him groan and moan and felt his cum shooting inside my unprotected body. It was less than a week before I returned to the toilets looking for more nasty fun.

It's been awhile since I've been there but after reading this I definitely need to get back. I've had a lot of fun at the different bars and clubs as well as int he dunes. My biggest complaint about the dunes are the freakin massive thorns in the sand.

Useful for your health reading: [think before following links] https://harmreduction.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/08/Resource-SaferDruguse-GettingOffRightASafetyManualforInjectionDrugUsers.pdf

I'd like to find a dominant, or alternatively a cuck or cuck-like individual who would enjoy facilitating my behavior. Someone who would enjoy at least splitting hotel costs, who would enjoy getting me spun, and then locate and turn me out to borderline abusive tops to use me while I am intoxicated. I love the psychological and physical challenges that are associated with serving groups, as well as the humiliation, degradation, and feelings of intimidation that serving groups also brings. Bondage that facilitates CNC situations is something I am always drawn to. Training, emasculation, feminization, sissification, is always welcome and I am fetish friendly. You know....standard stuff...😂 Central/Northern Pennsylvania or western NY state if anyone is interested in discussing options. Feel free to send a message and there is an email address on my profile page.

Second Cumming..... Shaved Head’s voice cut through the chemical fog like a blade, low and measured, each word dripping with deliberate control. "Breathe in—slow, pigboy," he murmured, thumb pressing into the hollow of Tommy’s throat. "That’s it. Feel it? That’s your body remembering who owns it." Tommy’s chest hitched, lungs fighting the weight of the drugs, but the hand on his neck tightened just enough to guide him. "Good. Now out." The exhale shuddered out of him, ragged at the edges, his cock twitching against the cool air. "Submission isn’t surrender, Tommy. It’s *clarity.*" The wiry one’s fingers—nimble, relentless—worked the rubber harness tighter, the latex hissing as it stretched over Tommy’s flushed skin. Every millimeter of pressure sent shockwaves up his spine, his balls throbbing under the unforgiving grip of the stretchers. "Look at him," the wiry one mused, tapping the underside of Tommy’s cock with a fingernail. The sound—sharp, metallic—echoed in the room. "Like a fucking wind-up toy." He twisted the lowest ring, and Tommy’s hips jerked off the table, a strangled noise tearing from his throat. "Just needs the right key." The door creaked again. A new voice—deep, rolling, syrup-thick with amusement—cut through the haze. "Y’all takin’ too long." Tommy’s head lolled toward the sound. Tarelle—black, broad-shouldered, Nike Tech Fleece clinging to the swell of his chest—leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. Gold hoops glinted in his ears. His grin was all teeth. "Shit, I *know* y’all ain’t just starin’ at this pig without puttin’ him to work." Tommy’s stomach flipped. The wiry one snickered, stepping back as Tarelle pushed off the frame. His Jordans—white and blue, pristine—squeaked against the linoleum as he crossed the room. Methodical. Unhurried. Tommy watched, pulse hammering, as Tarelle’s fingers hooked under the hem of his shirt. The fabric peeled away slowly, revealing the thick, coiled muscle beneath, skin gleaming under the fluorescents. His sweatpants followed, folded precisely, stacked atop his shoes like an offering. The scent of cocoa butter and weed clung to him. Tarelle’s cock—already thick and heavy, the head flushed dark—curved against his thigh as he palmed himself, the slow drag of his fist making Tommy’s mouth water. “Ain’t polite to stare, piggy,” he murmured, lips quirking. His free hand snagged Tommy’s chin, forcing his head up. “Unless you *wanna*.” Tommy’s breath hitched. Oh wait, you can't see. Tarelle’s thumb pressed against his lower lip, the gag’s silicone ridges digging in. “Anybody got trimix?” He glanced around, lazy, like he was asking for a spare lighter. “Dude’s *twitchin’*, and I ain’t even touched him yet.” Shaved Head stepped forward, syringe glinting between his fingers, the liquid inside catching the light like molten gold. “Got you, big man.” His grin was all teeth as he knelt beside Tarelle, fingers skimming the thick vein running along the underside of his cock. “Gonna make him *sing*.” The needle slid in with practiced ease—no hesitation, no wasted movement—and Tarelle’s breath hissed between his teeth as the drug hit his bloodstream. His cock swelled instantly, veins standing in stark relief against the dark skin, the head purpling with every throb. “Fuck,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders. “That’s the shit, dis injection is tha next key to Pigboys transformation" Tommy’s cock *ached*—eight inches of desperate, harnessed need, the latex straps biting into the swollen flesh. His balls throbbed under the stretchers, pulled taut and heavy, every heartbeat sending a fresh pulse of heat straight to his core. The blindfold robbed him of sight, but his body *knew*. The shift in the air—Tarelle’s breath warming his inner thigh, the low chuckle vibrating against his skin—sent goosebumps racing up his spine. His hips jerked involuntarily, the stretchers clinking with the movement. “Oh, he *knows*,” the wiry one crowed, giving the lowest ring a sharp tug. “Look at him—fucking *begging* for it.” Then—sudden, unexpected—the press of padded headphones clamping over his ears, sealing him into silence. The world muffled instantly—no more laughter, no creaking floorboards—just the staticky hum of white noise and his own ragged breaths echoing inside his skull. Tommy’s jaw clenched around the gag. *Fuck.* Sensory deprivation cranked the hypersensitivity of his skin to eleven—every brush of air, every accidental graze, electric. His cock twitched, precome beading at the tip. A fingertip—broad, calloused—traced his rim, slow and deliberate. Tommy flinched, hips jerking, but hands pinned him down before he could squirm away. The touch circled again, slick with something cold, clinical. Lube, probably. Or spit. His hole fluttered uselessly against nothing. "Relax," a voice rumbled through the headphones—distorted, robotic—but the cadence was unmistakably Tarelle’s. "Breathe out." Tommy exhaled sharply, shoulders trembling. The finger pressed in without warning, knuckle-deep in one smooth thrust. His back arched off the table, a silent scream trapped behind the gag. Then—hotter, thicker—the blunt head of Tarelle’s cock nudged against him, the tip catching on his rim with a sticky, obscene noise. Tommy’s breath hitched. The stretch burned, even through the chemical haze clouding his nerves. Tarelle’s hips rolled forward—slow, inexorable—and Tommy felt every millimeter, every ridge, every vein as his body yielded. His toes curled. His balls throbbed against the stretchers. The headphones crackled with static, drowning out his own choked whimpers. Halfway in, Tarelle paused. Tommy could *feel* him twitching inside, the thick, swollen base of his cock pressing against that deep, electric spot that made his vision whiten. His own dick jerked violently against the harness, precome dribbling in hot pulses down the shaft. The sensation ricocheted through him—Tarelle’s cockhead nudging his prostate, the stretchers tugging his sack taut, the trimix turning his erection into a live wire. His hips bucked involuntarily, desperate for friction, for *more*. Then—cold, unexpected—another pair of hands gripped his cock, the latex straps creaking under the pressure. The touch was methodical, clinical, fingers mapping every vein with the precision of someone who’d done this a hundred times before. A thumb swiped over Tommy’s leaking slit, spreading the wetness down his length in slow, torturous strokes. The rhythm was inhuman—too perfect, too steady—like a machine programmed to wring him dry. Tommy’s breath hitched. His hole *fluttered* around Tarelle, muscles going slack as pleasure overloaded his nervous system. The voice in the headphones crackled again, layered now with something mechanical—a synthesized echo that burrowed under his skin. *You are Pigboy.* The words dripped into his skull like syrup, slow and sticky. *You exist for pleasure.* Tarelle’s hips snapped forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. Tommy’s scream dissolved into a wet gurgle. *Your hole and cock are the property of CHEMBOSS.* The hands on his shaft tightened, twisting just shy of pain. His vision whited out. *You will submit to anyone who brings pleasure.* Tarelle’s cock dragged against his prostate with every withdrawal—slow, deliberate—each ridge scraping that swollen bundle of nerves until Tommy’s thighs trembled. His dick pulsed violently in its harness, precome pooling in the hollow of his stomach, the latex straps biting into flushed skin. The stretchers clinked with every ragged breath, the weight of them dragging his balls into a taut, aching pendulum. The hands on his cock moved faster now, matching Tarelle’s rhythm—pulling, twisting, *milking*—until the pleasure crested into something unbearable. His hole fluttered helplessly around Tarelle’s girth. The headphones crackled, the voice inside them warping into something deeper, synthetic. *"You are not permitted to hold back any load from your pigboy dick."* The words slithered into Tommy’s skull, slick and insistent. *"If you do, you will be slammed again and risk losing your cock."* A shudder ripped through him—half-terror, half-obscene *want*—as the voice droned on, layering over the wet slap of skin against skin. *"Every drop belongs to CHEMBOSS. Every spurt is proof of your purpose."* Tommy’s hips jerked, his cock twitching like a live wire. The threat coiled low in his gut, sharp as the needle still buried in his vein. Tarelle’s thrusts grew jagged, his rhythm fracturing as his own cock swelled impossibly thicker inside Tommy’s hole. The stretch burned—hotter now, relentless—each ridge of Tarelle’s shaft scraping Tommy’s prostate raw. The hands on Tommy’s shaft tightened, twisting just shy of pain, the latex straps creaking under the strain. Precome dribbled in thick pulses down his length, pooling in the hollow of his stomach. *"See?"* The voice purred. *"Your cock knows its role. It leaks without permission. It begs to be emptied."* Tommy’s breath hitched. His balls churned, the stretchers dragging them taut, the weight unbearable. Tarelle flexed—deliberate, cruel—his cockhead grinding deep into Tommy’s prostate. The sensation ripped through him like live wire, his hips bucking against the restraints. The hands on his shaft moved faster now, matching Tarelle’s rhythm—pulling, twisting, *milking*—until the pleasure crested into agony. Tommy’s vision whited out. His hole fluttered helplessly around Tarelle’s girth. *"There it is,"* the voice cooed, synthetic and slick. *"The first betrayal. Your body gives you away."* His cock pulsed violently, the tip smearing wetness across his stomach. *"Now finish it."* Then—sharp, chemical—the hiss of pressurized vapor flooding the hose connected to Tommy’s gag. The taste hit first: burnt plastic and artificial watermelon, cloying sweetness clinging to the back of his throat. He gagged, but the DMT forced its way into his lungs anyway, expanding like liquid heat in his chest. The first exhale came ragged, his pupils blowing wide behind the blindfold. The second hit sent fractals spiraling across his vision—neon geometries pulsing in time with Tarelle’s thrusts, the room dissolving into a kaleidoscope of impossible colors. By the third, his orgasm wasn’t *coming*—it was *everywhere*, a supernova detonating behind his ribs, his cock convulsing untouched as the DMT rewired his synapses into pure, screaming pleasure. Tarelle’s fingers dug into Tommy’s hips hard enough to bruise, his rhythm stuttering as Tommy’s hole clenched around him in erratic spasms. "Fuck—" His voice cracked, thick with exertion. "Piggy’s *milking* me—" The stretchers on Tommy’s balls jingled obscenely with every snap of Tarelle’s hips, the metal rings biting into swollen flesh. Tommy’s cock *ached*, the trimix turning his erection into something inhuman—veins standing in stark relief against flushed skin, the head purpling with every throb. Precome dribbled in thick ropes down his shaft, pooling in the hollow of his stomach, the latex harness creaking under the strain. The chain came without warning—cold, heavy, *final*—slithering over Tommy’s collarbones like a serpent. His breath hitched as the links settled against his throat, the metal searingly cold against sweat-slick skin. The pressure tightened gradually, each breath shallower than the last, until his pulse hammered against the restraint in frantic, rabbit-quick beats. A click echoed through the headphones—sharp, mechanical—as the lock snapped shut. The chain constricted further, stealing another fraction of his air, the edges of his vision blurring into static. His cock *twitched*, precome smearing across his abs in wet, glistening streaks. *Fuck.* The deprivation cranked the high higher—every gasp burned, every heartbeat throbbed in his dick, every *lack* of oxygen sharpening the pleasure into something jagged and unbearable. The needle gleamed—silver-bright under the fluorescents—as Shaved Head tapped the syringe with a fingernail, clearing the air bubble with a flick of his wrist. The liquid inside shimmered, viscous and gold-tinged, like honey cut with amphetamine. Tommy’s breath hitched when cold alcohol swabbed the side of his throat, the scent sharp and clinical. The chain rattled as he tensed, links biting into his flesh. "Left jugular," Shaved Head murmured, fingers tracing the throbbing vein beneath Tommy’s skin. His thumb pressed down—hard—flattening the vessel against the bone. The needle slid in with practiced ease—sharp, then *gone*—buried deep where Tommy’s pulse stuttered against the intrusion. "There we go," came the whisper, whiskey-rough against his ear. "Pigboy’s first *direct line* to bliss." Tommy’s hole clenched around nothing—a phantom *squeeze*—as the plunger depressed. The drugs hit *immediate*, a molten flood roaring through his carotid, burning a superhighway straight to his brain. His vision whited out. His cock *jerked*, untouched, smearing precome in sticky arcs across his stomach. The chain slackened—just enough for Tommy to drag in a ragged breath—but the relief was short-lived. Tarelle’s cockhead *nudged* his prostate—once, twice—with lazy precision, each brush sending lightning forks of pleasure up Tommy’s spine. His thighs trembled. His *balls* ached, the stretchers dragging them into a tight, flushed pendulum. "Fuck—" The word dissolved into a wet gasp as Tarelle rolled his hips, the thick ridge of his cockhead *scraping* Tommy’s sweet spot raw. "There it is," Tarelle chuckled, deep and honeyed, his palm slapping against Tommy’s ass with a *crack*. "Pigboy’s *trigger*."

I was 11 at the time & it was the evening after my mums funeral and my sister went to my aunts house and my uncle, dad, myself, & few other men went to my dads house. They all drank heavy and gave me a few sips here and there but it was my uncle who gave me a full stink and I was a bit light headed after. I had suck my uncles cock many times so i didn't find it odd to go into the bathroom as I thought I was going to suck him off but instead he had strip naked and lay on a towel face down on the floor. He told me it was time for me to be able to take care of dads needs now that mum was gone. My uncle used vaseline fingering my hole before he slipped his cock in and though he didn't go balls deep which was good cause he's a good 10 inches uncut, he did get enough in and blew his load and laid on top of me till he softened a bit. Once he pulled out I was told to stay where I was and then heard my dad say to my uncle "is he ready?" dad came in & fucked his load in me and though I wish it was dad who took my "V" I was to learn later that my dad was more of a bottom and my uncle was the top who took my dads "V" After dad finished he told me to get dressed and come have a drink with the others now that I was a man. Later that night I watched as dad got more drunk off came his clothes and I watched as several guys took their turn fucking dad and even though I got take a turn I was still only able to have a dry orgasm. One of the highlights of the night was watching my uncle plow my dads ass balls deep while the others watched and it seemed like it went on for a long time before he blew his load into dad. After he pulled out of dad, dads ass was almost spewing cum and my uncle told to me to eat dads ass. I don't remember falling asleep but I remember waking up to dad fucking me in his bed where I would be sleeping from then on and taking care of dads needs which I did for years and would gladly do it again as it brought us together for a special bond only those that have it with their dad can truly know.

There's nothing more romantic than poz conversions. I want to look deep into my pozzer's eyes lovingly as he shoots buckets of poison cum deep inside my butt. Then when I'm poz, I wanna convert other dumb boys like me. I wanna see the negativity leave their eyes as I poz them up. Poz me to further spread AIDS to the world!

Next part, guys! Love to hear what you think... Part 8: The Return to the Rest Stop: Breeding the Bugchasing Husband It's winter, already pitch dark, and you see several cars parked in the lot. Your husband is supposed to be home for the weekend, but you still have an hour before expecting him to arrive. Feeling safe with the PEP prescription in your hand, you think, Why not one last time? All the cars are from locals, no one inside. Probably all in the woods. You enter the familiar trail. You only hear muted voices deep in the back, the occasional glow of a cigarette in the dark. Like a moth, you are drawn to the light. You hear the voices more clearly. "What a slut! Been taking loads for more than an hour now! His mancunt is wider than my wife's after giving birth to our three kids!" You see a group of six or seven middle-aged guys in work boots and Carhartt jackets, gathered around someone bent over a fallen log. Married guys on their way home to their wives. You know these men. You see them at the hardware store, at the mall. Married for years, maybe decades. They've spent twenty years fucking their wives with no thought for a condom because that was for 'other people.' Now the sex at home has dwindled to a monthly chore, and their balls are heavy with pent-up seed. A gay cumdump in the woods is an easy opportunity, a warm hole to drain their balls in on the way home. They never test. They've never heard of PrEP, or they'd rather die than ask their doctor for it, terrified their wife might find the prescription. They are walking reservoirs of every bug they've ever picked up over the decades, and they spread them carelessly, naively, into any willing hole. These are the real threat, your mind whispers. They're walking time bombs, and they don't even know it. One of them is fucking the bent over guy furiously, the sounds of wet, excited slapping filling the cold air. And then you see HIM. The leather biker from the rest stop. He turns sideways, looking you straight in the eyes. He pulls on his cigarette, the glow revealing his majesty. This time he's wearing leather chaps instead of pants—commando. A massive metal ring stretches his balls obscenely long, his girthy rod is hard, curved upward, glistening with cum or ass-juice, the heavy circular barbell crowning its top. And—now clearly visible in the orange glow—a biohazard tattoo right above his cock. He smiles and winks you over, guiding you into the scene. Whispering, "I knew you would be back!" One of the guys has just finished. Somebody wants to freeze the scene, pulls out his phone and takes a picture. The flash illuminates the bottom‘s heavily used ass. You see the open cunt in front of you, gaping open. You can see all the way inside, a milky puddle of cum pooling in there, leaking out and dripping from his balls. You are focused on this sight, you don't even care what kind of guy this is. The dark is hiding everything. The leather biker steps behind you, his presence a warm wall in the cold. He opens the buttons of your jeans, pulling them down, releasing your hardening cock. He plays with your own PA, his hands moving up under your jacket and t-shirt, twisting your nipples, which are directly wired to your cock making it twitch. He’s holding you to his own body, hugging you, warming you in the cold winter evening. "In for a dive? Go for a dip!" he whispers in your ear. You put your cock to the bottom's cunt. It's so loose, your PA and cock head enter easily without even touching flesh. You push until your balls hit his skin. You feel his asslips close around your shaft, pulling you further in. You feel the biker's cold PA at your own back entrance, leaking. You start to fuck. On every stroke out, you impale yourself inch by inch on the biker's poz cock. The dirty poz talk is a low growl in your ear. "That's it, take my poz cock while you fuck that sloppy whore. You feel that? You're swimming in all those married men's loads right now. They have no idea what they're shooting. They think they're just draining their balls. But they're not. They're shooting decades of accumulated bugs, every chronic infection they've ever had, right into this hungry hole. And your cock... your unprotected cock is drowning in that cocktail right now. All those viruses trying to invade your system through your skin. But me... I'm different. I'm not shooting blanks. I know exactly what I'm giving you. My last lab results were... impressive. Every load those guys gave him was a gamble, a lottery ticket. But we... we're the jackpot. We're giving him a confirmed gift, the one he's been craving." The words stimulate the bottom, who realizes he's being used by true giftgivers, and they reinforce your own role as an active participant in the poisoning. You're fucking harder and harder, your juices boiling in your balls, when the bottom moans loud, "Knock me up! Give me your gift! Please! I have been craving this for so long! Convert me! Make me one of you! I want to be toxic! I want to feel the sickness inside me, a permanent part of me! Make me a brother!" The voice. It cuts through everything. It's not just familiar; it's the voice of your safe harbor, your shared life, your "I love you." But it's twisted into this guttural, depraved plea. For a split second, your entire world stops. Your conscious mind screams in denial. No. It can't be. Your world shatters. It's not an orgasm; it's an implosion. A violent, painful convulsion rips through you, and your cock erupts, pumping your betrayal deep into your cheating husband's guts, who is obviously a just as sleazy bugchaser as you. But the horror doesn't stop there. Your body betrays you further, your ass clamping down like a vise on the biker's shaft. Each spasm of your own release milks him in return, and you feel a searing heat pulse into you as he roars his victory. Through the daze, you hear the bottom's guttural moan as he's filled by a stranger. The three of you are a single, convulsing beast of pleasure and poison, and you are its broken, beating heart. The biker pulls out, breathing heavily. He feels the shift instantly. You're not moving. You're rigid, making a choked, sobbing sound. The group starts to disperse. He has to physically pull you out of the scene, grabbing your arm and pulling you back into the darkness, just as your husband pulls up his jeans and stumbles away, oblivious. "Whoa, you okay? That was... intense," he says, his tone shifting from dominant to curious. You turn to him, your face a pale mask in the dark, tears or sweat or both streaming down your face. You can barely speak. You just grab his arm and whisper, the words torn from your soul: "That guy... The one we were fucking... That's my husband. I didn’t know…" The biker processes this for a second, a slow, dark understanding dawning on his face. He doesn't recoil. He lets out a low, dark chuckle of pure astonishment. "Holy... fucking... shit." He sees the absolute devastation on your face. He understands you've just been shattered. This is his moment. He pulls you into that comforting hug again, grounding you. His voice is a low, conspiratorial whisper in your ear. "Hey. Look at me. Breathe. It's okay. You just saw his ghost. You think that's a coincidence? You think it's an accident that you're both here, in this place, on this night? The universe brought you here. It brought you to me. Now... let me give you something real. Something to hold onto. Let me give you another one of my loads. I'm toxic as fuck right now, my VL is through the roof. So let's make sure it takes! Let me seal your fate. I know you want this. I know you need this." You can't think right now. You just turn around and guide his cock back into your own loaded cunt, and he fucks himself to another fantastic orgasm that sends you to heaven—without any poppers. The scene is so intense, so hot on its own, that it doesn't need any chemical enhancement. This fuck isn't about risk; it's about claiming. Every thrust is a hammer blow, forging you into a new shape. His PA isn't just ripping you open; it's a chisel, carving away the old you. "That's it," he groans, his voice a sacrament. "Take my high VL. Let it rewrite you. Let it become part of you." You don't just feel the peace; you seize it. You push back against him, meeting his thrusts, actively pulling the gift deeper. This isn't something happening to you anymore. It's something you are choosing. And as you feel him pulse inside you again, you know you're finally home. You also get dressed and leave, drive home, your husband already there. He opens the door with a smile. "Hey honey! You're late." He has showered—he's always fastidious. He smells of your shared soap, a chilling contrast to the scent of cum and dirt you can't wash off your own skin. He gives you a quick perfunctory kiss on the cheek. As he turns to walk to the kitchen, you swear you see a faint, darker spot on the seat of his jeans, near the seam. Is it just water? Or is he already leaking? The uncertainty drives you mad. "Yeah," you manage, your voice hoarse. "Was at the doctors and took longer than I thought. Great that you are already here! Have been missing you! Let's order something to eat!" You eat and move to the couch, continuing the Netflix series where you left off last weekend. As you lie there, you're looking at him—totally normal from the outside—but in reality, you're picturing his cunt. You're wondering how it's probably looking right now, how a toxic cocktail of cum from who-knows-who is leaking from his ass. You wonder if he can feel it, if he's clenching to keep it desperately inside. And mixed in with all that anonymous seed, you know, is your own. Your load, pumped into him at the peak of his depraved confession, now swimming inside him without his knowledge. You're picturing the bugs, the viruses from all those married men, swarming in his guts, invading his flesh, all mingling with your own betrayal. All the while, you're watching another Netflix episode. He laughs at a joke on the show, a bright, easy sound that feels like it's coming from another planet. In bed at night, you can't sleep. Thinking he's a slut like you—maybe even sluttier! Two perverted souls on the same path, walking separately but connected through a wedding ring. And then, another thought hits you. A slow, dawning realization that cuts through the haze of the day. Your "don't ask, don't tell" agreement. You've always lived by it. Your freedom during the week was sacrosanct, and his was too. What you didn't know couldn't hurt you. But in all your years of careful negotiation, you never once discussed the terms of safety. It was the one, glaring omission you both silently agreed to ignore. You realize he's been cheating bare on you. The thought should be a lightning bolt of betrayal, but it isn't. It's a key turning in a lock. You've been consumed by guilt for your own barebacking, for the risks you've taken. But he's been doing the same thing. The same risk, the same betrayal, the same secret life. You're not just in the same boat; you're sailing on identical, secret courses. A wave of relief so powerful it almost makes you laugh washes over you. The scales are balanced. The hypocrite's guilt that has been eating you alive vanishes. You're not the only one compromising his health, his body, your shared life in the pursuit of filth. He is, too. He's just as much of a slut as you are. And in that shared, unacknowledged depravity, you find a twisted, comforting sense of peace. You're not alone in this anymore. At least he will understand when it's time... You make a decision. You go downstairs. The house is silent. You take the PEP packet out of your backpack. You look at the pharmacist's instructions, the warnings. You unscrew the child-proof cap. You pour the pills into your hand. They look so small, so innocent to hold so much power. You think about the doctor's words, the cold clinic, the shame. And then you think about the biker's warmth, the bottom's plea, your husband's voice. You drop the pills into the toilet bowl. You watch them float for a second before you flush. The sound of the rushing water is the sound of you letting go. As the bowl empties, a strange warmth spreads through your groin—not arousal, but a deep, cellular hum. It feels like a switch being flipped. You think of the doctor's piercings, his hard cock, his words: 'I get it.' And now, you finally do. You are not just choosing this path. You are becoming it. You are now all-in. As you get back to bed, you see your phone glowing on the nightstand. A message. You unlock the screen. It's on Romeo. It's from Mark. "I know what you did! I am back in town next week... We need to talk!" Your heart hammers, but you slowly fall to sleep, dreaming of the last days' experiences.

He kept that motion, it felt so amazing. I never felt anything so good. My ass lifted itself up a little wanting to give him more access to that spot and wanting him to touch it more. Then my phone rang. My body went back down and Rick stopped massaging me. I picked up my phone from the table next to the chair. It was Jane. I answered. She asked if I was free for dinner. I looked at my phone. I didn't realize we had been out by the pool for so long. It was almost 4pm. "I really miss you and want to see you.", Jane said "I know. We are still finishing up cleaning the pool. We are not done yet", I said Then I felt Rick touch me again. First softly massaging my ass and then my inner thigh. I let out a soft muted sigh and moan. "What did you say?" Jane asked "I said ohhh yeah. It would be good to see you." I said recovering "I gotta go. See you at 5:30p at the Italian place on 5th.", I said "Ok babe, I can't wait to see you. I love you. Say you love me please", she begged "i love you too. Gotta go. Bye", I said quickly and hung up the phone "They have good food there.", Rick said still massaging my inner thigh. He was more tender in his touching now. As I turned to him, I could see his hung cock hanging there hard but not fully erect. Our chairs were only a foot apart now. He saw me look at his cock and put my head back down. My cock was still hard and could feel it leaking precum as my groin was wet. "Thank you for putting sunscreen on my back area. I think I better go now.", i said "You're welcome it was my pleasure. You have an amazing body Dan. You have some not rubbed in yet." he said as he did one more massaged of my ass cheeks and spreading them feeling the cool air in my crack and on my whole then finishing on both my inner thighs and running his fingers into that area where the leg meets the groin. He pushed his hands in essentially lifting my body off the chair and ran his fingers and nails thru causing an electric shock thru my body. My cock throbbed. He did these two more times and my hard cock flopped back down but rather than be under my stomach it fell under my balls downward so when I landed my cock and head was now exposed to him between my legs. "Ohhh I see someone likes my massage. It's leaking a lot Dan. Have you been leaking all this time?", Rick said jokingly "Ohh yeah sorry", I said quickly. This position made my cock only harder. It was like being pulled back away from my body. I could feel more precum leak out of my cock. "Don't apologize boy, like I said we are all men with urges. You should be comfortable with your desires and listen to your body. Give into your body's needs. There is no judgement here. We are just to dudes enjoying each others company." Rick said while rubbing my thighs and legs, relaxing me again with his touch. "So why did you lie again to her?", Rick asked "What do you mean?", I asked back. His touch was still relaxing me and removing my defenses and my cock rock hard. "You told her we were not done yet. We clearly are. You could leave now and go and meet her", he pressed "I don't know", I replied softly "Maybe you just being here, free, naked, relaxed, no stress. 2 guys just hanging out.", he said while still rubbing me, now focusing on my inner thighs again. It felt so good. "Yeah you are right I lied, it feels good to hang here with you. I feel relaxed and free. I don't feel judged." i confessed "She judge you a lot", Rick asked " Yeah kind of. Always criticizing and judging me and others.", I said "Then just relax and enjoy the moment boy." Rick said softly

Rick left and I looked through my boxed clothes and found my high school speedos. I was worried putting these on would cover even less now I am older and a little bigger. I was about 5 lbs more than I was in high school. I put them on and they fit but they were a bit tight. I looked at myself in the mirror on the wall that was across my bed. I stood there and looked at myself, no shirt just speedos. I still looked good even though I wasn't swimming competitively. I swam at the local pool for exercise at least once a week so i still had the slender swimmers build and abs. Some of the weight went to my ass. As i was a little heavier they sat like low rise briefs at my hips below my waist and barely covered my pubes. From the front it was tight and creeped up my thighs even more than I remember. My cock showed thru more too. Turning around my ass was a little bigger and my ass cheeks jutted out more showing more ass. When I pulled up the speedo higher on my waist it pulled by more showing more of my ass. Turning back the front showed more of my thighs. I kept looking at myself and adjusting, making sure I looked ok and tried to cover up. I don't know why i wanted to look ok or even good. I went outside in the back and started working on the pool. It looked like it hadn't been cleaned in at least 6 months. There were leaves, some debris on the bottom and scum. It was now about 7am and the sun was out as summer is hot here. I started cleaning out the leaves floating at the top. As I was half way done Rick came outside. "You look very nice in that swimsuit", Rick said walking over. "Thank you", I said blushing. I turned and looked at Rick. He was in a swim trunk that showed off his huge cock. They were boxing shorts like swim shorts no more than 3 inches top to bottom. They were white with blue outline and laced closure over his cock that show off a bit of his pubes. He looked hot even for someone in his 60's and thin looking with a slight belly. "I see you found something you like. Tell me what you are thinking now.", he said smiling at me "Sorry I was staring, your shorts done hide much of your cock" i said joking it off. "Neither does yours", he said placing his finger under the front side band near my right thigh of my briefs and running his finger around in the back and pulling them up a bit giving me a wedgie. "You look very nice", he said smiling and his hand laying down against my now more exposed ass. His hand felt warm and caressing. "Thank you very much" I said blushing and smiling back at him. I felt my cock starting to get hard. "Well better get back to cleaning" I said I went back to cleaning the top leaves. Rick went to get another net and helped me. After another 20 minutes we finished. The sun was fully out and it was getting hot. "We both better put on sunscreen." , he said passing my a spray bottle. We both started to spray and rub it on our bodies. Rick asked me to spray and rub on his back. I obliged and started spraying and rubbing it in. I noticed he had these red spots on his body. Not a lot maybe 3 or 4 on his back. "What are these red spots", I asked "Lesions. Don't worry they aren't contagious by just touching them", he said "Oh just was curious. Not to worry" I said rubbing his back. After I was finished, he offered to do my back. He started at the top massaging it in and giving my shoulders a massage. I moaned as it felt good. He then worked down my back also spraying and massaging it in. When he got to my waist he massaged under the waistband. It felt good but was worried how far down he was going. He stopped about an inch under saying as you move around so does your swimsuit so you should always cover under it. Made sense and let him finish. We got back to work and started to clean the bottom and walls of the pool. We both got into the water as the vacuum pole wasn't long. We finished about an hour later. Rick went inside and brought some sandwiches and beers. We sat on the lounge chairs and ate and drank. "How old are you", Rick asked "19 yrs old" I said softly "Your 19? I thought you graduated 2 years ago." he said surprisingly "Yes I did but i graduated a year early. Is that ok that i still rent from you? Am i too young?, i said worryingly He laughed, "No you are the right age. But not legal to drink. Don't worry its just us, have another beer." he said smiling back and slapped my knee as we were sitting facing each other and handed me my second beer. After my third beer and sandwiches I jumped back in the pool to swim and relax. I felt like some of my stress washed away with today.

**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 2 Dr Matthew froze for a few moments. This must have been the guy who loaded him full of poz cum a few years prior. He remembered every detail and almost nightly, for over 7 years, has played it back in his head before falling asleep. For it was then, at night, tired from long days of preaching safe sex and PrEP use to his patients, that the encounter with the biohazard guy at the glory hole would puncture his steely resolve, and memories of Keith’s huge poz weapon penetrating and unloading pure HIV seed into Matthew’s hole. Of course, it had to be Keith who was on the other side of the partition, who else would have that license plate? He made up his mind, right then and there, not to hire the tall, hot nurse with the full beard and tufts of dark chest hair spilling over the top of his scrubs, his buff arms straining against the material. “No, don’t hire him,” he said to himself “no matter how good a nurse he might be,” he had convinced himself. Or so he thought. “Welcome to the practice”, he found himself saying to Keith 20 minutes later. Keith had handled himself well in the interview, answering all the questions and even strongly implied that he could bring in a following of new patients who would need HIV care, but not going into details about how and why they’d be newly poz patients. Dr. Matthew heard all of this on one level, but inside his mind he was replaying that quickie at the arcade with this gorgeous specimen of manhood who unbeknownst to Keith had planted his poz pole up Matthew’s ass and seeded him deeply with a huge load of toxic HIV cum. Dr Matthew struggled to keep his composure, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as his cock was responding in an unprofessional NSFW way. By every measure, Keith became a model employee and was quickly advanced to the Head Nurse position. To Dr. Matthew, he became indispensable. And sure enough, Keith would refer a lot of new patients to Dr. Matthew’s practice, all gay men and almost all newly pozzed. Most of them would get put on meds right away and be content with that. A few, however, deferred meds until “some point in the future,” as a lot of them would say. Dr. Matthew, being the open-minded doctor he had trained to be, and wanting to be responsive to his patients’ needs, listened carefully and would always advise guys to start meds, but if that wasn’t their wish, he would counsel them on how to stay healthy and not spread the virus. It went on like that for a couple of years, preaching meds, or safe sex and condoms and as soon as Dr. Matthew would finish up and leave the exam room, he’d head back to his office, close the door, and grab his expanding cock and jerk it furiously at the thought of poz guys loading him up with HIV. He knew in his head it was wrong, but his cock said otherwise. Eventually, he started noticing guys coming back for follow-up appointments with biohazard or scorpion tats on them, usually just above crotch level or prominently on one bicep or both. Even a few guys boldly had the words “HIV” or “AIDS” tattooed on them. Then, the dark Xs started making an appearance as tats on guys…and they began to proliferate on their subjects. Eric, a new patient Keith referred, even had 5 Xs branded across his abdomen. And fewer and fewer of his newly pozzed patients would start meds right away. He felt his education of his pozzed patients starting not to take hold with them and wondered what he could do or say differently. On the first day that new patient Randy came in, Dr. Matthew delivered his standard speech about meds and Randy said he’d get the Rx filled right away. Matthew watched as Randy left the building and threw away the pamphlets and the prescription in a trash can. Randy returned late on a Friday afternoon about 6 few months later for follow-up labs and he noticed 2 black Xs inked across his mid-section. Finally, he worked up the courage to ask: “Randy, if you don’t mind my asking, and you can tell me to MYOB, but what are the Xs meant to represent?” Randy, already a veteran poz father to over 20 men, spoke up and for the first time, proudly and unashamedly articulated the concept of The Ten to the young idealistic well-meaning doctor. “Each one stands for 10 guys I’ve helped into the brotherhood of HIV,” doc”, Randy explained. “Every 10th guy we poz, we get another X marked on us. There’s a whole brotherhood of guys pozzing chasers. It’s an incredibly powerful feeling knowing your HIV is gifted to someone else!” Dr. Matthew had suspected this was the case, as so many of Keith’s friends came in as new patients, all of them poz – some of them to go on meds, and some not. Still, the idea that there was an organized group of men doing this was way beyond what he could comprehend. His mind was reeling at the thought of Randy and Keith and all the other hot poz men he’s been treating. He hurried through the rest of the appointment, only pausing to look at and explain to Randy’s his viral load numbers and they were impressive…Still, Randy was in good health and professed no symptoms other than a greatly enhanced libido, for which he smiled at the thought. “Doc, since I went poz,” Randy explained “I’m thinking about breeding every hour of every day…if a day goes by where I don’t blow my poz load inside at least one dude, I’m an unhappy guy. Luckily, nearly every day I get to fuck at least one chaser…and I wouldn’t have it any other way, Doc!” This was the last appointment for the week, and he saw Randy to the door, then turned back to his office, the lab printouts still in his hand. The young idealistic doctor took the papers to his office, locking the door behind him and closing the shades on the window. He laid the papers on his desk, sitting in his big chair and quickly unbuttoned and lowered his pants. His cock was already rigid and as he looked at the results: Viral Load, CD4 count, and thinking of all the men in this burgeoning group called “The Ten,” rejoicing and spreading HIV at will…he could not control his cock or the thoughts racing in his head. He stood up and with a few final frantic tugs on his hard member, he blew his load over the papers, the neg load pooling right where the Randy’s HIV numbers were. He felt possessed by the thought of going POZ…he knew it was wrong on so many levels but once the idea imprinted itself in his brain, he couldn’t help it - he felt powerless to resist. He knew he was a medical professional with a reputation to uphold , so he decided that if he was going to indulge in bug-chasing, he would at least go out of town to do it, where no one he knew might see him. That’s why early Saturday morning, he was on the I-10 to Palm Springs. Atypically, traffic was mercifully light, and in a bit over 2 hours, the young doctor rolled up to the Cathedral City Men’s Club, a place he had heard about from Keith. A banner inside the entrance proclaimed “PIG WEEK 2025 .” He went into the office and there was one available room left. The desk clerk alerted him to the shower hose in the bathroom for prepping one’s hole, and told him where the “play areas” were on the grounds. One hour later, Dr. Matthew ventured over to the play area which was a black tented area, the entrance obscured by thick heavy curtains. He went in and let his eyes adjust from the bright desert sunshine to the dark environment. He was ready, he was going to take any and all loads that these Palm Springs guys had to offer. Finding an available sling in the corner, he settled in it, his feet in the stirrups and his near-virgin hole exposed. Did he know what he was doing or how to act in this place? Not entirely…but his hardening cock and twitching hole led him into the sling. He closed his eyes and waited. It wasn’t a long wait. Soon, a warm hand was fingering at his hole, then a warm tongue flicking and finding its way inside him. He moved with the motions of the guy rimming him and finally opening his eyes, saw the man positioning his hard raw cock at Matthew’s opening, forcing its way inside and settling in balls-deep inside the young idealistic doctor who knew in his head this was wrong but was powerless to stop it. The guy fucked him for awhile but then vacated his hole for another dude in a sling to the left. Dr. Matthew was briefly disappointed but within seconds a new guy took his place inside the young doctor’s hole. “Oh, it’s like a try-out all the merchandise for these guys,” he thought to himself as the second man withdrew and moved on and was soon replaced by a 3rd cock in his ass. And this went on for some time, until the very first man to penetrate him returned and resumed his fucking of Matthew…With his eyes acclimated to the dark, he made out the outline of a scorpion tat on the guys pec. This was a poz cock he was getting! The guy heaved and huffed and finally announced that he was going to breed the young doctor: “Take that dirty poz load you fucking whore!” he exclaimed as eight or nine shots of toxic semen got blasted inside Matthew’s guts. A few of the top men gathered around, Matthew recognizing the 2nd guy from earlier who said to the breeder as his load was delivered into Matthew’s butt: “Nice, Frankie, get that unmedicated seed up in the little bitch,” and with that Frankie pulled out and the second man went back inside the doctor “I’m gonna blow, take that poz cum, you little fucking slut!” This brought a few more men to cluster around the sling and soon enough Matthew had four, then five, then six poz loads up his hole. The men were relentless in their fucking…no sooner would they drop a viral load in the young doctor’s cunt would they move on to whoever was in the next sling and repeat the insemination there. Was it really like Randy and Keith said that the virus demands multiple breedings and wills it to be so? Medically speaking, he knew that didn’t really make sense, but here was contrary evidence as these poz unmedicated viral men repeatedly blew their dirty loads up Matthew’s ass, and also his sling neighbors. This went on for over 2 hours during which Matthew figured he’d taken at least 15 loads of viral cum from about 10 guys. The guy they called Frankie contributed 5 of those and from what Matthew could tell, Frankie spent a lot of time fucking the other guys in the room, but only would load up Matthew’s hole. “I wanna give my HIV babies a fighting chance up in that newby cunt of yours, kid,” Frankie said as his 5th load of HIV cum was blasted into Matthew’s hole “increase my odds that it’s my strain that’s infecting you into the brotherhood, pig!” Finally, Matthew’s blown-out hole had had enough and as the crowd of men had thinned out, the young idealistic doctor took himself out of the sling and, unsteadily at first, made his way to the exit. Frankie, spying him as he was leaving came up to him wielding a lucite buttplug. “Here, get this up that bug trap of yours, brother…let those AIDS-loads soak in, you don’t wanna lose any,” and he roughly bent Matthew forward and the plug found its way inside Matthew’s blown-out cunt with ease. Matthew retreated to his room, his mind abuzz with what he had done. He was so excited and keyed up that, finally falling onto the motel bed, his cock once again sprang to life, and shot a hands-free load of neg cum up into the air. “Was this my last neg load, or my first poz one,” he wondered to himself as he relaxed, plug in place holding all that HIV inside him. After a long nap with the plug inside him, Matthew started to feel hungry…he hadn’t eaten all day, so he took himself to a local bistro…his mind was still swirling at what he had done but his hole, wet with poz cumloads and stuffed with Frankie’s buttplug, felt sated. He was looking over the menu when he heard his name. “Matthew?” someone called. He looked up and there was his mentor, Dr. Dan Martinelli, from whom Matthew had bought the medical practice 2 years earlier. “What are you doing in P.S?” Martinelli asked, as Matthew motioned for his mentor to join him and Dan sat across from him. “Just a quick getaway,” the young doctor replied “I needed a little holiday…and what about you?” “Oh, as you know, I live here now…I’m meeting some friends for dinner, they’re in town for a…convention,” he said, “at the men’s club down the road. Oh, here they come now.” Matthew looked up from the menu and past his mentor Dr. Martinelli, to see none other than Frankie and 2 of the other poz men who just a couple of hours ago, blew their toxic cum up Matthew’s ass. Matthew thought to himself how retirement agreed with Dan Martinelli, with his salt-and-pepper hair and beard and his tall frame, with the same green eyes. He was rocking a hot body for a man in his 60s…thin but muscular in his sleeveless T and shorts. Frankie and company approached and greeted their friend Dan. “How do you know this little cumwhore, Dan?” Frankie asked, in his usual booming voice, to which Martinelli spun around and said to Frankie “Him? You mean Matthew?” “Fuck yes! We spent the afternoon loading up that little bitch with HIV, and he took 5 loads alone from me, and a lot more from these guys” Frankie announced, pointing to his friends. “Why, Matthew, a man of hidden talents,” Martinelli smirked at his young protégé. Frankie and his entourage moved over to their table, and Martinelli turned back to Matthew and said “I need to go join them, but when did you start chasing, Matthew?” “I guess you could say it started today in reality,” he replied “but it’s been building inside me for awhile.” Dr. Martinelli nodded in agreement:“Yeah, I spent my career trying to keep guys negative, but once I retired, I stopped my meds so I could pass the gift around, and I’ve never been happier.” and with that Dr. Martinelli lifted up his shirt and revealed several bio tats and a dark X tattooed on his furry midsection. “Got my 10th poz son just a couple of weeks ago. Such an incredible feeling to create poz sons with your strain!” With that, Martinelli joined his friends, greeting each of them with a deep kiss and laughing at the depravity of pozzing up guys at will and dropping HIV loads into the little idealistic doctor. As Matthew resumed looking at the menu, his phone buzzed: a text from Dr. Martinelli: “Hey, you want some more loads? I didn’t get to go to the Men’s Club earlier, but my cock is gonna burst if I don’t get some relief. Balls full of HIV babies for you, kid. Meet me in the parking lot…now!” Dr. Matthew and Dr. Dan Martinelli met 30 seconds later in the parking lot, Martinelli taking his protégé’s arm and leading him behind a dumpster. “Right here, in the open?” Matthew said as Dan was leading him by the elbow “don’t you think…” “I’m not asking permission, whore,” Dan interrupted. “We’re doing this right here and right now, my balls are gonna fucking explode. When you poz up, Matty, you’ll understand. It takes over your whole being, to breed and seed and replicate,” he said, loosening Matthew’s belt and dropping his pants. A hard push on Matthew’s back sent him leaning against the wall, and Dr. Dan unbuttoned his own jeans and spit on his raging boner. Removing the buttplug Frankie had shoved inside Matthew’s cunt, and with the benefit of the streetlamp above, Dr. Dan could see Matthew’s gaped hole glistening with AIDS-cum from Frankie and Co. The buttplug also glistened with the cumloads of so many men who fucked and bred the young doctor and Martinelli shoved it into Matthew’s mouth. “Taste that poz cum straight outta your hole, you little bug-chasing bitch. You like taking those bugs, boy?” he said as he positioned his HIV pole against the young doctor’s hole. “Here are some more for you,” and he plunges his toxic fuckstick up inside Matthew, the cum already up there making it silky smooth and inviting. “Oh, baby boy, I’m not gonna last long in this cummy pussy of yours, get ready for my poison load. Pure high-viral unmedicated AIDS-cum for your greedy cumhole.” Dr. Dan thrust deeper up Matthew’s cunt and delivered fresh shots of HIV inside the young doctor, about 9 cumblasts in all. “I’m super viral now that I stopped my meds over a year ago,” I know we’ll never know for sure, but I hope it’s my strain that turns you,” he said, shuddering and shaking with his cock depositing the last few drops of HIV inside Matthew. He withdraws his cummy pozzing stick from the young doctor’s hole, replacing it again with the buttplug. “I’m going back to my friends now, whore,” he says, reaching for his phone. “I’m texting you my address. I’ll unlock the door with my phone app, just make yourself comfortable. By ‘comfortable’, I mean ass up and waiting…I’m not done with you.” Dr. Matthew did as instructed, and 90 minutes later, Dr. Dan returned home and found the young doctor ass up and waiting. Over that night, Dr. Dan forcefully filled his cunt with 3 more loads of HIV that evening and finally at 3am released him from his dominance and Matthew returned to the hotel wiped out, his happy hole remaining plugged, absorbing all those sweet viral loads. He would have a lot to tell his nurse Keith on Monday morning but for now, Dr. Matthew Joon Hill, noted safe-sex and condom advocate, who had written thousands of prescriptions for PrEP to his patients, went to sleep with about 18 poz loads soaking into his hole. He slept sounder than he had done in years. End of Chapter 2