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The week wasn't over yet. After three hookups Tuesday to Thursday, on Saturday I felt the itch again. My husband was in town with his friends so I hit the apps. Didn't have a ton of luck on Sniffies, but I did notice my hot neighbor, who I'd fucked a couple of times before and who besides being cute has an amazing ass and overall droolworthy physique, had been online earlier. He had new photos in his profile and since the others weren't biting (or I was not too interested in the ones that were, inviting me to go to the other side of town in subzero temperatures), I tried my neighbor's whatsapp. He proposed meeting around 8. Then something funny happened: a tall mixed race guy who lives downtown and who I thought was more of a bottom texted me asking me to come over and receive his load. This guy is hot af and I had been wanting do get a piece of him for a while, so of course I said yes, be there in an hour. Cleaning took longer than anticipated, and when I was finally finished I saw tall downtown breeder had canceled. Not the end times: I still had my 8PM with my neighbor. Still, I was a bit disappointed I had douched for nothing, so when my neighbor asked me if there was anything in particular I wanted to do, I proposed a flip fuck. I'd only known him as a bottom (his profile says vers bottom), but he seemed open to the idea. More than open, it turned out. When I arrived at his place, he was wearing skimpy shorts that not only showed his sexy legs but clearly outlined his cock. After drinking a shot of gin from his home country in Africa (probably shouldn't get more specific due to privacy), which gave us a nice rush and slight burning sensation welcome in this freezing weather, we made out on the sofa for a bit. I reached into his shorts and felt his hard cock and firm ass. He then guided me to the bedroom - too much action in the curtainless living room was a bit too exhibitionist for his taste. Once in the bedroom, we continued kissing and removing each other's clothes, till we were both naked and he knelt down to suck my cock fully hard. This was going the way it normally does, I thought. I pushed him onto the bed and after kissing him on the mouth, neck, armpits and nipples, I moved down to suck his tasty cock and give him a good rim job. He seemed to enjoy it well enough, but after a while started sucking me again and motioned for me to lie down on my back. Thinking he was going to suck me off some more, I complied Instead, he wet his finger and started digging into my ass, opening me up. Good thing I had cleaned myself for the other guy who'd canceled! This hot vers bottom who I'd only ever known to be a bottom was taking an interest in my hole. Things were heating up. His cock was hard the whole time, and after a while he lubed it up and entered me. I am not fucked often but when I do I feel it intensely, and audibly. I moaned like a cheap whore. This turned him on and he had to stop more than once because he was too close to cumming. Then he got up off the bed and ordered me to position myself doggie style for him. Of course I did - doggie's my favorite. As he entered me again, through the pain I could feel him hitting my spot, and I moaned uncontrollably like the bottom bitch I apparently am. Picture this vers top guy completely giving in to the urge to be fucked and controlled by his fit hot bearded neighbor. That was me. He tried shutting me up by shoving fingers into my mouth but I was very audible, and the turn on was too much for him. After his thrusts intensified, he tried to stop but found himself cumming all over my used ass. I was sorry he hadn't bred me deep like the cheap slut I felt like, but the good thing was all that cum was on my asshole ready to be scooped up and licked off my fingers. I gave myself a handful, so did he. It tasted great. As I was savoring the taste of his seed, he took a dildo and moved it in and out of my pussy, hitting my spot again and giving me an intense orgasm as I stroked my now-hard cock and came all over the bed. Then I collapsed onto my own cum and lay motionless for a few seconds. Man, I need to do this more often. For a guy like that, I wouldn't mind bottoming every fucking day.

"Such a good boy" he moaned in my ear as his thick raw cock slid into me. I took every inch, arching my back to let him in. As he slowly slid in and out, in and out, I knew deep down he was going to breed me. I wanted it so bad. I wasn't going to stop him now to ask any questions, I was so lost in the ecstasy of his body on mine, his hands holding my hips, his breath on my neck, his cock buried inside me. It was too much and we'd already come this far. Just let him have you, I thought to myself as he picked up the pace and slowly but surely started pounding my little ass into oblivion... We'd been chatting for weeks and just hadn't been able to find a time to link up. He was fit, probably from his military days, and a hot daddy looking for a young bottom to fuck. Naturally this got my attention, but not nearly as much as his perfect thick 8" cock. Oh i needed that cock, I dreamed about that cock. It was Sunday morning and as usual I had woken up painfully horny, grinding myself into my sheets. Rolling over I pulled up grindr and to my absolute delight there he was - "wife is out of town. you want this cock boy?" and an address. I've never gotten ready so fast. I pulled into his driveway and walked up to the door where he was waiting, watching me. "Finally" was all he said as he grabbed my hand and pulled me inside. He was even hotter than his photos suggested. Out of my league for sure. As the door closed he turned and pinned me to the wall with a long sloppy kiss. "I've got all day for you, hope you have nowhere to be", I shook my head, unable to form words in my excitement. He smiled and pulled me into the kitchen. "Drink?", I nodded. He poured a glass of whiskey and handed it to me. "None for you?" I asked shakily, to which he just smirked. "Drink up boy". I did as I was told. We stood and talked for a few minutes, the whole time he inched closer and closer to me until finally we were inches apart. "Once we go into the bedroom, you're mine. No going back. So any reservations now is the time." He waited patiently. I could see his hard cock bulging in his shorts. Saying nothing I reached down to feel it. That was it. I had made my choice. We headed for the bedroom, his hand on my ass the whole time. Stripping me, his big hands explored my body. I wasn't hard, mostly out of sheer anxiety. "Here's the deal. I'm going to try and get you hard. If I can do it without touching your cock, I'm going to fuck you raw." I blushed but didn't protest. His lips found my neck, my ear, as his hands played with my round little ass, at first caressing and then playing with my hole. It was hopeless, my cock stiffened in moments and before long it was rock hard. He grinned over my shoulder as his hand moved to grab it. Fuck, that's it I thought. I hadn't gone raw in months since I had gone off prep. But still, there is nothing hotter than a load shooting into me. I had also forgotten when we first talked I told him I was on prep and preferred it bareback. Oops. He pushed me to my knees and slid his cock deep into my mouth, a little rough, very hot. I drooled all over it and played with his balls. I could tell he liked it. He liked owning me. Maybe I liked it too. He tossed me into the bed and climbed in behind me. My heart was racing. He was about to fuck me raw and I was just letting him. The thoughts were dashed from my head as he pushed a lubed finger into my ass. Instinctively I bent over and took it. He went at it for a few minutes before adding some lube to his cock. "I bet you feel amazing" he said admiring my ass from behind. All I could manage was "lets find out". My first "good boy" achieved. He started slow, just the tip. But as soon as his cock started pushing in I felt myself loosen up and give it to him. We had made a deal, after all. He slid in slow, and deep, so deep in me. Finally giving me every inch as I moaned loud, eliciting that sweet "such a good boy" from him. That left me swimming. He fucked me like this for what felt like 20 minutes. Pounding me raw and breaking me in, before flipping me over. My legs on his shoulders now, he pushed back inside. "I want to look into your eyes as I breed you, boy". Oh fuck was all I could moan. "Open your month", I did as instructed, and he spit right into it. So fucking hot. Without any warning he pushed deep and shot his load. It felt so goddamn good, warm and sticky inside me. He kept thrusting so I could feel the cum squish inside me. I looked up at him in amazement and without thinking said "more please". For the next two hours he fucked me silly, shooting 3 more loads into my bare ass and handing out good boys along the way. Dripping with his cum and panting we laid side by side. I was in love with his cock. He rolled over and started to jerk me off. "Your turn, now". It wouldn't take long I thought. As he edged me closer and closer he leaned in and whispered in my ear "I love seeing your full of my poz loads, no one ever lets me do this". Shock washed over me but not fear, maybe excitement? It was so raw, so hot, and I was lost in the moment. Before I could say a word my whole body shook and I shot the biggest load I've ever shot in my life all over myself. As I relaxed and we laid there kissing, I broke away and managed to mumble "I'm not on prep anymore though". He started at me, looking deep into my soul, and smiled. "I had hoped not. I want to make you mine. Be my little good boy?" Dripping with cum I laid there, thoughts racing in my head, but before I could process anything, he started climbing on top of me and rolling me over. Oh well, I thought, what's one more. I can get some pep at the clinic tomorrow. Hearing no resistance, he fucked me hard again and shot a fourth load into me before setting me free to clean up and go home. "I hope to see you soon" he winked as he held the door for me. I raced home, heart pounding, and jerked off in the sink. I was so horny? I never went to the clinic. Didn't go the next day, or the next. I don't know why. But the next week I was back in his bed and full of all that poz cum all over again. And the week after. I guess I know my place now. And he has his little good boy after all.

When I was 17, my older brother and his girlfriend used to take me to Studio 54 - this would be the very end of 1979 into 1980 - I was a senior in H.S. and the drinking age at the time was 18, but they never had a problem getting me in there. After a few hours of dancing, my brother and his GF would head to "Plato's Retreat" a STRAIGHT sex club and bathhouse, while I would head to the Ansonia Baths or one of the gay porn theaters like the Adonis or the David and fuck around then we'd all meet up at 5 or 6AM and head home. I went to Fordham University in September of '80 and turned 18 in November. By that time, I was going to The Anvil, The Spike, and The Eagle (seriously) and during breaks home in Nyack I would go to the two gay bars there which were called Reflections and Candlelight. Funny, I never got to Uncle Charlie's or the Monster or Ty's any of the milder NYC bars until I was 19 or 20!

The FUCKING BEST erotic story archive….gay, bisexual, lesbian..a whole panoply of sexual minority tastes. There’s also literotica.com ….look for the Gardening with Grandpa series…raunchy!!

It’s a neoprene jocks from Sparta’s Harness. Very comfy and I love how it makes me feel.

My little brother who is 17 is seeing a man who is 68 years old. Proper intense sex and more. im 34 and a man whose 78 has fucked me tonight.theres more to my situation but its horny as fuck man

This is good to know. I'm thinking about doing my February cumdump in a motel around there. Something with easy access.

PART 2 Since that first night taking my new daddy's first poz loads it had now been 2 months. I tested poz a few weeks back, as was expected. I got pretty lucky, no flu, just a quiet seroconversion and two thick red lines on my test. He was so turned on when i sent that simple little text "so it happened, you pozzed me". We continued to meet on the weekends when his wife was out of town. I never asked about their situation. We were just fucking, having fun, and I was loving the inhibition-free poz on poz sex. I wasn't on any meds, neither was he, and we felt great. Potent. Fast forward a bit, it has been over a week and a half since we met up and, as was now always the case, I was inexplicably horny and could only be satisfied with cum dripping from my newly poz body. But it was Thursday, and he can't meet during the week. Still, i asked anyway. I waited and waited but he didn't reply. I couldn't stand my exploding sex drive any longer so i got ready and left to hit the nearest gay bar, a frequent pickup spot pre-poz. Pretty quickly a cute younger twink latched on to me. I tend to be a bottom, and his energy screamed please top me, but tonight something felt different. Maybe I wanted to be in control. Maybe I wanted to breed someone. I took another look at this cute little twink grinding up on me and thought, well fuck it. I need to cum in someone. We went back to his place and with very little conversation got right into it. He never asked about a condom, status, nothing. He couldn't get me in him quick enough. It wasn't all that special of a fuck in most regards (remember im a 90% bottom boys) but as I was getting closer and closer it become more euphoric as I realized I as about to shoot my own poz load into this pretty little slut. As far as I knew, I was about to knock his ass up, and I loved it. Without a word I shot rope after rope into him, and kept thrusting for a few moments to ensure I shot it all deep. Too overcome with what had just happened, I got dressed and bolted. I was almost home when my phone buzzed. Poz daddy. He was inviting me over after all. Strange I thought, but I was now so horny and excited to tell him what happened tonight that I headed right over. Much to my surprise, a woman - presumably his wife - opened the door. I blushed and couldn't manage a word, busted I thought. She was pretty, young. She had a look about her that told me she was also an absolute killer. "Well come on in boy" she quipped at me, almost sternly. Here we go I thought, this is about to be really uncomfortable. As I entered the kitchen, there was poz daddy. He looked amused. I was lost. She entered behind me and went to stand by his side. Finally he spoke - "This is kat. She's my life partner, my other half. And yes, she's poz too.", and kissed her longingly. I was in shock. "I've been encouraging him to poz himself a new toy for months, but I have to admit, you're not what I expected. I hear you gave it right up too. Hmm maybe a bad little boy." she said playfully. "I think it's about time I observe you boys". Poz daddy now made his way over to me. My heart was pounding as he grabbed my cock and leaned in for a kiss. "Been busy boy? You smell like sex". At which point I had to spill the beans. Tell them how i had just probably pozzed some slutty twink across town. Kat nodded with approval as I concluded my tale, and he, grinning only said "maybe a little bad indeed. Let's charge you up, you earned it boy" and dragged me towards the bedroom. She followed, walking lightly, enjoying the view. Another night, 3 more huge poz loads in me. She watched the whole time and dished out her own set of good boys as I begged for his seed over and over. He dominated me and fucked me harder and harder. I was in heaven. Full of his cum again and in bliss. And all the while, as he pounded me raw, all I kept thinking about was who else i would love to poz next. I could feel I was beginning to change...or maybe that's just the influence of a big poz cock buried inside me. Who knows, tomorrow is a new day.

When I was 18 I got the guts to go into my first gay bar called Buddy's Bar, located on the corner of Church Street and Gerrard in Toronto. I was too nervous back then to enter the St Charles Tavern via the Yonge Street entrance. Later on, I found out that said tavern had a back door entrance/exit. Gay life was so different in the early 1980s.

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

Sweet memories-- Uncle Charlie's in NYC village neighborhood on Greenwich village. That was so fun -back when NY was a magical place. I think every NYU freshman went there for the first time -that and BoyBar in the East village on St Marks.

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.

@versmetropig, just ordered paperback for $11 from Amazon. Look forward to reliving my 4th grade memories of the yearly Scholastic Book Fairs.

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.

If anyone would like to talk or share stories or pictures or videos, I would greatly appreciate it. I’m a man who’s never got to experience gay incest. I would love to hear about it and see it if anyone is willing to share stories and anything else please find me on telegram @Nyland85

I had been searching so long for someone to introduce me to chemsex. Site after site I joined with lots of seeming potential, but found more flakes than a Kellogs cereal factory. I even bought some tina and wanted to try it by myself at home, but what’s the point of getting spun and be alone? So it was a Friday night, bored as hell and had a few drinks in me. Was going to use some fresh poppers and just jerk off to some hot breeding videos when I heard a ding from my email. I opened the site where the message came from and damn, this guy looked just about perfect. A nice thick daddy with a gorgeous cock who lived about 3 miles from me. Hoping against hope, I read the message that told me if I wanted to explore the joys and sluttiness of tina, he was ready to start my journey tonight. I let him know I could be there in about 30 minutes and started cleaning myself out. When I got to his place, it was a beautiful site, a big older daddy wearing rubber chaps, his semi-hard cock hanging down. Behind him was dark red lighting, the thump of techno music in the background and a big screen TV showing hypno videos. He invited me in and said get comfortable while I get some drinks. I sat down on the couch, stripped down to my jockstrap and admired the scene. He came back with a bottle of vodka and started pouring shots. Between each shot, he offered me some amazing poppers from France. After a few minutes I was quite pleasantly buzzed and would have been happy to just get fucked now. But he had other plans. Daddy let me to a Gyno type chair that had the stirrups, but the back was elevated so I could look at him. The table beside the chair had the biggest bag of Tina I’ve ever seen. He loaded the pipe and began telling me about the heating process and when I should inhale. This was it! I was going to get spun up! The first two puffs gave me a nice relaxed feeling. He then tool a bottle of oil or lube, not sure which, and stood between the legs of the chair and began slowly massaging the oil into my chest, arms, legs and ass. As he was doing this, I could feel his huge cock brushing up against my ass, teasing the hell out of me. He lit the pipe and I got another huge cloud into me. As I was exhaling, he held the poppers up to my nose and told me 5 deep breaths. As I took in the poppers I felt his cock slowly enter my hole. It took about two minutes until he was balls deep in me, then he stayed perfectly still. Lighting the pipe again, Daddy told me welcome to your new world. I’m going to keep you spun up all weekend, and you’re going to learn how to love cock, cum and tina. He slowly pulled out of me, and reached down to grab a medium sized medium butt and a jar of white thick fluid, damn it was full of cum! Daddy dipped the plug into the cum and then sprinkled a large amount of tina on the plug. As he started pushing it into my hole, he told me first you’ve had some clouds, and now you’re getting a booty bump to get you even more spun. It was quite a burning sensation and I closed my eyes. When I opened my eyes, he was slowly walking around me, taking videos of my lubed up body, closeups and of plug inside me, and ended focusing on the bag of tina. Daddy forced me to take more poppers, and then walked over to his laptop and started typing. I’ve got some more Daddy friends who would love to give you their cock and cum, they should be over soon. I think it’s time to get you started for the real party. Daddy pulled the plug out and once again pushed his cock deep inside me. He reaches over to the table and grabs a pre-filled syringe and a rubber band. He then lights up the pipe, and tells me, we’re going to the next stage now. You’re going to inhale, but on the third round, I need you to hold in the smoke as long as you can. He ties off my arm then starts with the pipe. Round one, round two, and round three I hold it in. I can feel the pinprick of the needle in my arm and he releases the rubber band. OMG, the most incredible feeling! I need more cock in me, I want cum, I want it all! I feel Daddy pumping long slow and deep and then he cums, 7,8 spurts inside my ass, it’s leaking out, but he stays inside me as hard as ever. Through the haze of all the tina, I hear the doorbell ring.

Thursday Midnight Drew’s tied up on the bed, rolling deep. He looks good like this, his naked body fully on display. I size him up again: lean, smooth legs, and a faint treasure trail leading to his bush that I hadn’t noticed before. His cock is still hard from the G, and his eyes are slightly closed. I move my head closer and stick my tongue down his open mouth and start making out again. I get so hard from kissing like this, urgent, intimate, and insistent. Drew wakes up drowsily and begins to dance his tongue with mine. I cradle his face in my hands and spit a little into his mouth again, which Drew eagerly laps up. I’m enjoying his body’s reaction to the makeout session. I peek over to see his hard cock bobbing up and down, precum still leaking. I love how he’s submitting to our every whim. Little does he know we’re slowly pushing his limits to see how much this bottom boy can take. As Drew and I continue to make out slowly, Jack crouches down between Drew’s legs. He gives Drew’s cock a sloppy lick on the sides, making it jump even more, causing Drew to moan. Jack then reaches out to hold Drew’s cock up and licks the head, drawing a line of precum between his tongue and the slit. Drew takes a moment from making out with me to watch Jack playing with his cock. His gorgeous smile continues to egg us on. Jack swallows Drew’s cock to the base and keeps it down his throat, causing Drew to pull his restraints in pleasure, rattling the chains. I can hear Jack’s throat working on the hard cock for a couple of minutes. I’m eager to get the hair off Drew, but I can never say no to my friends slobbering on a bottom’s cock. Jack pulls up, eyes a bit watery, spit and precum around his mouth and cheeks. “Sorry, I can’t help myself. He looks too good tied up like this.” Drew can barely utter a word other than a few grunts and moans. Jack reaches for a dry towel and carefully wipes Drew off. He then takes another towel and dips it into the basin with warm water to wipe Drew’s cock, balls, and pubes. I then put a pillow under Drew’s head so he can watch what Jack is doing. I sit next to him, running my head through his hair and occasionally playing with his now perked up and sensitive nips. Drew turns his head to the side to look at my hard cock and sticks his tongue out for it. “I love that you’re hungry for cock, boy. You’ll get more than you can handle soon. For now, we want you just to relax, close your eyes if you want, but lie still while Uncle Jack shaves you.” Jack reaches for the electric clipper and, while carefully handling Drew’s cock, starts to buzz off all of his pubes. Jack is as meticulous as can be doing this. He’s such an expert, no hurry at all, hands still, even after all the Tina he’s smoked, and the G he drank earlier. Using the clipper, Jack takes off all of Drew’s pubes, from the sides of his cock, and his balls. After cleaning the hair off, Jack reaches for the can of shaving cream and slathers up Drew. Using a razor, Jack then goes on to shave Drew down to the skin, section by section, cleaning the razor in between before switching to a fresh one to work on Drew’s balls. As soon as Jack is satisfied with his work, he dips the small towel back into the warm water and slowly wipes off the remaining shaving cream. Drew’s cock is now slightly soft, but still leaking precum. He’s so primed up. “Cock’s done. Smooth and so beautiful. Let’s look at your hole, boy." Jack unlatches the ankle restraints and pushes up Drew’s legs to inspect his hole. “He’s pretty smooth already. Nothing to do except one thing, we need your hole even hungrier. “What are you going to do?” Without answering, Jack gets up and opens a drawer on a nearby side table. Inside is a silver tray with various pre-filled syringes. He grabs one without a needle and a small bottle of lube. I reach over to keep Drew’s legs up while Jack pours some lube on Drew’s smooth hole, and slowly starts to slide a finger in and out. “So nice and tight. Your smooth hole is gripping my finger, Drew. I’m going to get your hole open and craving cock and cum. You told me you’ve always wanted to do a booty bump. Well, it’s time you tried it for real.” Jack quickly noted Drew’s furrowed brow. “Don’t worry, you’ll love this. I dissolved some Tina in water earlier and prepared this, along with a few other things. I’m going to slide it inside and push the contents of this syringe into your ass. This is going to get your engines going again.” “Once Jack pushes that bump into your hole, there’s no going back. For however long we play, you’re going to keep our loads inside you.” I take a beat before asking my next question. Jack nods, knowing precisely what I’m going to ask. “Are you neg, Drew?” “Yes.” “That’s going to change by the end of this weekend. Are you sure you know what you want?” “Yes.” “Say it.” “I want to get fucked bareback and take all your loads. I don’t care if you’re neg or poz, I want it inside me. I want you to breed me, keep me high, control me with chems, train me to take care of you and your friends.” “That’s right, you’re going to get pozzed and high this weekend, Drew. Same way Jack and I were, with charged loads while we were high off our asses. Not all of us are poz, but it doesn’t matter; enough of us are. We’re going to mix it all up. All our loads are going inside you, coating every inch of your hole.” As soon as I say that, Jack takes the syringe and slides it into Drew, slowly pushing the plunger. “It’ll feel a little cold at first, but remember to let it soak in. In a moment, you’re going to feel a tinge of warmth in your hole, and then it will start to radiate throughout your body. I’m going to hold your legs up, and in a minute, Uncle Jack is going to slide his thick, meaty cock inside you for the first time, and it’s going to change your world. You’re not going to feel any pain or any shame, Drew. From this point on, you’re going to crave raw dick.” And on cue, Jack puts the now-empty syringe back on the silver tray, grabs one of the pipes and torches we brought in earlier, and gets between Drew’s legs and points his cock at Drew’s hole. I change positions so I can keep Drew’s legs up and can watch Jack fuck Drew for the first time. I spit on Jack’s cock to lube it up and watch him put the head just inside the hole. "Oh my God, you're inside me!" “How are you feeling?” “My heart is starting to race again, and I feel more awake. Please, please more. Please poz me up!” “Can you feel the head of Uncle Jack’s cock? He’s going to keep it there for a few seconds, pumping some precum to lube you up even more. There’s no condom there, Drew. Skin on skin, like how it’s meant to be,” Jack gives me a look of pure pleasure. I know he wants to slide all the way in so badly, but we know that taking our time opening up Drew is the best course of action. Teasing Drew open like this will make him ready for hours of pounding, but also hungrier and hungrier to take raw dick. While the head of his cock is inside Drew, Jack reaches for the pipe and torch. “Yeah, Uncle Jack is going to get spun and twisted, just like you will be soon.” Jack then takes a big hit from the pipe while Drew watches him intently. Jack is so freaking sexy between this boy’s legs. He slowly draws in that Tina, before letting it flow out like covering us in clouds. He then takes another big draw from the pipe and leans over to me to give me the smoke. From the corner of my eye, I see Drew watching us eagerly, hungry for it. I then move over to Drew and blow the smoke into his lungs, while at the same time, Jack slides more of his big cock inside. Drew starts to pull at his restraints as Jack bottoms out, his full length entirely inside Drew. “It’s so big and feels so good. I want your poz sperm inside me, Uncle Jack. Please.” I watch mesmerised as Jack slowly fucks him, ecstasy on both their faces. Jack spits on Drew’s hole, lubing it up some more. He then reaches down to touch where his cock meets the hole, feeling it as it goes in and out. Drawing his fingers to open Drew’s hole open some more while Jack varies his pace. “God, I love being inside a chemmed up pussy boy. That’s what you are, Drew. You’re our chemmed up boy. I love that you begged and begged me to teach you how to use chems, and then told me that you wanted to be charged up. We love a boy who knows what he wants. We’re going to get you opened up and gaping.” Jack then takes Drew’s hard cock in his hand and starts to pump it slowly, which makes Drew buck his hips up and down, tightening his hole’s grip on Jack's raw cock. I’m sure his body is on fire with pleasure, with the sweet dreamy sensation of the G switching over to an amped-up vibe courtesy of the booty bump. The restraints make it so that he’s not jerking himself off. He’ll have plenty of time to play with himself, but for now, his cock is ours while we dominate his boy hole. Jack looks over to me and says, “I’ll hold his legs. I think Drew needs more Tina and then his daddy’s cock in his mouth.” With that, I grab another one of the loaded pipes and put it into Drew's mouth. “Go ahead, keep taking that smoke in until I tell you to stop. Keep going, Drew. You’re getting behind, c’mon, gotta keep inhaling that smoke fast.” I watch as Drew eagerly takes in the smoke without stopping, trying to inhale as I light up the torch three times. He can’t hold it all in, so it’s billowing out in thick clouds from his mouth at the same time as he’s trying to inhale. Kid’s going to be flying. I then move up and slide my cock in his mouth for him to suck on, even while the last of the smoke in his lungs comes out. “Mmm, that’s it, baby. We love a spun bottom boy. Suck daddy’s poz cock while we feed you the pipe, and as your Uncle Jack bare fucks your hole, pushing that booty bump deeper.” “Jack, how’s he opening up?” “Amazing. His hole was made for cock. It’s so smooth and responsive. I can feel him gripping my cock on the outstroke, as if he doesn’t want me to leave him. But don’t you worry, Drew, we’re going to keep you filled up for a while.” Drew can barely get his whole mouth around my thick cock at this point, but he’s doing a great job slobbering over it. It feels great, but not nearly good enough. He’s quickly going to learn how to take my cock “That’s it, relax your jaw and open your throat, like you're about to chug some beer. Now, open wider, as wide as you can, so I can slide my cock all the way down your throat. If you do that, I’ll give you a surprise.” With that as encouragement, I can feel Drew stretch his mouth and throat even wider to let my cock in further down his gullet. I slide it all the way in, pulsing it in there for a few seconds, making him slightly gag and cover my cock with more spit and slime. “Good boy, you got my cock all the way down your throat. Let me get your reward.” I get up and peek over at Jack earnestly fucking Drew’s hole now. He pulls all the way out, and we watch Drew’s hole snap shut. “Hmm, not gaping yet. We’ll keep working on it.” I go to the drawer and get out a gas mask outfitted with a tube where I can blow smoke. “Drew, I’m going to put this on you, and we’re going to feed you the smoke. Just breathe it all in and out, while Uncle Jack continues to fuck you.” “You ready?” Drew gives a nod as Jack pushes his dick all the way in and keeps it still while I put the mask on Drew. “His ass is contracting around my dick so bad, it’s like he’s giving my dick a hand job from the inside.” As soon as I put the mask on Drew, he starts grinding his hips around Jack’s cock, causing Jack to roll his head back in pleasure. “Damn, the kid is seriously milking my cock at the moment. I’m going to stay still and let him work himself up and down my cock.” I then take a pipe and take a big hit before blowing the smoke into the tube and into Drew’s mask. I can see the smoke fill up the mask with that beautiful white cloud. At this point, we’re going to force chems on Drew and keep him high and horny. “That’s it, Drew, your daddy’s giving you smoke. Breathe it all in.” I take a second bigger hit and blow that in before standing up and admiring the view again. A beautiful boy, arms restrained, mask clouded up, legs spread, and bouncing up and down on Jack’s raw cock. “Tina is making you very hungry for cock. That’s it, keep fucking yourself on Uncle Jack’s cock, milk him for his poz cum while we get you even higher.” With that, Drew doubles his pace, working his hole up and down. All the while, his own shaved cock is rock hard, untouched because of the restraints. I wouldn’t be surprised if he makes himself cum without touching himself. “Swapping sperm is the most intimate thing you can do with another man, Drew. We’re becoming as close as we can be, and you’re doing a great job. Keep working your Uncle Jack’s cock with your hole.” As the smoke in the tube slowly clears out, I check on Drew and can see a glint in his eyes. Of course, his pupils are wide as saucers at this point, and he can’t say much, but this is what boy training is about–unlocking that need that’s buried deep down inside. Though in this case, it’s clear that Drew has thought about what he wants for a long time. “Oh fuck, boy, keep fucking yourself on my cock. Slide it all the way down and grind your ass down on it.” Like a good boy, Drew does exactly as he’s told and immediately lets Jack go in balls deep again. This time, Jack takes action and holds Drew’s hips still, and starts to pump his hole with more force. “My precum and spit is lubing up your hole. And I swear, you’re leaking on the inside, making it warm and wet.” I can tell that Jack’s close. Usually, he can fuck a while without cumming, but the idea of giving Drew his first poz load is too tempting. “I’m going to shoot inside you. It feels too good.” With that, Jack holds still, and I watch his cock pulse, filling Drew up with his first poz load. A final grunt from Jack as he slides in deeper to push his cum further inside. He keeps it there, enjoying the warm sensation of his cum coating his cock and Drew’s hole. “Damn, your boy pussy feels amazing. It’s still gripping my cock.” I take the mask off Drew, and he takes a deep breath. I kiss him and tell him, “Great job, baby. Your first load for the night. Let’s get these restraints off you, too, and get you hydrated. This is going to be a long play session, baby.”

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.

Hey guys, Xmas is over - time for the real thing! Part 6: The Death of Fantasy: A Sick Fuck, a Poz Breeding, and a Broken Man The command from BREEDER was simple. "Downtown park. Public toilet by the lake. Midnight. Be at the urinal trough. Don't be late. Don't talk." You arrive fifteen minutes early. The air in the blockhouse concrete building is thick with the acrid smell of stale piss, dampness, and cheap chemical cleaner. Flickering fluorescent tubes hum overhead, casting a sickly, intermittent light that makes the shadows dance. Used condoms, like sad, deflated jellyfish, litter the wet floor. You approach the long, metal urinal trough against the far wall. It's stained with years of neglect, and you see the drain at the end is clogged with a dark sludge, leaving a shallow pool of stagnant yellow urine. A couple more used condoms float in the murky water. Your own bladder is tight with a knot of nerves. You step up to the trough and relieve yourself, the sound of your stream hitting the stagnant water echoing in the silence. Hot splashes of the old piss arc up and land on your sneakers and the cuff of your jeans. You stand there, your cock in hand, feeling more exposed and vulnerable than you have in your entire life. Every creak of the building, every distant car horn, makes you jump. The door creaks open. Heavy footsteps. A man stands at the trough a few feet away. You risk a glance. He's young, maybe mid-20s. He's painfully thin, with a gaunt face that looks hollowed out, his cheekbones sharp as knives under the dim light. His skin has a greyish, waxy sheen, and his eyes are sunken and shadowed, dark circles pooling beneath them. He's not just skinny; he's being consumed. Is this BREEDER? Your mind races. Why isn't he doing or saying anything? Does he expect me to act? What am I doing? Should I just run out of here right now? But your feet are rooted to the spot. He's not a dom; he looks like a ghost. He just stands there, pissing a thick, heavy stream that splashes against the urinal wall, generating foam in the piss pool. Finished, he shakes off and starts slowly stroking his cock. You glance over. On his slim, bony body, it looks massive and imposing, a weapon on a dying frame. You have to prove you want it. You swallow your pride, the taste of it bitter in your throat. You pull down your jeans, letting them pool around your ankles, exposing your naked ass to the cold, damp air. You bend over, stabilizing yourself by planting your hands against the grimy, slick trough and push your ass out, a silent, desperate offering. You feel him shuffle up behind you. There's a moment of stillness, and then you hear the wet sound of him hocking up phlegm from deep in his chest. A thick, warm glob of spit lands on your hole. A moment later, he shoves his raw cock into you. It's fast, rough, and impersonal. He's not trying to please you; he's just using your body to get off. His bony hips slam against your ass, a frantic, desperate rhythm. He grunts, a high, pathetic sound, and unloads inside you. He pulls out instantly, leaving you feeling empty and used. And just as he does, the door opens again. "Well, well. Look what we have here," a new voice, cold and amused, cuts through the silence. "Peter. What the fuck happened to you? You look like shit. You should really get back on those meds." Your blood runs cold. You slowly turn your head. The man standing there is powerfully built, with a shaved head and a cold, dead-eyed stare. Your eyes are drawn to the side of his thick, muscular neck, where a stark black biohazard symbol is tattooed. This is BREEDER. The young man, Peter, flinches at the voice. "I... I was just leaving," he mumbles, quickly pulling up his jeans and scurrying out without another word. You're left bent over, dripping with his load, facing the real monster. BREEDER laughs, a low, humorless sound. "Well, you obviously couldn't wait. But since you're now already lubed up, we don't need no foreplay." He's on you in an instant, pressing your face against the cold, metal wall. He shoves his hard cock into you. He's so much thicker than Peter that the burn is immediate and intense, a searing pain that makes you cry out. Peter’s load offers little slickness against the sheer size of him. "Feel that?" he growls in your ear, his thrusts so heavy and forceful that you stumble, your right foot slipping off the wet floor and landing directly in the shallow pool of stale piss. You can feel the cold, disgusting liquid seep into your sneaker, soaking your sock. "That's Peter’s toxic load I'm pushing deeper into you. He's a walking petri dish. Bet you can feel his sickness swimming inside you right now. A two-for-one special. You're a lucky little pig." He grunts as he unloads deep inside you, a long, powerful pulse that you feel in your guts. He leans in, his voice a low growl. "Enjoy my gift, you [banned word]. You're welcome." He pulls out, but he's not done. He aims his cock at your back and a hot stream of piss suddenly soaks through your shirt and jeans. You flinch, utterly humiliated. He gives you a contemptuous slap on the ass, zips up, and leaves. You're left alone in the disgusting, flickering room. Two probably toxic loads are dripping out of your unprotected ass. You're drenched in piss, one foot squishing in a sneaker full of stale urine. The fantasy is dead. The reality is a cold, humiliating violation. But instead of running, you just... break. With your jeans still tangled around your ankles, you lean your back against the grimy metal wall and slowly slide down. You feel the shock of the cold, stale piss as your naked ass makes contact with the filthy pool in the trough. You sit there for a long moment, the filth seeping into your clothes, into your skin. And then you start to cry. Not quiet tears, but wracking, gut-wrenching sobs. What did I do? The thought echoes in your head. The husband, the successful businessman... for what? Why did I take this risk? Was this experience really worth it? The shame is a physical weight, crushing you. Realizing there's nothing you can do about it today, that the damage is done, a different kind of desperation takes over. In a final, depraved act of surrender, you reach out and grab as many of the used condoms from the floor as you can reach. You hold one after the other over your hardening cock and squeeze the cooling, anonymous contents over yourself, using it as lube. The thought of all those anonymous loads, all that potential sickness, coating your own cock makes your grief curdle into a dark, twisted arousal. You pull out your poppers, take a deep, desperate hit, a second, a third, until your head is spinning and the shame and the pleasure blur into one. You start wanking. It doesn't take long. You spray your own cum all over your chest, mixing with the filth, a final act of self-destruction in the face of the overwhelming shame. Only then do you stand up, pulling your piss-soaked jeans over your filthy ass. It's the middle of December. You have to walk home through the cold, empty town, your wet clothes freezing against your skin, the smell of piss, cum, and violation clinging to you. You came seeking the "real thing," and you found it. And it was nothing like you'd ever dreamed.

Your encouraging comments are a huge turn-on, thank you. Here's another short chapter before Christmas. This one is still just online fantasy—just the toxic words of a giftgiver. But I promise, we are getting there.. the next one is the real thing. So bear with me! Happy Christmas! Part 5: The Giftgiver's Typed Poison Night falls, and with it, the familiar ache. You sit down at your laptop, the screen's glow a sterile comfort. You don't even bother with the forum tonight. The stories are just ghosts. You need a connection. You need a possibility. You turn to Romeo, your old, familiar hunting ground. You set the filters to your new truth: Safer Sex?: "Let's talk." You join every community related to bareback and poz, scrolling through the lists of members, filtering for tops. You're deep in a community called "Gift Givers Netherlands" when a particular post catches your eye. It's from a user named ToxicDaddy. The post isn't just a comment; it's a manifesto. He's arguing against the "sanitization" of bareback culture, and his target is specific. He's railing against the neg guys who seek out gift givers while being on PrEP. He writes, "They want to live the fantasy, but they don't have the balls to go the full way. It's a cheat, a lie. They're just tourists in our world, not pilgrims." Below his text, he's attached a picture of his latest lab results, the viral load number circled in red, followed by a series of explicit, high-quality photos of him fucking and breeding different asses, his biohazard tattoo on his chest clearly visible. He's not just talking the talk; he's providing proof. He's a purist. Intrigued, you click on his profile. His profile picture isn't a body part. It's the symbol of a cock ejaculating dozens of tiny, swirling biohazard icons. It's a flag. A declaration of war. His stats are just as direct: 45, 6'2", 185cm, 95kg. His location? Amsterdam. A jolt goes through you. Amsterdam. A three, maybe four-hour drive. It's not a fantasy continent away. It's a possibility. Not for today or tomorrow, but a planned trip... that was possible. The distance makes it safe for now, but the proximity makes it dangerously real. You drop him a tap—a pig to show that you like his kinks. A moment later, a message appears. He: Great profile. Saw you are also in all of these sleazy poz groups. I'm poz, med-free, high VL. Only fuck bare! You? Your heart hammers. This is it. No games. The truth, right there in the opening line. Your hand instinctively goes to your crotch, kneading the growing bulge through your jeans. You: Thanks! Exactly what I'm looking for! 🙂 I’m neg, not on PrEP. He: Good. I hate PrEP. It's a chemical condom that can't even break. It ruins the fun. So you're a chaser? The confirmation is a relief, but his direct question sends a new thrill through you. It's the first time you've said it to someone like this. You: I think so... He: Good. It'll do you good when that poz cum is inside. With my high VL the effect is long-lasting. A shiver runs down your spine. You undo your fly and pull out your hardening cock, your fingers wrapping around the steel of your PA ring, giving it a twist. He's talking about permanence, and he has the lab results to prove it. You: I want that... the real thing. He: I know you do. I also wanted it - wanted to get pozzed. I eventually surrendered to it. Most guys see it as an infection, a mistake. They're wrong. It's a communion. The most intense connection to another man I've ever felt. Your hand freezes on your cock. This is different. This isn't just about fucking. He: It's the ultimate act of trust. To look another man in the eye, knowing he carries the virus, and to open yourself up anyway. To let him past your flesh, past your defenses, and into your blood. Submitting to him, accepting his toxic gift... that's something divine. It changes you. It binds you to him forever. I wasn't just looking for a fuck; I was looking for that bond. And when I found it, when I felt him cum inside me and knew my life was changing forever, it was the most beautiful moment of my life. The confirmation sends a jolt through you. He's not just living proof; he's a disciple of the very act you crave, a high priest of the faith. You reach into the drawer beside your desk and pull out your dildo and a small bottle of lube, your hands trembling slightly. You: It's a huge turn on that you get off on pozzing a neg ass. He: Honestly? It gets me very hot. It should be fun for both of us, right? You: Fuck yeah. Are you playing with yourself too? He: Fuck yes. I've been rock hard since you told me you were neg and not on PrEP. The thought of him, a few hours' drive away, getting instantly hard because of your commitment, because you're one of the purists, is intoxicating. It's a validation you've never felt before. You slick up the dildo and press it against your hole, teasing yourself. He: You got poppers? You: Yeah. He: Good. Take a hit for me. A deep one. Then I'll tell you exactly how I'd breed you. Your hand trembles with excitement. You grab the small brown bottle, unscrewing the cap. You bring it to your nostril and take a long, deep sniff. The rush floods your system, warm and dizzying. Your hole relaxes. He: You feel that? Take another one. You: Yeah... He: Good. First, I'd massage your hole with my precum. Just the tip, rubbing it all over you, leaking precum in your hole, getting you slick with my poz fluid. I'd hold you, pull you close against my warm body, and whisper in your ear what's about to happen. I'd nibble on your earlobe while I'm doing it, letting you feel my cock get harder against you. As he types, your own cock is dripping precum like a faucet. You scoop it up with your fingers and use it to slick up your own hole, imagining it's his. He: Then I'd place the tip of my cock right at your entrance. I wouldn't push. I'd just let it rest there, letting you feel the heat of it, the weight, oozing more precum into your guts. I'd kiss you, deep and slow, while my charged cockhead is poised to enter you. I'd tell you to relax, to breathe, to open up your man cunt, extend your slick asslips to pull me in. You're stroking your cock in time with his words, the fantasy so real you can almost feel his breath on your neck. He: Another hit. This time for both of us. And two more. You hear the faint, imagined sound of him sniffing in your mind and take another hit yourself, the second wave even more intense. You're so close. You can feel your orgasm building. He: I'd push just the head in, slowly. So you can feel every millimeter. I'd look you right in the eyes as I enter you for the first time. No rubber. Just me, raw, skin-on-skin. As he says this, you slowly push the head of the dildo inside you with a soft moan, feeling the stretch, the imagined penetration. He: Then I'd stop, letting you get used to it, letting your neg body accept my poz cock. I'd kiss you again, my tongue in your mouth, my cock in your ass, connected at both ends. I'd go deeper, inch by inch, reaching your inner sphincter, coating it with precum, getting it as slick as your asslips, stretching it until my head pops all the way through. His words are a command. You pull the first dildo out, your hole feeling suddenly empty and desperate. You reach into the drawer and grab the biggest one you have, the one that always makes you feel like you're being split open. You slick it up, line it up, and push it in all the way, breaking past your inner sphincter with a sharp, pleasurable ache that makes you gasp. You've matched his description perfectly, feeling the intense stretch, the full, imagined penetration. He: I'd start to move, so slowly, pulling out almost all the way, then sinking back in. I'd tell you how good you feel, how tight your neg hole is. I'd keep talking to you, my voice a low whisper, telling you how my high viral load is getting ready to fill you up, how you're going to be mine. Asking you one last time, if you are sure. That I will be changing your future forever. Asking if you are ready to accept my gift, accept me! The finality of his words is devastating. It's everything you crave. This is it. This is the connection you've been searching for. It's not just the act, it's the intimacy, the shared surrender, the divine beauty of it all he described. The brutal fantasy of a stranger taking you is nothing compared to this—the idea of a true, willing, sensual pozzing. He: I'm close, chaser. Tell me you want my charged load. Beg for it. You: Please... breed me... give me your charged load! I’m so ready for it! Make me yours! He: That's it... I'm gonna kiss you as I cum... looking so deep into your eyes, I'll see every hot spurt of my charged load painting your soul from the inside, marking you as mine. Take it... take my high VL toxic fucking seed! You cum with a loud, guttural groan, a huge, explosive load. The first shot hits your chest, but the next spurts are so powerful they fly up, hitting you squarely in the face. A thick, warm glob lands right over your left eye, blinding you. You slump back in your chair, the dildo still inside you, panting, and for a moment, you just sit there in the sudden darkness. A sharp, chemical burning starts. It's not just the sting of salt; it's a fire. You try to blink it away, but you can't see. All you can do is feel. The burning in your eye feels like a promise. It feels like a virus taking hold, like a toxic charge searing itself into your very optic nerve, marking you from the inside out. The pain is exquisite. It's a shadow of the real thing, a phantom pain, and it's the most blissful, agonizing sensation you've ever felt. This is what it feels like to be claimed. The chat goes silent for a moment. He: Fuck... that was hot. We'll talk more tomorrow. You: Yeah... okay... You log off of Romeo, your body buzzing, your chest sticky with cum. The fantasy was perfect. That's when you see it. A new notification has popped up on your screen from Romeo, a message that arrived at the exact moment you were shooting your load—almost like a sign from hell. Your heart hammers in your chest as you click back over to the app. It's from a profile you've never seen before. The username is stark and simple: BREEDER. You click on it. The profile is sparse, almost menacing. No pictures, no stats, just a location: a few kilometers away. He's real. He's close. You see the list of forums he's a member of. It's a who's who of every poz and breeding forum on the platform. He's not just a tourist; he's a native of this world. He's the real thing. And then you read his message. It's not a long, explicit fantasy. It's short, direct, and chilling. "Saw you online. You look like you need the real thing."

I respectfully disagree that Geoff’s conversion would have to be chronicled elsewhere. Chapter 1 starts one month after Geoff’s graduation, so in June or July. This give ample time for him to have been converted after turning 18 up to many months prior. Geoff’s conversion rite orchestrated by his Uncle Brandon at Geoff’s request after seeing Brandon’s biohaz tattoo? 😜 The tattoo which Geoff now has identically inked and located….as discovered by Nate in chapter 1? 🍆💦

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

So hot, 💋 i like that he's gonna shave him later 😵, wish I was drew.

I agree